Pretend it Doesn't Matter
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K.
Rowling.
"Promise me you'll
never forget this day," he whispered fiercely, brushing aside the mass of
tangled hair from her ear. "Promise me, Granger."
"I-I-" she gasped,
her voice smothered by the fingers rubbing her mouth, trembling and swollen
from his kisses. "I promise! I promise I won't."
"That's what I
thought," he replied, and melted into her.
They'd
broken it off suddenly and with seemingly little consideration, citing
"irreconcilable differences" as their reason for divorce. The
relationship had lasted two years; the marriage, barely three.
The union of a Pureblood and a
Muggle-born, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, a Malfoy and Granger was first
received by the public with shock, then disgust, and when they realized the
sincerity of Draco and Hermione's feelings, enchantment. Five years later,
their breakup became the object of scandal, mingled with astonishment and
disappointment.
Hermione reflected on this as
she traipsed down the icy London sidewalks. The whole thing had started rather
stupidly, really. She'd told the story to Harry and Ron, as as indignant as she
was at their caustic laughter it couldn't be denied that she and Malfoy did
tend to overreact about the pettiest, most trivial things.
"That's
my quill, Malfoy," Hermione hissed at the boy sitting beside her in
Arithmancy.
"Oh really," he
drawled, without looking at her. "It's mine now."
"I need to take notes!
Give me my quill!" Hermione commanded, attempting to snatch it from his
spindly fingers, which were now balancing the quill carefully out of her reach.
"Why should I?" he
asked lazily, this time glaring condescendingly at her with steely eyes.
"Why don't you use what do you call it - ah yes, a pencil, Mudblood?"
"Accio quill!"
Before Hermione knew what was
happening, she and Malfoy were on the floor, their books and chairs toppled
over beside them. "You stupid girl," Malfoy spat. "What do you
think you're doing?!"
Professor Vector seemed to
wonder the same thing. "What are you two doing back there?" she
boomed, pausing from her work. "A night's detentions for both of you, and
five points from each of your houses for disrupting the class."
"But - but-"
Hermione stammered.
"I thought you had more
common sense than to cast spells during a lecture, Miss Granger,"
Professor Vector snapped, "And Mr. Malfoy," she added, catching him
sniggering. "Keeping your hands on your own things is something you were
taught in nursery school."
This caused Malfoy to shut up
immediately. Meanwhile, Hermione scowled at the prospect of wasting a study
night in detention with none other than Draco Malfoy.
Hermione
stopped just outside of an Armani store and heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing
that it was still open. Instead of going in, however, she extracted an
age-battered photograph from her back pocket and unfolded it.
The picture was
uncharacteristically stained and tattered for one of Hermione's belongings, but
as she unfolded it and stared at the faces beaming at her, all signs of wear
seemed to disappear.
The two young people in the
photograph seemed to be lost in their own universe. On the left, Draco,
clean-cut and smirking as usual, snaked his arm around his bride's waist, who
blushed and nuzzled against him in return. Behind them, the inky darkness of
the coming night bruised the sunset blue and purple, hiding the clouds floating
decadently above the shore.
She only looked at that
picture once a year, and that was only to remind herself of what she'd lost and
left behind five years ago. With Draco, she'd lived in prosperity at the top of
the social heirachy; without him, she was just another single young witch
struggling to keep a job and pay the bills. She'd been the top student at Hogwarts
during her time, but facing the outside world, she was only one out of a horde
of eager, job-seeking intellectuals fresh from the mill.
Draco had provided her with
money, shelter, status, and yes, even love on occasion, but as the social
anomaly in a long line of pureblooded wizards, Hermione often felt stifled and
awkward. Sometimes, it seemed like Draco hardly cared about what she felt, as
long as she was available at his command.
"Hermione?"
Hermione jumped slightly and
turned around to see Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway of the Astronomy
Tower.
"What are you doing
here?" he asked, stepping out of the darkness and into the moonlight
streaming in through the open window.
"I should ask the same of
you," Hermione replied, turning back to her star chart. "I was doing
my Astronomy homework, you know, until I was so rudely interrupted...."
Draco smirked and sat down
beside her. "Homework on a Saturday night!" he said, with mock
derisiveness. "I should have known."
"What are you doing here,
Malfoy?" Hermione sighed resignedly, putting down her chart.
Draco leaned in until their
shoulders touched. "You know," he said, curling an arm around her
waist. He paused as Hermione tensed, then relaxed. "If we're really dating, we should call each other by our first names."
"Fine, Draco," said
Hermione. "If you think that sounds any better than 'Malfoy.'"
Draco raised his eyebrow and
smirked again. "You really must love me, Hermione - you're sounding more
and more like me each day."
"Ah, the pitfalls of
going out with you," she said, dropping her sarcastic tone and hugging him
around the waist. "First my friends nearly stone me to death, then I'm
diagnosed with Stockholm syndrome, and now I'm turning into your female
version, and.all thanks to you childishly stealing my quill. Which, I might
remind you, you haven't returned yet."
"Hey," Draco said
smugly. "The fact that it's me you're going out with makes it all worth
it. Imagine if it were Weasel or Pothead or a Hufflepuff, I think I'd blow a
capillary...."
Hermione punched him playfully. "Sometimes I wonder how I can stand that
fat head of yours."
"A fatter head means more
of me to love," said Draco, pulling her against him.
Tucking
the picture in her back pocket, Hermione entered the store, tentatively
perusing the racks of fancy dress shirts and coats.
"Looking for something in
particular?" A gangly sales assistant approached her holding an armful of
hangers.
"No, not really, but
thank you," Hermione replied politely.
"It's a little late to be
doing your Christmas shopping, isn't it?" he asked, picking up more
hangers. "Let me guess - a distant cousin showed up unexpectedly at your
Christmas party? You received a generous package from your uncle knowing very
well you didn't send him one?"
"Ah-hah yes, you've got
that right," Hermione chuckled lamely, silently wishing he'd busy himself
with someone else.
And almost as if by magic, he
did, and she found herself alone and surrounded by aisles of clothing and glass
cases filled with shimmering watches and tie clips.
"It
took me forever to find this, you know. You should thank me."
"Ohhh....it's wonderful!
I love it!"
"I'll take that as
gratitude."
"How 'bout this?"
......
"That'll do too."
"I never thought I'd
receive a present from you that wasn't a cursed object or a bomb of some
sort."
"Just try it on,
Hermione, I spent days looking for something that'd do your beauty
justice."
"It's charm like that
that reminds me of how I fell in love with you in the first place."
"Just shut up and give me
my present."
Nearly
an hour had passed and Hermione still failed to find anything remotely
satisfying.
Shopping for Draco usually
wasn't very difficult, but maybe the fact that it'd been half a decade since
she'd last spoken to him made it a little harder to find anything for her
ex-husband.
It wasn't as if she'd hand it
to him in person, anyway. She would simply lay it on his doorstep, wrapped
simply and with a small card attached, just the way he'd done the first
Christmas after their divorce. That night, she set one on his doorstep as well,
and so it continued year after year.
Why she and Draco still
continued the tradition of Christmas gift-giving puzzled and perplexed her. She still remembered the
first Christmas present she received from him after their divorce; a silky
pearl-white scarf that glimmered iridescently in the sunlight. Although he'd
had the decency to include a card, the message written in it was less than
affectionate -
"Something to keep you
warm when there's no one to hold you near. - D.M."
Nevertheless, Hermione dropped
off a soft black dress shirt on his doorstep, with a short, curt message
attached:
"For old times' sake.
Enjoy - H.G."
The
gangly sales assistant popped up next to Hermione again. "Store's closing,
miss," he said, obscuring the
glass cases with heavy velvet cloth.
"No - wait!"
Hermione protested, feverishly scanning the rows of clothing and watch
displays. "Give me just a few more minutes, sir, please, this is very
important."
The man twitched his eyebrow
disdainfully before turning back to the velvet cloth. "Very well then. But
don't expect any discounts."
"I....I don't know
what to say, Draco."
"Say yes, and then let's
go," Draco pleaded, locking his silvery eyes with her dark brown ones.
"But now?" Hermione
asked, twisting her ring with quiet incredulity. "It's Christmas."
Draco smiled and brushed a
snowflake off her nose. "And having you as my bride will be the best
present I could ever ask for."
Hermione thought for a few
seconds, and then nodded slowly. "Come on then," Draco laughed, took
her gloved hand in his frosty one, and pulled her behind him as he ran down the
icy sidewalk.
"Where are we
going?" Hermione yelled, dodging last-minute Christmas shoppers and a
Father Christmas with several elves in tow.
Draco didn't answer, but led
her up a hill, where a man clad in black stood serenely behind a cluster of
pine trees.
"Don't tell me you
arranged all this without me!" Hermione exclaimed. "I only just gave
you my answer!"
"I didn't need Occlumency
to know what it'd be," Draco replied, taking her in his arms.
"But....but what will
everyone say? What will everyone think?" Hermione queried, her brown eyes
wide and anxious.
"You know, I don't think
it really matters," Draco murmured, pulling her shivering body closer.
And for that moment, and the
rest of the night, nothing else did.
Hermione
Apparated into the wealthy neighborhood Draco resided in. She hated seeing the
little cafés that she and Draco used to dine at, the boutiques with expensive
gowns Draco was only too eager to buy for her. She winced at the sight of the
once charming cobblestone paths, the cauldron peddlers, the Victorian houses
with their lush English gardens....
She kept her hood up as she
made her way down the snow-covered sidewalks, keeping the small gift bag tucked
inconspicuously between her ribs and the crook of her elbow. There was no use
in anyone's seeing her here and giving cause to rumors that she and Draco were
getting back together.
Hermione finally stopped at an
elegant light grey pseudo-mansion surrounded by formidable walls and a
newly-erected iron gate. Whipping out her wand once more, Hermione fumbled with
the lock and murmured, "Alohomora."
Nothing happened. "Alohomora,"
Hermione whispered again, this time a little more coherently. Figuring that
Malfoy had put extra security on the solid, bar-less gates, Hermione tossed the
gift bag over it and hoped it'd land on a bush or a thick flower patch.
But there was no thump to be
heard. The gift never landed.
The gate clicked open.
Hermione froze.
"What did you call me?" Hermione sat up quickly, but Draco pinned her back down, a grin twisting onto his lips when he saw the alarm in her eyes.
"The scent of your hair...." He brought a mass of toffee-colored tendrils to his nose. "So sweet and innocent and delicious." He tugged her hair tighter and burrowed his mouth under the back of her jaw. "The taste of your skin....like milk and nutmeg...."
Hermione gasped and turned her head. "Stop it, Draco, you've been drinking...."
"Malfoy and Mudblood, imagine that," he laughed again, ignoring her resistance. "Malfoy on top of Mudblood....Mudblood moaning at Malfoy's touch." His fingers slithered down her torso and plunged into her thigh.
"Draco, please stop," Hermione whimpered, squirming under him. "Please stop...."
Draco lifted his head and watched the tears glistening on her trembling porcelain cheeks. "You're begging to me. I like that. And don't address me by my first name, Granger." He grinned again, that drunken, twisted grin and gripped her cheeks, smearing the moisture flowing out of her swollen eyes.
"Draco, no...." Hermione sobbed again, her free hand rummaging the bedside table in frantic search of her wand. As soon as she found it, Draco looked up and began to laugh again, except that this time it was a laugh Hermione had never known or even heard, a laugh oozing with triumph, stealth, greed, and the drink. But during mid-cackle his eyes lost their laugher and intensity and with a muffled "ughh" Draco collapsed lifelessly onto his wife.
"Draco?" Hermione pleaded gingerly, putting down her wand and prodding him on the shoulder. "Draco?"
Draco answered only with silence. Sobbing quietly once more, Hermione squeezed out from under her husband, turned him on his side, and held him gently for the rest of the night.
Hermione
felt her cheeks pale, then redden, as she peered into her ex-husband's eyes,
which showed little surprise at the sight of her. She'd almost forgotten how
cold they were.
He looked her over casually,
leaving what felt like little trails of frost where his eyes had wandered.
"So," he said finally, swinging the bag between his and Hermione's
faces, "dropped something, my dear?"
"I - you - why - "
Draco sighed with mock
frustration and lowered the bag. "After five years with no contact, the
sight of me still renders her speechless. " Plus ça change, plus c'est la
même chose." (1)
"You bloody well know
we've had contact," Hermione spluttered, finding her voice at last.
"Merry Christmas, Malfoy, and a happy New Year."
"Ah-ah-ah, not so fast,
love," Draco drawled, gripping her cloaked arm tightly. "Won't you
stay and have a drink?"
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Please, Malfoy, I wouldn't have a drink with you if - "
"For good times' sake,
darling."
"Would you stop calling
me those things?" Hermione snapped, wriggling out of his grasp. "Need
I remind you that the two of us are divorced?! So please, if you have any
decency, let me-"
"I'll take that as a yes," Draco chuckled, roughly yanking her inside
the gate. "In you go, then, dear - I mean, Mudblood."
A loud "MALFOY!" and
a resounding slam interrupted the quiet tranquility of the Christmas Eve. Then
all was peaceful again, save for the sound of White Christmas blaring
from the house flanked by iron walls.
"That
was quick."
Hermione slid her trunk toward
the door and pulled on her overcoat. "I assume you want me out of your
sight as quickly as possible."
"You know me well,
Hermione," Draco quipped dryly, not looking up from his newspaper.
"You silly woman, why are you going when I specifically told you that it
is I who is leaving? I promised you a home and now you're leaving it. Don't you
know that Malfoys always keep their promises?"
Hermione burst into
hysterical, cynical laughter. "Did I just hear what I thought I heard?
'Malfoys always keep their promises?' Like, let's see, their marriage vows?
Correct me if I'm wrong, Malfoy, but your breaking it off with me doesn't
exactly agree with 'til death do us part.' Goodbye, Draco."
Draco laid down his newspaper
and looked up at her. "Before you go, dear, do go and make me a cup of
Earl Grey, will you?"
He was answered only with the
slam of the front door and a muffled "have a nice life!" Sighing to
himself, Draco ventured into the kitchen to fix himself something strongly
alcoholic.
"Let
me out of here at once, you monstrous inbreed!"
Draco tucked his wand in his
back pocket and strolled toward the kitchen. "What would you like to
drink, Granger? Tea? freshly brewed coffee? Nutmeg, red wine even?"
"This could be considered
kidnapping, Malfoy!" Hermione yelled, vainly struggling against her
body-bind. "This is a serious crime, Malfoy, and I swear, once I get out
of this body-bind, so God help me, I'm going to call the police!"
"Crumpets?" Draco
yelled above the music thundering off the walls. "Biscuits? I'm afraid the Christmas pudding hasn't arrived yet."
"DRACO MALFOY, WILL YOU
FORGET THE BLOODY FOOD AND TURN OFF THAT - THAT - " Hermione paused,
pricking her ears. "Is that Nat King Cole I hear? Why Malfoy, are you
listening to Muggle music?"
Draco floated two wine glasses
and a saucer of sugar cookies to the coffee table. "It was an old record
of yours," he replied nonchalantly, urging the food forward. "It was
lying around, and I thought it might relax you."
"Right," Hermione
said wryly, blowing away a sugar cookie trying to force itself into her mouth.
"Wait until the whole wizarding world hears that Draco Malfoy enjoys
Muggle pop songs."
"Funny, I was under the
impression that you avoid mentioning me in public," Draco said.
A long silence followed, its
awkwardness mollified only by Nat King Cole's velveteen vocals. Presently, the
song ended and Hermione spoke.
"Draco," she said
hoarsely. "What's going on? Why are you keeping me here?"
Draco reached for one of the
floating wine glasses. "Something to drink, Granger?"
"Draco....."
Hermione repeated. "Why are you doing this?"
"What do you want me to
tell you?" Draco asked irritably, squirming uncharacteristically. Hermione
glanced at his fidgety fingers and straightened up out of her body bind.
"Tell me something
true," she replied.
Draco thought for a minute,
his nebulous eyes dark and brooding. Presently, he spoke up. "Why did you
leave?"
"Why did I leave? If I
remember correctly, you left me first," Hermione replied indignantly.
"You wanted to leave long
before I told you I was going," Draco said. "Why weren't you
happy?"
"I - "
"Why didn't you just go,
Hermione? Why couldn't you just carry through with it?" Draco yelled,
abruptly rising from the couch.
"Draco, I - "
"Instead, I had to break
it off!"
"If you didn't want to
break it off," Hermione growled heatedly, "Then why did you do
it?"
"Because I only wanted
you to be happy!" Draco roared, his marble-white features darkening into a
deep scarlet. "I wanted to stay, I wanted to live each and every day
loving you to eternity. You asked me once if I would do anything for you,
Hermione, but the fact is, I couldn't. I could never make you happy, so I let
you go."
"But you did make me
happy," Hermione said tearfully, taking his hand and easing him back onto
the couch. "Remember the first present you gave me?"
"The necklace,"
Draco said dully. "The one that took me forever to find."
"And when you entertained
me during detention so I wouldn't feel so bad," Hermione continued,
"And how you gave me rides on your broom so I wouldn't study so much, and
how you married me in the snow on Christmas night."
Draco didn't smile or look up.
"And how you learned to
make my favorite Muggle meals, like tacos and blonde brownies, and how you let
me decorate our house so it looked nothing like Malfoy Manor. Don't you
remember any of it, Draco?" Hermione pleaded.
"You were happy with the
things I did for you, but you weren't happy with me," Draco remarked
coldly, thrusting the wine at her. "Once again, I'm going to let you
leave."
"You didn't even try to
understand why I was unhappy! You just gave up!" Hermione replied
heatedly, her blood boiling as it had when she'd left five years ago.
Without giving her a second
look, Draco exited the room, leaving Hermione fuming alone on the couch.
Numbly, she turned over the wine bottle and read the label.
December 25th, 2000. DMHG.
Hermione choked back a bitter
sob and climbed into the couch where her ex-husband had sat moments before.
--------------
"What
are you doing here?" Draco's loud exclamation startled Hermione, who, an
hour later, was gazing at a tattered photograph. "I thought I told you to
leave!"
Hermione tucked the picture
back into her pocket and turned to face him. "I left without hesitation
last time. I'm not about to do that again."
Kicking off her pumps, she
climbed over the top of the couch and tumbled into Draco's arms. "You're
wearing it," she sighed, stroking the dark fabric of his shirt.
"I'm glad you
noticed," Draco whispered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
He lowered his face to hers, but before he could kiss her, Hermione backed
away.
"Draco," she said
suddenly. "Why do you keep sending me Christmas presents?"
Draco smirked as if the answer
were the most obvious thing in the world. "You were the first person I
ever bought anything for. I couldn't very well stop."
"I'll pretend I
understood that," Hermione murmured, running her hand through his
white-blonde hair. "But just for the record, I never did forget that day,
or anything."
"I knew you
wouldn't," Draco breathed, lowering her back onto the couch and kissing
her fiercely.
-----------------
Draco woke up the next morning
to sounds of laughter and the raucous clanging of bells outside his window. Right,
he reminded himself. It's Christmas day.
He threw off his blanket and
found himself completely nude. The events of the previous night surged through
him like a shot of Firewhiskey.
A sudden thought struck Draco,
causing him to turn over and grab whatever happened to be nearest him. When his
hand landed on Hermione's cool, bare shoulder he relaxed and the panic
subsided.
Hermione awoke at his touch
and pried open her mournful brown eyes. "Draco?" she murmured
groggily.
"Merry Christmas,"
Draco whispered with a tenderness that caught Hermione by surprise. He felt her
shiver and drew her nearer to him.
"Why did we do
this?" Hermione asked plaintively, allowing him to stroke her hair.
"You gave up on me long ago."
"Just like I lost your
favor long ago," Draco replied. "Let's not think about it,
Hermione....just live like we did those all years ago at Hogwarts when things
first began."
"You don't understand,
Draco," Hermione protested ruefully. "It goes beyond snow and
broomstick rides in the moonlight....and....and things like last night.
Underneath the romance, there's nothing."
Instead of replying, Draco
leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, taking in her uncertainty and
resentment the same way he'd done while they were together. "For one day,
Hermione," he murmured. "Let's just say it doesn't matter."
So there they lay for the rest
of the morning, taking in each other and blending his illusions and her
disillusion until neither could be distinguished. And in the end, it didn't
matter at all.
(1) Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose - the more things change, the more they stay the same.
A/N: This was originally written for a challenge on livejournal (any holiday; they don't know what to get each other.) Thanks for reading, and some feedback will be appreciated! Oh yeah, and thanks to Jess, who beta-ed this for me.
