Thanks to MysticDew for helping me figure out where to take this chapter! Any remaining mistakes are my own.


Chapter 7

Hell Is Other People

-oOo-

11AM, the 30th of March 2005 - Diagon Alley, London

Hermione only managed to restrain herself until the soles of Malfoy's boots had disappeared through the Floo, before rushing to do her own calculations. Despite the lack of anything approaching official statistics from the wizarding world, she found his numbers plausible enough. It was hardly surprising that no one else had spotted the trends; a populace which had allowed Voldemort to take over twice could hardly be trusted to tie its own shoelaces, much less save itself from extinction.

Somehow, being married to Malfoy seemed slightly more palatable after all that.

Hermione still wouldn't trust him any further than she could throw him and she was by no means convinced that he had eschewed his old notions about blood purity, but he had at least convinced her that he was seriously concerned about the future of the wizarding world and determined to do something to stop its decline.

It did seem more urgent to do something about the Ministry than making sure Malfoy got what he deserved. And, galling as it was to admit, it was embarrassingly obvious that she needed to brush up more on her spellwork before going after him again.


Rejoining the world of the living wasn't as difficult as Hermione had imagined. As she walked down Diagon Alley she held her head high, pretending not to notice the whispers following her like a wave down the street towards Eeylops Owl Emporium. Her pockets were full of Malfoy galleons. Apparently, it would be most unwise to turn up at Gringotts before she could persuade the goblins to let bygones be bygones. Ron hadn't dared showing his face at the bank yet either; Bill had been quite insistent.

Arriving at the Emporium, she found that the old shopkeeper had been replaced by a pimply youth. He made up for his lack of finesse by not recognising her.

"An owl, was it?" he asked, once she had torn him from the Muggle book he was reading under the counter. It looked like a battered copy of the Da Vinci Code, and Hermione sighed inwardly. If she ever became Minister for Magic, some books would actually deserve being banned...

"Yes, please."

She couldn't put off getting an owl any longer, despite the way her stomach would twist uncomfortably at the thought. Having a pet had never really worked out for her, ever since the goldfish she got when she was seven perished after just a few weeks. Her beloved Crookshanks had been at the Burrow at Bill and Fleur's wedding; she still had no idea of what happened to him. Somewhere, she wanted to believe that he was ruling the hedges around Ottery St. Catchpole, the uncontested king of badgers and hedgehogs.

"Right. I have this fella here…" the shop assistant said, gesticulating towards a brown-speckled owl with white circles around the eyes, blinking irritably at being roused in the middle of the day. "He's a Northern White-faced Scops, very reliable." He pointed at a tiny owl with a black head, whose body became brighter the further down you went. "This here's a pygmy owl. All the crack with the posh bints, pygmy owls are."

Finally, Hermione chose a tawny owl with chestnut feathers named Ruta. She hooted softly in Hermione's hand, and hopped into the cage the youth produced without fuss.

Afterwards, Hermione spent some blissful hours at Flourish and Blotts; it got easier and easier to ignore the stares and carry on with her business. She was levitating a small mountain of books on wizarding law and an ancient, battered volume that hinted promisingly of Occlumency (she hadn't forgotten the need to safeguard her mind from Malfoy), her brow furrowed in concentration, when someone bumped into her with some force.

The pile of books wavered precipitously, but she managed to straighten them without any casualties and deposit them on a empty chair, before turning around to catch the culprit. He was busy dusting himself off.

"Justin!" she exclaimed. Despite the long, white scar across his face and the way his curly hair had started creeping backwards, Justin Finch-Fletchley was clearly recognisable.

"Hermione," he answered, frowning and subtly angling his body away from hers. "I do apologise; very clumsy of me. I beg your pardon."

Hermione smiled at him despite herself, delighted to see him although she was starting to suspect that he wasn't especially pleased to see her. Back on his feet, Justin was already moving away from her.

"Well, er- It's nice to see you out and about. Good day to you," he said, walking rather hurriedly towards the exit.

Hermione stared after him. She had always liked Justin, and it hurt to be treated to nothing more personal than his impeccable manners. Was this the way it was going to be in the future, even with her old friends from the DA? Somehow, Malfoy had wormed his way in and fooled her into believing she would be welcomed back with open arms. It had better get better soon, or she would bloody well order all her books through owl post in the future.


9.30 PM, the 17th of April 2005 - Bratten's, Diagon Alley, London

"Ma- -y darling, Draco?"

At the last moment Hermione remembered that they were in public, and Malfoy smiled mockingly at her mangled term of endearment. They were on display, seated in the middle of Bratten's restaurant where the great and the good of the wizarding world congregated, and Malfoy was in his element.

Hermione had already spotted Percy Weasley, anxiously minding his manners; Professor Slughorn with an unknown protege; and Amanda Armsworth, formerly of the Holyhead Harpies, sitting at the back of the room. Hermione was rather impressed with herself that she had managed to recognise a Quidditch player, of all things; Ron would be proud.

"What is it, darling?" Draco asked. She must remember to use his first name now, or things would get exceedingly awkward. The elaborate table setting even sported a fish knife, amongst other implements not normally seen in the wild, and Hermione noticed how he dramatically was clutching the salad fork.

"You do know that you don't have to pick up the right cutlery and look at me to make sure I know which fork to use, do you?" she asked dryly. Draco looked innocent.

"Would I ever?"

"Yes. You would. For your information, my parents are- I was raised by dentists. Solid upper middle class. I mightn't have been raised in a manor like you, but we were rather well off."

He was surprised, clearly never having spent a lot of time trying to figure out her standing in the Muggle world. Being Muggle-born automatically landed Hermione at the bottom of the social scale when she entered the wizarding world, at least in the eyes of the circles Draco grew up in.

"And I wasn't raised in a barn either," she added for good measure, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Really, because-"

Hermione decided to cut him off, before he said something she would make him regret.

"While we're having it all out, did you realise that I've managed to buy my own flat in London? I was actually making rather a good salary at my job at the hotel too," she informed him. "Which reminds me of something - will I have to support the two of us? There's no way you can have a job, with all that free time you seem to have." For a second she didn't know if he would take offence or not, but then Draco actually broke into an honest-to-goodness laugh. Hermione couldn't remember ever hearing him laugh properly before.

"Malfoys don't work. We have pursuits, which may or may not result in a considerable profit. Rest assured you'll never have to work for a living; any paid work you undertake will be purely at your own choice."

She had to ask, now that he had given her an opening.

"Even without the Malfoy fortune being returned by the Ministry?"

"Even then. We're not paupers, you know," he said, turning up his nose daintily at the notion.

As she looked away, not wanting Draco to see her bubbling over with laughter, Hermione briefly looked straight into the startled eyes of Percy Weasley. Apparently, he had turned round to see what was so funny, and looked thunderstruck at the sight of his brother's Muggle-born best friend and Draco Malfoy actually appearing to enjoy each other's company.


Hermione and Draco had decided to dispense with any elaborate set-up of meeting through her work to free the house-elves. It was hardly prudent to draw attention to Draco the house-elf owner, especially considering that Dobby, another conveniently dead hero, could be associated with the Malfoys' less than stellar track record in that department.

The second obvious idea had also been dismissed as impractical; they didn't have time to wait until they could become colleagues and could get reacquainted through their work. It would probably have been more credible than what ended up being their final plan, but Draco had no intention to start a career anytime soon and Hermione would have to sit her N.E.W.T.s to get any sort of job people would expect her to want in the first place.

Instead, they had to compromise: the official story was that Draco had contacted Hermione in order to apologise for his conduct towards her in the war. When he suggested it, she immediately pointed out that he would have to apologise to everyone else he had wronged too, secretly relishing this proof that divine justice did exist despite all evidence to the contrary. His answer managed to astound her.

"I already have, Granger. Quite the reformed sinner, me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Apologies, of course. Do you normally change the subject in the middle of a conversation?"

"Who did you apologise to, if I may ask?" Hermione didn't believe him, and didn't bother hiding it.

"Loony Lovegood and Mr Ollivander, of course. Regardless of what you may believe, it's not Malfoy custom to stuff our cellar full of prisoners."

"You prefer a quick turnaround instead, as it were? Get in quick, spot of torture, back home by teatime?"

Draco didn't dignify that with an answer.

"So that means that Ron is due an apology as well, then?" Hermione asked innocently and he put on an injured look.

"Of course. If only the Healers would have let me in, I would have rushed to his bedside at St. Mungo's."

This time it was unholy glee she didn't bother hiding from him to spare his feelings.

"Can I please, please come along for that? Promise me you won't go without me!"

"Concentrate on the issue at hand, Granger. I meet with you to offer my apologies, and you decide, in a fit of misplaced optimism, that we should pursue an acquaintance to overcome the divisions left from the war."

It did sound like something she might have thought was a good idea seven years ago. Now, she wasn't as certain that the world could be fixed with good intentions, but that didn't matter for the purposes of this little farce.

"Sounds reasonable," Hermione agreed reluctantly.

"While in fact you fancy the pants off me and that's the best excuse you can come up with."

"Malfoy!"

He held his hands up and smirked.

"That's what everyone will think, and it'll work in our favour. Think about it. It will be harder to explain what I'd see in you, though."

Well, he had a point; if you cared for such things and were willing to overlook his appalling personality, the smug bastard was rather good-looking. Hermione could see how he could have a certain bad boy charm as well, which would appeal to the idiots who liked someone dangerous with a chequered past and wanted to fix them. Even before she ended up with a chequered past herself, she had been smart enough to understand that you can't fix people like a beaten-up Ford Anglia.

But what about her? No one would believe that Draco fancied a chance at the Virgin Saint of Gryffindor in a vain hope of ironing out her issues –

"Maybe we can play up the murder angle? You were really curious to find out why a girl like me committed murder, and then we found some common ground? Broken people bonding over issues?"

Draco looked at her with reluctant respect.

"You don't pull your punches, do you?" he muttered under his breath. "It could work," he said loudly. "I suppose we have a plan then."


Initially, Draco knew that his pursuit of Hermione would be widely interpreted as revenge. The Draco Malfoy of old would only have been too pleased to string Hermione Granger along and set her up for a very public fall, now that she was the golden girl of the wizarding world again. Once people saw that he was serious about her, he imagined they would fall into two camps: one side believing that he was honestly smitten, and the other, more cynical lot assuming that he wanted to rebuild his reputation.

In the end, it didn't really matter. The crucial piece in his rehabilitation was Granger; as long as she appeared to have hooked up with him willingly, she would bring him along on her rising tide.

"Some people will always believe that you'll be with me for your own reasons anyway, no matter what stories we put out. At least this sounds vaguely credible, and not too pat either," she said when they laid down their plans for their first public reunion after the war, and Draco reminded himself that he would be foolish to underestimate her deviousness.


Draco insisted that they play out their whole romance as if it were really happening, in order to avoid giving the Ministry or any of their other enemies ammunition to use against them. He had managed to keep their few preliminary meetings clandestine, but thwarting the Ministry's surveillance was risky and required needless effort.

There was also the press to worry about; the last thing they wanted was some photograph being published that threw doubt on the veracity of their relationship.

Draco picked Hogsmeade for their first official meeting after her return from exile. Without batting an eyelid he brought Hermione to Madam Puddifoot's, completely ignoring her expression of exaggerated disbelief in the vein of "I-cannot-believe-you-brought-me-here".

It being March, the tea shop was blessedly free from any romantic decor and they were served without any fuss by Madam Puddifoot herself. Draco could have sworn that she was even stouter now than the last time he was here, after making the fatal mistake of yielding to Pansy's pleas to bring her out for tea in fifth year.

While Hermione had to concede it was as good a venue as any, she did manage to milk as much entertainment as possible out of Draco's faux apology. It didn't matter to him; as long as it seemed credible, he almost didn't care about being made to look ridiculous in public. Almost. He could always extract a little revenge later.

They parted ways with Oscar-worthy performances; Hermione was all simpering insistence that they would pursue their acquaintance, and Draco acted reluctant but allowed himself be persuaded.

The next time they met up for a drink at the Three Broomsticks. Draco had timed it carefully to coincide with dinner at Hogwarts, to minimise the risk of any teachers dropping in for a quiet drink after putting up with the little hellions all day. There were a smattering of other patrons in the pub, but they were nursing their pints and didn't pay any attention to the unprecedented spectacle of the last scion of the Malfoys having a civilised conversation with Hermione Granger.

The third time they met up officially, at a wizarding restaurant in Kent, Draco attracted some curious looks but no one seemed to recognise Hermione. Perhaps straightening her hair had been a mistake, which Draco didn't fail to point out to her several times over the course of the evening. It was almost vexing not to be noticed when they had gone to so much trouble.

However, what happened at their fourth rendezvous more than made up for it.