May 2010
It had started with one glass of champagne.
Hermione hated the Annual Memorial Gala that the Ministry and Hogwart's put on in the school grounds. She hated going to the school every year on the second of May and she hated standing at the front of the Great Hall, posing for press photographs with the rest of Order and listening to families of the deceased talk about the sacrifices made during the war.
Most of all, she hated that every year they made her remember; mainly because she could never forget.
She still attended. Year after year she made her way to Hogwart's, usually dressed in a lovely gown with her hair done up, posing for photographs and listening to stories. Some years were worse than others.
This was a particularly bad year.
There was no particular trigger for the bad years, but when it was one, Hermione tended to go a little overboard on the free wine. Couple that with the fact that she hadn't drank a drop of alcohol since Alphard was born, and 2010 proved to be a particularly bad year.
As slowly made her way out into the courtyard of the school to for some fresh air, she was drawn by the smell of Muggle tobacco to where Draco and Pansy stood, hidden behind a small shrub and sitting on the edge of the stone wall.
"I thought you quit?" she said, filling the empty spot beside Draco, who scoffed.
"I un-quit during particularly stressful moments," he muttered.
"Adoration or hatred I could deal with," Pansy snapped at the both of them, "It's the pity I can't stand."
Hermione turned her head, staring across Draco at the dark haired girl. "Pity?" she asked, blinking in confusion.
"Well, yeah." Pansy took a long drag from the cigarette before passing it back to Draco. "You're the war heroine. Smart, successful - beautiful, now that you've started to give a shit about your appearance. Draco is the bad boy. Either loved or hated - loved for being raised by a bigoted and prejudiced family, forced to follow a madman who he betrayed, or hated for - well, being an ex-Death Eater. Take your pick. I, on the other hand, will always be that terrified, cowardly girl who was willing to turn over a much-loved classmate to said madman if it meant saving her arse."
Hermione didn't really know how to respond, so instead the three sat there in silence for a moment more. Draco had passed the cigarette back to Pansy, who had taken a small drag before passing it back again, sighing.
"Well. I'm gonna go back in. If nothing else I do adore watching my designs walk around a party like this." She stood, and without another glance in the others' direction, she was gone, leaving Hermione and Draco alone.
After a moment more of silence, Hermione spoke. "So. Your mother was sure she was okay watching Alphard for the night? She wouldn't have rather been out here, socialising?"
"No," he told her, "I rather think she'd agree with me that she would prefer to be anywhere but here."
Hermione went to stand, stumbling a bit and catching herself on the edge of the cement wall. "Well I'm glad she can visit Alphard whenever she'd like, now. I appreciate her understanding that I would prefer neither myself nor my son step foot in the Manor if we don't have to," she admitted. She heard Draco's sigh.
"Hermione - are you drunk?"
"Quite." She giggled. "I've always impressed everyone with how articulate I am whilst inebriated, but I do get a little stumbly," she told him. He laughed.
"Yes, that I do remember," he told her with a small smile. As he stood he wrapped his fingers around her forearm, supporting her weight. "Shall I take you home?" he asked.
She nodded, leaning into him. "Probably for the best. This was a terrible night. Happens every couple of years - I drink myself a little silly. Haven't even drank that much really tonight, I just haven't drank at all since Alphard was born," she ranted, letting Draco lead her back towards the main entrance of the school.
Once they were down the path and through the gate, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, turning on the spot and they were gone.
Draco had originally planned on dropping her off and heading home immediately, but when she asked him in for a nightcap, he found himself agreeing. He felt awkward, making his way through the house with her; he couldn't recall a time that he ever been in her home, alone with her, without Alphard. When she poured them each a drink in mismatched glasses - not crystal - he found himself grinning.
"I think I always forget how hard today must be for other people," she told him, lifting herself onto the kitchen counter, beside where he was leaning against the cupboard. "I mean, I don't mean other people, I mean - " She stuttered, paused, and took a deep breath. "What I mean is you and your mother also had a very terrible experience during the war, and in a way that was entirely different from anything me, or Harry, or Ron went through," she said finally.
Draco turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting hers, and before she realised what she was doing, she had set her hand on his where it rested on the counter beside her.
"I just wish people could understand - the things I did, the person I was - that wasn't me. That was the person I had to be to survive. Family is everything to me, and I did what I needed to protect my family, and as a child." Hermione nodded, her fingers tightening on his. "I never want our child to have to make decisions like I did, be forced to do things he doesn't want to do, like I did."
"I trust that," Hermione breathed. "I trust you, Draco."
