Hermione Jean Granger, brightest witch of her age, war heroine extraordinaire, the brains behind Harry Potter's "golden trio", one of the Wizarding world's most accomplished young Ministry employees…
Is running very, very late. At least by her own standards.
Hopping on one heeled foot, trying to slip her toes into the red pump's mate, is simultaneously trying to pocket her wand, open a door, and utter a streak of expletives all while holding her purse strap between her teeth.
It's impressive really, to watch. And amusing if anyone was around to see. Her cat however is her sole audience member and Crookshanks finds very little to be amusing.
Finally righting the shoe, stowing the wand, and flinging the door open, she rips the purse strap from between her teeth and huffs in relief and exasperation, forcing the curls of unruly hair out of her eyes with the puff of breath (which was exactly the idea thank you very much!).
Stepping into the hall outside her flat, she is the picture of poise she always intends in public and walks with a confident stride, calculating quietly how much time she can make up on the way to her destination. Not much, she muses but really, she is only 5 minutes behind her intended schedule.
She just really hates being late.
Hermione has settled these past few years in a quiet building that accommodates Wizarding citizens, yet sits at the edge of the muggle world. Her position at the Ministry requires a great deal of time spent between the two worlds so it suits her particular needs well.
After the War (The Wizarding War? The Great War? The Fall of Voldemort? Jury is still out on the official title) Hermione was approached by the newly appointed Minister Shacklebolt and offered a position in one division to increase cooperation between the Wizard and Muggle worlds. Many had been struck by the sheer absurdity that the Magical population, a fraction of the overall world populace, had faced near destruction in Britain with virtually no contact from the Muggle governments. Many thought that might have been a blessing. Muggle weaponry is vast and indiscriminate. A few very fearful Muggles could have potentially wiped out The Dark Lord and his supporters with no regard to the witches and wizards in the way, effectively decimating their population. Others felt some grenade launchers might have been pretty effective at the Battle of Hogwarts where the participants lined up like pawns on each side of a chess board and shot lightning bolts at each other ala American War of Independence style.
"Trench warfare" didn't occur to either side. Odd, that.
Hermione in particular works with a Muggle law firm that assists the Ministry with prosecution in cases that cross Muggle/Wizard jurisdiction while still practicing discretion amongst the majority of the muggle population. Most of her co-workers downtown have very little actual understanding on their cases, keeping the Magic aspects on a strictly need-to-know basis. The partners, junior partners, and Wizard contacts (aka Hermione and a select few others) are the only people aware of the true details involved.
A wizard hurts a muggle with enough witnesses to require proper reparations? Hermione works on the plea deal. A muggle acquires a magic artifact through less than legal means? Hermione's team steps in to make sure the defendant is prosecuted in a muggle way while also paying damages to any injured party quietly on the Wizarding side.
Most days, it's admittedly pretty dull work. But it pays well (not that Hermione is in terrible need of galleons thanks to her part in the war) and she has a daily toe-dip into the world of her childhood while not having to give up anything about her magical one.
She has been with the firm now for over 5 years. Weekends are typically spent visiting with Harry and Ginny (now Potter, formerly Weasley), on occasional dates of both magical and muggle nature (no preference yet determined), or curled up with a few books, a bottle of red wine, and her cantankerous cat.
She is fully aware that her routine is stale but no one would dare accuse her of such, especially herself.
Harry and Ginny are dear friends but her estranged relationship with Ginny's brother after their romantic entanglement came to an end has left some of their conversations awkward.
Her dates of late have been… acceptable. A couple of repeat offenders managed to make it to her flat but not more than a few times. A three month fling with Seamus Finnigan had been a nice diversion but she always felt he was holding back somehow. She wasn't sure if she had trust issues after things ended with Ronald Weasley, or if Finnigan personally struggled with openness and commitment, but either way it was lacking and ended friendly but abruptly.
The books and wine treat her right. Thank Merlin for that. The cat could improve his attitude but she loves him so she lets that go.
Tonight her destination is a bit of a rarity. She is meeting with the eternally nice and eternally friend-zoned "Dave" from the office. He'd been asking for weeks. She'd run out of excuses.
Stepping from the street into the doorway of a nice little pub close to both her flat and their office, she checks her watch and grins a little.
8:01.
Four minutes salvaged on the way to meet her friend. A phrase pops into her head that probably describes a lot more about her life than the current time, and with only a little bitterness.
Not bad.
XXX
Sometimes, Draco would swear the bars he frequents save him a seat.
Sauntering in to what he would probably classify his third favorite pub (the first being last Tuesday's locale with the tantalizing, and delightfully un-clingy, red head), he finds a perfect stool at the end of the bar, back to the wall, facing the door, and smirks in his approval of the cosmos.
It's crowded tonight, more than usual. It's Friday and the young Malfoy rarely finds himself in muggle London on a Friday. Too many gaggles of flirty but ultimately cock-teasing girls, clusters of testosterone heavy male groups fighting for the few potential "ladies", and way too long to get a drink.
But today was exhausting so he decides that 1. Not all girls are teases, 2. He can school any muggle boy here, and 3. Patience, as they say, is a virtue.
Plus he's already a half bottle of vodka in when he arrives so waiting for a drink seems somewhat trivial.
"Could I get a Guinness here, mate? And a martini, dirty." A dark haired muggle is leaned too close to Draco's personal space for his liking, begging the bartender's attention. He glares at the man, trying for intimidating to entice him to bugger the hell off. Unfortunately, the man doesn't seem to notice, eyes trained on the drinks being made, then darting quickly toward the door, searching.
Waiting for someone, Draco thinks. A woman no doubt.
He wonders idly if the martini is for him or the mystery lady.
When the bartender brings the 2 drinks, he points in Draco's direction, indicating he will get his drink next.
"Scotch," he says loudly, trying to make his voice carry over the din of the bar. "Macallan."
The bartender nods his understanding and moves away to collect the liquor.
He returns with the drink in a tumbler with a slight amber tint to the glass. Draco tips it up and tastes his drink, eyes scanning the room. His gaze finds the annoying muggle with personal space issues and notices the man as he stands, focusing across the room to the door.
In the entryway, a petite young woman with a cascade of dark honey curls smoothes the skirt of her white sundress, looking down at herself to check that she is presentable for her date.
Then she looks up and sees the annoying muggle smiling and gesturing to her. Her pink lips stretch into a sunny smile. A beautiful, open, sincere smile.
Draco knows that smile.
He curses and looks away, turning his body as not to be seen by the woman who just entered the pub. His pub. Not really his but dammit he's been coming here for months. Who does she think she is?
"Hermione fucking Granger", he mumbles.
He hasn't laid eyes on the witch since his trial. Maybe the odd photo in the daily prophet but even that is not common. Her redheaded ex-boyfriend, that git Weasley, practically begs for coverage. But stories about Granger usually involve a lot of her quoted with "No comment" or the writer snidely observing "Ms. Granger was not cooperative in speaking with this reporter so we must draw our own conclusions."
At the trial, she did not speak. Barely looked his way. When Potter spoke on behalf of his Mother ("She saved my life!") and himself ("Draco Malfoy was forced into this since he was a child and, in the end, he made the right choices when he could"), Granger had stared at Harry with sad, yet blank eyes.
Draco is under no illusion that his family wasn't a hearty piece of why she looked so desperately sad. When she finally glanced from Harry and looked his way, she had tried, impossibly, to give him the smallest smile of encouragement. It made him flinch with self-loathing and he could not hold her gaze.
He never wanted to see those haunted eyes look to him again.
Now here she is, giving a quick, chaste hug to Annoying Muggle. Draco is watching through his lashes, keeping his body closed and turned slightly away. She sits and picks up the Martini and takes a sip. Nodding approvingly and passing it to the man, she takes the Guinness now and settles into her chair. So the martini was for him then? Never pegged her a beer drinker.
They talk for a while and Draco continues his quiet observation. A blond with a low cut top and too-red lips moves to stand near him, "accidently" brushing his shoulder. He barely even registers; just gives a polite "No problem" to her lash-batting apology. He doesn't notice when she scoffs and moves away in a bit of a snit. She could tell him he bedded her five weeks ago, but he wouldn't be listening if she bothered.
Annoying Muggle makes plays to touch his date at every opportunity. A nudge on the arm, grazing fingers across her hand… Hermione, for her part just smiles, sweet as pie, but moves her hand away and shifts her arms from his reach. Draco is coming to the conclusion this is not exactly a date.
His suspicions are further enhanced when she moves away to get her own drink from the bar and does not offer to fill his mostly empty glass.
"Could I get an Oatmeal Stout, please?" She places her empty glass on the bar and watches it disappear and a new clean pint fill with molasses-black ale. Draco watches as she thanks him and leaves muggle paper money on the bar. She turns and begins to step away when she does a nearly comedic double take. Her brown eyes bore into his grey ones and he instinctively braces for what comes next. The hatred. The panic. The distaste.
Or Merlin help him, the sorrow.
Instead, her eyes narrow a moment before they widen and she moves down the bar toward him.
"Draco Malfoy? I-wow." She shakes her head in disbelief and then the single most amazing thing Draco has ever seen: She grins.
"It's been forever! What in the world are you doing here of all places?" She leans in conspiratorially with a devilish (and dare he say delicious) grin. "I didn't think you'd be caught dead this side of Diagon Alley."
"I… excuse me, what?"
"Here, in" she leans even closer and looks to the right then left and finished in a soft whisper, "Muggle London. You were a bit of a purist as I recall."
Draco is dumbstruck. The sheer understatement of what she has just said…
Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater (regardless of how much he detested it all by the time he got out), the bully who taught her the magical world's ugliest slur, hailing from a family of bigoted traditionalists, his Father serving a life sentence in Azkaban for his part in the war, his friends, if he can even call them that, all a sad collection of Usual Suspects and recovering criminals.
A bit of a purist?
He laughs from the surprise of it. It feels amazing to have an honest laugh and he rewards her the favor with his most dazzline grin.
Leaning back a little, body language open and free, he tips his drink towards her in a silent toast. "You could say that yes. But time changes all things and I find aspects to be quite agreeable."
"Like?" She leans against the bar and takes a deep drink of her stout.
"Like this pub for instance. Much better than the Leaky, yes?"
She laughs a little, "To say the least. Centuries of potion making and limitless power and the best we come up with is Firewhiskey?" She scoffs at the travesty.
Draco makes no small note that she refers to the wizarding world as "we". Like it includes them both, in the same universe. Together. Her open attitude is like oxygen and sunshine. He can't believe she would let him breathe in her air.
More surprising that he is so delighted by it.
"Firewhiskey is alright." He leans in as she did towards him. They are now inches apart and he smirks. "But muggle Whiskey is better." He grins and takes a sip but doesn't sit back.
She rests her cheek on her hand, elbow on the bar supporting it. "Anything else? That you like about this world I mean?"
He thinks to say, "Finding you here." But stops and sits back, shaking himself from this spell (pun intended). Instead he answers, "You're being surprisingly civil, Granger. Are you sure you recognize me?" His face is a mask of indifference but he hopes she can't hear his heart race.
She starts and asks, "You mean because of Hogwarts? Please… we were all of twelve." She waves her hand flippantly. "I mean unless you're still touting that blood purist nonsense but I assumed you may have grown up being here in this pub, wearing jeans for Godric's sake."
"No of course not. Not after… everything." He feels like he wants to say more. Apologize even.
I'm sorry you bled on my parlor floor, my family torturing you into choking screams. I'm sorry I spat the word Mudblood at you when I was barely old enough to know what it meant. I'm sorry I called you ugly and hexed you and made fun of your, now that I really look at it, startling beautiful hair. I'm sorry for the first few years I meant it because I was an awful little prick. I'm sorry I didn't regret it enough later to stop. I'm sorry lying to Bellatrix about who you were was the closest thing I could come to courage. I'm really fucking sorry…
"I'm sorry, Granger," is all he can manage. He doesn't know why but the compulsion to say more, to be specific is drowned by an inexplicable need to move forward. To bring her only peace.
Her warm eyes look back at him and for a moment they flicker with something he can't read. Then they clear and she smiles again. "I forgave you before you ever thought to ask, Malfoy. For myself more than you. Can't hold on to childhood rivalries forever." She winks.
Childhood rivalries?! Again he is floored by her… maturity? He's not sure that's the right word. More like she's a complete nutter but he thanks the universe anyway. If this girl can forgive him, perhaps there's hope yet for his tarnished soul.
He raises his glass to her again, keeping the relaxed façade and somewhat blank face. "As much as I enjoy catching up, I feel I must point out your date looks rather vexed."
Hermione glances over her shoulder and gives Annoying Muggle a little wave and holds up her finger in the universal indication of "give me a moment please". Draco feels there is an underlying subtext of "don't come over here because I don't really want to introduce you but I'm not going to completely blow you off and I know you'll wait for me because really, you're you and, well, look at me."
A lot can be said with one finger. Draco might have taken liberties with the last bit.
Granger turns back his way and rolls her eyes but with no real hostility. "Not a date really. He'd like it to be but I have to work with the man and I have a strict policy against office dating."
"You work with muggles?"
"For the ministry but yes. I'm part of the WMC, law division." When he simply raises an eyebrow she clarifies, "Wizarding Muggle Cooperation."
"Ah. I heard something about that. The trade and manufacturing division helped broker a deal for Malfoy Industries. Muggle finance is quite a machine."
"The muggle world is huge. So much potential really. In business, medicine, technology… I guess it took a war to nudge everyone into the next century." Her eyes are distant for a moment. He imagines she is thinking of the war and doesn't press her to continue.
"Anyway," she takes another drink of her beer, "it was great to run into you. Always nice to see someone from school. But I guess I should cut Dave a break and get back." She gestures with her thumb to good ol' A.M. and starts to back away.
"Good to see you, Granger, bushy hair and all." There is no malice in his tone or his soft eyes.
She nods again and smiles, the joke an understanding between old friends. No offense taken.
Draco downs the rest of his scotch as she walks away and grabs his jacket to leave. Whatever he comes here for, seeking something between the thighs of women whose name he barely cares to know: Distraction? Absolution? He's not sure but he thinks he just got something better. He apparates from the alley around the corner back to the Malfoy Manner and sleeps a peaceful, dreamless sleep.