Author's Note: This short one-shot was inspired by Vanessa and a photo of Tom with his mystery lady, out for a stroll. I'm not a hundred percent sold on what I produced but Vanessa insisted that writing anything from her prompt was wonderful. And I'm riding that wave of positivity in posting this publicly. Can you tell how nervous I am? I am not called Flufferbuttle lightly, I'm the queen of happy resolutions.
Ah, well. I tried. All recognizable characters and place within this work are the property of JKR, I'm only making sand castles in her playground.
The balmy sunshine was tempered somewhat by a mid-September chill carried on the breeze, but Hermione found it refreshing. She'd spent far too much time locked up indoors as of late. Either at work at the Ministry, or at home with Arwen, her new familiar - bought for her after Crookshanks passing. By him. The witch resolutely shook her head, unwilling to wallow any longer.
It had been months. She couldn't hide away from the world and cry into Arwen's fur any longer. He was gone. She'd let him go. And now she had to suffer the consequences of it.
That was precisely why she had made her way to Diagon Alley that morning, Hermione needed to gather the ingredients for a very large batch of Pepper-Up Potion. The concoction had been her saving grace these past few months, sometimes the only way Hermione could pull herself out of bed had been by downing a large dose and screaming as the steam whistled from her ears. She'd scream out her pain and heartache and longing, shove away from her bed and cry in the shower. By the time she'd devoured a bit of toast and a cup of extra-strong tea, Hermione felt ready to face another day alone.
And, ever since the birth of little Albie, Ginny had come to rely on Hermione's weekly care packages of Pepper-Up, Calming Draughts, and triple-chocolate brownie cheesecake bites. What are best friends and Godmothers for anyway, if not for helping contribute to your unhealthiest habits? And so, Hermione traipsed down the Alley in higher spirits than she'd felt in a long, long while.
She'd smiled as the sun's heated rays warmed her skin, and the cool near autumn-like breeze ruffled her curls, no doubt creating knots she'd have to brush out later. Taking a deep breath in she could almost pick up that sweet, earthy scent which brought images of jumping in piles of leaves, and sipping hot cider, and cuddling around bonfires to mind. A small pang hit square in the center of her chest, her memory once again dredging up his face, framed by the explosion of fall colors all around them.
His hand came up and brushed a curl behind her ear, a small, bashful grin on his handsome face. They'd returned for their eighth year at Hogwarts and Hermione could remember how shocked she'd been by the changes in him. He'd tracked her down, in the library - of course, and begged for her forgiveness, something she'd readily given once she'd deduced he wasn't only having a laugh. It seemed like no time at all before he'd brushed that curl behind her ear, murmured how beautiful she was and asked her to accompany him to Hogsmeade that weekend.
Shocking them both, she'd accepted. And it had been the beginning of something so beautiful and pure. Something Hermione still grieved the loss of each and every day. She wasn't sure she'd ever stop grieving the loss of him. Until that fateful Spring day, Hermione had begun to believe she'd found the other half of her soul. Still felt that way really. Just because you aren't with someone, doesn't mean you can't still feel how perfectly made to fit together each of you were.
But, it just wasn't meant to be.
Loving her, staying with her, would have cost him everything he'd fought so hard for. How could she allow that to happen, especially considering how dearly she loved him? She couldn't. And anyone who knew her knew she couldn't. So it was quite easy to use against her, and she'd caved and broken things off immediately, hating herself all the while. Killing all the light and hope within her, slowly, with each passing, painful heartbeat since.
"Enough," Hermione whispered harshly to herself. Not allowing herself another moment of self-pity, the witch made her way into the apothecary to find the herbalist and place her order. Once placed, she decided a trip to Flourish and Blotts was necessary. She had all her books delivered lately and missed the smell of old parchment and ink that permeated the store.
It was just her luck, truly.
Hermione had wandered back out into the street, deciding a quick look at the new releases was just what the Healer ordered. Lost in thought, she almost walked right into a cart selling wildflower bouquets. The wistful smile curved her lips before she could tamp it down, and the florist grinned in return.
"Would the pretty lady like some pretty flowers?" He could have been her grandfather, but Hermione blushed nonetheless at the compliment.
One bundle held her attention more so than any other, the bright red poppies and yellow daisies causing her eyes to mist over. Running the tip of her index finger over one of the soft petals, Hermione gave in and surrendered to her masochistic nature.
"Would you be able to make me a bouquet of red poppies, purple violets, yellow daisies, and Bells of Ireland, strung together with thistle and astilbe and twine? Please?" She knew her smile was a little wobbly and sad in nature but the old man just patted her hand with a kind smile and set to work.
Hermione had been blown away when he met her outside the Great Hall with such a lovely bouquet of wildflowers for her. She really shouldn't have been, he was nothing if not a total gentleman - he hadn't always been, but even those days would come to mean so much more to the pair later on. When he finally admitted why he had been so cruel and deliberately hurtful had much more to do with how utterly besotted he'd been with her from very early on, and how he couldn't reconcile that with what he'd be raised to believe. To their very last day, he swore time and again that he never could understand how she could forgive him and love him after all the pain he'd caused her. Two parts mystery, one part miracle.
And when he'd finally allowed her to walk away, he'd gave her the most heartbreaking smile as he said, "At least this makes sense. It's a mystery no longer."
"For the lovely, Miss," the old florist said thankfully drawing Hermione's attention back to the present and away from a memory of her teasing him that poppies were commonly associated with death and his swoon-worthy reply of, "You joke, but every time I see you my heart stops beating for just a moment and I thought they were perfect with their symbolism."
She dug out the galleons owed and added two just for the heck of it, before taking the gorgeous blooms from him with a quiet, yet sincere thank you. Her attention being focused more on her fragrant package than what was happening around her was her ultimate downfall. Otherwise, that bright shock of platinum hair would have had her immediately spinning on her heel in search of the apparation point. It was considered rude and an unwarranted disturbance to apparate in the middle of a crowded street.
Instead, Hermione strolled forward unaware of the couple heading her way, hands clasped between them in a comfortable way. She was lucky. Lucky that Astoria laughed so loudly at whatever comment Draco just made, that it drew her attention just like that of her male companion. Hermione saw them, and hopefully, they wouldn't see her.
Only, she couldn't move.
Hermione was held captive at that moment, time seemed to slow around her, and she would later swear she felt each tiny crack appear in her heart before it shattered inside her chest. He was grinning, not the same one he wore only for her, but a genuine imitation of it. Hermione felt her gut twist and roll, her morning tea sloshing heavily within and dying to make an escape from the confines of her stomach. They looked good together. That was certain. Astoria was precisely what Hermione had pictured all those months ago when everything went to hell.
Gods be damned, she needed to move. She felt her chest heave and couldn't help the loud, rattling gasp that escaped her when she suddenly remembered her need to breathe. The beautiful bouquet fell to the cobblestone street when Hermione tried and failed to smother a sob with her hands. Of course, that kind of sound isn't easily overlooked, especially with someone as familiar as an ex-lover. The moment his stormcloud eyes snapped in her direction, widening slightly in recognition, Hermione was obliterated.
All the walls she had built around herself were gone. When she told him they just weren't the right fit, that though she loved him, she couldn't see a future with him, Hermione had done so very stoically. His reaction had been what caused her to cast off the unfeeling mask and hold him close, assuring him that she'd always be there for him regardless. She'd left feeling so devastated and hollow inside she wasn't sure how she'd made it home before curling in on herself and screaming her throat raw through the tears.
There had been no time to prepare, no time to arrange her features into that blank mask they'd both come to hate. No, when Draco laid eyes on Hermione, the naked despair etched into her features was staggering. He dropped Astoria's hand and took a step forward, but Hermione stumbled several steps back.
"Granger!" Draco called out, worry coloring his tone.
Hermione could only blink a couple times to clear her vision, holding back the sobs burning to break free from her chest before turning and running in the opposite direction, as she'd longed to do the second she recognized him. Draco stared after her with growing confusion and concern, stepping forward and picking up her forgotten and discarded bouquet. He found it hard to swallow when he recognized it himself.
With one last, long look in the direction Hermione disappeared, Draco sighed and looked back at his date. Astoria's earlier lovely and gleeful countenance had turned sour and thunderous, and the wizard ran a nervous hand through his hair. This had been meant to be their third date, but Draco knew he wasn't ready for anything even remotely serious. His father hounded him relentlessly from the moment he learned about his split from Hermione. Constantly reminding him that it was his duty as the heir to such a noble family to marry a woman of good standing and continue the line.
The only problem was, Draco had already found that woman once and she had slipped through his fingers. He knew Lucius didn't approve of Hermione Granger as his choice, but frankly, Draco didn't give a damn. It wasn't known, but the moment Lucius was sent to Azkaban at the end of his fifth year, Draco was made the head of the household with his mother as his counsel. Once he became of age, he would have to give the power back to his father, and he simply never did. He found he liked being in control of his destiny.
Still, he'd finally caved and agreed to see the youngest Greengrass sister to calm Lucius down. He'd only taken her on lunch dates thus far, his own sly way of making sure all involved knew how very not serious things were. Draco had enjoyed her company. She laughed at his jokes and wasn't afraid to call him out when he acted like a prat. Something that reminded him of another witch, and often left him feeling a tremendous sense of longing and melancholy.
Astoria was very easy on the eyes, there could be no complaints made there. Her long raven locks were always flawlessly styled, and her almost almond-shaped, emerald green eyes had an exotic and enticing allure about them. Add in pale, plump pink lips that were made by the gods above for kissing rounded out by high cheekbones and you were left with one stunning woman. And Draco could see it.
He could see himself setting the bundle of flowers aside and taking her hand in his once more, leading her to the cafe for a lovely lunch. Draco could see himself slowly getting to know Astoria and opening up in return, and eventually falling for her kind smiles, loud laughs and perfect manners. He could imagine his father's happiness over the match and the lush wedding that would follow. He could picture it all.
But that brief moment of desolation on Hermione's face was enough to cut through the haze of fantasy and smack some sense into him with reality. He was still in love with Hermione. If he had judged things correctly, she was still in love with him and Astoria was just another girl in a long line of Pureblood girls that would make a perfect 'Lady Malfoy.'
"I apologize, Astoria," Draco drawled soothingly. "I find I'm no longer in the mood for our lunch date. Might I escort you back home?"
"Are you serious, Draco?" Astoria seethed. "After months of waiting for you to get over her, you're going to allow the mere sighting of her ruin our date?"
"It has nothing to do with, Granger," he lied. "It has everything to do with me. I'm not ready for this, Astoria. That's what seeing her has made abundantly clear. I'm not ready to move on and no amount of forcing myself to be is going to help. You're absolutely lovely, I'm just not ready and I'm not sure I ever will be."
Crossing her arms over her chest in a protective gesture, Astoria began tapping her foot against the cobblestones. Draco wasn't surprised by the fuming expression on her face, he'd known her long enough to know she could throw a mighty tantrum when upset enough. He raised his hands in surrender, understanding her ire and rage but unable to change any of it.
"This is preposterous, Draco! You better believe your father will be hearing all about this. Every last tiny detail," the witch all but growled before spinning away on the spot with a loud crack.
Draco blinked in confusion at the empty space Astoria left behind, not quite understanding nor liking the implication that his father had any say so in his love life at all. He felt guilt curdle and fester his insides, though he couldn't pinpoint what exactly he felt guilty over. Looking down at Hermione's discarded flowers once more, Draco took a deep breath and turned on the spot, seeking the only person he could count on, to be honest with him, no matter the cost.
His mother.
He found her in the solarium of the Manor, just sitting down to her afternoon tea. One look at her son's face and Narcissa knew something was amiss. She'd set her cup aside and frowned worriedly up at him, "What's wrong love?"
Draco slumped into the chair across from her, sighed, and ran a hand over the blossoms in his lap.
"I ran into Granger," he admitted a few moments later.
"Oh, Draco." Narcissa hated how forlorn her son looked every time he mentioned the witch he loved. While Hermione Granger would not have been her first choice for her son, by far, Narcissa had also never seen her son as happy as he had been when his witch had been by his side. Once again a near suffocating wave of guilt washed over the older witch and she found herself cursing her husband and his ignorance for the millionth time over the last few months.
"I love her, Mum. And today," Draco paused and cleared his throat before finally meeting his mother's sympathetic gaze. "Today it looked like she still loved me. And I'm so afraid to believe it because if I'm wrong I'll have to endure all that heartache all over again, but I'm almost willing to risk it just for the chance…" his words trailed off and his hard swallow following was loud to both their ears.
"What I don't understand is why she looked like I'd just torn her heart out. She was the one who left, who said we didn't fit, that she couldn't see a future with me so why? Why would she care if I was out for a stroll with another woman? It shouldn't bother her. But it did. She was barely holding back her tears and I don't understand any of it, Mother. I don't."
It could have been the pleading tone in his voice, the same one he'd always used when begging her to make right the injustices of this world. Or perhaps it was the tears collecting on his heavy, dark as midnight lashes. Maybe it was the way his voice cracked and broke on nearly every other word, or all of those factors combined with the guilt she'd battled for months but Narcissa finally broke.
"Your father cornered Hermione," she remained stoic and calm though she knew she'd be found guilty by association. Narcissa couldn't bear witness to her son's torture any longer. His rapidly paling face and the bitter burn of betrayal in his eyes speared her heart and left her wishing she had fought Lucius harder over this. "He made it very clear that if she didn't end your dalliance with her that you would be disowned, disinherited, and lose everything you knew and loved. She had to choose between staying with you and causing you all that pain, or walking away and at least giving you a chance at finding happiness again, with someone new. Of course she sacrificed herself and her feelings for that of your own. Of course she did. I'm so sorry, Draco. I tried to stop him, I promise you, I did."
Standing, silently and with a tension that hadn't previously been present, Draco nodded at his mother and turned away. He had a few words for his father and then a witch to see. Horror clawed its way up his spine as he drew closer to his father's study and with each step the more clearly he could hear Astoria whining about this afternoon.
"...it was awful! After all the time we've put into separating those two and waiting for Draco to move on, all it took was one Merlin be damned look!" Astoria's grating shriek was enough to strip paint from the walls and Draco rounded the doorframe just in time to see her stamp her foot. He didn't immediately announce his presence, both to hear his father's response as well as out of shock. He hadn't had a clear image of Astoria at all, and he shuddered at the thought of how miserable his life could have been had he remained unaware of her devious nature and married the bint.
"Draco will no doubt be distraught this evening and be a bit over-indulgent with his drinks. Might I suggest a certain someone floo over late in the night and slip in bed with him? I could happen upon the pair of you in the morning and that will be that Draco wouldn't dare put your reputation at risk like in such a way," Lucius appeared quite pleased with himself.
And what was worse was that he'd been right. Had they had the chance to pull off that plan, Draco would have undoubtedly declared an interest in Astoria beyond mere friendship or infatuation. Had he been too into his cups, with no clear memory of how or why Astoria was in his bed after a night spent mourning the loss of Hermione with an ample amount of firewhiskey?
He would have felt obligated to do so.
"Miss Greengrass, it would do you well to get off my property and never return." Draco's words were clipped and cold and his expression was murderous. One look was all it took for Astoria, to immediately understand the error of her ways and hightail it out of his father's office like the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels. Lucius returned his son's glare, angry and offended by his son's power play. In front of a woman, no less.
"That was uncalled for, Draco," Lucius drawled, fury and indignation sharpening every word. Draco covered his face with his hands and took several deep breaths, before rubbing his eyes tiredly.
"You need to pick a different property to make your home, father. I can no longer share the same roof with a man like you, and if you aren't gone by the time I return, I'll call the Aurors on you for trespassing. Mother is welcome to stay if she wishes, though she may wish to follow you regardless. Please make sure she knows she has the option. I don't want to hear from you again until I'm ready. Goodbye, father."
And he turned his back on Lucius and walked away.
Hermione had forgotten every reason why she had gone to Diagon Alley and returned home with a crack of apparation loud enough to rattle the glass in her window panes. Deep, chest heaving sobs left her gasping for breath. All she wanted was to curl up and shut down. She made it three steps before her knees gave out beneath her and she crumpled to the floor.
What was the matter with her? She'd done this. She made her decision and had to deal with the repercussions of it all, but physically seeing Draco moving on from what they were had been a blow too crushing to bear. Arwen, alerted to her mistresses distress, immediately ventured to her side and began brushing her small, lithe body against Hermione's in a show of solidarity and compassion. This had become as much of a routine as anything else, the witch realized. Her dutiful familiar sticking by her side as she poured her grief out drop by crystalline drop.
Eventually, Hermione laid down in the middle of her living room floor, in the middle of the afternoon. She pillowed her arms beneath her head and quietly cried herself to sleep with her kneazle familiar standing guard as her mistress fell into an uneasy slumber. And that is how Draco found the pair, nearly an hour later. He decided to test whether or not Hermione's wards would still accept him and had been shocked when he appeared safely and without redirection in the middle of Hermione's flat.
But after laying eyes on his witch, with her red, swollen eyes shut in sleep and her eyes beneath her pale, puffy lids darting to and fro most likely from torturous dreams, Draco's heart throbbed painfully in his chest. He wasn't sure exactly how to approach this situation. He'd been heartbroken when she called things off. Believed her when she said she could see no future for them. Understood it even.
Part of him wanted to be angry with her. Angry that Hermione automatically believed and listened to his father's ridiculous demands and then caved to them. Angry that she gave up instead of fighting for what they had and how special it had been. But mostly Draco just felt sad, for the lost time and the mutual pain they suffered all for naught.
Kneeling beside his witch, Draco greeted Arwen with a loving stroke of her fur and she purred wantonly in response. He couldn't help the brief smirk that lifted his lips. Arwen adored Hermione, but she loved his attention all the same. Gently, Draco ran a hand through Hermione's windblown curls careful not to catch any snags along the way. "Granger," he called out softly. "Wake up, love. We need to talk."
Hermione's eyes blinked open slowly, sore and gritty from her earlier tears. It took longer than it should have for her to place his voice and when she did, Hermione sat up so quickly she gave herself a headrush.
"Draco? What? How? Why?" The frazzled and only half awake witch rattled off quickly. How long had she been asleep? And why was Draco here? What did they need to talk about?
The man in question sat back on his heels and pressed his lips into a firm line as he thought about how to answer her. His heart did a funny little flip in his chest each time he thought about her never changing her wards to prevent his direct apparation. It was almost as if she just never considered it, knowing instinctively that if Draco were to come to her it would be important and necessary. Not something he'd take advantage of.
It was a small thing in comparison to everything going on around them, but it made it easier for Draco to continue without getting heated and saying something to bunk things up even further. Unable and unwilling to stop touching her once he began, Draco brushed his thumb along her cheekbone with a sigh. He'd missed her so much, the way she listened to every word he spoke like it was of the utmost importance. How she would provide incredible insight and contrasting viewpoints to every discussion - furthering his ability to communicate with people he wouldn't have previously been able to tolerate without behaving like an arsehole.
Hermione had always been the realest thing in his world. She was everything people claimed her to be and so much more. She wore her heart on her sleeve and her eyes were literal windows into her soul. You couldn't hold a conversation with the witch without walking away feeling like you'd just been told something of grave importance. Her wit had intrigued him, Draco had never met a smarter witch or wizard in all his days, he'd swear it. Her bravery incensed him because she had no sense of self-preservation and was sure to get herself killed one day because of it. He coveted her loyalty and devotion to her friends because he'd never experienced anything like it and would very much like to. And with a little time and maturity, very much like a fine wine, Hermione Granger bloomed into a woman of understated beauty who carried herself with grace and charm without even thinking about it.
And Draco couldn't help but desire her from afar.
A man would have to be blind to miss the rarity of one Hermione Granger. Draco could easily imagine every male in their year at Hogwarts considering her as a long-term romantic partner at some point over the years. A witch that powerful and intelligent by your side could make you relatively unstoppable. And yes, a part of Draco saw that appeal.
But mostly he saw the girl that blushed crimson when he first asked her to Hogsmeade and the witch who shyly kissed his cheek as a thank you for the flowers he'd handpicked for her the day of their first date. He saw her eyes flash with righteous indignation over some boneheaded comment he'd made that offended her Gryffindor sensibilities and felt the small bubble of happiness and amusement the memory brought up. He saw Hermione, sound asleep in his arms, hair a mess with her mouth partially open and occasionally mumbling sleepy words like Draco, love, and mine. And how right it felt to be there, with her without any walls or barriers between them. How perfectly they fit together like they were molded out of clay and separated until they found one another again on Earth.
"My father lied to you, Granger," Draco murmured in a low voice, one that might have been a tad unsteady. "I've been the head of household since he went Azkaban, he never could have fulfilled any of the threats he made to drive you away from me. I probably should have told you that a long time ago, but it never crossed my mind until my mother confessed everything to me earlier this afternoon."
Hermione found it hard to swallow and pinched the bridge of her nose to ward off another round of tears. He knew. Draco knew what happened and why she'd thrown everything they had away, and it was all for nothing. Just a ridiculous scheme Lucius Malfoy cooked up and executed flawlessly to get rid of her. She felt so stupid.
"I couldn't be the reason you lost your family. After all you did to save them, and after all the work you'd done to restore the Malfoy name, I couldn't be the reason you lost it all, Draco. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but it was an impossible choice and I just tried to make the right one," Hermione quickly lost the battle against her tears and covered her face with her hands, trying to hide the evidence of her soft weeping.
"I wish you would have told me. I wish I could have had the chance to calm your worries and set to rights your fears. Nothing change what happened now, only how we move forward with it." Draco slowly pulled her hands away from her face, and offered her a sad smile echoed by the melancholy shining in his grey eyes. "And I would much rather move forward with you, than without you again."
Hermione sniffled and leaned forward, resting her forehead against Draco's.
"I could honestly think of nothing better," she haltingly whispered in return before his lips captured hers in a sweet, needy, emotional kiss that said everything they could not.
I missed you. I love you. I need you. I'm sorry. I'm yours. Always. Always. Always.
And they meant every single word.
Endnotes: There we have it. My take on seeing your ex-lover out with someone else. Hope it's worth the time you spent reading it, loves. Xx - otterly