She let her fingers dance across the spins of the dark leather books; so new that no one had even cracked the spines. The scent of the fresh books intermixing with the musty air and rain soaked coats comforted her in the midst of the chaotic bookstore. Frazzled mothers with damp hair tried desperately to hold onto the slippery hands of their rowdy children, most of them making their way to the back of the store towards the children's section.
The interactive puppet-show story time the owner performed for the local children provided the perfect rainy day activity.
It was that story time that brought Hermione to the bookstore in the first place. Her daughter sat with her grandmother and cousins eagerly awaiting the show in the children's section, while Hermione escaped to one of the only empty isle ways in the store, that which held newly printed legal books. She smiled at the smell of the books crisp pages that she cradled in her right hand, a new edition she needed for her current work project. Her left hand was busy pushing and pulling the stroller that stood in front of her back and forth gently. Her son, who would have his first birthday in just a few short weeks, was sleeping contently behind the blue and white plaid blanket draped over the stroller.
Hermione tucked the new book under her arm, and began to steer the stroller out of the isle, eager not to miss the puppet show her daughter loved so much.
Unfortunately, just as she was turning the stroller out of the isle, a tall man was walking into it.
The stroller's wheel hit the man's expensive looking shoe, rolling a top the shiny black leather before falling back to the ground.
Hermione looked down at the stroller, silently hoping that the jerking movement did not wake Hugo, and simultaneously blurted out a quick "Oh, I'm sorry!" to the man.
"No problem," he responded casually.
Hermione looked up to give the man a thankful smile, but was unable to do anything but move her mouth into the form of a small 'o' when her eyes met his.
He looked the same way she had remembered him, albeit a handful of years older. His long face was still bony, and his pale skin and almost white hair seemed even lighter against the gloominess of the day.
"Granger," Draco Malfoy said in a curious, slightly disgusted manor.
"Malfoy," she said curtly, with her own amount of disgust laced in her tone. "I thought you had moved to America."
"Keeping close tabs on me I see, eh," Malfoy stated. His condescending tone made Hermione feel like she was a second year all over again, and she concentrated on keeping her composure.
"We keep tabs on a lot of people like you," she said calmly.
"Like me?" Malfoy questioned angrily.
Before Hermione had the chance to answer she heard a little voice coming from a few bookshelves over. She knew instantly that the calls for "mummy" came from her own daughter.
Not a moment later the red headed toddler scrambled up to her, a big, flat books clutched to her chest.
Hermione bent down so that she was face to face with her daughter.
"Mama can I have this book? It is about a lil' owl and her name…"
"Rosie," Hermione cut her daughter off, "I promised you could pick a book after story time. Go back and sit with grandma. You can hold this book during story time and we will decide if it is the perfect book to take home today after, okay honey?"
"Okay Mama," Rosie sighed, somewhat dejected, as she shuffled off back towards the children's section.
"Oh jeez," Malfoy started, "you didn't really marry a Weasley, did you? Which one?"
Although his tone, once again, was one of disgust, Hermione sensed that his heart wasn't quite as into his mockery as it had been when he was a teenager.
Hermione huffed, shaking her head in his direction. She contemplated walking away then and there; after all she had barely thought of Draco Malfoy in years, she didn't need his approval of her life. But something about the way things had turned out all those years ago had always bothered her.
"You know Malfoy, Harry told us what your mother did for him."
Malfoy's face changed from disgust to embarrassment and his eye line moved from Hermione's face to his own shoes very quickly.
"And I kind of always hoped that after that battle, when your parents quit fighting so that they could find out if you were okay, that you would realize what is important in life, and you would change, after all Dumbledore believed in you all along! But I see that you're still the same old, close minded, weak little man that you were when we were children."
With one final nasty glare, Hermione steered Hugo's stroller out of the isle and began to walk away.
"You're wrong!" Malfoy shouted back.
Hermione turned back towards him in shock.
"Really? Then why are you mocking the fact that I married Ron? That doesn't sound like a changed man to me, it sounds like the same old, cruel Draco Malfoy we knew in school."
Several other people around them had stopped to stare at them. Malfoy, in order to avoid further attention, took a few steps towards Hermione, and whispered to her.
"I am different. I have a kid too, a son, he looks about the same age as your little girl, and I would never, ever," his voice began to rise again, and he had to stop to compose himself, "do to my son what my father did to me. That is why I moved to America, so my family wouldn't have to suffer the repercussions of my… mistakes."
Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed.
"I just hope that now I've had to come back to London for reasons beyond my control, my son won't be judged or treated badly because of who his family is."
"You mean like the way you treated me, because I was muggle-born, or Ron, because of his family?" Hermione shot back.
"That is exactly what I mean," Draco said, in the softest, most humane tone Hermione had ever heard come out of his mouth. "I'm sorry about what I said about the Weasley's, sometimes old habits die hard I guess."
He looked down at his shoes before stalking off in the opposite direction. Hermione stood, shocked for a moment before she pushed Hugo towards the children's section.
She spotted Mrs. Weasley standing at the edge of the small audience full of excited children, and moved towards her.
On the opposite side of the audience she spotted a dark haired woman sitting in a chair, a toe-headed child around Rose's age sitting on her lap. The woman, obviously the boy's mother, seemed very proper and polished. Her hair was pulled back into a shiny, sleek bun, and her clothes, although made up simply of jeans and a white women's oxford, seemed to be tailored perfectly to her build. She also wore both a very elegant necklace and an expensive looking wedding ring set.
Hermione's first impression of her was that this woman was cold, and superficial, but then she began bouncing the small boy on her knee, making him giggle in excitement. It was then Hermione noticed this woman's eyes, which were sparkling with kindness; they reminded her of Mrs. Weasley's.
The boy suddenly spotted someone standing near the entrance of the children's section, and waved excitedly, shouting happily for his father.
Draco, who had been trying to avoid having to walking into Hermione's view, could not deny his son, and moved stand behind his wife.
The small boy reached up for his father, and Malfoy bent down, placing a kiss on the boy's white hair before speaking into his ear and pointing towards the small stage, where story time was beginning.
He could feel Hermione gaze upon him and looked up to her, the smile his son caused still lingering on his face.
Hermione smiled back at him somewhat shyly.
She had always known that Dumbledore had been right about what the most powerful form of magic was. She owed her life, both the fact that she was still living, and the beautiful life and family she had, to it. What she had just witnessed, however, gave her an even greater understanding of just how wonderful what Dumbledore had so passionately believed in was.
Love really could conquer all.