Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
Warnings: Adultery & mild profanity. Please do not read if you're uncomfortable with the topic of infidelity, although I promise to deal with it through layered characterisation and not character bashing.
Written for Flaming Moth of Doom's prompt: "Hermione discovers Ron's been cheating on her with the last person she'd ever expect. She goes to her friend Draco for support, but he finds that being supportive is a lot trickier than he'd expected... because he wants her, too."
She sits on her bed and lets her eyes wander around the room. Their room. But this entire room is filled with her presence; none of his. All the little trinkets are her decorations, the layout her idea, the smell her scent. There are a couple of their photos, but he thinks he looks nothing like the earnest, youthful, smiling boy in them anymore.
She has to agree.
-.-.-.-.-.-
Hermione makes her way down the staircase quickly, only stopping for a second to smooth out her fringe in the mirror, then bustles through the corridor. She snatches her coat off the rack and shrugs it on, then flips open her pocket watch and lets out a frustrated growl.
"Are we ready to go?!" she yells up the staircase. "Any later and we'll be queuing up to get in!"
There's a loud crash and thump, followed by a bunch of curse words. Hermione takes to pacing up and down the corridor until five minutes later, Ron bustles down the stairs still swearing under his breath, with his shirt untucked, tie undone, hair mussed and papers slipping out of his files. Just before he nearly stumbles, Hermione rushes over to take a couple of files from him. The papers, however, don't remain within the pile.
"Oh bother!" Hermione groans as she kneels to collect all the loose sheets. "How many times must I tell you to pack your documents the night before so that this doesn't have to happen?"
"It's not my fault!" grumbles Ron as he snatches the papers from Hermione. "I have Shacklebolt to thank for constantly sending me on midnight missions so I don't even get a night before to spare for packing!"
Hermione throws him a deep glare. "You're always the one getting asked! Just because we were the poster children for such efforts doesn't mean we need to be the poster adults for it!"
Ron doesn't look at her as he grumbles, "Well, it's bloody money to be earned, innit?"
Hermione grits her teeth, then packs together the last sheets and dumps it into his arms. "For Merlin's sake, get that tie and shirt in order! You won't want Professor McGonagall regretting that she had let you graduate!"
She expects some kind of retort, but Ron is already heading towards the fireplace with his files still askew. Hermione doesn't say a word more; she follows suit, only to be greeted with a puff of green smoke.
She comes out just after Ron to the entrance of the Ministry, where a small queue is already forming to register all employees. Security had been tightened after a few miscreants breached the system and attempted to impersonate some employees (Harry had delivered the news to his department with red-tinged cheeks). With an important visit today, the checks are longer than usual.
While Ron uses the time to primp himself, Hermione let her eyes wander around the place that she had been working at for over three years. Things had certainly changed; the air of dread, suspicion and even death (the Dementors reeked of it) had long dissipated. Now, everybody was back to a clockwork routine of being plain busy and - Hermione has to admit, even herself - rather colourless.
Following the end of the War, the Ministry had created a new 'task force' and invited Harry, Ron and Hermione to be part of it as 'advisors' given their role in the War. Nobody referred to them by their official designations though, for they were always affectionately termed as the 'Golden Trio'. Ron was now fairly used to the routine of being greeted and treated with a great deal of reverence and found it a great ego-booster for his everyday work. Harry found it slightly discomfiting, but didn't seem to take much offence to it in general. Hermione, on the other hand, thoroughly hated the scrutiny and lack of privacy. She knew there was a special squad of members placed around them at all times to ensure maximum protection for the three of them, but it felt more like a cuff on her own hand rather than any potential criminal's. This led her to prefer staying in the sanctuary of her office delving into research and only making the occasional trips outside to surface more information.
Right now, Ron is already making his way through the crowd. Hermione almost wants to catch up to adjust his messy stack of files, but she loses sight of him within seconds.
"Where's Ron?" Harry appears by her side.
Hermione instinctively flinches. She hates being asked that question.
Simply because most of the time, she has no idea.
-.-.-.-.-.-
She wakes up in the middle of the night with the other half of the bed cold and empty. She trudges out to the sitting room and sits by the fireplace, picking at her nails. She pours herself a glass of Firewhisky. By her third glass, she can feel the room spinning even though she hasn't moved an inch. She hopes that he would appear then, take the glass out of her hand, kiss her forehead and coax her to bed. She hopes and hopes and hopes, and the person that appears next has a mop of red hair that makes her cry out in relief.
But it isn't him. The news that come next is unsurprising, yet it completely shatters her.
-.-.-.-.-.-
"Somewhere – over there." Hermione waves her hand about dismissively.
"Professor McGonagall will be here any moment and he's milling around?" Harry frowns.
"He'll come. Anyway, it feels strange to be greeting her so formally," says Hermione with a sigh.
"You know all formalities dissipate with privacy." Harry puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"Not when many of them are still sensitive about the role Hogwarts had played in the War," mutters Hermione. "Some of these people here still think we have to draw the line well between our sentimental attachment to the school, and the fact that the school may need a review..."
"It's not a fact," says Harry, adamantly. "Hermione, surely you don't agree with those barmy blokes."
"I'm talking about being sensible Ministry employees and that entails taking into account all stakeholders' perspectives," Hermione protests.
"Sorry, but that doesn't sound very appealing to me at the moment," mutters Harry, as one by one, the Hogwarts staff members appear at the Ministry fireplace. "Because look who's in tow."
"Come on, Harry," says Hermione, eyeing the familiar blond mop of hair behind Professor McGonagall. "I thought you were the one who advocated 'peace' as the new-age buzzword."
"Sure didn't spell 'Malfoy' when I did."
Professor McGonagall nods lightly as she approaches. Harry immediately moves on to lead the way, leaving Hermione to make first eye contact with Draco Malfoy. She regrets it almost immediately.
"Morning, Granger," says Draco, with his signature lip curl in place. "You need to tell Weasley to ease off the humping if you want to have more stylish bedhair."
"Thanks for your daily dose of sexual advice, I really appreciate it," Hermione shoots back almost instantly. "Might want to apply it to yourself if you want to keep your voice. That scratchy tone makes you sound like a strangled chicken."
"Oh no, it's all part and parcel of Position Number Forty-Three. You compromise the voice for the –"
Hermione really isn't in the mood for this, but she rolls her eyes anyway and mutters, "I dare you to continue that at triple the decibels."
"Granger, you're the one who said I'm losing my voice."
For a moment, they look at each other through narrowed eyes.
It is Draco whose smirk widens into a grin first. "Must say you're doing quite well."
Hermione merely shoves him with her elbow. "We have to get inside, cocky fellow. Business time first."
As they trot in after the procession of Hogwarts and Ministry leaders, Hermione can't help casting a quick glance at Draco.
"Missed me?" he asks smoothly.
She rolls her eyes again. "No, but you have the chance to make me jealous with your oh-so-exciting life."
"Why yes, only Granger would be jealous of a professor's life."
"You're continuing a great man's legacy! Why wouldn't I be?"
"That's blasphemy."
"I wasn't being sarcastic," Hermione says with a frown. "Professor Snape really left big boots to fill."
"Bloody big," mutters Draco. "Whereas the little bastards are too big for theirs."
Hermione snorts. "I don't know how you became an educator, really. The kind of things that go on in your mind."
"Well you see, I keep them in my mind and don't let them wander into other people's. Yours just happens to be a bit more permeable..."
"Oh really?" Hermione can't help the snide tone. This is exactly why she doesn't really want to talk to him today, because she doesn't want to overthink things. Yet somehow, she can't stop herself from doing so. She continues, "I thought you act them out with Parkinson."
"Don't talk to me about that woman."
Something freezes inside her. "Why not? Did she... did she leave or something?"
"No, she's happily prancing around my house as if she owns the whole damn place," he replies sharply.
She's not quite sure if the odd feeling pooling within her stomach is that of relief or something else. So Pansy Parkinson's still sticking to Draco Malfoy. She's not hooking up with anyone else.
Maybe.
-.-.-.-.-.-
"Don't do this to yourself," Ginny whispers. "The two of you need to talk, this can't go on any longer."
"Don't tell Harry, please... please don't."
"Till now, you're still trying to protect my brother?" Ginny demands. "You know, I love my brother dearly, and I daresay even more fiercely than you do. But even I wouldn't protect him; you need everybody on your side now!"
"Maybe you saw wrongly..."
"It was dark, yes, but I've got sharp ears and I can tell who that bratty, slutty voice belonged to. As for my brother, I know him inside out and would identify him even if he was turned into a tadpole because he would be the one to swim in circles. He's stuck in a rut and so are you," Ginny says angrily. "The two of you hardly see each other and talk to each other anymore."
"So it's my fault now?" It's her turn to get angry. "It's my fault that I decided to work so bloody hard for our future and when I try to make time for him, he's just never around, and now he goes out and screws another girl whom I have absolutely no idea what he sees in her?!" She is hysterical, but she can't care less. "And you just said I was protecting him!"
"I'm not taking sides. I'm just not letting this go on."
-.-.-.-.-.-
"Granger, don't zone out on me. You're the only means of slight excitement here." Draco scowls. "All these perfunctory visits are boring the bloody hell out of me."
"Well then, you could go home and be further entertained," retorts Hermione, her mind half on Ginny reprimanding her, and half on the thought of Pansy Parkinson literally prancing around the Malfoy Manor.
Then when Draco doesn't reply, she suddenly realises that she might have overstepped a line. "I'm sorry... I was only referring to Parkinson, I wasn't talking about..."
"My mother's not dead, you don't have to tiptoe around her as a subject as though it was bad luck and taboo," he says sharply.
Hermione hesitates, before she drops her voice to barely a whisper. "How is she?"
When his jaw hardens visibly, she reaches out tentatively for his elbow. He pulls back instinctively. "Don't."
"Draco..."
His entire body has gone all stiff, like he used to be. Not right after the War ended, for he was a snivelling, shaking mess hiding behind his mother when smoke and debris were still fluttering around the ruins of Hogwarts. No, it was during the post-War ceremonies, where he was made to attend in a starched suit and a reportedly repentant heart. He had gone up to Harry, Ron and Hermione to apologise through gritted teeth – the first two had been done almost emotionlessly (and accepted with great reluctance particularly on Ron's part).
When it came to Hermione, his mask came down. A twitch of the lip and the glistening teardrop at the edge of his eye was enough to make Hermione lean forward and hug him. Till today, she doesn't know what overcame her at that moment, but all she knows is that Draco had hugged her back tightly and whispered 'I'm sorry' over and over again, his breath hot and ragged in her ear. Harry and Ron had pulled him off her a second later, but from then on, Hermione had tried her very best to treat Draco Malfoy as a brand new man and he seemed to have gladly accepted her olive branch.
"Yeah, she's not dead, but she's seen better days," he finally grunts.
The look on his face tells her that she shouldn't probe further. In fact, he keeps that expression on all the way through the entire visit in which Shacklebolt goes through the various Ministry's newest policies in great detail and discusses possible collaborations with Professor McGonagall and Harry and Ron are trying their best to look their best as they chip in every now and then with their very valued two-cents worth...
She keeps her eye on Draco Malfoy the whole time. Part of her wonders how he reallyis feeling, but another part of her – a larger one, in fact – is dying to ask him something. Something which she's not even sure he has the answer to, or that she even wants an answer to in the first place.
At the reception, she finds Harry deep in conversation with Professor McGonagall, but Ron is nowhere to be seen. Draco walks up to her with an arched eyebrow and casually comments, "Maybe he woke out of his Amortentia stupor."
"What?"
"In love with you for so long even though you've trampled all over his dignity and intelligence? Has to be a love potion's work."
Hermione draws in a sharp breath.
-.-.-.-.-.-
She finds herself sitting down obediently to a breakfast table talk with him the next morning, but she isn't sure what was supposed to come out of it when all she can ask was what he has been doing all night. He murmurs that it was another official duty and that he is tired and needs to go to bed.
She whispers, "Do you still love me, Ron?"
His stoic expression cracks at that very moment. "Why don't you ask yourself that question, Hermione? Do you still love me?"
He leaves before she can answer.
-.-.-.-.-.-
Hermione glares daggers at Draco. "Does every conversation we have haveto begin with you putting down my relationship with Ron? Or for that matter, maybe you're actually just putting me down?"
"You don't have to read between the lines, Granger," says Draco, smoothly.
Hermione scans around the room quickly, then sucks at her bottom lip, all the indignance in her deflating. "Yeah. Maybe there aren't even lines to read in the first place, I don't know why I think there are."
"Cryptic," says Draco, clipping a glass of wine from a nearby waiter and offering it to her. She takes it and swirls the glass without drinking. He smirks. "Care to continue?"
"Now you're the one creating unnecessary lines."
He doesn't retort and merely looks at her thoughtfully. Then his eyes grow a bit narrow and she knows that Ron is behind her.
Draco's lips are curled in an odd way as he nods slightly, but Hermione turns to see that Ron's expression is stone cold. She purses up her lips, but Ron doesn't meet her gaze. Instead, he turns away with his plate of food.
Hermione lets her gaze linger a little longer before she turns back to Draco, who smirks. "Don't bother explaining," he drawls. "I can survive on this earth without a morsel of good faith from a Weasley or a Potter."
"Yeah, you all have survived all this while, great for you," retorts Hermione.
Draco arches an eyebrow.
"Oh don't give me that condescending look, you aren't any better at making things more peaceful!"
"Granger, I didn't even open my mouth," says Draco, now clearly annoyed.
"You did before that!"
"I didn't do it in front of his toady face."
"You see, you see?!"
"Are we really having this conversation?"
"I don't even know why I care so much!" Hermione suddenly feels tears pricking at her eyes and feels horribly foolish. She blinks them back furiously and turns away.
"Granger?" Draco's voice mellows.
She holds up a hand, but she can feel it trembling. "It's okay. I'm okay."
He grabs her by the shoulder and turns her back around. She struggles, but to no avail, and her glimmering eyes are sure to catch his attention.
"I swear I didn't mean to make you caught in the middle," says Draco, a little awkwardly now. "You know the bad blood between Weasley and I isn't going to dissolve just with a few strained apologies and a generally more amiable air in the wizarding world."
"It's not that!" Hermione bursts out. Then immediately, she covers her mouth and squeezes her eyes shut.
"Relax. Everyone else is busy being ambassadorial role models." Then a while later, "Granger, I'd like to think that you and I are the ones on civil terms." Pause. "I mean, you can uh, talk to me."
"Can we go somewhere quieter?" Hermione's voice is cracking and she really wishes to bury herself in a hole now.
Draco doesn't reply; he merely reaches out to take her wrist gently and leads her through the crowd of Ministry and Hogwarts officials. Eventually, they are alone in a corridor where Hermione just leans against the wall and closes her eyes.
"It's more than just these awkward relationships, isn't it?"
Draco Malfoy always has a sense of superiority in his voice whenever he speaks to her; she likes to think that it's programmed in the Malfoy blood, but that just lends weight to the whole ridiculous concept about how genes determine one's character. Furthermore, she has spent the last few years scrubbing the Ministry clean of any lingering strand of such notions.
The sense of superiority has taken on a more amusing tinge ever since she's got to know him better. But it's always there.
This time it isn't. It's the first time she's hearing him sound so humble, like he's really meaning to listen to her.
"Just the crowds," she replies faintly.
Draco snorts. "Are you testing my emotional intelligence, Granger?"
Humility can't last beyond ten seconds, Hermione thinks wryly as she twists the silver band on her ring finger. Her eyes flicker to Draco's bare fingers, then up to meet his intense gaze.
"I did hit a sore spot, didn't I?" Draco asks quietly. "And it's not about a love potion, is it?"
"You're asking a lot of rhetorical questions." Hermione gives him a sour look.
"Well then, thank you for humouring me when I'm just talking to myself." He bows exaggeratedly. "But you know, we're supposed to be..." He now looks a bit uncomfortable as he gestures to Hermione awkwardly. "Talking about you. Or something."
Yeah, we're supposed to be talking about me, thinks Hermione. I want to tell you everything. I want you to make me feel better. But I don't know how to start. I don't know if I should be saying this. I don't want to believe anything is happening.
Yet I feel like it's my fault. Is it, Draco? Is it?
"Granger?"
Draco's voice shakes her out of her reverie. She follows his gaze and realises that she has unwittingly pulled off her wedding ring.
"Granger..." Draco's voice is now pained and she suddenly hates the way he sounds – in that moment, she wishes he was the old Draco Malfoy again so that his cruel sarcasm will trick her into thinking it's all unreal.
But he's not the old Malfoy anymore and she can't help whispering, "What would you do?"