A/N: This is the first time I've written a Dramione story, so I would really appreciate if you'd take a minute to review and tell me what you think I should improve on. Thanks!
For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger doesn't know.
She's always thought of herself as someone who knows what to do and when to do it, of life as one of those school examinations that she had been famous for excelling at. But now, on the bright June day that she packs her things and signs the divorce papers, she realizes that for once in her life, she doesn't know the answers.
She doesn't know why she accepted Ron's timid, bumbling proposal, why she gowned herself in white and promised to be his lawfully wedded wife. The answer that she's used all these years is that she loves him, but it only occurs to her on a day just like this that she never really did.
She'd thought all their years of friendship was an indicator that they were meant to be. She'd thought that all their experiences together would be enough to hold them together. She didn't take the time to think when Ron, scarlet-faced, mustered up the courage to ask her to marry him. The end of the war was a whirl of chaos, distorted your mind and made you see shadows where there was light. Ron was there, and she grabbed blindly to keep herself afloat. She sees this now - the rosy glass has fallen away and she sees that, behind the facade, the excuses and pretenses, that there never was anything in the first place.
The actual process of divorce goes fairly smoothly. They will have joint custody of Rose (Rose is what makes her feel most guilty about the whole affair, that her daughter will carry the added burden of her broken family during her already stressful OWL year). Ron keeps the house, they dissolve the joint Gringotts account. She does the paperwork herself and tries to act like it's just another report she has to file, just another part of the paper mountain slowly growing on her desk, but she can't ignore the feeling that, with every inky signature, she's slashing away at the picture-perfect life she's always thought she'd have. Ron is quiet throughout the process; she almost misses the shouting and the rows that shook the ceiling but meant that he cared, wanted just as much as she to save the doomed ship that was their marriage. His silence reinforces what's slowly sinking in - that their marriage is gone, sunk to its watery grave.
She buys a small house two hours from London and throws herself into redecorating it, an attempt to keep her mind off the mess that is her life. Old friends come occasionally, and Rose comes at the start of August, but most of the time she's left alone with her muddled thoughts.
Her mood pendulum swings erratically between manic energy and utter despair. On her good days, she hums under her breath as she paints the living room walls a cheerful sunflower yellow and smiles with her coworkers at the Ministry during coffee break. On her bad days, she can't bear to look at her daughter, the only reminder of Ron in her new home. She knows it's not Rose's fault that the long curls she tosses over her shoulder are flaming Weasley red, that her eyes, her height, even the ears that glow red when she's embarrassed are all from the other side of the family, but having this living reminder of Ron in her new life causes a painful twinge in her chest. Rose is fifteen and lovely and headstrong and the reason why Hermione delayed the inevitable divorce for so long.
The days melt into one another and somehow, suddenly, book lists are coming and the beginning of the school year is in sight. Hermione's not sure why she pushes off the inevitable task of picking up Rose's school supplies for as long as she does - probably to avoid awkward run-ins with old classmates - but she finally steels herself to do it on a brisk Saturday in late August. The trip brings a feeling of nostalgia, memories of spending time browsing Flourish and Blott's, of peering at the odd substances in the apothecaries, and of idiosyncratically picking out just the right feather quill. For once, there are no interactions with former acquaintances, and she's paying for a bag of owl treats and preparing to go home when she sees Draco Malfoy sitting at an outdoor table at Florean Fortescue's across the street.
He sits alone at a back table, a black cloak buttoned up to his throat. The years have not been kind to him - lines crease the corners of his eyes and his sleek blond hair is threaded with thin ribbons of gray. He looks worn and tired, but his pompous air from his schooldays is gone. It is this new attitude of humility that propels her to walk across the street and greet the person who was once the boy who tormented her during her years at school.
"Hello," she says awkwardly, sitting down at a nearby table and depositing her bags at her feet.
He nods his head in recognition but doesn't say anything and she doesn't know what to say. So they sit for ten minutes in a heavy silence that seems to press on them until Hermione glances at her watch and rises to leave. He looks up, startled.
"You're leaving?" He makes eye contact for the first time and there's a strange burning intensity in his eyes and she can't look away. His hand brushes hers and she tries not to flinch.
"Will you be here tomorrow?" she asks, and she doesn't know why, of all her former schoolmates, she's offering to spend time with the one who tormented her constantly.
His smile is oh-so-slightly mocking, but it's a smile, and she can't help returning one as she Apparates back home.
She whistles as she prepares supper that night, feeling strangely cheerful for the first time since June. She thinks that it's just relief at finally completing the chore of getting Rose's things, or excitement for her daughter as Rose pores over her new textbooks, but it's only when she wakes up in the middle of the night, the image of gray eyes burned across her retinas when she entertains the idea that maybe the reason for her change in mood has nothing to do with the new school year at all.