A/N: This is a re-post; used to be an incomplete multi-chapter story, but I've since tweaked it a little. As you can see, it's now a one-shot. The chapters were so short, I figured I should just combine them into one jumbo chapter. The title is different, too.
Anyway, give it a read!
Part I:
"Hello, you've reached Brandon Takeshi. I'm currently unavailable at the moment. Please leave your name and telephone phone number at the tone, and I'll get back to you as soon as —"
Hermione flipped her mobile phone closed and tucked the device into her handbag. The hum of music and laughter quickly filled her ears again, and without a moment of down time, her name was called amid the clinking glasses and excited chatter. There were a multitude of things she would rather have been doing that night — e.g. devouring a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream on her parents' sofa, taking a ridiculously long bath with a good book and a glass of cheap wine, or scouring the local pub for a meaningless hookup that she would inevitably regret in the early hours of the morning — but Harry and Ginny insisted that she attend their annual Christmas party. One, because she had finally returned to London after a stint overseas. Two, because they had no patience for her reclusive post-breakup hibernation phase. She had gone through it with Ron many years ago, and left the continent as a result, but she was now back and in the process of mourning a different relationship.
Oh, well, Hermione decided, taking a swig of beer before re-entering the lounge. At least I'm in good company.
The house was full of familiar faces, but there were some she didn't recognize. A few of Harry's co-workers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and a handful of Quidditch players that had Ginny met whilst playing for the Holyhead Harpies. There were also neighbours and local shopkeepers, and a few dozen more, absolutely none of whom were familiar to Hermione in any way. She realized then, that five years was a long time, and that the world she had left behind had faded into a distant memory.
"Oh, good! There you are," Ginny came to the doorway where Hermione stood and hooked their arms together before leading the brunette across the lounge, to where Harry and a few others mingled by the fireplace. "Callum, Annette … I'd like both of you to meet Hermione. She's an old friend of ours from Hogwarts," the hostess excitedly introduced. "Hermione … these are our neighbours; the florists I told you about earlier."
Hermione forced the nervous energy down her esophagus and nodded. "Right, yes. It's good to meet you both," she smiled, shaking hands with the young couple.
Callum and Annette seemed to be Harry and Ginny's go-to couple for double dates and couple-centric activities such as wine tasting and cooking classes. To think Ginny and Harry, the most non-conformist pair she had ever known before fucking off to the other side of the world, now spent their evenings and weekends doing arts and crafts, was almost as jarring as the sparkly engagement ring Annette had been showing off the entire evening.
"Good to meet you as well," Callum said back, shaking hands with Hermione. "It really is a pleasure. We're both big fans of your work."
"Oh," she awkwardly laughed. "Thank you so much. I … I couldn't help but notice the displays in your shop window. They're quite beautiful."
"Ah, well …" Callum turned to the short blonde by his side and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I have Annette to thank for that. She's got a knack for putting things in their place," he joked.
The four neighbours chuckled heartily but Hermione did no more than chew on the inside of her lip.
"So sorry," Annette apologized, her eyes shining with amusement as she placed her hand delicately on Hermione's arm. "You'll have to excuse my Callum. We've all tricked him into thinking his jokes are actually clever."
Callum's mouth fell open. "Rubbish! My jokes are well clever. You always laugh at them, don't you?"
"Just like mother taught me," Annette beamed, kissing her now disgruntled fiancé on the cheek as another couple peeped their heads into the conversation.
Ginny spun around to greet them. "Bella! Anthony! You're here! Good, good. I'm so thrilled the two of you were able to make it. How's Luca doing? I hear he's a right little bookworm like Hermione over here. You remember her from Hogwarts, don't you? She was in Harry and Ron's year."
Hermione smiled and nodded at the new additions, vaguely recognizing them as a couple of Ravenclaws from Ginny's year. There was a minute or so of smalltalk — the usual blend of 'where did you run off to?' and 'why are you back?' with a light dose of 'our lives are perfect; haven't you heard?' — before Hermione was able to bow out of the conversation in a kind and timely manner.
It seemed in the few minutes she had been sucked into couple-topia, the number of guests at the party had multiplied. She smiled and squeezed her way through the labyrinth of unfamiliar faces, into the corridor. There were a few people queued up to use downstairs loo, but she paid them no mind, ducking into the room where the traveling cloaks were neatly stacked, breathing a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her.
The music and the chatter faded into a distant hum.
Don't do it, the left side of her brain advised. I have to. I should. I need the closure, damn it.
The inner debate was reflected in her eyes as she stared into the mirror. She looked much the same as when she had left home five years ago. But that was the problem, wasn't it? Her time away had only solidified the fact that she had no idea who she was, what she had to offer besides an encyclopedia of knowledge, if that was all people saw when they looked at her ...
Those questions dug holes through her defences and forced her to ring that number again. She rummaged through her handbag and stared blankly at her mobile phone. The screen had a picture of her with a man roughly her age, both of them dressed in muggle attire, and him with his arm around her as they posed in front of the Vancouver seawall. Their first date. The first of many that would span over five years, until that one fateful night, when she told him the truth about who she was — what she was.
She squeezed her eyes closed and held the phone close to her ear, her fingers shaky and her heart racing.
"Hello, you've reached Brandon Takeshi. I'm currently unavailable at the moment. Please leave your name and telephone number at the tone, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you."
There was a moment of silence before the aforementioned tone filled her ears. One second, two seconds, three … the knot in her chest tightened and her lips twitched apart.
"Hi … er … Brandon? It's me, Hermione. I just … I …" She breathed deeply, eyes watering for whatever reason. "I don't know if you've heard but I … I've returned home, to England, and I … I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. Bye …"
In a flurry of disappointment and regret, she hastily wiped the tears from her eyes and tucked the phone into the deepest crevice of her handbag, contemplating if she should change her number or discard the mobile device altogether and never look back. It would have been illogical and irrational of her to do either of those things as she still needed the phone to contact her muggle associates — not to mention her muggle parents — but she was allowed to act illogically and irrationally.
Memories of their last night together flooded her mind, rendering her motionless for a good, long moment, before there was a knock on the door.
She snapped back to reality, handbag slipping from her grasp as she spun around to open the door.
"Sorry, the room is all your —" Her throat hitched. She stared wide-eyed at the tall, blond-haired, smartly dressed man on the other side of the door. On the one hand, she had gone to the party with hopes that she would run into a handsome stranger and forget her problems if only for the night, but on the other hand — Wait, no. He isn't a stranger and he certainly isn't handsome! She shook her brain free of those unwelcome thoughts and folded her arms to match the smirk on his lips, when suddenly, the worst possible thing happened.
"Interesting," he remarked, looking down at the contents that had fallen out of her handbag.
Hermione matched his line of vision and immediately dropped to her knees to hide it even though he had already seen it and voiced a short but indicative opinion. The tampon, the stress rash ointment, the full size chocolate bar, the miniature bottle of vodka she had taken from the flight home, the half-eaten biscuit — all hovering on the line between hmm interesting and holy fuck, this is embarrassing, but there was a sixth item to consider, an item that crossed that line and then some.
She swiped the palm-sized vibrator and shoved it deep into her handbag, hoping to Merlin that vibrators didn't exist in the wizarding world, but the shit eating grin on that snarky little face, told her she was dead wrong and fresh out of luck.
"Malfoy," she muttered, nudging past him as she disappeared through the door and escaped the situation in order to salvage what little remained of her dignity. To her misfortune, the queue outside of the loo had only grown, leaving the corridor even tighter and more crowded than it was before. She squeezed through, hands clasped around her handbag in a death grip, as she made her way to the lounge. Ginny was there, talking to Bella and a woman Hermione didn't recognize.
"Oh, good! You're back," Ginny smiled, welcoming her into he conversation. "Nia, I'm sure you remember Hermione from —"
"Actually," The three women looked to Hermione as she interrupted, undoubtedly wondering where her manners had gone. "I — I'm in a bit of a hurry."
Ginny's face fell. "You're leaving already?" she asked. "It's barely nine o'clock."
Hermione paused, trying to think of a viable excuse. "I know, I just, I'm jet-lagged from the flight and — and I —"
"Say no more," her friend interjected, instantly happy again. "There's a guest room upstairs. I was going to offer it to you at the end of the night but please, do feel free to have a sleep if you're t —"
The look on Hermione's face must have shown how panicked she felt, because her friend stopped, took her delicately by the arm and led her to a more private corner of the room.
"What's wrong?" Ginny asked, concern flooding her eyes. "Is it Ron? Has he said or done anything stupid? I told him to leave you alone, but —"
"It's not Ron," Hermione assured her, quickly realizing she had yet to even see the man. "This is all just … so much, you know?"
Ginny nodded. "Yes, yes, of course. I should have been more considerate of what you're going through. I won't hold it against you if you leave."
"This isn't your fault at all but thank you," Hermione smiled, hugging her friend as a third party tapped her shoulder. She released Ginny and turned around to find that same snarky face and those same dull grey eyes focused squarely on her. "Malfoy," she uttered with as much indifference as there was in his blank stare.
"You dropped this in the cloak room," he said to her, plainly.
She glanced down at the mobile phone in his hand and took hold of it. There was a missed call on the front screen, the name Brandon in bright letters.
"What's that?" Ginny curiously asked.
"It's a mobile telephone," Malfoy answered, before Hermione could. "Muggles use it to communicate with each other when they're not in the same vicinity."
"Hmm." The red-haired witch nodded along, as fascinated as her father would have been, had he been present.
Hermione tucked the phone away and pointed her thumb at the door. "I'll be going, then."
"Oh, okay. Stop by any time, yeah? We're throwing a small get together before New Year's Eve," Ginny mentioned, her voice growing in volume as Hermione rushed to the door. "Bye!"
"Bye!" Hermione said back, vanishing onto the front porch of the Potter residence. Given that it was December, the grounds and rooftops were covered in a thick layer of snow. It wasn't safe to Apparate in the state she was in, but there was always the Knight Bus. With only a few Sickles in her pocket and a wad of Canadian dollars that she knew Stan Shunpike wouldn't accept, the brunette was left to wonder how on earth she would get home.
Ginny would certainly have given her a couple Galleons, had she gone back inside to ask, but that would have been too embarrassing. It seemed her only option was to wait it out and pray to Merlin that she would sober up enough to Apparate home before hypothermia settled in.
In the meantime, she flipped her phone open and pushed the call button.
There were a couple rings before someone answered.
"Hello? Hermione?"
"Brandon, hi … I got your missed call."
"Right, yeah. I was returning your calls, actually. Is everything alright?"
She glanced down at the freshly fallen snow, contemplating what to say, how to answer that question without being too honest. "I'm fine. I'm in England now. I just … I thought I should give you a ring and see how you're doing. We were supposed to meet for coffee the day before I left but I guess you forgot or … or an important meeting came up at work, because …"
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"I … we … I still care about you but … it's over between us. We talked about it that night in my apartment, remember? You sat me down and … and you told me you're a … a witch. A fucking witch, Hermione. What am I supposed to make of that?"
She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the disgust and the accusing tone in his voice, as though she had lied to him, as though she hadn't filled out hours of paperwork, sat through endless meetings with high-ranking wizarding officials, and begged for special permission to introduce her muggle boyfriend to her secret life.
Needless to say, the introduction had not gone as planned.
To him, she was a freak, she was deceitful, she lived a life he didn't understand, and didn't want to understand. As a muggle-born herself, she knew how daunting it was to learn of the wizarding world for the first time, to learn magic existed. It was a difficult transition but an exciting one. It made no sense to her, that anyone would reject that world; let alone a man she had been ready to marry up until a few weeks ago.
"I'm sorry, Hermione, but we shouldn't talk anymore. I need my space and as much as you don't want it right now, you need yours, too. Merry Christmas."
Before she so much as uttered a word, the call was over and the lingering hope that fluttered in her chest, dissipated into the clouds.
She would contact the Ministry first thing in the morning.
Part II:
Strong winds blew through the neighbourhood, disturbing the snow and the ends of Hermione's hair as she roughed the weather outside of Harry and Ginny's home. In a moment of anger, sadness and frustration, she slammed her mobile phone directly onto the icy pavement and felt a burst of satisfaction as the screen shattered. The satisfaction lasted all of three seconds before she realized what she had done, how juvenile it was, and the fact that it would cost more than she could afford to replace the stupid phone.
"Say, Granger … do you normally throw fits where anyone can see?"
She tucked the broken phone away and closed her eyes, praying to Merlin that she had imagined that voice, that Draco Malfoy hadn't just interrupted her one and only moment of pure, unadulterated anger, with his snarky bullshit. It was her right to throw a fit, damn it! The man she had spent the past five years in a relationship with, had just dismissed her shattered heart — via phone call, no less! She was entitled to an outburst or two. To hell with ferret boy.
Righteous anger in her veins and snow caught in her hair, Hermione turned around to give Malfoy an earful, only to lose her footing and slip. She yelped, flailing her arms about like a headless chicken and readying herself for a fall that she knew she would feel well into the new year. A few meters ahead, the blond watched on without the slightest inclination to help.
THUD
Hermione groaned, quickly learning a few inches of snow wasn't nearly enough to cushion ones arse from the pavement. The ache was instant, but the embarrassment eclipsed it tenfold. She blinked one eye open and then the other, succumbing to the result of her own brashness, as Malfoy burst out laughing.
As if falling on her arse wasn't humiliating enough, she had to go and start crying, too.
Malfoy wiped the laughter from his eyes, loving every minute of it. "I have to say, Granger, I always thought Longbottom was the clumsy one, but you —" His words broke and he looked at her, eyebrows quirking up as fresh tears ran down her face. "Salazar's snake. Are you — are you crying? Surely, it wasn't that hard of a fall …"
"Oh, just go away already!" the witch shouted, not bothering to hide her face now that he knew.
"Go away?" he repeated. "You expect me to leave you here in such a sad, pathetic state, drowning in your own … emotions and … things …?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Emotions and things? How old are you — eleven?"
He narrowed his eyes back at her. "What would you rather I have said, that I was sorry for laughing at you?"
"Er, hmm, let me think about that," she mockingly considered. "Yes! In case those flaps you have for ears failed to pick up on it when you were eavesdropping on me and Ginny, I'm not in the best frame of mind right now and the last — the absolute last — thing I need at the moment is to be sitting here on the cold, hard pavement, having a screaming match with the likes of you!" The words poured out of her at top speed and she struggled to collect her breath afterward, her eyes glossy and heart racing. "I just — I want to go home."
There was an awkward silence after, during which time Hermione looked down to avoid the obvious judgment in Malfoy's eyes. It was too much handle. She prayed to Merlin for an escape but her efforts came to no avail. She was left to suffocate in the aftermath, to remember the way Brandon had dismissed her shattered heart not a moment ago, and the way it felt to know she was alone again.
"I'm sorry," Malfoy uttered to her, bringing her attention back to him as he voiced an apology; probably for the first time in his life.
"You're what?" she asked, even though she had heard him.
His lip twitched with discomfort. "I'm sorry," he stated flatly, visibly annoyed that she made him say it again. "Satisfied?"
"No."
"No?" he repeated, mildly outraged. "What do you mean no?"
She tossed an obvious look at him. "I'm still on the pavement, aren't I?"
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, you have to be —" Malfoy muttered to himself, stomping over to the witch, grabbing her by the shoulders and propping her upright. "There. Now stop blubbering like an infant, will you? In fact —" He withdrew an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket and gagged as he handed it to her. "Wipe your nose. It's dripping all over the place."
She glanced down at the handkerchief, shocked that he'd given her something with his precious initials stitched onto it. "Thank you," she voiced.
His lip twitched a second time, and he stepped back, discomfited by the ordeal. "Whatever."
Hermione carefully wiped the tears from her eyes and the snotty liquid from under her nose, blowing into the handkerchief in the most unflattering way imaginable.
Malfoy looked to her with the utmost disgust. "You can go ahead and keep that."
She opened her mouth to object, knowing the handkerchief could easily be cleaned with a couple flicks of magic, but she suspected he was the type to still believe in cooties even then, as a man of twenty-five.
"Where have you been all this time, anyway?" he asked, accusingly.
"Vancouver."
"Van — why all the way there?"
She shrugged. "Why not?"
"It's awfully far, isn't it?"
"I'd say it's just far enough."
"You could have gone somewhere more interesting than Canada, though."
"Probably," she agreed, looking at the time on her wristwatch. It was only half nine which meant she had to wait at least another five or ten minutes before it was safe to Apparate home. The alcohol left her fingertips tingly and a knot in her chest, the latter of which only seemed to tighten the longer Malfoy interrogated her.
"What made you come back?" he furthered.
She glared at him. "Surely you have better things to do than stick that giant nose of yours into my personal affairs."
"You're awfully sensitive tonight, aren't you?"
"I have my reasons."
"Go on."
Hermione sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine," she decided, on a complete and utter whim that she knew she would regret come morning. "Brandon — the man I've been in a serious relationship with for the past five years, the man I've risked everything to be with — decided that it was in his best interests to break up with me because I'm a witch, which is understandable given that he's a muggle, doesn't understand our world, and is probably scared, but the fact that he isn't even willing to try is — is —"
"Grossly selfish?"
"Yes," she blurted. "Selfish, narrow-minded, and completely unfair."
"To hell with him," Malfoy shrugged.
"It's not that simple."
"Of course it is. Sorry to break it to you, Granger, but relationships aren't half as dramatic as muggle films make it out to be. Sometimes, it is as simple as deciding not to want someone anymore. Just turn it off."
"Is that how you approach your relationship woes?" Hermione asked. "You 'turn it off' and block the memories until they disappear?"
"Sure," he shrugged. "The occasional fling doesn't hurt, either."
She lifted an eyebrow at that. "You're suggesting I find some poor, innocent bloke and use him for my own selfish needs?"
"He doesn't have to be poor," Malfoy added, in no particular way. "And he best not be innocent."
Hermione frowned. In all honestly, she had considered finding a random person to shag but dismissed the idea, knowing in her heart that she was incapable of having meaningless sex with a stranger. Then came the looming question. What if he wasn't a stranger but embodied the qualities of one? The suspense, the mystery, the absence of future promises but the dedication to the present, to the here and now.
For reasons she couldn't yet comprehend, her attention drifted a few meters ahead, to him, and her brain went fuzzy.
In the distance, a large, triple-decker bus zipped through the cobblestone streets of Godric's Hollow and came to a loud, screeching halt in front of Harry and Ginny's house. He must have summoned it. The doors hissed open and Stan Shunpike stuck his head out, muttering a couple words to Ernie, the driver, perhaps about the cold, or the fact that they were outside of Harry Potter's home.
There was no time to decide which.
"You coming?" Malfoy asked, pausing mid-step to glance back at Hermione.
For whatever reason, she ignored the sound, logical part of her brain — turned it completely off — and raced onto the bus.
Part III:
Hermione grabbed one of the handlebars above as the Knight Bus veered to the left and then to the right. Suffice to say, it had been many years since she had last taken a ride on the triple decker from hell. Her inner thrill seeker missed it dearly, but the logical part of her brain told her to keep a good grasp on her wand in the event that Ernie steered them into the Thames.
"Thanks for covering me," Hermione said to Malfoy, talking over the voices in the background. There were at least two dozen passengers on the bus that night. To her great relief, none of them seemed to recognize her.
"It's no problem," Malfoy assured the witch, following as she made her way to the empty beds near the back. The bus was furnished with them at night.
"I'll pay you back at my house," Hermione furthered, slightly embarrassed that she was now indebted to the boy who bullied her relentlessly in school.
He brushed the offer aside. "That won't be necessary."
"No, I insist. I … I normally have more than enough for a bus ride, I just —"
"Granger," he cut in, catching her eyes. "It's okay."
Her bottom lip twitched as she realized how mental she must have sounded. On top of that, the mobile that she thought she had destroyed, started to vibrate the second everything went quiet. A few of the other passengers tossed looks in her direction, and one of them squinted his eyes as though he recognized her, but she ducked her head down before he could get a proper look.
Malfoy glanced at the witch as her cheeks turned beet red. "You're vibrating."
"Yes, thank you. I'm aware," Hermione said, fidgeting with the mobile. The screen was shattered but functional and most of the buttons were still in tact, but the only detail that stuck out was the name that flashed before her eyes. "Brandon."
"Brandon?" Malfoy curiously repeated. "As in … ?"
"Yes," she said with haste, tucking the mobile under one of the pillows as though it would help. "Merlin knows why he's ringing me."
"Maybe he's come to his senses."
Her heart dropped when the vibrations stopped. "Maybe …"
"You could always ring him back," Malfoy suggested.
Hermione tensed, looking down at her mobile phone. Again, she'd no idea why her ex-boyfriend contacted her, so soon after he told her they should never speak again. Perhaps he had dialled the wrong number. There was no way to tell. He didn't leave a message.
In that same moment, Ernie slammed on the brakes again. The beds and passengers shifted forward and then back, in one collective movement. Hermione glanced out of the nearest window to find that they had arrived at her stop. It was a quaint part of the city, where a row of upper middle-class houses were lined neatly, covered in snow and decorated with twinkly lights.
"This is me," Hermione voiced, nodding to the nicest house on the block.
Malfoy rose with her before she could object. "I'll walk you out."
They shifted down the aisle, nodding thanks to Ernie and Stan on the way out. The bus doors hissed open and a gust of chilly air enveloped Hermione as she stepped down. Malfoy followed close behind, finding her side as she made her way through the snow to the front door of her parents' house. She was temporarily staying there.
"Well, thank you for … the ticket and … everything else," Hermione said to him, a tinge of embarrassment on her cheeks as she recalled what happened outside Harry and Ginny's home. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and looked off to the side, only then taking notice of the fact that one of the cars was gone. It seemed her parents hadn't yet returned from their work party. "Would you like to come in for a drink?" she asked, on a complete whim. Her eyes darted back to Malfoy. "There's a bottle of red laying around somewhere, I'm sure."
Momentarily surprised that she had invited him into her home, Malfoy didn't utter a word. He simply watched as she unlocked the door and followed her inside.
She flicked the lights on in the foyer, illuminating the smooth, wooden furnishings and the holiday decorations. There was a tree in the lounge: tall, fresh and accented with ornaments that her family had collected since she was a baby.
"You have a nice house," Malfoy remarked, following her into the kitchen. "It's … very quaint."
Hermione rolled her eyes at that but kept on, locating two wine glasses and bottle of red wine, as promised. She uncorked it with the flick of her wand and poured a generous amount into both glasses. "Cheers."
"Cheers," the blond repeated, clinking his glass lightly against hers, before taking a sip. He was amused to see that she had taken a less elegant approach.
Wine dribbled down her bottom lip and seeped through her top. "Stupid thing," she muttered, quickly dabbing her top with a serviette. Her efforts came to no avail, of course. "Eh, whatever. I'll scourgify it later," she shrugged, taking another drink of wine, a little more careful this time around. "So, what have you been up to all this time?"
"The usual," he shrugged. "Shady business dealings with a healthy dose of fraud."
Hermione lifted an eyebrow at him.
"And, that, Granger, was a joke," he winked.
"I knew that," she quickly said. "I obviously knew that."
Malfoy laughed, completely at her expense. "I'm studying to become a Healer."
"Oh."
"Oh?"
Hermione paused. "I just — I would never have expected you to … to …"
"To willingly help people?" he asked, a telling glint in his eyes.
"Right," she nodded, looking down with a knowing smile. "You helped me tonight. Thank you again, by the way."
"No need to make a fuss," he joked. "In any case, it wasn't completely terrible … running into you, I mean."
"That's probably the closest thing to a compliment I'll get from you," she laughed.
"Your fashion sense has improved," he added. "Does that count as a compliment?"
"I'll take it," she shrugged, knocking back the rest of her wine. "Damn, my parents have good taste."
"They wouldn't mind me being here, would they?"
"No, of course not, why?"
Malfoy tossed her an obvious look. "I bullied their daughter for six years straight."
"Oh, that." Hermione snorted. "Consider it water under the bridge."
The ease with which she dismissed their checkered past, left a curious bubble in his brain. "You're not drunk, are you?"
She flashed him a dazed smile. "Not at all …"
Malfoy laughed, choking on his wine. "Have you not eaten anything?"
"Er …" Hermione thought back, trying to recall what she did all day. She stayed up late the previous night and slept in that morning, missing breakfast in the process. It seemed all she had eaten was a packet of crisps for lunch and a few bites of food at the party.
She licked her lips, suddenly famished.
"I saw a pub down the road if you want to grab a —" Malfoy's offer was cut short as a bright, blinding light poured in through the kitchen window. He blocked his eyes, confused until he saw the look on Hermione's face.
"Shit," she blurted. "My parents are home."
Indeed, the light had come from her father's Audi, and in a matter of seconds, there were voices and footsteps in the foyer.
Malfoy looked to Hermione in a panic. "What are we going to d —"
"Mum, Dad, I had no idea you would be home so early," Hermione cut in, nudging Malfoy to turn around and greet them.
There was a twitch of apphrension along his bottom lip, but he followed her lead regardless, meeting eyes with her parents. He had seen them in passing a few times in the old days, either in Diagon Alley or on Platform 9 3/4, but never up close.
At first glance they appeared kind, sensible, well-educated and clean; exactly the type of people to raise a girl like Hermione Granger.
The woman, near identical to her daughter save for a few twists of grey in her hair, greeted Malfoy with a smile, but the man simply stood back and observed; perhaps to weigh the situation.
"Don't mind us," Mrs. Granger smiled, brushing the awkward tension aside. "We'll just pop our leftovers into the fridge and head on upstairs."
Malfoy darted a look at Hermione, as if asking her what to do. She quickly stepped forth and motioned to him. "Mum, Dad, I'm sure you remember M — Draco," she started, capturing her mother's attention as the older woman placed a takeaway container of food into the refrigerator. Her father, on the other hand, remained quiet and still.
"Yes, of course we do," Mrs. Granger chimed in, greeting Malfoy with a smile and a light hug. "Hello, dear. It's good to see you again."
"It is?" Malfoy asked without thinking. Hermione tossed him a sharp look. "Right, yes. It's good to see you, too, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. You have a lovely home."
"Oh, thank you, dear. You're welcome to visit anytime," The woman offered. She then looked to her husband, the communication evident in her eyes.
He cleared his throat and nodded once. "Yes, quite. Anytime."
Hermione wheeled look between the three of them, lip twitching. "Anyway — it's late. You two best get to bed."
Her mother clued in, quickly nodding. "Of course, of course. You kids have fun."
"We will," Malfoy said back in no particular way, earning an inquisitive look from his former rival as her parents rounded the corner and left.
A short while later, their footsteps echoed up the staircase, to the second level of the house, and the door to the master bedroom clicked shut.
Hermione sighed with relief.
"I take it you'll have some explaining to do in the morning?" Malfoy asked.
She glared lazily at him. "I would think not, considering I'm in my mid-twenties."
"So, your parents don't find my being here suspicious at all?"
"Oh, they most certainly do. In fact I'm sure they're upstairs talking about us right now, but I devoted my entire adolescence to making sure they know to stay out of my love life," she explained, quickly realizing what she had said. "Not that, that's what's going on here! I just — because that would be —" She squeezed her eyes shut, cheeks bright red.
Malfoy resisted the urge to laugh. "You are tremendously out of practice, aren't you?"
She wiped the wine from her lips. "What d'you mean?"
He set his glass down, looking to her. "Come here."
Her eyebrows quirked up. "I beg your par —"
Malfoy cut her off, coming within a few inches of the bookish witch as she backed into the granite countertop. Without saying a word, he unclipped the beret that held her curly brown hair in place and set it down, tilting his head to the side as he took a moment simply to look at her.
His eyes gradually narrowed. "You're pretty," he decided. "You have good posture, clear skin and a nice smile. Yes, your fashion sense has improved since you were a teenager but it was never particularly bad. You're clever, well-adjusted, and decent. You don't often make mistakes but when you do, they feel cataclysmic, don't they? I could list various examples for you but I'm sure you have them organized by date and magnitude, in a journal somewhere." He paused, the tightness around his eyes tapering away. "In other words, whatever you're looking for, whatever it is you left the continent to find five years ago … you absolutely won't find it in another dead-end relationship." Her throat clenched as he said that but she kept quiet, choosing to listen. "So here's what you can do, Granger. You can either return that Brandon fellow's call and see what he wants, rekindle the flame, et cetera … or you can toss those expectations aside and do whatever you bloody well want for at least one night. What'll it be?"
There was a beat of silence in the air as his words settled in.
Hermione blinked up at him, uncertain of what to say, but more so where all of that had come from. "I … the thing is … Brandon and I were together for five years … and … I … we …"
Malfoy didn't wait. He simply reached into her handbag and withdrew the remains of her shattered mobile phone. "Do it," he said; again, in no particular way. "If this is what you want to do, you should do it. Don't feel bad. You love the bloke … you were ready to marry him up until a few weeks ago. Just ring him back. Go on."
She opened her mouth but no words came out. She glanced down as Malfoy placed the mobile phone in the palm of her hand, and without really knowing why, she flipped it open and pushed the 'call' button.
It rang three times before someone answered.
"Hermione? Is that you?" Brandon asked, his voice a little crackly, probably due to the phone damage.
She swallowed the lingering doubt and held the phone close to her ear. "Yes, erm, I … I want you to hear me out for a second …"
Part IV:
It was small and petty of him to leave without telling her farewell, he knew, but his instincts told him to get out that house while he still had his wits about him.
Draco knew going into the night that he'd probably dive too deep and live to regret it later, but he couldn't go without trying. That was his weakness. He simply had to know. For the first time, however, he wished he didn't know, because knowing was a pain in the arse.
That in mind, he trekked through the thick, freshly fallen snow, and made his way to the pub near Granger's parents' house. It was a muggle establishment, of course, but he happened to carry muggle currency.
"One pint, please," he ordered, settling into one of the bar stools as 'She Bangs The Drums' by The Stone Roses filled in the gaps.
One Week Later
You are cordially invited to ring in the new year
with
Your Minister for Magic,
Kingsley Shacklebolt
on
31st, December 2005
Minister's Manor
Hermione entered the ballroom and immediately drifted to Harry, Ginny, Hannah, and Neville. Filet mignon was on the menu that night but her attention was focused solely on the open bar. Merlin knew she needed all the liquid courage she could get her hands on. It was a big night for her. She was to leave the country again; in less than twenty-four hours, in fact. It was the right thing to do, the right move to make.
She didn't regret it for a second, though she came scarcely close when she saw him from across the venue, descending the grand staircase. His attire consisted of black dress robes that were tailor-made to his tall, lean physique, dragonskin boots, and a long black cape that he had passed off to one of the footmen. He slid his hands into his pockets and proceeded down the stairs, wheeling a look around the ballroom as Hermione quickly glanced away.
Truthfully, she had no idea what to make of the other night.
He had paid her cover on the Knight Bus, listened to her relationship woes, walked her safely to her parents house, accepted her invitation to come in, experienced the most awkward 'meet the parents' situation imaginable (considering their checkered history) gave her the cold, hard truth at a time when she desperately needed it, and then poof.
On the one hand, she had an idea as to why he had left without saying a word, but on the other, she couldn't bring herself to explore that train of thought.
She considered owling him — quite a few times, actually — but the very notion of contacting him, went against her basis for leaving the country again.
Luckily, she had her friends there to distract her.
They laughed, ate and drank together, forking off to different sides of the ballroom as dinner came to an end. The music in the background grew louder, the chandelier up top faded to a dimmer, softer lighting, and the night was kicked off with a traditional English waltz. The Minister and his wife, a famous Curse Breaker from Egypt, were the first to start dancing, but they were eventually joined by Harry and Ginny. The other couples gradually followed suit.
Hermione drifted to the hanging balcony, her elbows resting on the bannister as she watched the couples sway back and forth. The view from above was such that she barely noticed Draco Malfoy as he found her side.
They remained quiet for a while, swept in their separate thoughts until he broke the silence. "I've been meaning to apologize."
"Oh?"
"For the other night," he clarified. "I shouldn't have left without saying goodbye. It was rude of me and I am sorry."
Hermione looked to him, only then realizing he had flecks of silver in his dark grey eyes. "You've really embraced this apologizing business, haven't you?" she asked, teasingly.
Malfoy glared lazily at the witch, ending with a smile. "Do you accept my apology or not?"
"I do, I do," she chuckled.
"Good, because there's another one coming up."
"What for?"
"For what I'm about to say," he explained, facing the brunette. "I know it's none of my business, but you're making a huge mistake."
Her eyebrows popped up. "What do you mean?"
"You're leaving again, aren't you?" he asked. "Word around town is that you're set to leave in the morning, which, unless I'm an idiot, means you were able to patch things up with the boyfriend."
There was a moment of silence as Hermione realized what he was referring to. She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh in his face and failing miserably. "You're an idiot."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're an idiot," she repeated, relishing this moment. "I'm not leaving to be with Brandon. I'm leaving for a job opportunity in Paris. Two months. Barely."
His mouth fell open. "Oh, but I thought when you called him …"
"I called him to get some things off of my chest and to essentially tell him off," she explained, unable to stop herself from smiling. "But I think it's really cute that you came here with this whole speech prepared."
Malfoy looked to her, appalled. "That's not at all what I —"
"Oh, come on," she smoothly interjected, gently nudging him before acting it out. "I know it's none of my business, but you're making a huge mistake, Granger …"
He froze. "Goodness gracious, woman, are you absolutely sure you weren't sorted into Slytherin?"
Hermione burst into a fit of giggles. "Okay. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll stop."
Malfoy glared at her, facing his body away. "Well, at least you got some enjoyment out of my little spiel, however unnecessary it was …"
She looked to him, smiling. "Fine, let's even it out, then, Mr. Grumpy-pants."
"How do you presume we do that?"
"I'll tell you a secret," she suggested, earning a swift look from him. "I've given it some thought and … I'm pretty sure I have a crush on you."
He lifted an eyebrow at her. "How did that happen?"
She shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I just looked at you and realized you're pretty, you have good posture, clear skin and a nice —"
"Okay, I'm done," Malfoy interjected.
Hermione suppressed the laughter in her throat and chased after him, catching his hand in hers and turning him around so they were face to face again. Her chest was rising and falling rather rapidly as their eyes met. The music in the background slowed to a soft, distant rhythm.
"You're not who I thought you were," she voiced, earnestly. "When we were teens, I had you pegged as the snobby, blood-purist rich boy. For the most part, you lived up to that title … but I always knew there was more to you. We didn't get the chance to be friends or to interact on any meaningful level back then, which, for some reason, has always bothered me." She took a deep breath, collecting the rest of her thoughts. "The truth is, I'm glad I ran into you at that party. Literally," she added, a hint of a smile on her lips. "You surprised me, Draco Malfoy. Everything about you that night just surprised me. And, yes, I know I'm leaving for two months starting tomorrow, so I probably could have timed this better, but when I'm back … you will be the first person I seek out."
Silence quickly followed, her words weighing heavily between them as she looked to him, searching for even the faintest indication that she hadn't gone out on a limb for nothing.
"Are you going to say anything, or …?"
"No," he decided. "It's best that I don't."
Her heart dropped at the sound of that. She glanced off to the side, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Okay, that's fair. We should be heading back down anyway. I'm sure Harry and Ginny are wondering where I've run off to this …"
Malfoy glanced down at the brunette, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as she fell silent. Without speaking a word, he unraveled the knot in her chest the only way he knew how. He brushed her hair back, traced the bud of his thumb down her bottom lip, and leaned in just as her eyes fluttered shut.
The End
A/N: Am I evil? Probably.
(P.S. There's a nod to Boys Over Flowers in there somewhere. I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with the Korean adaptation, but I am absolutely obsessed with it. Cheers!)