A/N: Written for niffizzle, because she's lovely (and for other Niffler reasons). Thanks to HeartOfAspen for being marvelous and supplying me with prompts. Gratitude to CourtingInsanity, Kyonomiko and MykEsprit for alpha and beta reads. All errors are my own.
Warnings: some language throughout.
I own nothing.
"Malfoy!"
His heart faltered, breath catching in his throat. Go away, he wanted to tell you. Get the fuck away from here, Granger. Go to your room and don't come out.
He chose, instead, to say nothing. To feign he hadn't heard her at all. Or that he didn't care. He marched on to the wall. There was a mission to accomplish after all. His mother's life depended on it.
Heavy footfalls pounded against the stone floor. For all that Granger was, 'stealth' was not among those qualities. Too many years of stomping off in a huff. And lugging a heavy book bag around (for all the years he'd spent calling her that vile word, she was a bloody witch for Merlin's sake—weightless charm).
"Malfoy!" she yelled again, breathless.
As if she'd run all the way here from the Gryffindor Tower. Perhaps she had. He'd heard her defending him to Potter once before Christmas holiday. He'd smelled her trademark lavender and rosemary scent at his bedside one night when he was recovering from Potter's curse. He'd caught her sniffle and murmur an apology before disappearing behind the other side of the cloth barrier with the last of nights shadows.
He would have convinced himself it had been a hallucination had he not found the healing poultice in his book bag his first day back to classes, smelling of lavender and Granger.
He stared at the bricks and began walking back-and-forth. Concentrating with all his might.
Almost there...
"Malfoy! Stop!"
The door appeared. He drew a sharp breath, the castle air so stagnant and cold that it shocked his bones. He stepped to the handle, one foot over the threshold…And without considering the why or the sanity of this decision, he lingered. Only a moment, turning his head, allowing himself to meet her chocolate gaze.
Before disappearing through the door, sealing his fate forever.
Her hair was different.
It seemed odd that it was the first thing he should notice about her now. After all this time. Her hair had been so...Granger. Wild, untamed, a nuisance to be dealt with (or ignored) in the midst of more important things, like classes, studies and her precious books.
And the last time he had seen her, her chestnut mane had been flat, muddy and tangled. The ravages of battle had sucked all manner of life from Hermione Granger's hair. Another detail he couldn't determine the reason behind remembering, nevertheless, he could vividly see her, in the midst of the crowds, clamouring, and embracing.
Before his mother and father had clung to him in dizzying relief and they'd collapsed to the dirty, bloody floor in a tangled heap of praises, curses and 'we're alive' sort of utterances, his observing gaze found Hermione Granger.
But here, in almost the precise same location as three years prior, in the warm and golden light of the afternoon sun and burning sconces, Granger's hair was fucking glorious. A little shorter, but still long enough to bounce and tumble around her shoulders. Bush and frizz settled into mature, silken chestnut ringlets.
"Hello, Malfoy."
He drew a sharp breath, throat bobbing, which he hoped to conceal with a deep nod in salutation. "Granger." He hated how his voice still rasped. It seemed years of underuse had that effect.
She held her hand out to him. He found himself staring, no, marvelling, at it. Porcelain and delicate, but he knew few hands in all the wizarding world worked harder than hers.
It dawned on him that he was staring like a sodding buffoon when said proffered hand started to withdraw and a quick blink to Granger's face revealed a flash in her chocolate eyes, and pink lips being drawn into a thin line.
"Sorry!" he blurted, snatching at her hand, grasping and shaking it with much more enthusiasm than necessary. She winced, which had him wincing and spouting apologies again. "It wasn't because I...That is to say I wasn't not going to shake your hand because...I wasn't refusing." He stopped talking, snapping his jaw shut. Salazar, this was a disaster.
Everything centred and came back to the present as Granger's fingers applied slight pressure to his hand. She offered a brief smile and dropped his hand. "I'm sure re-entering the world three years in…" She hesitated, uncertainty clouding her eyes.
"Azkaban," he supplied. "I was sentenced to the impregnable dank, dark and dull prison for three years. It happened. You can voice it out loud, Granger." His stance shifted, straightened as something inside him hardened, and he considered how very excellent the burning of a Firewhisky against the back his throat might feel right now.
"Right then," she murmured. "No sense walking on eggshells around it all."
He gave in to the mocking impulse and scoffed. "My mother has a remaining two years under house arrest at the Manor, my father still has another twelve years in Azkaban, and I'm under a sixth month probation, to be carried out at the school I once helped nearly destroy while being tutored by the Brightest-Witch-of-the-Age herself for N.E.W.T.'s, which is a ridiculous waste of time at this point."
"Oh?" Chocolate eyes blinked once. "What makes you say so?"
"Because," he hissed, gaze narrowing, "I've been sitting on my arse all day for three years with nothing to do. No books, no mail, no wand and an arm-band to restrict my magic to ensure I don't practice anything wandless. My mind has gone dull, and I've been submitted to the impossible task of preparing for miserable exams in half a year—half the time we're allotted when at our mental prime!"
Her crimson lips parted for reply, but he scornfully denied her the opportunity, the beginnings of a sneer tugging the corners of his lips. "The light burns like a damned nuisance and I can already foresee the hand cramps with rolls and rolls of parchments full of notes and essays you'll have me working on. And even if I score well, what the hell am I supposed to do next? I'm not allowed to set foot on Malfoy property anywhere in the world for another two years and what proprietor will take on an ex-convict for an apprentice? This is pointless, Granger! My fate was sealed when you watched me walk through the double doors to the Room of Hidden Things."
She stood there, blinking slowly at him. Considering him. Or perhaps a response. Or if she should respond at all.
He winced and bit down on his lip as the stretch of silence increased by several pulses, certain he'd pushed too far. He raked an irritated (read: guilty) hand through his hair. "Apologies for my petulant outburst. I...it's...this is..." He snapped his jaw, chewing on his tongue to keep from continuing his idiotic squawking.
"It's fine." She had shifted her stance, standing as a barrier to the full force of the sun's rays. Whether or not it truly was 'fine' was beside the point, he couldn't say. But, perhaps, Granger was making a point of true new beginnings and the like…
He cleared his throat, proffering his hand again. "I really am sorry." A hesitant swallow. "It all feels hopeless and pointless at the moment. Do you think we could do this over?"
He watched her swallow as her eyes travelled from his hand to meet his waiting gaze. "Hello, Malfoy." She repeated her initial greeting and, miracle of miracles, she took his hand, giving it a proper squeeze. "For what it's worth, your quarters are on the same floor with the rest of the staff living on campus—" he fought the scoff tickling in the back of his throat "—and I know that makes it sound as though you're being watched, and in the eyes of the Wizengamot, you are. But, Minerva has assured me that your day-to-day interaction with staff will be as minimal as you'd prefer. Really only myself and Madam Pince if you'd like. She's asked if you'd assist with…"
His attention waned as she started that quintessential rapid ramble. Had her voice always been this pleasing? This soothing? This balming to his fractured mind? So euphonic it seeped into his heart, burrowing and binding together shattered pieces...
Or was it simply that he was comparing it to the grating yells and taunts of prison guards and patronising droning of Wizengamot members at his annual review?
"...we'll take things slow starting out..." He flinched, yanking an arm away as something brushed against his elbow, and he realised it was Granger when he eyes widened and something almost pitying flashed in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I wasn't thinking that...I get so used to nudging Neville or Harry to get them out of their mind when I'm coming to the end of my speech, and...I'm sorry."
He wanted to linger on the fact she'd lumped him in a category with Longbottom and Potter...but that meant nothing.
Nothing at all.
So he managed some blasé response and allowed her to show him to his quarters and then their private room in the library for tutoring.
"That's bollocks, Granger."
"It most certainly is not." Flecks of gold and cinnamon flashed in chocolate pools. "The concept is sound; nifflers are always on the hunt for all that is glittery and shiny—why not use all available resources?"
He scoffed, but, as with how it had been for the past five months, the sound lacked any undertone of ire or mockery. It had become a vital to the outcome of his day to see those eyes all ablaze. Burning with passion. With life.
He made an effort to return his parchment of notes, giving the appearance of faux disinterested, forcing his lips to remain in a thin line. One hint of a smirk and she'd notice immediately.
Three...two...one…
There came a growl and exaggerated huff from his left; he could barely contain himself.
"Magical creatures are still highly misunderstood, mismanaged and underutilised, Malfoy. Nifflers could be a valuable tracking resource to the Auror department—"
He snapped his head up, gaze finding hers. "And who's job will it be to babysit the nifflers when they're not on duty?" He lay his quill down and laced his fingers together in his lap so as not to smudge fresh ink. "I agree that the concept is sound, and it may speed along tracking processes of our illustrious Aurors—" his eyes rolled of their own accord, and she appeared to attempt to hide a crooked smile with a rapid head shake, "—but you have to look at the practicality of what you're suggesting. Someone has be be responsible for the proper care and oversight of said creatures when they're not on duty, and would you really trust your fellow former-Gryffindors to keep the adorable blighters from escaping and causing mass chaos at the Ministry?"
He held her unblinking stare. This sparring, this intellectual duelling, that had become the norm over the last five months had become the something he craved—something he needed. It had become the air to his lungs, and he was unashamed to admit to himself that he loathed the fact there was only one month left before he would be free.
Or kicked out, depending on his ever-fickle point of view.
She blinked, sinking back into her chair with a sigh. "You're right," she conceded. "I guess it was a silly suggestion in the first place." There was something in her tone and the way she carded a hand through her loose curls.
"What is it, Granger?" He angled his head to her, brows raised in emphasis of his question. "Is this about your research?"
"A bit." She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "I want to make a difference, Malfoy—and that's not to say that I don't love being a professor; I very much do. And I couldn't be more grateful Minerva has permitted me to incorporate a research component into being Charms professor, and attend courses and conferences throughout the year. But, I'd like to make a mark somehow. Make a difference in the wizarding world in some grandiose way."
The sincerity of her admittance gripped him. He knew he'd stopped breathing, and not by a dramatic inhalation that he couldn't swallow. Rather, it was the simple fact that all else had faded from existence. There was only Granger and fire fading as the hint of sorrow crept into her eyes.
"What could possibly be more grandiose than saving the life of Chosen-One Harry Potter over and over again?" He winced as the words left his mouth, not considering how they could have been taken until he saw her catch her lower lip with her teeth. "I didn't mean…" He angled and scooted his chair closer to the edge of the table. Closer to her. "What I was trying to say was that—"
"I know, Malfoy." The smile was half-hearted, he could tell, but what was she always telling him about looking at the cauldron half-full? "I just want to know that my life is going to be a value beyond the deeds and horrors of our past. I want to be more than what's written on my chocolate frog card."
"You are." He refused to blink, this time hoping to convey every ounce of sincerity possible. "Your research and publications in various academic journals are brilliant—" something in his chest purred at the flush in her cheeks and neck and it would likely keep him up far later than it should tonight, "but you're making a lasting impact here too. At this school. Shaping young minds." The smile he offered was broad and genuine. "Don't underestimate that."
The air had thickened, and something shifted.
His thoughts refused to focus the remainder of the day, even when Granger prodded him that N.E.W.T.'s were four short weeks away.
"Cheers, Malfoy!" Granger clanked her butterbeer glass to his, eyes bright and took a long sip from her glass, swiping her napkin across her mouth before he could tease at the foam moustache over bow of her lips.
He pulled a slow sip of the warm beverage himself, feeling unsettled and uncertain, which was not how he had expected to feel after completing N.E.W.T. examinations. He should be elated. He should be pleased. He should be—
"Your face is going to freeze in that frown if you hold it any longer." She giggled as his eyes floated to hers, confused. "Or you'll freeze our entire booth, and that'd be a shameful waste of selecting the cosiest and most out-of-the-way table in all of Hogshead."
His heart raced, straining against his ribs. "Lost in thought for a moment, Granger, sorry." Not untrue, but he didn't feel inclined to elaborate at the moment.
Her smile light a fire in his chest. "Will you write me when you get to Egypt? And even still once you've started your apprenticeship—when you have the time that is," she added in haste, shifting her eyes to her drink and tucking a lock of curls behind an ear.
His head tilted. "A bit premature, don't you think?" He permitted a lazy crooked grin when her eyes shot back to his. "My apprenticeship is contingent on my N.E.W.T. scores—"
"Tosh," she interrupted with a dismissive wave. "You did brilliantly, you know you did." She lifted a finger, and he knew she was about to count-off a verbal list. "In the first place, the curse-breaker department of the Egyptian Ministry was very pleased with all practice examination scores I sent them. Second," she held up a second finger, "they were all but begging for you in those letters after we sent them my memories of all your practice practicals. And finally, a copy of your results is being sent directly to the head of the department, saving unnecessary time obtaining a copy and sending them off yourself."
She paused, threading her fingers together over the table, all aglow—brighter than any low-lit sconce in this old establishment. "Your health was the only thing holding you back the first month, but everything was as refresher once your eyes adjusted and you started sleeping proper."
His breath hitched; she'd never mentioned the dark moons under his eyes from sleepless nights that first month, but clearly, she'd noted them.
"Your confidence is a bit unnerving, Granger." His smile took on a wry appearance. "I hope I don't disappoint."
A delicious pink bloomed in her cheeks and he realised the err in his words. "You won't," she murmured before he could amend his words, and he decided to leave it as it was. She filled the silence before he could decide what to say next, asking confirmation he would, indeed, write her.
"Of course I will," he affirmed, hesitating and deciding to test the waters. "And when you respond, you are to speak of more your latest research scheme or humorous first year lesson anecdote. I expect all the personal details of how much you miss our evening lessons and how lost you are without something automatically filling your time every Saturday..."
His heart resumed beating when she grinned, nudging his foot with hers. "I solemnly swear," she answered before taking another sip of her beverage.
They continued in a comfortable manner of sipping and observing their surroundings, not avoiding talk or eye-contact; rather, it was simply not seeking to fill the void with idle words. The air between them was too heavy to permit something as mundane as, 'Do you think it'll be hot there?'
Their eyes met and he heard her release a short and soft exhale before slipping her eyes back to her drink. He swallowed hard, a niggling in his brain taking shape as words, those words landing on his tongue, turning his mouth to sand. He forced them to linger a heartbeat longer, before taking the proverbial plunge.
"There's something I'd like to ask you, Granger," he started, continuing as her gaze met his again, "and it's something I've been curious about for a very long time."
She inclined her head, curls falling over her shoulder. "Go on."
"You came after me that night. Before I disappeared into the Room of Hidden Things. You knew when and where to find me and you tried to stop me." He inched his shoe forward, allowing it to rest ever-so-softly against hers. "I may not want to know the how of it, but, perhaps, you may enlighten me as to the why."
Her nose wrinkled slightly. "I'll skip over the how part, since we're having such a lovely evening and I'd hate to ruin it with you getting cross with Harry—" he made a face and she bloody winked, continuing to talk before he had any time to consider that, "—so, we'll skip straight to the why."
She slid her nearly-empty butterbeer glass aside, shifting so that she was likely close to the edge of her bench, hands in her lap. "It may sound silly to you, but, looking back on it all, it seems Harry's fate was determined by Voldemort and Dumbledore the night his parents were murdered. Ron was to be Harry's best mate for life when they were both sorted into Gryffindor. And there was no going back for me after Harry and Ron came to find me when there was a troll in the castle that Halloween night our first year…"
He heard her swallow and he leaned forward in tandem with her as she went on. "For as much as I despise and mistrust Divination, I do believe in some sort of fate. Or purpose in life. Something to give this all meaning." Her hands moved to the table, and for the briefest was of moments, he wondered if he would have braved reaching for her hand had her fingers not been twined together. "Harry warned us about you again before he left the castle with Dumbledore that night, and decided to take a chance."
Her clasped hands moved in increments across the table, nearing the middle… "Something inside me needed to find someone who's fate could be changed for the better." His hands answered the pull to hers, allowing them to rest near enough to absorb her warmth. "I wanted more than anything to find something to make it all a little less bleak. Less hopeless."
She loosened her grip, a delicate finger brushing down his knuckles before she withdrew, righting her posture while holding his gaze. "I thought perhaps by finding you and subsequently talking to you, your fate could be changed. And, perhaps, if your fate could be changed, the outcome of mine would be a little more hopeful."
He considered her answer, while taking everything in that was her. How he could tell she had begun to chew on the inside of her cheek. How she tucked curls behind her ears. How from the sound of it, she seemed to be crossing and uncrossing her legs.
How a shiver shot up his spine as her finger brushed down his knuckles.
He took up his glass, clinking it to hers. "To Fate."
"Salazar, has it been especially rainy this December, because your hair looks like a dragon laid an egg in it—no!" Draco groaned, carding a hand through his hair. "You're not an inexperienced sod, Draco, you dated Pansy Parkinson for at least a year and sat through hours of etiquette lessons between the ages of five and ten for Merlin's sake." He winced to himself, pacing across the front window of the pub he and Granger had agreed to meet.
"Hello, Granger. You look lovely tonight—too neutral. You look stunning—ugh!"He scuffed the cobblestone sidewalk with one of his new shoes, ignoring the inner voice yelling at him that this was a new pair of Italian leather shoes—a Christmas present from Blaise. He pulled out his pocket watch, heart racing to see it was now two minutes passed the time Granger should have arrived.
Not that it apparently mattered.
He still had no idea how to greet said witch.
A year in Egypt had passed as a mere month. Maybe less.
Time ceased to exist when it slipped like sand through an hourglass, lost to learning and letters—and breaking curses, but that hardly counted in light of the aforementioned letters.
Letters from Granger. Letters to Granger
Letters he confessed how much he missed his mother, being forced to help her in the garden, and playing duets on the piano with her. Letters where he'd shared the pain unlike an Crucio he'd felt when he received the dark brand on his left arm.
Letters he had told her absolutely everything—save for one thing.
He glanced at his watch again—four minutes passed the hour now—slid it back into his coat pocket, and resumed pacing.
There had been signs directing him to that general direction, and while he'd allowed himself shameless flirting, ink, quill and parchment would the cowards way through the door. Such a step towards this terrifying precipice should be taken in person.
He scoffed aloud, shoving both hands in his coat pocket. He was a Malfoy after all, not clumsy third year Goyle attempting to compose some insipid love poem to Daphne Greengrass. He wanted this to be real—Merlin, how he wanted this to be real and not some fantasy of his imagination.
He wanted this with Granger to be—
"Malfoy!"
His head snapped up as the winter wind carried a voice to his ears.
Her hair was indeed lovely; chocolate and chestnut ringlets flagging wildly behind her as she ran, bloody ran, up the sidewalk.
He wasted no time, legs decidedly marching to meet her of their own accord. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight and her lips parted as she slowed her pace.
"Sorry I'm late, Malfoy, I—"
The remainder of her apology was forever lost as he caught her lips with his, taking her shoulders in his hands and pressing deep.
Her lips were soft and glorious and the full scent of whatever perfume or shampoo she used was more intoxicating in person than the lingering whiff he'd catch on her letters, and—
Everything froze.
Because Granger's lips were frozen. Cold panic shot through him like the aftershock of a dark spell. Her lips weren't moving; she wasn't reciprocating.
Salazar, he'd misunderstood and misinterpreted everything. Or maybe it'd all been fun and games in the letters, but now...in person…
His hands fell from their perch, brushing against hers before he could think to hide them in his coat. He softened his hold of her lips, hoping ending it on a tender note would salvage the evening…
Maybe it could be saved enough he wouldn't have to move back to—
Something warm and soft twined around his neck, drawing him into more of this fluffy warmth. He drew a sharp breath, breathing in Granger, and released a very unashamed moan as she angled her face, leaning into the kiss.
His hands travelled up her arms, lingering briefly on her shoulders as her tongue teased the seam of his mouth, and found their home at the curve of her neck, toying with the edge of her curls as he opened his mouth.
A flame ignited in his chest as she sucked and sighed, arching into him, threading her glorious and delicate fingers through his hair, and this, THIS, was what all those blasted poets talked about when they prattled on so of love and eternity.
Catcalls and whistles pulled his attention back to their present location and they drew back slowly, gentle puffs of Granger air tickling his face as she giggled.
"Welcome back," she murmured, eyes falling shut as he pressed his forehead to hers, nuzzling her nose with his.
"Glad to be here." Simple and true. He adjusted his hands to cup her cheeks, tracing her jawline with his thumb. "I hadn't planned on that being my way of greeting, for the record." She seemed to fucking beam at him, and stars that had once conspired against him now aligned. "I didn't have much of a plan for tonight, to be honest. It's been a year and—"
"And what if I've been misinterpreting every hint of flirtation in those letter," Granger cut-in, voicing aloud his very fear. "Sorry I worried you for a moment."
He flinched. "I wasn't worried."
A feather-light kiss to his nose. "You were." A light, but lingering kiss to his lips, that she didn't let him deepen, hang it all! "And sorry for that," she continued in a slightly breathless way that made his chest purr. "But being the only single person my age at a private boarding school, I'm not accustomed to experiencing such public displays of affection."
"Well, I'm back now," he said, sliding his lips over hers, swirling his tongue in her mouth and nipping at her lower lip before withdrawing. "Bill Weasley is stuck with me as a permanent transfer if you're alright with seeing where this could go…"
She dropped her arms, shifting his stance so that they both faced the pub. "You will remember that I'm the one who suggested you look into transferring and completing the remainder of your apprenticeship at Gringotts with Bill." She leaned into his side tossing a smile over her shoulder as they made their way back.
"So you did." He smiled back, threading his fingers through hers as she pulled open the door and they entered the low-lit, cosy establishment. He nodded as she pointed out a back-corner booth, and when the door shut behind them, he couldn't help but think it felt strangely like sealing his fate.
Or simply rewriting it.