Disclaimer: Though I have tried very, very hard, J.K. Rowling hasn't given me Harry Potter yet. Maybe she'll let me keep Draco… (I do not own Harry Potter) (unfortunately)
A/N: the first chapter is basically background info. It'll show where they are at this point in time. If you have any suggestions or ideas, you can review. That's at the bottom.
Draco hated the winter. It was cold…too cold. He hated the frosty winds that stung his nose and ears, hated the layers upon layers of clothing, hated the wisp of steam that travelled from his thin lips, but most of all, he hated the sadness. Everything was dead in the winter. The flowers gone and dead in the cold ground, the animals all hiding from the cold in their burrows and dens, and the absence of people bustling around on the streets. It was sad and miserable, and Draco hated sad and miserable.
It was a mere five years after the war, and Draco was still getting glares from strangers on the streets. It was as if Draco himself were the Dark Lord. Lucius had either been killed, imprisoned in Azkaban, or fleeing the Ministry in Canada or some other obscure country that no one bothered to look in. Draco could never think of Lucius as Father again. He had never been much of a father to begin with. Though no scars tainted his perfectly pale skin, there were scars in his mind, images he could never forget, as his father—no, Lucius—tortured another muggle. His mother, to this day, kept herself locked in her bedroom. She only took dinner from the House Elves (who were free and had a healthy salary, thank you), and the last time Draco had seen her was when she came to wish him happy birthday. She went back immediately, and sobs echoed throughout the house until Draco had had enough and cast a silencing spell on the room, ensuring that he would not have to hear his mother's sobs.
Draco Malfoy had donated millions of his fortune to various rebuilding efforts and organizations, in hope that he would not have to look upon his beloved city in ruins for much longer. He donated anonymously, of course. He didn't need people thinking that now that the war was over, the Malfoys were automatically good and generous to their government. He had a reputation to uphold. He attended Ministry balls and fundraising events, donated to the Potter Foundation for Orphans, and had even attended the annual event honoring the War Heroes. He had not been included in that group. He was lucky that he wasn't rotting in Azkaban at this very moment. Thanks to Potter, that perfect little….he sighed. There was no use cursing the name of the man that had literally saved his life. But a least Potter had a wife, even if it was the Weaselette.
Now that the war was over and Lucius's illegal everythings were brought to light, nobody seemed to want to date the richest, most eligible bachelor of the year. Which was totally ridiculous in Draco's opinion. To somehow escape the hateful glares of everyone on the streets, Draco had left Malfoy Manor to Narcissa with strict orders for the elves to keep everything clean and bought an apartment in the heart of Muggle London. God save the Queen.
However ironic and taboo it might seem, the youngest Malfoy was rather enjoying his time spent amongst the muggles. But now, he looked out his window on the busy street covered in snow and sipped his morning tea, wrinkling his nose. Oh, how he hated the snow. Nevertheless, he donned his ever-Slytherin green and silver scarf, set his mug on the counter, and headed out the door to his muggle job as teacher at Crow School, one of the most elite boarding schools for boys in the world. He had chosen to live off campus at his own residence. It was much easier than having to deal with all the brats every day all day. Draco needed his Draco time.
Draco went to a muggle University and everything just to become a teacher. A chemistry teacher, of course. Nothing brought Draco closer to his oblivious and naïve days of Hogwarts than a class dedicated to mixing things together to ultimately create an explosion. As much as he loved magic, this past year, he had grown further and further away from the Magical Community. Sometimes he thought he was actually becoming a muggle. He had muggle friends, a muggle job, lived in a muggle apartment building in flipping Muggle London, and even had muggle appliances. What was Draco Malfoy becoming?
Across London in another muggle apartment building, Hermione Granger—soon to be Hermione Weasley—raced across the small, cramped apartment to her bedroom. Looking for a t-shirt—any t-shirt—to throw on underneath her crisp work robes. Hermione almost screamed from the stress of waking up after a night out. She tripped over a stack of books and cursed herself for going out with Ron last night. What was she thinking? Of course she had work the next day. Of course her boss would take any excuse to make her life more of a hell than it already was.
It was easy for Ron; He didn't have another Quidditch match for a month yet. He could stay up all night drinking with his teammates and he could stay home the next day nursing his hangover. Hermione, however, had a real job. She could feel Ron glowering at her as she thought this. Ron hated when she or his family said that Quidditch wasn't a real career. They were right, but Ronald wouldn't stand for it. Ever since he had gotten his contract with the Chudley Cannons a couple years ago, he was more famous than ever. The headlines blared more often than not: War Hero Ronald Weasley with his 5th Shutout as The Chudley Cannons' Keeper. Hermione, as soon as she finished the repeat of 7th year at Hogwarts, went straight to Cambridge University to get a bachelor's degree in Philosophy, and after that, attended training to be a healer at St. Mungo's. She soon found that the medical life wasn't for her and took up a job with the Ministry. In the Department of Mysteries.
Harried and late to work, Hermione threw a handful of floo powder into her fireplace, closed her eyes, took a step forward and said very clearly (as the instruction manual had said) "Ministry of Magic." Moments later she stepped out of the Ministry fireplace, brushed off her robes now covered in a little soot, and headed off towards the lifts, making sure she stopped and greeted many of her colleagues; a handshake here, a kiss on the cheek there, and smiles everywhere. She loved the winter: the crisp smell of winter breezes, bright red cardinals flitting in the wind, sparkling snow falling lazily from the clouds. It was all just so…magical. Hermione had this little…tradition, you may call it. On the first snow of the winter, she would always go on a walk along the street, just to see the beautiful snowflakes land on her nose and eyelashes. She huffed. Why did she feel so foolish and girly sometimes?
Hermione pressed the button on the lift to take her to her Department. In her opinion, she had the best job ever. She worked in the Time Chamber. Most people remarked that she was crazy, out of her mind, but Hermione loved the soft ticks of all the clocks, synchronized meticulously. Technically, you could say that Hermione guarded the door, but no one ever showed their faces in the Time Chamber. The only semi-frequent visitor was her boss, a wizard that was most likely as old as Merlin himself. She wondered how he even got around to places. Life was a mystery. Especially when you work in that specific department. No pun intended.
The old geezer hated her was all that mattered. He went out of his way to give her extra assignments to gather information on. Hermione finished them in less than half an hour. But she didn't tell the old geezer that. Merlin, no. He'd just pile on more work.
Instead, Hermione took the first hour of her job to finish the assignments and then spent the rest of the day (minus her lunch break) reading and listening to music.
Her favorites were the Beatles, Bastille (a new band she'd heard and automatically fell in love with), the Killers, and an assortment of classical pieces. Vampire Weekend, Imagine Dragons, and Of Monsters and Men were also frequented on the magical stereo-type device she slid the CD's in. Hermione loved Muggle music. There was just something about Muggle music that satisfied her thirst for all things crazy. Wizarding musicians always sang of things like moldy toads in their cauldrons. That just wasn't very charming. When muggles sang of lost ways of life and their insecurities, it just seemed to bring Hermione back to the real world, seemed to warn her not to forget the other people who lived in the world. She turned up Bastille as loud as it would go. Thank Merlin for sound proofed walls.
Currently, Hermione was reading up on old wizarding families and their ties to Old and Dark magic. She was planning on writing a book. Maybe a couple interviews and incantations to show the difficulty of Old magic and the traditions old wizarding families had to go through would wrap up the book nicely.
Books aside, Hermione was also working on a new design for time-turners. Most of the time-turners in the Time Chamber had been destroyed, and slowly but surely, they were being remade and replaced in the Chamber. However, the traditional necklace design of the magical devices was bulky and often-times in the way, giving away the person going back to a certain time. Hermione wanted to draw suspicion away from the time-turner and turn it into a more portable and casual item. Necklaces were still popular, but Hermione had been working on watch style time-turners. Maybe it was the room she spent her day in, maybe it was her current fascination with keeping and counting time. Whatever the reason, she believed her design to be ingenious.
It looked and felt like an ordinary watch. The hands still kept the time. However, underneath the façade of the beautifully crafted watch, minute hourglasses spun rapidly at a press from the button next to the one that adjust the time. It was so, so perfect. Hermione really hoped that something she did would turn out perfectly. Like Ron. Soon, she thought to herself. Soon I'll be Mrs. Weasley.
Hermione spent the rest of the day humming along to her favorite songs, reading, and perfecting her first specimen of time-turner.