FIC: Absolution [Draco/Hermione]
Title: Absolution
Author: theallwymonster
Prompt: # H37 by agnmag
Pairing(s): Draco/Hermione
Word Count: 4776
Rating: R
Warning(s): Implicit Alcohol Abuse, Mild Profanity
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks to my beta, A! I also want to thank the moderators for being patient with my constant need for an extension. Fic was inspired by Perfect Places by Lorde. Even though the prompt is in the first point of view, the entire fic is in the third. I hope the prompter wouldn’t mind. Also, I haven’t written for a fest in a while. I hope I mature in my writing style as I have literally. The ending might be slightly abrupt, but I’m planning on expanding it in the future. Until then, it is open for any interpretations.
Summary: Absolution; what a funny word to her now. She knew she wouldn’t find hers.
Two Years after the War; somewhere in Paris.
Was it a wise decision to pack up everything she has and leave for a different country?
Probably not.
Does she regret doing it?
Absolutely not.
She stares at the city before her from the balcony of the one-bedroom flat she is renting. She sees a man cycling on the pavement who almost hit the pedestrians in his haste; she sees a woman holding her son’s hand as he tries (to no avail) pulling her towards a nearby ice cream cart; she sees first-time tourists as they admire the Eiffel Tower (at least that’s what she figured as she follows their gaze, and which the former is at least a few more kilometres still).
She observes these little things that are happening below her and wistfully smiles.
Things here are simple. Oh, how she wishes her own life is the same.
She takes a final glance at the scene below her and retreats into her flat.
~.~
She opens her front door and jumps back at the sight of the familiar blond opposite her. He too looks at her with surprise but quickly changes his face to his usual mask of monotony.
“Granger.”
“Malfoy.”
She still cannot get used to the fact she will see him again in such a place. Sure, the flat isn’t as bad as one might think, but it is a let-down from what the luxury the ex-Slytherin is used to.
“Have a good day.” He nods to her and heads towards the stairs. Hermione stared at his back and only looks away when he disappears to the floor below. She shakes her head, and frowns; why was she staring at him?
It is weird that they hadn’t gone further from awkward pleasantries. They had been neighbours for a few months now, and yet it is as if they had an unspoken agreement to be as indifferent to the other as possible. After all, how did one properly act when they encountered their former enemy?
In the end, no matter how unusual this arrangement is, she’s content with it. He minds his own business and doesn’t try to pry into hers, and she’s fine with that.
She locks the door behind her and takes a deep breath.
Another day in the library, it is.
~.~
Many associate emotions with colours.
She thinks it’s bullshit.
Maybe there are others who view it that way, and while she’s not one to discredit one’s difference, she still found it hard to associate her feelings with something as superfluous as colours.
Sad is a gloomy blue.
Red is a fiery red.
Jealousy is an ugly green.
Happy is a bright yellow.
If blue is as sad as it seemed, why does it calm her so?
If red is as fiery as it sounded, why does it tire her?
If green is as ugly as it’s portrayed, why is it the colour of the beautiful nature around her?
If yellow is as happy as they say it was, why does it annoy her?
Exactly her thoughts. Complete irony.
Because when she’s feeling; she doesn’t see colours.
When she’s sad, she sees nothing.
When she’s angry, she sees nothing.
When she’s jealous, she sees nothing.
When she’s happy, she sees nothing.
Instead, she feels.
And there’s nothing to accompany her while she does.
Although, the absence of colour, while it suits her so, didn’t help her deny one thing.
Begrudgingly, she admits; she’s truly on her own.
~.~
In the library, she sits. Reading.
Searching.
It’s a routine she had adopted two weeks ago. England might have the biggest muggle library in the world, but its wizarding library can’t beat the massive archive hidden under the front right leg of the Eiffel Tower. Strong concealment charms were placed around said leg. Hence only magical folks alike can see the beautiful red door lies in front of the staircase that lead the visitors underground.
Although, the library wasn’t the first thing that popped in her mind when she arrived here in Paris. Initially, she had just wanted to run away; disregarding the library’s existence. In fact, she wasn’t sure of its presence until she read it on the Daily Prophet a month ago.
She finally got her act together, after months of self-pitying. And so, she goes back to what she is known for; researching. It holds a sort of semblance to her old self, and she’s more than happy to accept the opportunity to become herself once more.
And yet, her solution hasn’t presented itself yet in a way that she wants it to.
Surrounded by tall towers of books and encyclopaedias, she had been reading the same page over and over while these thoughts ran through her head. Suddenly, she heard someone clearing their throat next to her.
She jumps. Turning her head to the direction of the sudden noise, she is taken aback to see her formidable neighbour leaning against the bookshelf on her right.
“Granger. Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Malfoy. Why am I surprised to find you here?”
The blond raised his left eyebrow in question. “Maybe because you underestimate everyone but yourself?”
She bristles slightly on her seat. She supposed she had asked to be replied at with a snide remark, considering the way she had acted, but he did start it first. Her initial response wasn’t unprecedented.
Instead of answering him, she chooses to ignore him and continued reading. Her mind is still on the blond, but she pushes him out of his thoughts and skims the words in front of her. Something about a long-lasting side effect of the Polyjuice Potion caught her attention, but her neighbour won’t let her go that easily.
“What are you reading?”
He didn’t ask for her permission when he snatched the book from her hands. She makes a sound of protest, but he doesn’t pay heed to it. Instead, he fiddles through the pages, and read some words aloud:
“. . . temporary memory erasure can be done by an improper concoction of the Dreamless Sleep Potion. . .”
“. . . Seventeen out of twenty cases show that too much of the powdered moon dust in Amortentia can cause the drinker to lose their memories of their lives prior consuming this potion. . .”
When he finished, he looked at her with a calculated yet soft expression. He is almost afraid of asking her, but his curiosity pushes him ahead anyway.
“Why are you reading up on memory loss, Granger?”
Angry at his intrusion of her privacy, she pushes her chair back angrily and stands up, causing one of the towers of books to topple down on the floor. She winced at the loud thuds the books created as they hit the ground but didn’t break eye contact with him.
Without looking away, Hermione flicks her wand, and the books are placed back to their respective shelves. Malfoy still has the same look on his face, but it was slightly more guarded and careful now that he realises just how volatile she is.
“Mind your damn business, Malfoy.”
His pitying look was what ticked her off. She could face with being called a coward, she could humour his rudely taking the book out of her hands, she could even stand being called an idiot by some, but one thing she couldn’t stand is when someone pitied her. She doesn’t need anyone’s pity; especially not his.
Her sudden anger is confusing for him, but he doesn’t try to confront her. When she walks away leaving loud, annoyed stomps echoing through the walls in her wake, he just stares at her disappearing form; still holding onto the book.
It isn’t until she reaches home does she realise that she hasn’t felt anything but despair and self-pity until she had talked with Malfoy.
The change, even though unhealthy, is welcomed.
~.~
She thinks about what will happen if she had just left them alone.
If she didn’t try to reverse the spell.
Would she able to bear the pain of knowing her parents will never remember her?
It truly is better than rendering them to insanity, isn’t it?
She couldn’t dwell on what if’s now; what’s done is done.
The constant empty stares they share to the world, no matter how many times she visited hoping they would change.
Their erratic behaviour and intolerance to the slightest touch of her hand on their arms, causing them to thrash about on their beds.
Their incoherent mumbling to themselves as she watched them picking at their nails.
Their refusal to eat unless someone is feeding them.
It was too much for her to bear.
So, like any other coward, she knew; she ran.
Yes, she admits she’s one. There is no doubt about it. Every time she wanted to conquer her fears, she would change her mind and retreat. She was a mere shell of the passionate girl she used to be, and there was no one here to stop her otherwise.
At first, she didn’t care. She stopped caring ages ago. Let everyone else think of the worst of her because whatever they think of her right now was probably accurate.
She was selfish; she understood that.
By now, she knew her absolution was far from her reach.
She pulled herself together soon enough though. Giving up isn’t something she is accustomed to, no matter how hard life has pushed her down.
And yet, she stayed hidden.
Still searching, but hidden.
~.~
Never in a million years, she would consider being agitated for staying in the library for too long.
And yet, here she is, wishing to leave as soon as possible.
But, she can’t leave. No; not yet.
She needs answers that only this library can offer her, although they were nowhere to be found.
Every book in this library mocks her; taunting her with the knowledge she needed like a rider dangling a carrot in front of their horse. She could feel herself getting closer to what she needed, only for it to be taken away from her faster than a Snitch.
She promised that she wouldn’t do it again. It had only brought her more bad than good.
Yet, if she stayed here any longer, she knew she would drive herself crazy.
Didn’t even bother to put the books away, she stood up and walked towards the row of Floo’s by the by the exit counters.
The blond, who has been watching her discreetly through the shelves right behind her desk, stood up and followed her.
She didn’t hear any of his footsteps.
~.~
She’s drunk, again.
She lied sprawled on the ground, her knees bleeding, the heel of her shoe stuck between the flagstones. It was cold as the heavy rain poured from above. She was sure it was one of those days when good things simply didn’t happen. She was about to burst into tears when a pair of black shoes and an extended hand appeared in her visual field.
She looked up.
As if it couldn’t get any worse, she sees none other than Draco Malfoy, and she couldn’t hold back her tears anymore.
“Come on Granger, let’s get you home.” Malfoy impatiently shook his hand, prompting her to take it.
When she made no moves to do so, he sighed in frustration. It appeared to him that she was more willing to lay there and wallow in self-pity than to accept his help. Although he knew, he couldn’t leave her behind like this, especially considering the pathetic state she is in.
With a groan of resignation, he bent down to her level and hooked his arm under her shoulder. Mindful of her injury, he placed his left arm under her knees and pulled her closer to his chest. Looking around to make sure there were no unexpecting Muggles in their vicinity, which he had doubted as it was late in the night and no one would be caught dead in the middle of this rain; he turned on the spot and Apparated them out of there.
Her shoe remained between the flagstones; forgotten as the raindrops pelted against the leather skin relentlessly.
~.~
They landed on the doorstep of her apartment. He tilted her upright and placed her foot on the floor, letting her lean on himself as he tried her doorknob. No luck. He asked her for her keys, but he received a blank stare from the drunk woman as a reply. By the lack of words, he concluded that she had apparated out of her apartment, and didn’t bring her keys out with her.
Did she really expect to go back in one piece in this state?
Or she didn’t think she would get this drunk?
Why did she try to anyway?
He had a lot of questions to ask, but he knew she isn’t in a state of answering questions.
He sighed.
He picked her up once more, making sure her head was balanced properly on his shoulder and apparated into his bedroom.
He placed her on his bed, and she fell unceremoniously with a loud grunt. Her left arm was in an awkward position, twisting under her head, but for some reason, she didn’t find it at all uncomfortable. Instead, the moment her head hit his pillow, she was lost to the world.
Seeing this, Draco decided to leave her alone. He may have wanted to know a lot about what had happened to her, but his curiosity can wait.
For once, he can curb it.
Initially, he didn’t want anything to do with her, since after finding out the war heroine was moving into the apartment next to his; but after that incident in the library, he was intrigued. He didn’t see himself as someone who follows women around, but he was willing to do anything to feed his interest.
She had changed, he realises, but then again, haven’t them all? One mustn’t simply fight in a war and got out of it unscathed. Her posture was worse than before, more rigid; as if she was waiting for something to attack her. Her skin was paler, sickly almost.
She hadn’t changed too much though, he concurred, especially when he followed her towards the Eiffel Tower that morning. Figured that her habit of going to the nearest library hasn’t changed. God knows how often he saw her between the shelves of the Potions section back at Hogwarts. At that time, she didn’t realise that she was being followed, too wrapped up in her mind to notice the blond.
And yet, after reading the book she was holding, he realised that there is more to it about this woman than he let himself know.
Why was she reading on memory loss?
Once again, he has a lot of questions, but he restrained himself.
Although there was a question of why did he even care?
He asked himself, but even he couldn’t find the answer to that.
Her loud snore shook him out of his thoughts. He took a glance at the sleeping woman and smirked amusedly.
After pulling out her wand, that was peaking from the sleeve of her dress, and placing it on the nightstand, he made sure she was alright. Once he was certain, he walked out of the room; approaching his sofa. It wasn’t the most ideal place to sleep in, but he it wasn’t as if he has any options left.
He slept better that night than he had before. Maybe it had something to do with the company he was keeping back in his bedroom, snoring away the night.
It feels nice to not sleep alone, for once.
~.~
Thump. Thump. Thump.
She reached behind her head to grope for the hammer that was hitting her. The pain was unbearable, and she needed it to stop.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Feeling nothing on her head, she pulled her hand back in confusion. Why is her head hurting so much?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Oh. A hangover. Figures.
Despite being in this position many times before, she still hadn’t gotten used to the feeling.
And just like many times before, she swore that she wouldn’t drink as much anymore. Although, just like many times before, she knew she’ll break it eventually.
She groaned out loud in pain, and the hard throbbing eased. Alright, groaning is good. Making noises means no pain.
She groaned louder than before, in her attempt to ease the headache altogether. In her state of disorientation, she didn’t realise that she had woken up the blond that was sleeping soundly on the sofa with the noises she was making.
She didn’t even realise that she’s not sleeping in her own bed.
Until she took a whiff of the pillow under her head. It didn’t smell anything like hers.
Sandalwood. That was the first thing the scent reminded her of. As far as she knows, she doesn’t wear anything of that smell. A faint smell of aftershave filled her nose, and again, she doesn’t use aftershave. A quick trimming spell was all she needed.
She’s in a man’s room.
The realisation made her open her eyes quickly in a panic. Big mistake.
The light from the window by the foot of the bed shined into her eyes, blinding her. In under normal circumstances, the direct sunlight is already irksome, but the incessant throbbing at the back of her head increased in magnitude, and she quickly shut her eyelids back in a vain attempt to calm it down.
When it didn’t happen, she tried groaning again. Just like before, it was all in vain.
What is she doing here in a man’s room?
She could vaguely feel the fabric of her clothes from yesterday on her skin. That means two things: one, she didn’t have a one-night stand resulting from a night in the pub yesterday, two, whoever saved her the embarrassment from waking up in a random street corner again must have been a nice man.
And smells good too.
“Granger, stop sniffing my pillow.”
She stopped doing just that. She recognised that voice anywhere.
“Muhlfui?” Her voice was muffled by the pillow. She still refused to raise her head to address the wizard properly; she had learned her lesson about sudden movements, after all.
There was a moment of silence, and she wondered why.
“You’re hungover, aren’t you Granger?”
She could almost hear the smirk in his face.
Finally, she slowly raised her head, still mindful of the pounding headache, and looked at him with narrowed eyes. In a small moment of immaturity, she had the urge to stick her tongue out to him. Although, she restrained herself, knowing that they haven’t reached the level of familiarity (despite knowing each other for more than five years) for her to do so without expecting any consequences. You can never know what to expect from this unpredictable blond. Instead, she made her irritation known with three simple words:
“Fuck off, Malfoy.”
“As far as I know, that is my bed you’re sleeping in.”
And so, it is. She can’t argue with him on that one.
She tilted her head to the side, cushioning her head on the pillow still, to look at the blond.
“What am I doing here?” The headache was a mild annoyance now, her focus is entirely on her amused neighbour, who was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed on his chest. Thankfully, she can now speak in full sentences. That’s a start.
“I followed you from the library. Watched you drink. Then followed you back home. And then you fell on the streets. Tried to bring you back to your house, but your door’s locked. So, I brought you in here instead. The end.”
It’s funny that his response was something she didn’t expect any less. Even though they seldom talk to each other (other than to insult one another as kids, or to exchange awkward greetings by their front doors), she had always taken him as one who talks with bluntness.
“Why didn’t you just apparate me to my house?”
“You have wards, Granger. Besides, I’ve never been inside your house. I didn’t think you would appreciate my risking splinching us if I try.”
She begrudgingly agreed.
"Why did you follow me?"
He paled slightly, but he didn't answer. She decided to let him slide, especially when he had opened his house for her own comfort.
With a sudden movement, she saw him pushing himself off the frame and approached his small cabinet by the nightstand. Only then did she realise her wand, that was placed there by his little alarm clock. He opened the small door and pulled out a vial of an unrecognisable potion. He then gave it to her; gesturing her to take it.
“Drink it.”
“What is it?”
“Just drink it. It’ll help you.”
She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. As a response, he rolled his eyes, and said, “If I wanted to poison you, Granger, I would’ve done that years ago.”
She slowly pushed herself up and leaned against the headboard of the bed. Meanwhile, Draco uncorked the vial and passed it to her.
Hermione took it out of his hands, and after sending a silent prayer to whoever’s up there listening, she drank the potion carefully.
It tasted like white chocolate, and the sweetness compelled her to drink more to combat the bitter taste in her mouth. No sooner than ten seconds, her throbbing headache was gone, her nausea cleared, and the direct sunlight is no longer maddening (well, no more than usual).
“Was that a hangover potion?”
“Yes, it’s my own recipe.”
That would explain why she didn’t recognise it in the first place.
“You make your own potions?” She asked, even though curiously, with a slight hint of doubt in her voice.
He bristled slightly. “It’s what I do for a living.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You have an apothecary?”
He didn’t say anything else, but his silence was all the confirmation she needed.
“Thank you, for that.”
She left without saying anything else. He watched her, not bothering to stop her.
She noted silently that her shoe has gone missing. Doesn't matter; it wasn't her favourite pair anyway.
~.~
Things changed after that day.
He noticed, and he knew she did too.
As a week had gone by, their exchanges were less stifled than before. Maybe it was because he had already seen the worse of her, or maybe it was because he was scared to be left alone once more, but he would often wait behind his door for hers to be opened just so he could catch her before she went back to the library (he assumed).
They had started to become less rude to each other, opting to be more courteous. Sooner than later, their civility had turned to a tentative acquaintanceship, one he was comfortable enough to share the location of the apothecary; which was a few doors down from the entrance of Wizarding Paris from the muggle one.
He didn’t expect her to find him, but when he saw Granger at the entrance to his shop, he was pleasantly surprised.
“I’m hungry. Do you want to go and get something to eat?”
His raised eyebrows were the only response to the question. Nevertheless, he took her up on her offer.
~.~
They were currently sitting outside at a restaurant across his apothecary. With their food taken away, they decided to follow the meal up with tea. When he asked her the question, she was taken aback and almost spilt hers on the table:
“Why were you reading up on memory loss?”
She looked at him with surprise in her eyes. It had been weeks since the incident, and she didn’t think he would remember it. But, by the look on his face, she knew that it was a question he had wanted to ask for a while now; just that he couldn’t find the proper timing to do so.
For some reason, she doesn’t get angry at him as much as she had last time.
“I Obliviated my parents right before I left with Harry and Ron. I thought that if they think I didn’t exist; they would at least be safe.”
She stopped talking and looked at him, to see his reaction. He was surprised, to say the least. His astonished look signifies his admiration at her strength on taking the risk, and for some reason, his response pushed her to continue. It was somewhat exciting to draw such palpable reactions from the usually stoic blond.
“When I tried to bring them back, something wrong happened. Either I fucked up, or the spell was butchered, but the next thing I knew, my parents were at St. Mungo’s and I found myself here.”
He nodded, although she doesn’t know why he does so. Maybe it was his own way to show he sympathises with her.
She doesn’t expect him to say anything else. To be honest, his silence was deeply appreciated.
“What happened to the Demented Duo? Aren’t they looking for you?”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, he would refer to her best friends as such.
“They know I’m here. I just don’t let them come.”
“You’re pushing them away.” He said, matter-of-factly.
She smiled sadly and didn’t even try to deny it.
“Why?”
“They… can be overwhelming at times. They tried to be supportive, and others too; but I knew at that moment that nothing that they say or do can help me feel better.
“So, I left.” She sighed.
She didn’t know why she took the time to visit him at his apothecary, nor did know why she even trusted him enough with the things no one else was privy to. But he was prepared to listen, and so she continued.
By the time they had ended their conversation, their tea had gone as cold as the air, and they left the restaurant with more open minds regarding the other.
~.~
They were on their way back from the library, after yet another futile search for the answers behind her parents’ demise. It has been three weeks since he had picked her up from the very streets they were currently walking on. Even though this time, it was under different circumstances, and yet the mood that rings in the rain was reminiscent of it.
Melancholy; confusion; that’s what she’s feeling now.
Hermione decided to limit library visits to only a few days in a week so she could allow herself to take a breather. Instead, during the days where she’s not in the library, she would help Draco out in his apothecary, manning the front while he works from the back. In turn, Draco would close shop on the days she would go to the library and helped her find the answers she needed to bring her parents back.
But, after the umpteenth attempt, she was starting to realise that all of this might be for nought.
“What am I doing wrong?”
She was asking herself, but he had overheard, and replied, “Nothing. You’re doing the best you can.”
“I feel like I haven’t done much, though.”
“You’re a lot stronger than you let yourself to believe.” He said without looking at her. She took a glance at him and saw his soften gaze still, and knew that he didn’t say it out of obligation.
She smiled at him. His reassurance was just what she needed.
Now, to get out from this rain.
~.~
It was probably too fast.
The way they moved on from barely knowing each other to being the other’s shoulder to lean on.
But after the months of solitary, from both parties, it was understandable.
She still doesn’t know why he moved here. She still doesn’t understand why he had opened his apothecary in Paris out of all places; but she was not as upfront as he is, and he doesn’t try to elaborate, so she kept silent.
And yet, not knowing doesn’t throw her off like she would think.
Maybe one day, she’ll go back to England, and make amends with the friends and family she had selfishly pushed away.
She still hasn’t picked up the courage to do so.
What an irony.
But she had kicked out her self-pitying habits and started anew. Her job in the apothecary provided more mental stability than it does financially, and in return, she delivered comfort in the blond’s life.
It’s a slow healing, but she’s getting there.
They both are.
~.~
THE END
Author: theallwymonster
Prompt: # H37 by agnmag
Pairing(s): Draco/Hermione
Word Count: 4776
Rating: R
Warning(s): Implicit Alcohol Abuse, Mild Profanity
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks to my beta, A! I also want to thank the moderators for being patient with my constant need for an extension. Fic was inspired by Perfect Places by Lorde. Even though the prompt is in the first point of view, the entire fic is in the third. I hope the prompter wouldn’t mind. Also, I haven’t written for a fest in a while. I hope I mature in my writing style as I have literally. The ending might be slightly abrupt, but I’m planning on expanding it in the future. Until then, it is open for any interpretations.
Summary: Absolution; what a funny word to her now. She knew she wouldn’t find hers.
Two Years after the War; somewhere in Paris.
Was it a wise decision to pack up everything she has and leave for a different country?
Probably not.
Does she regret doing it?
Absolutely not.
She stares at the city before her from the balcony of the one-bedroom flat she is renting. She sees a man cycling on the pavement who almost hit the pedestrians in his haste; she sees a woman holding her son’s hand as he tries (to no avail) pulling her towards a nearby ice cream cart; she sees first-time tourists as they admire the Eiffel Tower (at least that’s what she figured as she follows their gaze, and which the former is at least a few more kilometres still).
She observes these little things that are happening below her and wistfully smiles.
Things here are simple. Oh, how she wishes her own life is the same.
She takes a final glance at the scene below her and retreats into her flat.
~.~
She opens her front door and jumps back at the sight of the familiar blond opposite her. He too looks at her with surprise but quickly changes his face to his usual mask of monotony.
“Granger.”
“Malfoy.”
She still cannot get used to the fact she will see him again in such a place. Sure, the flat isn’t as bad as one might think, but it is a let-down from what the luxury the ex-Slytherin is used to.
“Have a good day.” He nods to her and heads towards the stairs. Hermione stared at his back and only looks away when he disappears to the floor below. She shakes her head, and frowns; why was she staring at him?
It is weird that they hadn’t gone further from awkward pleasantries. They had been neighbours for a few months now, and yet it is as if they had an unspoken agreement to be as indifferent to the other as possible. After all, how did one properly act when they encountered their former enemy?
In the end, no matter how unusual this arrangement is, she’s content with it. He minds his own business and doesn’t try to pry into hers, and she’s fine with that.
She locks the door behind her and takes a deep breath.
Another day in the library, it is.
~.~
Many associate emotions with colours.
She thinks it’s bullshit.
Maybe there are others who view it that way, and while she’s not one to discredit one’s difference, she still found it hard to associate her feelings with something as superfluous as colours.
Sad is a gloomy blue.
Red is a fiery red.
Jealousy is an ugly green.
Happy is a bright yellow.
If blue is as sad as it seemed, why does it calm her so?
If red is as fiery as it sounded, why does it tire her?
If green is as ugly as it’s portrayed, why is it the colour of the beautiful nature around her?
If yellow is as happy as they say it was, why does it annoy her?
Exactly her thoughts. Complete irony.
Because when she’s feeling; she doesn’t see colours.
When she’s sad, she sees nothing.
When she’s angry, she sees nothing.
When she’s jealous, she sees nothing.
When she’s happy, she sees nothing.
Instead, she feels.
And there’s nothing to accompany her while she does.
Although, the absence of colour, while it suits her so, didn’t help her deny one thing.
Begrudgingly, she admits; she’s truly on her own.
~.~
In the library, she sits. Reading.
Searching.
It’s a routine she had adopted two weeks ago. England might have the biggest muggle library in the world, but its wizarding library can’t beat the massive archive hidden under the front right leg of the Eiffel Tower. Strong concealment charms were placed around said leg. Hence only magical folks alike can see the beautiful red door lies in front of the staircase that lead the visitors underground.
Although, the library wasn’t the first thing that popped in her mind when she arrived here in Paris. Initially, she had just wanted to run away; disregarding the library’s existence. In fact, she wasn’t sure of its presence until she read it on the Daily Prophet a month ago.
She finally got her act together, after months of self-pitying. And so, she goes back to what she is known for; researching. It holds a sort of semblance to her old self, and she’s more than happy to accept the opportunity to become herself once more.
And yet, her solution hasn’t presented itself yet in a way that she wants it to.
Surrounded by tall towers of books and encyclopaedias, she had been reading the same page over and over while these thoughts ran through her head. Suddenly, she heard someone clearing their throat next to her.
She jumps. Turning her head to the direction of the sudden noise, she is taken aback to see her formidable neighbour leaning against the bookshelf on her right.
“Granger. Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Malfoy. Why am I surprised to find you here?”
The blond raised his left eyebrow in question. “Maybe because you underestimate everyone but yourself?”
She bristles slightly on her seat. She supposed she had asked to be replied at with a snide remark, considering the way she had acted, but he did start it first. Her initial response wasn’t unprecedented.
Instead of answering him, she chooses to ignore him and continued reading. Her mind is still on the blond, but she pushes him out of his thoughts and skims the words in front of her. Something about a long-lasting side effect of the Polyjuice Potion caught her attention, but her neighbour won’t let her go that easily.
“What are you reading?”
He didn’t ask for her permission when he snatched the book from her hands. She makes a sound of protest, but he doesn’t pay heed to it. Instead, he fiddles through the pages, and read some words aloud:
“. . . temporary memory erasure can be done by an improper concoction of the Dreamless Sleep Potion. . .”
“. . . Seventeen out of twenty cases show that too much of the powdered moon dust in Amortentia can cause the drinker to lose their memories of their lives prior consuming this potion. . .”
When he finished, he looked at her with a calculated yet soft expression. He is almost afraid of asking her, but his curiosity pushes him ahead anyway.
“Why are you reading up on memory loss, Granger?”
Angry at his intrusion of her privacy, she pushes her chair back angrily and stands up, causing one of the towers of books to topple down on the floor. She winced at the loud thuds the books created as they hit the ground but didn’t break eye contact with him.
Without looking away, Hermione flicks her wand, and the books are placed back to their respective shelves. Malfoy still has the same look on his face, but it was slightly more guarded and careful now that he realises just how volatile she is.
“Mind your damn business, Malfoy.”
His pitying look was what ticked her off. She could face with being called a coward, she could humour his rudely taking the book out of her hands, she could even stand being called an idiot by some, but one thing she couldn’t stand is when someone pitied her. She doesn’t need anyone’s pity; especially not his.
Her sudden anger is confusing for him, but he doesn’t try to confront her. When she walks away leaving loud, annoyed stomps echoing through the walls in her wake, he just stares at her disappearing form; still holding onto the book.
It isn’t until she reaches home does she realise that she hasn’t felt anything but despair and self-pity until she had talked with Malfoy.
The change, even though unhealthy, is welcomed.
~.~
She thinks about what will happen if she had just left them alone.
If she didn’t try to reverse the spell.
Would she able to bear the pain of knowing her parents will never remember her?
It truly is better than rendering them to insanity, isn’t it?
She couldn’t dwell on what if’s now; what’s done is done.
The constant empty stares they share to the world, no matter how many times she visited hoping they would change.
Their erratic behaviour and intolerance to the slightest touch of her hand on their arms, causing them to thrash about on their beds.
Their incoherent mumbling to themselves as she watched them picking at their nails.
Their refusal to eat unless someone is feeding them.
It was too much for her to bear.
So, like any other coward, she knew; she ran.
Yes, she admits she’s one. There is no doubt about it. Every time she wanted to conquer her fears, she would change her mind and retreat. She was a mere shell of the passionate girl she used to be, and there was no one here to stop her otherwise.
At first, she didn’t care. She stopped caring ages ago. Let everyone else think of the worst of her because whatever they think of her right now was probably accurate.
She was selfish; she understood that.
By now, she knew her absolution was far from her reach.
She pulled herself together soon enough though. Giving up isn’t something she is accustomed to, no matter how hard life has pushed her down.
And yet, she stayed hidden.
Still searching, but hidden.
~.~
Never in a million years, she would consider being agitated for staying in the library for too long.
And yet, here she is, wishing to leave as soon as possible.
But, she can’t leave. No; not yet.
She needs answers that only this library can offer her, although they were nowhere to be found.
Every book in this library mocks her; taunting her with the knowledge she needed like a rider dangling a carrot in front of their horse. She could feel herself getting closer to what she needed, only for it to be taken away from her faster than a Snitch.
She promised that she wouldn’t do it again. It had only brought her more bad than good.
Yet, if she stayed here any longer, she knew she would drive herself crazy.
Didn’t even bother to put the books away, she stood up and walked towards the row of Floo’s by the by the exit counters.
The blond, who has been watching her discreetly through the shelves right behind her desk, stood up and followed her.
She didn’t hear any of his footsteps.
~.~
She’s drunk, again.
She lied sprawled on the ground, her knees bleeding, the heel of her shoe stuck between the flagstones. It was cold as the heavy rain poured from above. She was sure it was one of those days when good things simply didn’t happen. She was about to burst into tears when a pair of black shoes and an extended hand appeared in her visual field.
She looked up.
As if it couldn’t get any worse, she sees none other than Draco Malfoy, and she couldn’t hold back her tears anymore.
“Come on Granger, let’s get you home.” Malfoy impatiently shook his hand, prompting her to take it.
When she made no moves to do so, he sighed in frustration. It appeared to him that she was more willing to lay there and wallow in self-pity than to accept his help. Although he knew, he couldn’t leave her behind like this, especially considering the pathetic state she is in.
With a groan of resignation, he bent down to her level and hooked his arm under her shoulder. Mindful of her injury, he placed his left arm under her knees and pulled her closer to his chest. Looking around to make sure there were no unexpecting Muggles in their vicinity, which he had doubted as it was late in the night and no one would be caught dead in the middle of this rain; he turned on the spot and Apparated them out of there.
Her shoe remained between the flagstones; forgotten as the raindrops pelted against the leather skin relentlessly.
~.~
They landed on the doorstep of her apartment. He tilted her upright and placed her foot on the floor, letting her lean on himself as he tried her doorknob. No luck. He asked her for her keys, but he received a blank stare from the drunk woman as a reply. By the lack of words, he concluded that she had apparated out of her apartment, and didn’t bring her keys out with her.
Did she really expect to go back in one piece in this state?
Or she didn’t think she would get this drunk?
Why did she try to anyway?
He had a lot of questions to ask, but he knew she isn’t in a state of answering questions.
He sighed.
He picked her up once more, making sure her head was balanced properly on his shoulder and apparated into his bedroom.
He placed her on his bed, and she fell unceremoniously with a loud grunt. Her left arm was in an awkward position, twisting under her head, but for some reason, she didn’t find it at all uncomfortable. Instead, the moment her head hit his pillow, she was lost to the world.
Seeing this, Draco decided to leave her alone. He may have wanted to know a lot about what had happened to her, but his curiosity can wait.
For once, he can curb it.
Initially, he didn’t want anything to do with her, since after finding out the war heroine was moving into the apartment next to his; but after that incident in the library, he was intrigued. He didn’t see himself as someone who follows women around, but he was willing to do anything to feed his interest.
She had changed, he realises, but then again, haven’t them all? One mustn’t simply fight in a war and got out of it unscathed. Her posture was worse than before, more rigid; as if she was waiting for something to attack her. Her skin was paler, sickly almost.
She hadn’t changed too much though, he concurred, especially when he followed her towards the Eiffel Tower that morning. Figured that her habit of going to the nearest library hasn’t changed. God knows how often he saw her between the shelves of the Potions section back at Hogwarts. At that time, she didn’t realise that she was being followed, too wrapped up in her mind to notice the blond.
And yet, after reading the book she was holding, he realised that there is more to it about this woman than he let himself know.
Why was she reading on memory loss?
Once again, he has a lot of questions, but he restrained himself.
Although there was a question of why did he even care?
He asked himself, but even he couldn’t find the answer to that.
Her loud snore shook him out of his thoughts. He took a glance at the sleeping woman and smirked amusedly.
After pulling out her wand, that was peaking from the sleeve of her dress, and placing it on the nightstand, he made sure she was alright. Once he was certain, he walked out of the room; approaching his sofa. It wasn’t the most ideal place to sleep in, but he it wasn’t as if he has any options left.
He slept better that night than he had before. Maybe it had something to do with the company he was keeping back in his bedroom, snoring away the night.
It feels nice to not sleep alone, for once.
~.~
Thump. Thump. Thump.
She reached behind her head to grope for the hammer that was hitting her. The pain was unbearable, and she needed it to stop.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Feeling nothing on her head, she pulled her hand back in confusion. Why is her head hurting so much?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Oh. A hangover. Figures.
Despite being in this position many times before, she still hadn’t gotten used to the feeling.
And just like many times before, she swore that she wouldn’t drink as much anymore. Although, just like many times before, she knew she’ll break it eventually.
She groaned out loud in pain, and the hard throbbing eased. Alright, groaning is good. Making noises means no pain.
She groaned louder than before, in her attempt to ease the headache altogether. In her state of disorientation, she didn’t realise that she had woken up the blond that was sleeping soundly on the sofa with the noises she was making.
She didn’t even realise that she’s not sleeping in her own bed.
Until she took a whiff of the pillow under her head. It didn’t smell anything like hers.
Sandalwood. That was the first thing the scent reminded her of. As far as she knows, she doesn’t wear anything of that smell. A faint smell of aftershave filled her nose, and again, she doesn’t use aftershave. A quick trimming spell was all she needed.
She’s in a man’s room.
The realisation made her open her eyes quickly in a panic. Big mistake.
The light from the window by the foot of the bed shined into her eyes, blinding her. In under normal circumstances, the direct sunlight is already irksome, but the incessant throbbing at the back of her head increased in magnitude, and she quickly shut her eyelids back in a vain attempt to calm it down.
When it didn’t happen, she tried groaning again. Just like before, it was all in vain.
What is she doing here in a man’s room?
She could vaguely feel the fabric of her clothes from yesterday on her skin. That means two things: one, she didn’t have a one-night stand resulting from a night in the pub yesterday, two, whoever saved her the embarrassment from waking up in a random street corner again must have been a nice man.
And smells good too.
“Granger, stop sniffing my pillow.”
She stopped doing just that. She recognised that voice anywhere.
“Muhlfui?” Her voice was muffled by the pillow. She still refused to raise her head to address the wizard properly; she had learned her lesson about sudden movements, after all.
There was a moment of silence, and she wondered why.
“You’re hungover, aren’t you Granger?”
She could almost hear the smirk in his face.
Finally, she slowly raised her head, still mindful of the pounding headache, and looked at him with narrowed eyes. In a small moment of immaturity, she had the urge to stick her tongue out to him. Although, she restrained herself, knowing that they haven’t reached the level of familiarity (despite knowing each other for more than five years) for her to do so without expecting any consequences. You can never know what to expect from this unpredictable blond. Instead, she made her irritation known with three simple words:
“Fuck off, Malfoy.”
“As far as I know, that is my bed you’re sleeping in.”
And so, it is. She can’t argue with him on that one.
She tilted her head to the side, cushioning her head on the pillow still, to look at the blond.
“What am I doing here?” The headache was a mild annoyance now, her focus is entirely on her amused neighbour, who was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed on his chest. Thankfully, she can now speak in full sentences. That’s a start.
“I followed you from the library. Watched you drink. Then followed you back home. And then you fell on the streets. Tried to bring you back to your house, but your door’s locked. So, I brought you in here instead. The end.”
It’s funny that his response was something she didn’t expect any less. Even though they seldom talk to each other (other than to insult one another as kids, or to exchange awkward greetings by their front doors), she had always taken him as one who talks with bluntness.
“Why didn’t you just apparate me to my house?”
“You have wards, Granger. Besides, I’ve never been inside your house. I didn’t think you would appreciate my risking splinching us if I try.”
She begrudgingly agreed.
"Why did you follow me?"
He paled slightly, but he didn't answer. She decided to let him slide, especially when he had opened his house for her own comfort.
With a sudden movement, she saw him pushing himself off the frame and approached his small cabinet by the nightstand. Only then did she realise her wand, that was placed there by his little alarm clock. He opened the small door and pulled out a vial of an unrecognisable potion. He then gave it to her; gesturing her to take it.
“Drink it.”
“What is it?”
“Just drink it. It’ll help you.”
She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. As a response, he rolled his eyes, and said, “If I wanted to poison you, Granger, I would’ve done that years ago.”
She slowly pushed herself up and leaned against the headboard of the bed. Meanwhile, Draco uncorked the vial and passed it to her.
Hermione took it out of his hands, and after sending a silent prayer to whoever’s up there listening, she drank the potion carefully.
It tasted like white chocolate, and the sweetness compelled her to drink more to combat the bitter taste in her mouth. No sooner than ten seconds, her throbbing headache was gone, her nausea cleared, and the direct sunlight is no longer maddening (well, no more than usual).
“Was that a hangover potion?”
“Yes, it’s my own recipe.”
That would explain why she didn’t recognise it in the first place.
“You make your own potions?” She asked, even though curiously, with a slight hint of doubt in her voice.
He bristled slightly. “It’s what I do for a living.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You have an apothecary?”
He didn’t say anything else, but his silence was all the confirmation she needed.
“Thank you, for that.”
She left without saying anything else. He watched her, not bothering to stop her.
She noted silently that her shoe has gone missing. Doesn't matter; it wasn't her favourite pair anyway.
~.~
Things changed after that day.
He noticed, and he knew she did too.
As a week had gone by, their exchanges were less stifled than before. Maybe it was because he had already seen the worse of her, or maybe it was because he was scared to be left alone once more, but he would often wait behind his door for hers to be opened just so he could catch her before she went back to the library (he assumed).
They had started to become less rude to each other, opting to be more courteous. Sooner than later, their civility had turned to a tentative acquaintanceship, one he was comfortable enough to share the location of the apothecary; which was a few doors down from the entrance of Wizarding Paris from the muggle one.
He didn’t expect her to find him, but when he saw Granger at the entrance to his shop, he was pleasantly surprised.
“I’m hungry. Do you want to go and get something to eat?”
His raised eyebrows were the only response to the question. Nevertheless, he took her up on her offer.
~.~
They were currently sitting outside at a restaurant across his apothecary. With their food taken away, they decided to follow the meal up with tea. When he asked her the question, she was taken aback and almost spilt hers on the table:
“Why were you reading up on memory loss?”
She looked at him with surprise in her eyes. It had been weeks since the incident, and she didn’t think he would remember it. But, by the look on his face, she knew that it was a question he had wanted to ask for a while now; just that he couldn’t find the proper timing to do so.
For some reason, she doesn’t get angry at him as much as she had last time.
“I Obliviated my parents right before I left with Harry and Ron. I thought that if they think I didn’t exist; they would at least be safe.”
She stopped talking and looked at him, to see his reaction. He was surprised, to say the least. His astonished look signifies his admiration at her strength on taking the risk, and for some reason, his response pushed her to continue. It was somewhat exciting to draw such palpable reactions from the usually stoic blond.
“When I tried to bring them back, something wrong happened. Either I fucked up, or the spell was butchered, but the next thing I knew, my parents were at St. Mungo’s and I found myself here.”
He nodded, although she doesn’t know why he does so. Maybe it was his own way to show he sympathises with her.
She doesn’t expect him to say anything else. To be honest, his silence was deeply appreciated.
“What happened to the Demented Duo? Aren’t they looking for you?”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, he would refer to her best friends as such.
“They know I’m here. I just don’t let them come.”
“You’re pushing them away.” He said, matter-of-factly.
She smiled sadly and didn’t even try to deny it.
“Why?”
“They… can be overwhelming at times. They tried to be supportive, and others too; but I knew at that moment that nothing that they say or do can help me feel better.
“So, I left.” She sighed.
She didn’t know why she took the time to visit him at his apothecary, nor did know why she even trusted him enough with the things no one else was privy to. But he was prepared to listen, and so she continued.
By the time they had ended their conversation, their tea had gone as cold as the air, and they left the restaurant with more open minds regarding the other.
~.~
They were on their way back from the library, after yet another futile search for the answers behind her parents’ demise. It has been three weeks since he had picked her up from the very streets they were currently walking on. Even though this time, it was under different circumstances, and yet the mood that rings in the rain was reminiscent of it.
Melancholy; confusion; that’s what she’s feeling now.
Hermione decided to limit library visits to only a few days in a week so she could allow herself to take a breather. Instead, during the days where she’s not in the library, she would help Draco out in his apothecary, manning the front while he works from the back. In turn, Draco would close shop on the days she would go to the library and helped her find the answers she needed to bring her parents back.
But, after the umpteenth attempt, she was starting to realise that all of this might be for nought.
“What am I doing wrong?”
She was asking herself, but he had overheard, and replied, “Nothing. You’re doing the best you can.”
“I feel like I haven’t done much, though.”
“You’re a lot stronger than you let yourself to believe.” He said without looking at her. She took a glance at him and saw his soften gaze still, and knew that he didn’t say it out of obligation.
She smiled at him. His reassurance was just what she needed.
Now, to get out from this rain.
~.~
It was probably too fast.
The way they moved on from barely knowing each other to being the other’s shoulder to lean on.
But after the months of solitary, from both parties, it was understandable.
She still doesn’t know why he moved here. She still doesn’t understand why he had opened his apothecary in Paris out of all places; but she was not as upfront as he is, and he doesn’t try to elaborate, so she kept silent.
And yet, not knowing doesn’t throw her off like she would think.
Maybe one day, she’ll go back to England, and make amends with the friends and family she had selfishly pushed away.
She still hasn’t picked up the courage to do so.
What an irony.
But she had kicked out her self-pitying habits and started anew. Her job in the apothecary provided more mental stability than it does financially, and in return, she delivered comfort in the blond’s life.
It’s a slow healing, but she’s getting there.
They both are.
~.~
THE END