Authors' Note: Otterlyardent and The Mourning Madam are teaming up to bring you this sweet, romantic tale. If you read A Clash of Colors by the Madam, some of this first chapter is familiar—until the end. SO MAKE SURE YOU READ! But we both decided to scrap the painfully long slow burn (much to the Madam's joy—Otterly was able to talk her down off the ledge) and bring you nothing but fluff and love. We hope you enjoy this! Thank you for reading, from the bottom of our hearts!
Winthrop's Wharf was a small seaside village on the English side of the England-Wales border. It had once been a large, booming seaport, long before Liverpool became the area's main hub. Now, it was a sleepy little town, enchanting and calm. The people there were close-knit and wary of outsiders—they also happened to be Muggles. It had taken Draco Malfoy two years before he could convince the people of the town that he wasn't there to cause them harm.
After the War and his subsequent sentencing—five years' supervised probation, with monthly wand checks—Draco had begun to feel as though the world was closing in on him. He tried his hardest to drag his family's name up from the abyssal pit it had settled in, donating money, time and supplies to multiple organizations. He had remained out of the spotlight, only emerging to make sure that the Malfoy name was prominent in any reporting of the charitable acts.
Winthrop's Wharf was just what he needed to escape the smothering attention his family had received after the War and his father's imprisonment. The air was salty and warm in the summer, refreshing and brisk in the winter when the snow blew in. The first year in the town had been brutal, learning to live as Muggles do. He had strong wards around his home, and at times he got so frustrated, he resorted back to pulling out his wand for the most menial of tasks. But he had made leaps and bounds in learning to blend in with the non-magical beings, and those instances were becoming few and far between now.
It was a warm April day, balmier than usual when Draco rode his motorcycle from his cottage into the town at the base of the cliffside where he lived. The smell of the sea, salty and free, tickled his senses; the warmth of the early spring sun heating his clothed shoulders. He had a few errands to run, but he was determined to stop in at Devya's Book Shop before he did. He'd finished the last stack of books he'd purchased and was in need of some fresh stimuli.
As he rode along the winding path down the cliff side, he looked out over the sea beyond. He'd been born, just as every witch and wizard had been for thousands of years now, only able to see in shades of grey—silver, pewter, mercury, ash. He'd read of colors, all the shades the Muggles had been born seeing, enough to know the water was blue. But to him, it was a dark shade of graphite. The sunlight danced along the water's surface, sparkling like millions of minuscule diamonds. The view was the most appealing aspect of living in this sleepy little town, and he enjoyed every moment of it as the wind blew his face and arms.
He pulled into the alley between two rows of shops and parked his motorcycle. He removed his helmet and shook his hair out—it just brushed his shoulders these days. Draco entered the small shop, a bell tinkling pleasantly against the door. Nadia Devya was a kindly, plump, older woman with long braided black hair and a soft-spoken temperament. Upon seeing Draco, she threw her hands up and gave him a wide smile. "Mr. Malfoy! Back so soon?"
He gave her a wide smile. "What can I say? I have an insatiable thirst for the written word."
"We just got in the new Gary Greenwood novel yesterday, I know you're a fan…" she began, leading him deeper into the bookstore.
The smell of the books surrounding him brought Draco peace, just as it always had. As a child in the Manor's library, then in the expansive Hogwarts library, the stale, sweet smell of aged parchment and bindings had comforted him. He had spent countless hours and days reading tales of dragon tamers and powerful epics of imaginary wizards, textbooks of years gone by, journals written in other languages. Anything and everything he could get his hands on.
He found that the smell of brand new Muggle books was every bit as tantalizing—crisp paper printed with shiny dark ink and bound, not with magic, but sweet-smelling adhesive. It brought a different excitement along. He drank up every new book he came across and feared he would soon be out of new material to read. He would have to start Apparating into Muggle London, to visit larger bookstores and he didn't fancy that idea much. Nadia had become like family to him in the hours he'd spent scouring her shelves.
She showed him to the new Greenwood novel, a murder mystery she was sure would capture his attention. He delved into the front cover, reading the description on the jacket hungrily. The bell on the door tinkled again and she patted his arm and excused herself to greet her new customer.
It was then that Draco heard a voice he hadn't in nearly three years. He groaned and tried to duck behind the shelves, not remotely interested in speaking with the witch. Not even in a small seaside village in the middle of nowhere could he find non-magical peace. Life would always have a way of catching up with him.
But, as the Fates would have it, Nadia brought the witch directly down the aisle where he was currently hiding. "We have the new novel from your favorite author!"
There was no way for him to get around the stack of books Nadia had blocking the path to the next aisle. He could hear them approaching and he looked ridiculous hovering at the end of a bookshelf, looking at nothing. Draco jutted his chin out proudly and took a deep breath, ready to confront the harbinger of bad memories. He turned around and the new Greenwood book clattered to the ground, forgotten in his shock.
The one witch he'd been unnecessarily cruel to in his earlier life, the once plain and painstakingly ordinary girl, was suddenly vibrant. Oral stories and traditions passed down through the wizarding families had always alluded to the fact that one day seeing color was a rarity and a gift. It was the basis of many a whimsical lore and childhood fairy tale. If two magical beings one day saw each other in color, there was no denying the bond that would follow the sighting. It meant the two were soulmates, undeniably and irreversibly so. If the bond was denied, the magical cores of the two would fade into nonexistence, crushed by a mourning unlike any they'd ever felt before. This could only come about once both had reached the tender age of eighteen, and the last time Draco had laid eyes on her was the second of May, three years prior. He had been one month shy of his eighteenth birthday. If he had known then, he never would have left London, never would have left her side after the Final Battle.
Draco could feel his jaw go slack as he stared in wonderment at the sight of Hermione Granger. He didn't know any of these shades and tints; he knew only grey, and suddenly, there was a spectrum of hues before him. The brightness was nearly blinding and Draco had to blink a few times, his eyes watering at the sudden assault on his senses. There was a shimmering about her, more exquisite than anything else he'd ever laid eyes on.
The witch's eyes went wide and she raised an eyebrow at him, an eyebrow that was the same curious shade atop her head. He swallowed hard and bent to retrieve the book he'd dropped. Nadia glanced between the couple and looked perplexed. "Do you two know one another?"
The witch scoffed and he narrowed his eyes at her. "We know of one another."
Draco knew his mouth was still hanging open speechlessly as he stared at the wondrous angel before him. He glanced around—everything was still in shades of grey. Everything but her. He wondered what he could compare the soft shade of her cheeks to, the sweet color of her lips, the strange, shiny hue of her hair. And her eyes. Merlin her eyes. What else in the world would mimic that color?
He drew a deep breath in and cleared his throat. "I'm going to keep browsing, Nadia," he said, waving his book in one hand and gesturing down the aisle.
"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. And you, Miss Granger? I've got a few new books on knitting patterns you might enjoy," the bookstore owner said, placing a hand on Granger's shoulder to walk her toward another aisle.
Draco pretended to look at the mystery novels before him, but he couldn't draw his attention away from the swath of brilliance two aisles over. He watched as Nadia pulled a few different books down to show Granger and listened as the witch politely dismissed the Muggle. As he watched, from between the spines of books and through the shelves, Granger's face peered around a stack to glance his way. A small smile graced her features and her cheeks darkened as she tucked a curl behind her ear and looked down. He smirked a little to himself—she was curious, too.
He wanted to talk to her, wanted to touch her strange hair and kiss her softly tinted lips. But they weren't friends—they never had been. They were enemies, and a deep-seated loathing had always separated the two. Draco took his book and ambled, unwillingly and with great discontent, to the register to pay. His heart was racing and he could feel the blood rushing behind his eardrums. Her soul had already called to his, he was sure of it. The warmth that was spreading through his chest, the calm and serenity he felt battling his anxiety at her close proximity. It was nearly too much. He'd have to walk away. His magical core would wither away if he denied the soulmates' bond and he would waste away into nothing more than a Muggle from a crushing blow to his entire being, stronger than any broken heart.
When he got to the register, the older woman gave him a kind smile. "She comes in every Friday," she whispered, giving him a wink.
Draco gave her a bewildered look. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"I saw the look you gave each other. Clearly, there is a history," Nadia told him, placing his book into a bag.
He was growing immensely uncomfortable with the way the conversation was progressing and he took his book and his change and swiftly left the bookshop. When he got to his motorcycle, he sat atop the seat, his helmet in his hands and took a few steadying breaths. Hermione Granger. Hermione sodding Granger. Draco felt an absurd feeling rising in his body. Laughter. A deep, rumbling laughter bubbled up from his chest. The Gods were taunting him, their sense of humor cruel and unusual.
"What's so funny, Malfoy?" came the sweetest voice he had ever heard in his life.
His head whipped in her direction and there was a bombardment of color. Granger was standing in the alleyway with him, looking at him with a fierce curiosity. Draco's breath hitched at the sight of her moving closer to where he was. He swung his leg off the motorcycle and met her halfway. She looked at him, her eyes moving over his hair, his face, the tattoos that covered his left arm from shoulder to wrist.
Granger, seemingly unable to stop herself, lifted her hand and ran a fingertip over his arm. Her lips parted slightly and he was transfixed by the sight, just as she was staring in awe at, what he assumed, was a plethora of colors staining his arm. "This is incredible," she murmured.
"Do you understand what this means, Granger?" he asked, his voice raspy when he finally found it.
"I'm trying not to think about it," she admitted, her eyes raking over his clothing, his shoes and then back up toward his face.
He allowed himself to do the same to her, noting that her hair wasn't one color, but multiple. Her skin was magnificent, glowing. She had a splash of freckles across her nose and they weren't dreadfully plain as he'd once thought. In color, they were cute and endearing. And her eyes, seemingly a darker shade than her hair but the same hue, were depthless. They were warm and he wanted to get lost staring into them.
"Your eyes are still grey," she said, touching his cheek lightly to lift his face so she could look into them. "But…not just grey. There's…something more. Little flecks of something I can't identify."
Her touch on his face was sizzling and he could feel his magic awakening powerfully within him. His soul was calling to hers. The pull toward this witch was all-encompassing, overtaking his every sense, his every thought, his entire being. The thought occurred to him that there was no way he could possibly leave her alone now. But how on earth was he supposed to get his heart in line with his soul? Could he possibly fall in love with her? "Granger…what are we going to do, now?"
His question seemed to finally snap her out of the trance she'd fallen into. An unwelcome sadness filled her warm eyes. "I don't know—I need to think. I'm sorry…this is just so unexpected. And overwhelming! I-," she swallowed thickly, withdrawing her hand from his skin. "I'll find you."
And she was gone, striding quickly away from him. "There's an open house for members of the community at my fire station Sunday. Station Twenty-Two. I—I hope to see you," he called after her, disappointment vibrating through his entire being as he watched her stride away from him, her head hung low, her hair beginning to frizz about her head wildly.
We really hope you've enjoyed this first chapter. Let us know what you think?
