Author's Note: Thanks for the lovely feedback on the first chapter of this story. I appreciate all of the follows and favourites, and especially the reviews. Since this story is complete, and some of the chapters are shorter than I usually like, I will be posting every 2-3 days until it's complete. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!
Thanks to Kyonomiko and LaBelladone x for their assistance with this story.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.
Hermione was out for a walk one evening in mid-June, the sun still warm and the air humid. As she had several times before, she made the climb to the East Cliff, upon which the ruins of the Whitby Abbey were still located.
There was something peaceful and reassuring about the quiet stillness of the wreck.
Settling down on the stone of the cliff, a safe distance from the edge, Hermione could see most of the town and the mouth of the River Esk, feeding into the fisheries and the pier, where countless ships sat ported for the night.
Most of the tourists had left the ruins for the evening, and as the sun began to set the temperature dropped, a chill breeze lifting into the air.
Donning her coat, Hermione wrapped her arms around her bent knees to in an effort to hold in the last vestiges of her bodily warmth, even as dark clouds rolled in.
Making to begin her descent before the storm hit, Hermione hurried past the ruins, but her vision caught on a flash of brightness and she spun, her heart stalling.
"Malfoy?" she asked, freezing on the spot.
He had been gazing out, his feet hanging precariously over the edge of the cliff. His eyes opened and narrowed when he noticed her. But then he shook his hair back, looking up to the sky as the first drops of rain came down.
He adjusted his hood over his head and ignored her.
"It's going to storm," Hermione stated, wincing at her own unnecessary statement of the obvious.
"You think," Malfoy stated, his voice empty of its usual sneering malice. "I'm no weather-whatchamacallit, Granger, but I think I figured that one out on my own."
"A meteorologist," Hermione stated, and at his sharp glare, she pressed her lips together. "Anyways, you ought to get off the cliff. Lightning, you know."
"Bugger off, Granger," Malfoy grumbled, wrapping his arms around himself as the wind whipped through, picking up speed and intensity.
Hermione hesitated, but another hostile glare thrown her way startled her into action again, and she began her descent of the cliff, back into the town. But when she glanced back Malfoy remained frozen on the edge of the cliff, his head down.
A clap of thunder sounded in the distance, and Hermione flinched.
"Come on," she ground out, wrapping her hands across her front as the wind tore through her thin coat. "Go back to town."
"My safety is not your concern, Granger," Malfoy said, his tone defeated as he continued gazing out at the sea.
"Fine," Hermione snapped, stepping away to begin her descent again.
"If you're so bothered," Malfoy drawled, glancing back at her, "just Apparate into town."
"I don't have my wand," Hermione replied, as flippant as she could manage, even as heavy, cold rain began pouring down on them. The last thing she wanted to do was to ask him to side-along Apparate her down, but it would be a long hike.
"Short-sighted of you," Malfoy commented. "I don't have a wand either, so if you're waiting for an offer, it isn't coming. You might as well get going."
There was another massive clap of thunder, followed instantly by a forked spike of lightning over the mouth of the river. Cringing, Hermione shot him a glare and carried on.
"Don't blame me when you get struck by lightning," she hissed, turning her head.
To her surprise, Malfoy rolled his eyes and rose to his feet, adjusting his hood over his head. He shoved his hands into the front pocket of his jumper, tossing his drenched hair back from his forehead, where it was plastered to his skin.
"I haven't got a bloody death wish, Granger," he grumbled, following at a distance behind her.
The wind screamed past with a strength that nearly pushed her back with each step. The rain pelting them felt like tiny pins of ice, soaking through her clothes in an instant.
Cursing Malfoy beneath her breath for detaining her, she continued past the ruins as thunder and lightning grew nearer.
Malfoy ducked away from the path, and Hermione heard his voice call something out only faintly, despite their close proximity. Another burst of thunder rattled the cliff. She turned in time to see Malfoy skirting into the entrance of the ruins, and she hesitated.
It was a long walk back into Whitby, and while the ruins would offer some protection from the elements, she would have no means of warming up. Scowling, her lips pressed into a thin line, she turned and followed the blond into the ruins.
The air was cool, but the nearest section of the abbey was still held together well enough that it blocked most of the wild winds and ferocious rain of the storm. Malfoy was leaned against one wall, his jacket soaked through and his hair plastered to his head as he removed his hood.
"We'll have to wait it out," he grumbled, sinking to the floor and tossing his arms over his bent knees. "But kindly don't speak to me."
"Fine by me," Hermione replied, frowning as she found a half-crumbled bench to sit on.
She shivered as her wet clothes settled against her skin, her teeth chattering as the thunder and lightning carried on outside. She couldn't be sure how much time had passed, but Malfoy hadn't moved, and she wondered if he had fallen asleep.
Hermione sighed as the rain pounded, relentless, on the roof, a while later. Malfoy stood and stretched his neck, one way and the other before his eyes settled on her and narrowed.
"What?" he snapped. He folded his arms as he leaned against the wall again.
"Why don't you have your wand?" she asked, brow furrowing.
"I could say the same to you, Granger," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. He chewed on his tongue for a moment, before saying, "The Ministry has it. Happy?"
Hermione stared at him, and his lip curled into a sneer. "I left mine in my cottage."
"Smart," Malfoy said with a snicker.
"Some of us don't need to rely on magic," Hermione hissed, her eyes narrowing at his cruel attitude.
"Right," he said, clicking his tongue. He pushed away from the wall and took a step closer. "How could I forget? You're part Muggle after all."
"Oh, would you grow up," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "The war ended, or did you miss the memo? Your side lost, Malfoy. You could try to be a little more accepting."
"Fuck you, Granger," he spat. "And your bloody self-righteous bullshit –"
"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione said, turning away, even as she felt her blood rising. "What, the Ministry took your magic as punishment? That's why you're working on the docks? How long?"
"Not that it's any of your business, but a year," he growled. "Unless I return to Hogwarts, then I'll get it back 1st September."
"So you aren't?" she asked, privately hoping he wouldn't. "I'm surprised, Malfoy. I thought you'd take any opportunity to wave your superiority in other people's faces."
She punctuated the word with air quotes.
"Don't talk about things you don't understand," Malfoy said, his tone stiff and cold. His grey eyes burned into hers as he took another step closer.
"Right, because you aren't superior at all," Hermione continued, rising to her feet as her blood boiled in her veins. He was close enough to tower over her. "Because you're just a spoiled, pureblood git who never considers anyone else –"
"You don't know anything about me!" Malfoy shouted, his chest heaving, his eyes tearing into her with loathing. His hands shook with rage.
Hermione froze, startled. The walls shook with another clap of thunder, and beyond the entrance, a brilliant flash of lightning.
"You don't," Malfoy seethed, stalking closer, "know a fucking thing about me."
Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide. She wished, now more than ever since she had come to Whitby, that her wand wasn't locked in the bottom of her trunk.
"You're right," she finally breathed, her voice trembling with the fear she couldn't quite suppress. "And I don't want to."
His jaw clenched and his grey eyes held hers; his lip curled but he tore away, storming out into the squall without another word.
Hermione didn't follow.
It was well into the night when the storm finally subsided. Hermione, frozen to the bone, made her way home as quickly as she could manage and collapsed into bed.
She could only imagine Malfoy made it back, but if she was honest, she was too cold and exhausted to care.
Once asleep, she was haunted by nightmares of pain and a drawing room with a crystal chandelier – of burning objects in a vault – of a great and terrible snake. The old, common ones that still left her shaking and rattled all the same. This time, accompanied by flashes of platinum blond and grey eyes.
The next day, fueled by only a few hours of sleep and several cups of strong, black coffee at the diner, Hermione attempted to drag herself through work, all too aware of the dark circles beneath her eyes.
"You look terrible," Etta said bluntly with an appraising eye. "If you're coming down with something, do us all a favour and go home."
Hermione didn't even have the energy to argue, so as Celeste took over her section, she carted herself the few blocks to her cottage and promptly fell back into a deep sleep, mercifully free of terrors.
Two weeks passed before Hermione saw Malfoy again – two weeks in which she had fought a desperate sort of hope that he had left Whitby and wouldn't return.
But of course, she knew better than to cling to such a futile hope.
So when she saw him, his cold grey eyes staring at her across the festivities of a town gathering, she felt a shiver creep down the length of her spine.
The contrast was bizarre – the very fact of seeing Malfoy at a cheerful gathering left her feeling stricken.
"I was hoping I wouldn't see you again," he mentioned as they ran into one another at the refreshments table.
His skin was starting to develop the permanent weather-worn sort of tan all the other fishermen had, and his hands were far from immaculate. Her eyes swept across the dirt that seemed to be embedded in his cuticles with a sort of cruel satisfaction.
"Same to you," Hermione replied coolly, scooping a ladle of punch into a cup. "Looks as if neither of us got our wish, doesn't it?"
"Unfortunately," he drawled, and a ghost of a smirk appeared on his features – one Hermione hadn't seen in a long time, and it felt like so much longer. "Watch the punch. A few of the crew were talking about spiking it."
"How unoriginal," Hermione scoffed, even as she poured the cup out and filled it with water instead. "I'm surprised you told me. I'd think you would rather see me embarrass myself."
"Believe it or not, Granger," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes with a shake of the head. "I don't live to make you miserable. I'm trying my best to move on, same as you."
"Right," Hermione snorted, "it didn't seem that way on the cliff. That must be why you continue to be awful to me."
Malfoy stared at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowed as he absently picked at a pile of sliced vegetables on his paper plate. The scene looked entirely out of place for someone so entitled. Hermione would have laughed if the whole thing hadn't felt so awkward, as if she were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Pray tell, Granger," he finally said, his jaw clenching. "Just how am I being awful to you right now? Suppose I should have let you get yourself wasted on the punch, then."
He shook his head in irritated disbelief, his eyes rolling, and made to stride off.
"Malfoy," Hermione said, grinding her teeth. He turned back, raising one pale eyebrow. Hermione pressed her lips together, and let out a long exhale. "You aren't. Being awful."
He nodded pointedly and walked away to where Brix and the rest of his crew were. Hermione made her way back to where Etta and Celeste stood with Finn, who seemed to be several glasses of punch in.
"Friend of yours?" Etta asked with an amused grin, eyeing up Malfoy across the square.
"Hardly," Hermione said with a sneer, biting into a cube of cheese from her plate. At Etta's raised eyebrow, Hermione sighed but continued. "We went to school with one another. We weren't friends."
"And yet you're both here in Whitby," Celeste mused, sharing a glance with Etta. "Must be a sign."
"Absolutely not," Hermione said, cringing at the thought. Though she couldn't help but wonder why Malfoy had been somewhat amenable, especially considering the biting words they had shared the last time she had seen him, trapped in the abbey ruins.
And when she looked back across the square, he seemed to be watching her with, if she wasn't mistaken, some sort of curiosity.