It was two days before Harry and Ron were due to begin their new step in their lives. Harry had been bristling with the anticipation; feeling lost and useless now his nemesis had passed by his own hand. Ron had just been pleased to have an excuse to leave the Burrow more, with Auror training his main excuse; his mother wasn't able to suffocate him with her grief. The trio had gone for a walk about the Burrows garden, reminiscing about old times, and lamenting that they'd be split for the first time in seven years. Hermione to Hogwarts, and the men to the Ministry.
"It's a year, a lone year." Hermione laughed as they aired their grievances with her decision for what seemed like the millionth time. She smiled kindly at her two first loves, brushing strands of hair out of her eyes as she dipped her toes in the pond, enjoying the cool freshness it offered in the sweltering heat of the summer.
"Yeah, but…we've never managed to solve a case without you; it won't be the same." Harry offered, shrugging non-committally, and she grinned at him feeling a rush of affection for the boy who had lost so much but still kept attempting to give.
"It wasn't all me, it was both of you two as well." She replied, sitting down as she gently kicked her feet in the water, the splashes a gentle background noise to their conversation.
"Yeah, but this time I'll be rich enough you may consider being with me," Ron laughed, as Hermione turned to look at him in shock. Her eyes wide and horrified that her friend would think such a thing of her.
"That is absolutely disgusting." She spat; as Ron laughed at her, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth.
"You can't deny it though, the lack of cash has to be the reason you're really turning me down." He continued, grinning wildly at her as her cheeks flushed, disappointment swelling up in her throat.
"You think I care about money?" She whispered, shame leaking into her tone. "You think so little of me?" She continued, catching his eye and staring him down; willing every inch of pain she felt at his assumption in to him.
He shrugged, unwilling to answer, and clambered to his feet. He grinned at them both, and left, ambling back to the house; kicking a gnome over the wall as he went. Hermione and Harry watched him go, Hermione's expression one of abject horror and shame, whilst Harry was filled with disappointment.
"I'm sorry Hermione," Harry apologised, patting her leg in an amicable manner; resting his head back on the grass and gazing at the clouds above. She sighed heavily, joining him, a great kick in the pond venting her frustration.
"It's not your fault, he isn't your responsibility." She replied, raising her arms above her head as she watched the clouds.
"No, he isn't, but he's not taking everything well."
The two remained quiet, enjoying a silence that was so calm between the two of them, understanding everything that lay between them. The clouds washed over them, the cool air from the water blowing over them each once in a while. She smiled absently, enjoying the sheer ability to do nothing; no stressing over the library that had been put back together, no hunting for horcruxes, no answering questions she didn't want too.
"I'm moving into Grimmauld Place," Harry broke the silence with, and Hermione turned her head to look at him.
"Now?"
"No, not… not for ages; Ginny is going to completely re-decorate the place, make it a home. We may have gutted it years ago, but we only made it liveable." He smiled, closing his eyes. Hermione laughed, remembering the dust that had followed them around for months afterwards, the grime that seemed to be everywhere, and so much to be thrown away.
"You're going to make it into a real home then?"
"Yeah, I'm going to start gutting the insides on the weekends once term begins; completely rebuild the inside." She nodded, her head disturbing the grass as her way of answer, and the quietness fell between them once more.
"Hang on; didn't we break the fidelius charm?" She asked him concerned, remembering when their ability to stay at the ancestral home of the Blacks had been broken.
"Shacklebolt has had the whole place completely warded up like the ministry, the charm has been replaced." He grunted a little shame faced.
"I suppose you're still important after all," Hermione commented as Harry grunted again.
"No…privacy Hermione, I want me and my family to have some privacy." He corrected her; and she turned her head to the sky once more, thinking about what he'd just said. "The floo only goes to the Burrow, Hogwarts, Shell Cottage and I'll be adding my future office into it too. That's it. Just three places until you either move in, or get your own place." He explained further as Hermione looked over at him once more.
"Move in?" she asked surprised, but warmed at the gesture.
"You'll always be welcome. You can have your own room or guest room. You'll always be family, so why lie. I want my family close." Harry shrugged, as the shadow of a cloud washed over the pair of them.
"A guest room will be fine, I don't want to disturb you and Ginny," she smiled as Harry barked a laugh.
"You will always be welcome, no matter what time of year, or how far in to the future. You will always be welcome." He repeated, as if making sure she understood the depth of his love for her.
"Best brother ever," she whispered as Harry chuckled, her hand slipping into his and squeezing it. With a shock she realised she'd been hoping for the touch of Draco, his soft skin and rough callouses a guilty pleasure, instead of Harry's rough worn grip that was masculine in a very different way. Harry squeezed her hand back and let go of it, as Ginny's voice lilted towards them.
"Harry, Hermione!" She called, laughing as she ran through the over grown grasses of the depths of her garden.
"Ginny," they both greeted in unison, matching smiles on their faces. They got to their feet, brushing themselves off losing the stray blades of grass and seeds that had attached themselves to their clothing as she reached them.
"Mum wants you Harry," she told him with an apologetic shrug, and he nodded, kissing Ginny in thanks and grinning at Hermione as he left, waving his hand in the air as he took off at a jog.
"I take it he told you then?" Ginny asked her, with a slight smile watching her boyfriend's retreating figure. Hermione tilted her head, confused; she knew about the engagement, and had acted surprised and thrilled at all the right moments. Blocking out the memory of Draco's death grip upon her, and the closeness of his lips.
"I only know about you redecorating the house and you being engaged…" she offered wondering if there was something she was missing.
"Well?" Ginny asked excitedly, almost bouncing up and down on the spot as she looked at her friend expectantly.
"Congratulations…?" Hermione offered with a shrug, clearly missing something. Ginny huffed, slumping, all excited bouncing coming to a stop as she looked back at Harry's previous path.
"Men." She sighed, "He was meant to ask you if you wanted to help me do the interior design for the house this year, because I'm going to be busy with quidditch – McGonagall made me captain by the way, busy with re-doing sixth year, and I know you're Head Girl, but I want us to have a real excuse to see each other. Even if nothing gets done." She grinned, and Hermione laughed.
"I accept." Hermione replied grinning back at her friend. "I've never done anything like interior design before, it'll be a fun challenge." She decided, as Ginny threw her arms about her suddenly, squeezing the life out of her. Hermione awkwardly patted her back, delighted with her reaction. Ginny loosened her arms, looking at Hermione sheepishly, and Hermione readjusted, returning her friends embrace warmly. "Oh and congratulations on captian!"
"Thanks! The first thing we get rid of is the elf-heads and the screaming portrait. Not dealing with that creepy shit ever again." She said in a business-like manner as she let go of her friend.
"Sounds like the first thing I was going to say." Hermione grinned, as Ginny returned it.
"We ought to go back, it's almost lunch, and I was meant to get you as well as Harry, but forgive me for wanting some girl time that isn't spent with Mum." She explained, as the two girls fell into a familiar step beside one another. Tracing the path back to the house at a gentle pace. "I'm sorry about Ron," Ginny apologised, and Hermione fought back rolling her eyes.
"No, not you too, he's not your responsibility." She sighed, crossing her arms and Ginny laughed.
"You're right, he isn't." she said, eerily copying her husband-to-be's words from earlier, "but as my brother I do feel responsible. I think he feels trapped here."
Hermione nodded, realising there could be some truth to her words. "Maybe him doing all the training will do him some good." She offered, as Ginny's mouth twisted.
"We can only hope." She sighed, watching as the house came into view. "I'm pleased you're back for the week Hermione, I think it would do us all some good." She commented quietly, and Hermione slipped her hand into Ginny's, offering her some quiet support as they walked back to the house in silence.
:: :: ::
He stood in their small apartment above the eighth year common room, slotting in shelving for their assignments beneath their desks, his expression grave. Hermione's things from her Gryffindor common room and dorm had arrived, at Hermione's request, and McGonagall's quiet relief that she could set about making all the house living spaces untouched for the new year.
Draco had peered at some of the items, astonished with just how many books had come up with the house-elves, and he considered buying her a trunk with many different compartments, just so that her room wouldn't be swamped by books and furniture and she could use her living space. He'd laughed, realising that she really was just as bookish as she made herself out to be. Her sentimental items had also come, placed carefully on top of the book piles; framed pictures of herself with Potter, Weasel-King, the female Weasley, all the Weasley's and Krum. Some more pictures showing a rag-tag group of people sitting in a musty looking living room; all smiling and waving at the camera. Hermione, Potter and Weasley weren't in it, nor were lots of the Weasley brood. His old defence teacher was the warewolf, and the auror. To his shock he spied Snape and McGonagall, standing either side of the current Minister for Magic, whilst McGonagall's hand rested on Dumbledore's shoulder. With a sharp pang of realisation he noted that this group must have been the Order of the Phoenix, the group that had managed to form such a successful defence against Voldemort; that the dark wizard had been sent into rages one too many times. He looked away only to start shivering as he spied a picture of a couple that bore resemblance to her, but didn't move. At all. Their completely still beings creeped him out more than he was willing to admit, and he thought of the muggle world, holding all its mysteries must be a dark place indeed if even their pictures didn't move. He screwed his mouth up slightly in thought, wondering if that was why Hermione had been able to endure all she had with such a strength he hadn't expected from her. He dismissed it almost immediately, tossing his hair out of his eyes with a casual flick of his head, a smirk across his features as he thought of the idea.
Her items had been put in her room, resting on her bed for her return in a couple of weeks. She'd sent him a short note, saying that she'd be staying elsewhere; with no explanation for a little time and the prospect of her going without a real good bye had hurt Draco. He'd crumped the note up in his hand, studying her swirled handwriting fondly before hiding all his hatred at the words she'd written by making a fist. The parchment had vanished, and Draco fought the emptiness that had begun to fill his time at Hogwarts without her there to…harass, fight with, spar with….
He sighed, slotting another cubbyhole into place; as Hermione's face filled his vision once more. Their awkward embrace over hearing Potter and Weasley's engagement had become nectar of the gods to him. Calming the dreams he had at night, with visions of her slightly parted, bee stung lips, and those warm brown eyes that were always so full of question. Her simple defence of him at his trial had been what had started him thinking of her all the time; now they were both at Hogwarts so much, he'd come to hate her, and admire her.
She'd shown herself to be just as arrogant, prejudiced and intelligent as he'd always suspected. Yet she was stupid, funny, and kind. She wasn't afraid of him the way she used to be, if she was ever afraid of him; and she was remarkably difficult to push about. She seemed determined to set him straight, and when he'd shouted at her in the library instead of telling her about his position of Head Boy, she'd taken it. She'd tried to fight back, but she'd taken it.
She'd even seemed to have considered what he was screaming at her.
He'd bristled at her accusations, which he was meant to be "better" somehow, be more than he was. It was if she wasn't aware as to whom she was speaking too. He was a Malfoy, a Malfoy that teetered on the edge of disgrace. A Malfoy that held the ancient name in his hands as its last scion and only hope. Of course he was going to change. He was going to make the Malfoy name a name that echoed through the ages for all the right reasons, not ones picked out for him by his ancestors and parental wishes. No, he'd make the Malfoy name great. He just had to survive this year. Then he could really focus on making his family name fine.
He sat back, pressing his body up against the leg of his desk, frowning.
Changing had been easier than he'd ever expected. Without the weight of expectation upon him, from people who would hurt him should he not act the way he was supposed to…being different was…easy. Without having to hate every person in sight he could just – exist. He could still manipulate, still irritate people, and still wanted too. That part of him he doubted would change, it was just who he was, but the irrational hatred was vanishing. Gone with the crumpled body of a Dark Wizard. The stress had taken with it all the things he'd stopped believing in a long time ago. He didn't have to feign dislike for Muggle-borns. It was true he'd not liked them before, when he was younger, and wanted to be the exact clone of his father. Then Diggory had been slaughtered, and Potter's reaction; protective of a corpse, screaming that Voldemort was back had all seemed too familiar to him.
The agony of watching someone lose someone. The desperate reaction. The blood. The blood on his arm.
The ministry were idiots for not realising Voldemort was back, and making his path to succession easier than it should have been. Then he'd realised how far his father's tendrils had really snaked into the ministry; understood that it was his families workings that allowed such an easy take over. The war was coming to involve him, and it was then he'd realised that he'd never, not even once wanted to be involved.
Being a Malfoy was glory enough to ride in the school halls, but to kill – to actually mar the family name further after having it rubbed into him he was great because of it…He couldn't agree with it. The Malfoy name should be great for different reasons, but time had disagreed; and he was wallowing in the mud with it. His father a mere shell in a cell, his mother sobbing, and desperately reaching out to her surviving sister.
His thoughts went over Hermione again, and he groaned, realising that he missed her, and he didn't want to miss her. She would be working with him as Head Girl, balancing out his Head Boy; making him seem either worse or better than he actually was unless he could hold his own. He grimaced, not wanting to throw the opportunity McGonagall had provided him so kindly, so…freely. She didn't trust him at the beginning of the summer after the war; but after his shouting fits, his trial…she'd come to tolerate him. Finally, she'd started to trust him. No; he would not shame that woman and ruin being Head Boy. He'd show that trusting in the Malfoy name wasn't a case of bad faith. His thoughts fell to his mother again, wondering what she'd think if he brought Hermione home on his arm as his girlfriend.
Hermione was a much better choice than Pansy, a girl who really did look a bit like a pug dog, and had the personality of a pig to match. She was spiteful, took too much pleasure in Malfoy's boasting. She was drawn to power and little else, and had lamented the fact her father had banned her from becoming a Death Eater until she was 'of age'. He'd hated that; despised that she at least had the choice. Yet she'd fawned over him, fawned over the wretched scar he had on his arm when his choice was taken away from him. She'd been a great distraction, but she'd always begged for more. Sex. Sex. Sex. The idea of it with her had sickened him; knowing she would be willing to slip up on her charm in order to get them a quick marriage contract.
Hermione on the other hand…she was smart. She didn't need to be handled with gloves and molly-coddled into doing things. She was stubborn, unafraid, and willing to fight back. She was manipulative even if she didn't realise it. Her personality was fun. She was caring and…kind.
Yes. He wanted to get to know her. He really wanted to get to know her.
He'd even found himself thanking Potter for speaking at his trial for her, even though she'd never asked.
Yes. He wanted Hermione back.