Thank you everyone for your kind words and support on the first chapter! I hope you enjoy this one :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Maybe in five or ten
Yours and mine will meet again
Straighten this whole thing out
Maybe then honesty need not be feared as a friend or an enemy
But this is the distance
And this is my game face
The Fray - Vienna
May 3, 1999
"Granger? You're touring Europe with Granger?"
Draco nodded, taking a sip of firewhiskey as he watched Theo and Blaise's jaws drop.
They were sitting in the parlor of Malfoy Manor, Draco leaning back on a chaise as his friends sat on the opposite couch. Though there had been calls to strip the Malfoy assets after the war, once Draco had only been slapped with a probationary sentence at his hearing, there were no longer legal grounds. Though Lucius had found himself with a one-way ticket to Azkaban, the Malfoy fortune had passed legally to Draco, as heir.
"That is correct," he mused, moving the amber liquid around his glass slowly, watching the ice cubes sway.
Theo and Blaise exchanged a look. Draco watched disbelief dance across both of their expressions before Blaise turned back to him.
"Listen, mate," he said, his voice low. "I just… why you?"
Draco shrugged, thinking back to his conversation with the Minister when Shacklebolt had first broached the topic. "They think that only through a combination of myself and Granger will we be able to convince Europe that Great Britain is unified."
Theo pursed his lips. "It makes a sort of sense, unless of course, you have met either you or Granger. I can't believe that you two won't kill each other before you make it to Rome."
Blaise grinned. "You could insult Granger in twelve countries."
Draco chuckled, taking another sip of firewhiskey, the alcohol burning his throat. "It does have its benefits, that's for certain."
"Why did you agree?" Theo asked, taking a sip of his own drink. "I mean, I know it's spread out over a year, but you still have to spend eleven weeks with her."
"Several reasons," Draco answered. "Firstly, I did not actually have that much of a choice. I'm on probation, remember?"
"You are truly the Ministry's bitch."
He raised his glass to Blaise and tipped his head.
"Secondly, it gives me a chance to rehabilitate the Malfoy name. What better opportunity will I ever have than this tour to bring us back up in society?"
"Self-advancement?" Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's why you're doing this?"
Draco shook his head. "Familial honour. It's not just for me. My mum… my mum needs this as well."
Theo sighed. "I just don't get why they chose you."
"Would you have rather gone?"
"Why not?" he declared. "I happen to think that I'm the perfect example of redemption."
"You weren't a Death Eater, Theo."
"Semantics," he replied, waving his hand dismissively at Blaise. "My father was. Why can't I get an all-expenses paid trip around Europe?"
"Do you really want to schmooze the French Minister for Magic?"
"Absolutely the fuck not," Theo responded swiftly, his hazel eyes deathly serious. "I want to get drunk across the continent."
Draco took another sip of firewhiskey. "If only it wasn't Granger. It could actually be a party trip."
Blaise crossed his arms. "She did speak at your trial, mate. You do owe her."
"I don't owe her anything," he snapped, forcing the memory of his trial from his mind. That… that memory needed to stay locked up. Hidden. Inaccessible. Otherwise… there was not an otherwise. "I didn't ask her to speak."
"But she did," Blaise pointed out. "And you know it was her testimony that saved you at the end, the same way Potter's saved your mum."
"Why did she testify?" Theo asked, glancing at Draco. "Just because you didn't identify them that night? Fat lot that did her…"
"I don't want to talk about Granger and the war," Draco hissed, forcing walls up in his brain before the familiar screams that haunted his nightmares could echo in the daylight. No otherwise. There could not be an otherwise. "It… it doesn't matter. I did not ask her to testify. I do not owe her anything. She testified because she's a bloody swot, all morality and seeing the best of people."
"How dare she?" Blaise asked sardonically, as Theo tried to stifle a laugh. Draco shot him a murderous look.
"Look," Draco snarled, sobering both his friends quickly as they glanced up at his deadly tone. "This trip… it's not about Granger. It is about reviving the Malfoy name and getting through my damn probation. She's an annoying necessity for that."
He finished his glass of firewhiskey.
"Besides, at the bare minimum, I'll able to drive her barmy in four different time zones."
"You're seeming quite… sensitive about this," Blaise noted, raising a single eyebrow. "Aggressively so."
"Weren't you two sods just going on about how it's Granger and therefore torturous?"
"That's us," Theo answered. "I don't even mind Granger much. I told you I ran into her a few months back, when I was going into the ministry to put up my father's sentencing records…"
"Yes, you did, Theo," Draco responded.
"…And she was perfectly pleasant, seemed fairly neutral," he continued. "But besides, weren't you the one all over her last night?"
If Draco's heart stopped in that moment, he would not be surprised.
"Sorry… what? At the gala? You two weren't… you weren't even there."
Disbelief flickered behind Blaise's eyes for a moment.
"Mate, what time did you get up today?"
"Afternoon," he scoffed. "Not that it's any of your business."
"So, you didn't see the cover of The Prophet today?"
"The cover of The Prophet…"
Theo rolled his eyes. "Minny!" he barked.
With a pop, a house-elf appeared in the room. Her large ears flopped as she offered Draco and Blaise a quick bow before turning to Theo.
"Master Nott!" she squeaked. "How may I be of assistance?"
"Minny, darling, would you be a dear and go grab a copy of today's Prophet?" Theo asked, batting his eyelashes at the poor, unsuspecting elf.
Standing to her tallest height, she nodded furiously.
"Absolutely, Master Nott! Minny shall be back in a jiffy."
"Peachy," he replied, shooting her a wink. Before the house-elf had a chance to pass out, she disapparated to complete the task.
Draco shot Theo a look. "Must you flirt with my house-elf?"
The other man waved a hand dismissively. "You're the one who needs to channel my energy. Imagine that, but instead of an elf, it's the French Minister for Magic. Learn to schmooze, Draco."
A pop filled the air as Minny reappeared, clutching the paper in her small, bony hands. Laying it on the coffee table in front of them, she turned back to Theo.
"Thank you ever so much, Minny," Theo said, offering her his most charming smile. "We shall call you if we need you."
Trembling at the concept, Minny bowed so low her nose grazed the carpet. With a little twirl, she snapped her fingers and disappeared.
Theo turned to Draco, still smiling. "You're a lucky bastard, Draco. I love that bloody elf."
"Gods, you're insufferable," Draco muttered before leaning over the paper. "Now, what are you lot going on ab…"
The words died before they ever met the air.
Staring up at him from the front page of was himself, his arms wrapped around one Hermione Granger – fuck, she was stunning –as they danced in the centre of the ballroom.
The headline glared at him, reminding Draco that this was not a private moment – nor a fantasy.
This was splashed on the front page.
Golden Tour Announced: War Heroine and Pardoned Death Eater Take Europe
There it was, as it would always be.
War Heroine.
Death Eater.
"You don't exactly look aggressively sensitive here," Blaise said, shooting him a look. A late night – too much firewhiskey – a confession hidden for years.
Draco shoved it down.
"I thought it was gentlemanly to break the ice," he answered smoothly, taking another sip of the amber liquid and swallowing truth itself. "We're stuck with each other for eleven weeks. We can at least be – cordial."
"Cordial is not synonymous with eye-fucking, Draco."
He glared at Theo, while his two traitorous friends burst out laughing.
"Look," he said gruffly, flipping the paper over so he wouldn't have to watch himself twirl Granger again – it was cursed enough in memory. "I… I want to enjoy the trip. How many chances am I going to get to see all those cities? I… I can handle Granger."
Blaise pursed his lips. "I'm just pointing out the inconsistently. Just pick an opinion. It's terrible that's it's Granger!"
"It's wonderful that it's Granger!" Theo added in, swooning onto Blaise's lap.
"I'm neutral!"
"I don't care!"
"I'm angry!"
"I'm in lov…"
Draco threw a sofa cushion at Theo's head before the words could exit his mouth.
"Can it," he hissed, as Theo spilled whiskey across his chest while Blaise chortled.
The hazel-eyed man sat up, cursing under his breath as he wiped at his white oxford, the amber stain setting in, Theo powerlessly to stop it.
Draco grimaced at the metaphor.
"Mate," Blaise continued, shoving Theo away on the couch. "You're allowed to say you don't mind it's Granger. We're not going to judge. We were all at the Yule Ball…"
Draco raised a single finger threateningly.
"One. More. Word. Zabini."
The Italian rolled his eyes. "Gods, you're long gone, aren't you?"
Draco did not answer. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the remaining liquid in his glass.
He finished it in one go, the firewhiskey burning his throat on its way down.
It burned like unattainable fantasy.
May 4, 1999
Hermione Granger walked into the Ministry for Magic with purpose, her simple flats clicking against the marble floor, announcing her presence.
There was no chance for privacy here. Not now. Not after the announcement and The Prophet article.
She wasn't sure why she had bothered at the gala.
Naivety? Blind hope.
She should know better by now.
Hanging over her shoulder was a simple weekend bag. Altered with a simple extension charm, it held everything she would need for the week in Vienna. Those horrid stilettos that Ginny had forced her to buy, several ballgowns that she had angrily charged to the Ministry's account.
Her clothing. Jean shorts. Summer tanks. Sandals. A sundress.
Her parents' old Polaroid camera that she had saved before their Obliviation.
She bit her bottom lip.
Recording memories in their absence.
Continuing her way through the Ministry, she tried to ignore the surprised and excited looks she received from all directions. As much as it pained her to admit – Kingsley had been right. Britain needed this tour. Everyone needed a moral boost, even if it came in the image of Hermione twirling around in full skirts on the arm of Draco Malfoy.
Oh, Merlin. The reaction to the Prophet piece had been positive, at least.
Hermione made her way to the lift, hitting the button for level five, that of her department: International Magical Cooperation. She turned back towards the Atrium, taking a calming breath, before she heard someone shout.
"Hermione! Hold the lift!"
A hand burst out from the hall, stopping the closing doors. When they reopened, she was met by a pair of green eyes she adored.
"Harry!" she exclaimed, a wide smile appearing on her face. "I thought you were off today."
"I am," the Chosen One answered, marching into the lift beside her, as peering eyes tried sneak a look at the duo before the doors closed, affording them at long last, some peace and privacy.
"I wanted to wish you off," he continued, pulling her into a quick hug. "Fair winds and following seas, and all that."
"Harry," she chuckled, quite touched by the gesture. "It's only a week. I'll be back for another three before the trip to…"
"I know," Harry smiled. "But wouldn't I be a rubbish best friend if I didn't wish the Hermione Granger luck on the once-in-a-lifetime, all expenses paid Golden Tour."
Hermione frowned.
"Ginny's rubbing off on you too much."
Harry's echoing laughs could be heard across the fifth floor as the lift's doors opened.
Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped out, her flats clicking against the marble floor once again. Harry followed her swiftly.
"Seriously, Hermione. I know the trip is a big deal for you, for the Ministry, for Great Britain. I just wanted to show my support."
"That's awfully kind of you, Harry," she responded, wrapping her small hand in his as they walked down the main corridor to the Department Head's office.
"That's me, Harry Potter. Slayer of Dark Lords. The Chosen One. Big softie."
Hermione burst into a fit of giggles as they finally reached the office. Giving the door two quick raps, she poked her head in.
"Mr. Scot!" she said, stepping in with Harry at her heels. "Good morning."
Edward Scot, the recently chosen Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation looked up from his desk and smiled.
"Miss Granger! Oh, and… dear me, Mr. Potter…"
Harry gave a sheepish wave as they walked into the office. Hermione was not sure if Scot and Harry and ever truly interacted. Given the beet red colour of her boss's face, as well as his incoherent stammering, she would assume not.
"Mr. Scot," Harry said, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. Scot practically flew to his feet, grasping Harry's hand and giving it several firm shakes.
"Mr. Potter, I did not realize you would be here this morning."
"I wanted to make sure that Hermione got a proper, Gryffindor sendoff," Harry said, giving Hermione a little squeeze. "And since the right honourable Deputy Minister Percy Weasley has the day off, I figured I was an adequate substitute."
"I always figured you wanted you'd go for the Ministry power grab, Potter. Didn't think it would be by replacing a Weasley."
Hermione froze as Harry's arm clutched her waist a tad tighter. The two friends turned in tandem, until Hermione eyes met piercing silver.
"Malfoy," she nodded, aiming for neutral but achieving pained. "Good to see you."
He gave her a sharp look before nodding once. Leaning against the doorframe of Scot's office, Hermione was once again struck by just how different he looked from her memory of the man. Tall, broad shouldered, a crisp white Oxford tucked into black pants, a black cape around her shoulders.
He understood his role in this, that much was certain. The very picture of old wealth and magical purity, Draco Malfoy had returned to his former glory.
His gaze drifted to the figure at Hermione's side. She watched with trepidation as Harry and Malfoy observed each other before both exchanging a cursory nod.
"Malfoy."
"Potter."
Hermione couldn't help her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Malfoy strode into the office, closing the door behind him. "Rest assured, Mr. Scot, that I have brought no such Slytherin calvary."
Scot's expression was terse, his jaw clenched. And it occurred to Hermione in that moment:
The Department of International Magical Cooperation was not a fan of the arrangement.
This was entirely from the Wizengamot.
"So, then," Hermione asked, breaking the tension. "Portkey's at ten?"
She glanced at the clock on the wall. Three minutes to go.
Scot nodded before reaching into a desk drawer and removing a spoon. He placed it delicately on the wooden surface.
"One international portkey, at your service," he said. "You'll be transported directly into the Austrian Ministry for Magic. Or, as they call it, the Österreichisches Zaubereiministerium."
"You speak German?" Hermione asked, interested.
Scot gave a small smile. "Passably. Do either of you speak another language?"
Hermione shook her head as Draco gave a nod.
"French," he answered curtly. "Malfoy, comes with the name."
Scot gave him a look. "I suppose that will be useful for the Paris leg."
"Quite," Malfoy drawled.
Scot's gaze turned back to Hermione. "Alrighty, then. Did you look at the itinerary?"
She nodded. "State dinner after state dinner, ball as the finale. I'm hoping to have a spot of time to do some sight-seeing."
"I'm sure you will," Scot assured her. "It is a week, after all."
"Mr. Scot," Harry interrupted, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Time to go."
"Right," he nodded, as Harry wrapped Hermione in a quick hug.
"You'll do great," he whispered. "Don't worry about the… about the bread and circuses."
"Bread and circuses?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, chuckling. "Rome is not for a few months yet, Harry."
Harry rolled his eyes and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Try to have fun. Merlin knows you've earned it."
He stepped back and to Hermione surprise, confusion, and suspicion, he reached out his hand to Malfoy.
"You enjoy yourself as well, Malfoy," he said calmly.
If Malfoy found this odd, there was no indication on his face. He took Harry's hand and gave it one firm shake.
"Always a pleasure, Potter," he drawled, before letting go and turning to the portkey on the desk.
"I'll see you when you get back, Hermione!" Harry called out, taking a few step backs alongside Scot.
She shot him a smile before turning towards the small spoon. Draco and her both reached forward to place a single finger on the piece of cutlery just as it started to glow soft blue.
"Ready, Granger?" he murmured, his gaze landing on her for a moment.
"Absolutely," she retorted. "And you?"
"Never been more ready for anything in my life."
Hermione felt the slight pull on her navel, as her finger stuck itself to the spoon. With a final whoosh, she felt her feet leave the ground, as she spun across Europe with Draco Malfoy.
Her feet hit the floor of the Zaubereiministerium with a resounding thud. She stumbled backwards, the spoon clattering against the floor, until Malfoy reached out and caught her before she fell.
"Thanks," she muttered, righting herself and taking her first look at the Austrian Ministry for Magic.
Her first thought was that it was much more baroque than the British equivalent. High, marble archways framed the hall in which they were standing. Above her head, she could see angels painted across the ceiling, an artwork of heavens' skies. Gold accents drew tree leaves down the walls. Her eyes caught one particularly intricate one, and her gaze followed it from the ceiling downward until she was face to face with a man, who until that moment, she had not realized was there.
"Hello," she said shyly, glancing at the older wizard in deep navy robes with silver fringe. "I… er… you were expecting us?"
There was an awkward pause, as Hermione bit her lip, unsure exactly what to say.
"Hello, mein Herr," Draco interjected, striding forward and sinking into a respectful bow. "We are honoured to be welcomed in Austria's illustrious ministry. We hope our visit can be fruitful for both countries."
The man's face shifted from stony to warm at Draco's pompous display. Hermione did not what to think – perhaps, he would be useful after all.
"Hello, unsure Gäste," replied the man, a deep voice emanating from his throat, his English incredible, though heavily accented. "We are honoured to welcome Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy to Vienna. We hope your portkey was not too difficult."
"Not at all," Draco continued. "These international portkeys can be quite tiring, but I found this one relaxing. Did you not, Granger?" He turned towards, raising an eyebrow expectantly.
"Of course," she added in, choking on the words. Gods – how could she be charming for a whole week? "Very straightforward. Happy to be here."
Draco pursed his lips but turned back to the man.
"And you, sir? Your name is…"
"Matteo Bauer," he responded, giving a slight bow. "Deputy Minister to Minister Wurzinger, who you shall meet at this evening's welcome dinner."
"Excellent," Draco schmoozed. "We are greatly looking forward to it."
Bauer nodded. "I am here to take you to your accommodations. We have put you up in a wizarding hotel off Karlsplatz. Quite central."
"Lovely," Hermione said, beginning to follow the man out of the hall as Malfoy took the rear.
They entered a large atrium, fairly like the one in Britain. However, instead of a fountain at its centre, there lay a small garden. Trees, flowers, all seemingly growing straight out of the marble.
"Beautiful," Hermione whispered, as they walked by.
"The garten?" Bauer asked, turning back. "Yes, it adds a certain something to the mundane office lifestyle, would you not agree?"
She most certainly did.
As they neared the exit, Hermione noted that they were garnering many interested looks from those working at the Zaubereiministerium.
"There is much fanfare surrounding your appearance," Bauer explained, as if reading her mind. "We've heard much about your war, Frau Granger and Herr Malfoy. It will be an exciting week."
They exited the Atrium, Bauer leading them into a busy plaza. As they passed through the threshold, Hermione felt slight shimmers on her skin. When she turned back to glance at the Austrian ministry, there was nothing but an old abandoned shoe store, with Betreten verboten written on the windowpane.
They followed Bauer into the busy plaza, and Hermione stop her head from spinning as she tried to take it all in. It was exquisite – four story baroque townhouses, what looked like a museum, an archway… she could hear the streetcars rattle by and couldn't help herself from smiling.
After a short walk, they reached a white building with arched windows. Muggles walked by, not noticing the structure. Hermione stared at the doorway for a few more moments until the words Hotel Am Karlsplatz appeared.
"After you," Bauer gestured, opening the door.
Hermione and Draco walked through.
The quaint hotel lobby was thoroughly welcoming. Hermione nodded at a bellboy who rushed by, levitating trunks behind him. Bauer shepherded them forward to the desk, where a tall, blonde woman looked them over with interest.
"Sarah," Bauer nodded. "Our guests, Frau Granger and Herr Malfoy."
"A pleasure," she whispered, her eyes lingering for a moment on Malfoy before she turned behind her to collect two golden keys.
"You will be in room thirty-four and thirty-five," she said, smiling as Hermione and Malfoy both took their keys. "They are connected by a joint door, which you can choose to unlock…" her eyes landed on Malfoy once again. "Or not."
"Thank you, Sarah," Bauer said, turning towards the marble staircase off the lobby. "Your rooms will be on the third level. I shall collect you both here at six, if you would like to relax or enjoy the city before then. Please, if you require anything at all, let Sarah know."
Hermione gave Bauer a quick nod before turning to Malfoy. Expecting to see him ogling the woman at the desk, she was surprised to find him staring at her. She raised an eyebrow.
"Want… want to check the rooms?" she asked, venturing slowly into whatever their relationship would be on this tour.
He nodded. "Lead the way, Granger."
They climbed the stairs to the third level in silence. Once there, they headed down the corridor to their rooms – Hermione to thirty-four and Malfoy to thirty-five.
"Would you…" Hermione started, before trailing off as she pushed her key into the lock.
"Would I what, Granger?" Malfoy asked.
"Nothing," she rushed out, opening her door. "I… I'll see you at six."
He pursed his lips.
"Alright."
Hermione couldn't get into her hotel room fast enough. Slamming the door behind her, she threw herself onto the queen bed, starring up at the ceiling wondering what on earth she wanted to ask Draco Malfoy just then.
And why she hadn't.
Hermione took around twenty minutes to relax before rushing out the door. As she passed Malfoy's room, she considered knocking, but after reconsideration, left it.
Exiting the hotel, she walked into the busy Viennese downtown core. Her hand clenched around the polaroid camera and she began marching forward.
She had no specific destination. She merely wanted to explore. Wanderlust and all that. She let her feet lead her down cobblestone pathways, into a coffee shop for a quick tea, and down the Danube. It was a beautiful city – classic central European architecture that she had never seen in Britain.
She watched small cruise boats drift down the river, leaning over the railing to watch them. As one passed, she watched a couple on the deck lift up a camera, the man kissing his partner on the cheek as he snapped a photo of the two of them, arm outstretched.
Hermione lifted the polaroid in her hands, looking through the viewfinder until she had the lens focused on the boat. She clicked the button, saw the flash, and the trusty camera printed out her photo.
She slipped it into her bag quickly, her eyes still on the couple. She stared after them for a long while, far after the boat had disappeared around the bend. Her lips remained pursed, as her brain scratched at something just a little out of reach.
Something important.
She heard a knock on the door just as she slid her foot into the strappy stilettos. Merlin, how did women wear these all the time? She would have to cast a balancing charm just to stay on her own two feet.
"One second!" she shouted, before standing up straight. She wobbled herself over to the mirror.
She grabbed the red hair pin on her dresser before wrapping her hair into a tight knot at the base of her neck. She pushed the pin through, then cast a simply charm to keep it in place.
The final touch was always the last thing she did before leaving her home. Grazing her wand over her left forearm, she watched as the scarred word disappeared under a glamour.
The scar was not necessarily a secret. However, there was a difference between the public possessing knowledge of it and ogling it whenever she entered a room.
Glancing at her appearance, she gave herself a satisfied nod before turning back to the door separating hers and Malfoy's room.
"Ready!" she responded, casting her wand over the lock.
She heard a familiar click, and then it opened.
"Granger, you ready? We need to be downstairs in… "
Malfoy stuttered off as he entered his room. His eyes were wide as he took her in.
She raised an eyebrow. "Is it that bad?" She glanced back at the mirror. "I thought the Austrian colours would be respectful."
"That's not it, Granger," he responded, his voice much lower than it had been a moment prior. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He appeared flushed.
"You alright, Malfoy? Stress of the day getting to you?"
"Not all," he responded, his silver eyes meeting hers. "I… you look lovely, Granger. Don't worry about it."
She pursed her lips into a thin line, turning back to the mirror, wondering if he was pulling her leg.
The dress seemed fine. It was white silk, with thin straps holding it up, until it pooled at her feet. With one thigh-high slit down the side, she felt decently confident that she wouldn't be tripping over the fabric all evening. She had put her hair back in a chignon with a red pin, hoping that the white and red combo would be seen as respectful and not kitschy.
"Granger," he muttered, walking behind her until she met his eyes in the reflection. "You look… exquisite. I think the colour choice was smart. We should go downstairs."
She gave him an odd look, but when he held out an arm, his silver dress robes draping over his body like art, and so she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow without much more consideration.
"The Austrian Ministry is thrilled to be presenting our honoured guests," Bauer announced around the corner. Hermione and Malfoy waited by the door for their presentation. She felt tense, as she realized for the first time how… large an event this would be.
"Granger," Malfoy muttered, sending her panic. "It's going to be fine. It's just politics."
"I'm not good at politics, Malfoy," she hissed back. "I don't know how to be… charming and fawning and schmoozing. I'm not good at galas."
"That's what champagne is for."
"Malfoy."
He chuckled quietly. "I'm serious, Granger. The ministry didn't choose you to parade because they wanted someone charming…"
"I don't need this, Malfoy…"
"They chose you because you're a bloody war heroine," he snapped. "You could go piss on the banquet table and the Austrians would fawn over you."
"I don't want them to fawn over me," she muttered, indignant. "I just don't want to be humiliated."
His eyes softened and for a moment she swore it was a trick of the light.
"You won't be, Granger. I am here to be the charming, aristocratic pureblood. You are here to be yourself – Hermione Granger. Brightest Witch of Our Age. War Heroine, the whole nine yards. Don't worry, Granger, I won't let you fall, even in those… ungodly shoes you chose to wear."
"I think they're quite fetching," she whispered, sticking her leg out to examine her stiletto. "Dangerous, surely, but fetching."
"They're certainly killing someone tonight," he muttered, his eyes lingering a moment longer than she found comfortable on her leg.
"Announcing Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy!" Bauer exclaimed from the other side of the door. Malfoy held out his arm and Hermione took it.
At least they were a team, unlikely comrades as they may be.
Malfoy led her into the hall, and she was immediately struck with how light and open it was. Could they really be in a separate part of the ministry? With wide windows showing the sunset over the hills in the distance beyond the city, each wall draped in paintings, Hermione felt as if she was in an open-air museum, instead of an office-building.
Weren't ministries supposed to be stuffy? She wondered, as Malfoy lead her towards the high table, the room erupting into applause around them.
Apparently not in Vienna.
A tall blonde man with a full beard stood to greet them, inclining his head in their direction.
"Minister," Malfoy hissed in her ear as they reached the threshold. He dipped into a deep bow, pulling Hermione into an unnatural curtsey at his side.
"Minister Wurzinger," Malfoy drawled, falling into aristocratic familiarity that Hermione found off-putting. "Thank you for having us."
"Herr Malfoy," Wurzinger nodded, giving her compatriot a small smile before his eyes fell on her. "And Frau Granger. The war heroine. What an honour."
She felt Malfoy nudge her, and words exited her mouth of their own accord.
"Minister Wurzinger, it is our honour. Thank you for making us feel welcome. We are thrilled to be in Austria to start off the tour."
He gave her a politician's smile – winning, charming, guarded. But her words seemed to have done the trick. He gestured to them, as they turned to face the crowd of ministry officials and other guests.
"Then, let the festivities begin!"
Hermione was on her third glass of champagne. Thankfully, she had cast the balancing charm on her heels before the party had really begun.
It was quite charming really, though overwhelming. Hermione and Malfoy had been separated early, with what seemed like all of Austrian Wizarding Society wanting the opportunity to speak to them. She had shaken more hands than she thought possible, engaged in the same trifling conversation ad infinitum.
Frau Granger, your effort in the war was so brave…
Frau Granger, do you think Britain is ready to move on…
Frau Granger, what is Harry Potter really like…
She took another sip of champagne.
Eleven weeks of this.
She took a few steps backwards, allowing herself to disappear into the shadow of a column. The room was still bright, but the startling sunset had given way to a soft moon and starry night. There was a din to the chamber now – it was not as fluorescent.
Or maybe it was just the liquor.
She let her eyes wander over the party, and for perhaps the first time in her life, she felt grateful for the presence of Draco Malfoy. It was inspired the way he charmed all those who surrounded him, making small talk with ministry officials, spinning witches across the dance floor with ease, as if he were born for this.
In a way, he was, she supposed. This was Draco Malfoy in his element. Charming. Aristocratic. The king of a pureblood society.
A king who had lost his throne in Britain, only to regain it in Vienna.
It was disconcerting; this man waltzing his way across this ballroom was nothing like the Malfoy that existed in her memory. The pointed-face childhood bully, the wartime coward, watching her get tortured on his drawing room floor, her blood seeping into the ground, staining the pureblooded legacy with the worst of its natural conclusions…
The adult child, skeletal, terrified, sitting in the Wizengamot's cage as she testified at his trial.
Now, an adult, a smile plastered across his face, holding the Austrian Head of DLME in his arms as he led her expertly through the dance steps.
Who was this man?
What had Malfoy said to her the other day? We put up with each other for seven years…
Was that true? Because this was not the person she had hated – tolerated by the loosest definition of the term.
But he was, wasn't he? They were the same. The man moving across the floor with the grace of the gods – the boy who had watched her be tortured. She couldn't separate them. She couldn't see them as one.
She felt off kilter.
And no – it was not the champagne.
The song ended and Hermione watched Malfoy bow to his dance partner. He picked up a flute of champagne off a passing tray before sauntering his way over to where she was hiding in the shadows.
"Needed a moment to breathe, Granger?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow.
She took another sip. "It's just been… an overwhelming evening."
"Really? I've been having a riot, myself."
"Well, you're made for this kind of thing, Malfoy," she muttered, glaring at her glass of bubbly. "I'm not."
"You're overthinking it, Granger. It's just a party."
"It's more than that," she said. "It's teeming with expectation. We are representing a country."
"A country that chose us as its representatives. Great Britain knew what it was doing."
She finished the glass, a sudden head rush clouding her mind momentarily.
He eyed her, before downing his own recently acquired flute in one go.
"We need to get you to relax, Granger."
Before she could accept or decline, he had taken her flute and with his own, placed it on the column's edge. Taking her hand in his, enveloping it, he led her from the shadows to the dim light of the party. People moved aside with ease around them – naturally, a ship passing through water. She felt the stares and heard the whispers, but there was an electrical buzz of excitement filling the air.
It was all show business.
Hermione was shocked that she was not stumbling over herself, but as they reached the centre of the dance floor, Malfoy turned back towards her, placing one hand at the small of her back and holding the other in his own.
"You feel unmoored, Granger?" he whispered, just as the violin strings began twinkling in the distance. They felt kilometres away.
"Increasingly," she responded.
He smirked – a familiar sight – and began to move their bodies in tandem.
"Then let me lead, if that doesn't offend your sensibilities too greatly."
"You always offend my sensibilities, Malfoy."
He paused, before pulling her flush against his chest so she was looking over his shoulder.
"I know."
Draco Malfoy could not look her in the eye when he told the truth.
"That wasn't too bad, was it, Granger?"
They were walking back up the stairs of the hotel to their rooms. It must have been past midnight, but Hermione had long since lost track.
"I had fun," she answered as they reached their rooms. "Just… not my most comfortable setting."
"Well, we can't spend all our time abroad in a library, Granger."
She snorted against her better judgement. Slipping the key into the lock, she glanced over at Malfoy standing in front of his own door. He looked relaxed, more so than she had seen him. His hair was a bit windswept after dancing the whole evening, his skin flushed, his pupils strangely dilated. He was smiling at her like she was not her – like she was not Hermione Granger.
"Sleep well, Malfoy," she whispered, the same feeling of instability descending on her bones. "I… I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"You too, Granger," he murmured, before they both entered their room and closed the doors behind them.
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to find her bearings. Finally taking off those horrid shoes, she let her toes sink into the carpet, relishing in the feeling of comfort, of landing right-side-up.
She slipped out of the silk dress and into a large T-shirt she had stolen from Harry during the Horcrux hunt. She always wore it to sleep. Finally, she pulled the red hairpin out of her chignon and let her hair fall loose. After being contained all evening in the tight bun, her curls burst forward like waves crashing over the rocks.
After double-checking that the main door was locked to her room, she walked over to the connecting door that led to Malfoy's room. She waved her wand over the lock until she heard the familiar click. After giving a sigh of relief, she began to get to work.
Perhaps it was because she had fought in a war for most of her adolescence. Perhaps it was a left-over trauma response from the Horcrux hunt. But Hermione Granger knew herself, and she knew that she would not be able to rest easy in any location without warding it and silencing it herself.
Besides – she liked her privacy.
If her mind were doomed to be wracked with nightmares every night, the least she could be afforded was the knowledge that her trauma was not being broadcast to all within a one hundred metre radius.
She muttered under her breath as she layered the wards meticulously – protection, silencing, protection, silencing. Regardless of the champagne moving through her bloodstream, she had done this task every night for nearly two years. She could do it in her sleep, and some days, she had.
Once the wards were up to her satisfaction, she fell into the bed, crawling underneath the covers and resting her head on the down pillows. She closed her eyes, hoping that a combination of the long day, the exhaustion, and the alcohol would allow her a peaceful journey into Hypnos's realm.
She knew the hope was in vain.
The images from the evening flashed through her mind, quickly devolving. She saw silver eyes, holding her gaze as they danced. Then she saw those silver eyes again, looking on from a distance as a cursed knife carved degradation into her skin.
Hermione slipped into the unconscious.
She knew she would scream tonight.
May 5, 1999
"Granger? You awake yet?"
She was startled into the world by pounding on the door. She was lying on her stomach – she remembered falling asleep on her back. Tossing and turning amid memorial terror.
Shoving herself up, she rubbed sleep out of her eyes. Malfoy was still pounding on the door connecting their rooms. Stumbling onto her feet, she picked up her wand and unlocked it, before yanking it open.
"You are not a hired alarm clock, Malfoy," she hissed, as the bane of her existence – already dressed, no less – appeared in the door frame. "What time is it anyway?"
He went slack jawed at the sight of her, and the realization woke her as quickly as being doused in cold water. She stood before him in Harry's old t-shirt, barely covering her more private areas, her hair frazzled, eyes the side of tea saucers, clutching her wand like a vice. She probably looked deranged.
"What…" he started, before swallowing. "What are you wearing?"
"Harry's shirt," she grumbled, wondering if there was a way to cover herself – Malfoy did not need to see her upper thigh in the morning.
"Why are you wearing Potter's clothing?" he asked, his voice barely controlled, and Hermione flinched in anticipation of the mocking.
"It's comforting," she muttered. "That's… that's not the point. Why are you in my room?"
"I… it's nine o'clock. We have afternoon tea with the minister and his wife today. I was… I was wondering if you wanted to walk around the city before then. Do some sight-seeing."
"You want to explore Vienna with me?" she asked, wondering if she had woken up in an alternate reality.
His expression did not change; a fact she found suspect.
"I do. Put some pants on, Granger. We're tourists today."
"Any particular plan?" Hermione asked, taking a sip of coffee as her and Draco left the Bäckerei down the street from the hotel. She was wearing a simple sundress with flowers across it, with her hair pulled back in a ribbon. Thankfully for the soles of her feet, she was wearing sandals today and not six-inch torture devices.
"Nothing wrong with a wander," Malfoy replied, taking a sip of his own coffee. She wondered if he would spill the liquid on his white oxford or blue dress pants. Part of her considered shoving him to force the issue – revenge for her untimely waking that morning.
"But, I mean… do you have any sights you want to see? Anything particular?"
"Ever heard of spontaneity, Granger? We can just meander. See where the wind takes us."
"I can be spontaneous," she grumbled.
"Granger, you colour-coded your exam studying schedule. You and spontaneity are from opposite ends of the cosmos."
"Hey!" she growled. "I got eleven O.W.L.s!"
"As did I, Granger, but I also had a life."
She shot him an angry glare as they continued their way down the street.
"Anything you want to see, Granger? If you are so opposed to the idea of spontaneity… We have five hours or so."
She pursed her lips, allowing herself to ignore the strangeness of the situation for a moment and considered if she had any desires gnawing at her.
"How about Schönbrunn Palace? I've only ever seen pictures, and the gardens are said to be spectacular."
"Your wish is my command, Granger. Lead the way."
They walked through the streets of Vienna in almost near silence. Hermione was not sure if they had much to say to each other – nothing casual, at least. There were words she had dreamed of saying to Draco Malfoy, of screaming at him until he understood.
But this was not the moment for digging up old pain – old, never-ending, consistent pain. This was the moment for cordiality.
So, they walked in silence.
After a while, Hermione saw several large tourist busses parked up ahead of them, crowding the small Viennese streets. Just beyond the busses, Hermione could see a large, yellow building.
"We're here," she said to Draco.
Hermione loved photographs – she always had. But walking up to Schönbrunn Palace made her realize their inherent limitations. Because pictorial representation could never capture the beauty of this building – not completely.
It was magnificent – large, imposing, with an entrance courtyard the size of a football field, fountains spraying water into the air over marble statues. Hermione could not contain her excitement as her and Malfoy passed through the gate, moving closer to the palace.
"It's gorgeous," she whispered, reaching into her bag to pull out her camera.
"It's very yellow."
Hermione scoffed at him. "You say that so derogatively… what's wrong with yellow?"
"It's garish. Lurid."
"Malfoy, what are you talking about?" Hermione asked, as they approached the palace. "This colouring… it's beautiful. It's soft. It reminds me of autumn. Of light itself."
"I'll give you that, Granger," he answered, looking up at the palace. "So, it's not yellow."
"Then how would you describe it?" she wondered, glancing over at him.
His eyes danced down to meet hers, entrapping her in pools of silver.
"It's golden. And there's nothing more breathtaking than golden."
He held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to the palace. Hermione, trying to regain focus after it was unnecessarily scattered, raised the camera to snap a photo of Schönbrunn. Following the familiar flash, she took the printed polaroid and put it into her bag.
"What's that you got there, Granger?"
"You've never seen a camera before, Malfoy?"
He gave her a look of disdain. "Of course, I've seen a camera before, I wasn't raised in a cave."
"No, you weren't. All these palaces must feel quite quaint to you."
"Now you're getting it, Granger. But your camera… it prints immediately."
"Oh," Hermione frowned, considering for the first time that wizards did not use film like this. "It's called a polaroid camera. It's just a camera, but it prints right away. It belonged to my parents."
Her muggle parents.
She tensed in anticipation of the insult.
It never came.
"They lent it to you for the trip, then?" Malfoy asked, in what could be considered a conversational tone but caused her veins to fill with lead.
However, the pain was different than she had been expecting.
Dull, not sharp.
Eternal.
"Not exactly," she replied crisply, hoping her tone alone would signal to Malfoy that this was not a topic of conversation she was willing to broach with him.
Lucky for her sanity, he seemed to understand.
However, instead of moving on, he held out his hand. Hermione starred at it as if it had grown horns.
"The camera, Granger. I want the camera."
"Why on earth…"
He gestured to the palace behind him. "Beautiful backdrop. Trip of a lifetime, remember? Let me take a photo of you."
"You want to take a photo of…"
He groaned. "Gods, Granger, you're insufferable. Just let me take the photo, you can show Potter when we get home. Pretend you're having fun, put it on your dream board, I don't care. Just… why not?"
She pursed her lips, considering it for a moment.
Indeed. Why not?
Before she could regret it, she put the camera in his outstretched hand.
"Go pose like a tourist, Granger," he said. Unsure what was overtaking her, she walked closer to the palace before turning back towards him, shooting him a smile.
No – not him. The camera. Her parents' camera. Her lost parents' camera.
Now in the hands of her enemy.
She felt a chill go down her spine, and momentary panic took over her mind. Malfoy was watching her closely, and she knew he could see her anxiety.
"Granger," he said softly "Take your hair down."
"Sorry… what?"
"This picture is not for the press," he continued, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows. "It's not for the tour, or the government. It's for you and you alone, to show your friends and family, maybe your kids one day. So, you should look like yourself. Take the ribbon out."
Of all the things she expected him to say in this moment, this certainly was not in the realm of possibility.
Like a woman transfixed, she felt her hand reach behind her neck, pulling the ribbon from her hair, freeing the curls to fall around her shoulders. The gesture was freeing, in a way.
But not when it was done at the request of Draco Malfoy.
He smiled at her, and she recognized the charm he had deployed so precisely the night prior. However, it was a different expression.
Softer. Less garish. Not lurid.
He raised the camera to his eye, and before she could consider the thought more, he took the photo.
Click – flash – boom.
He took the film out as it printed. "That'll be the one, Granger."
He shot her that smile again.
Almost golden.
The visit to Schönbrunn turned into several hours. They explored the massive gardens behind the palace as Malfoy insisted on more photos. The one time she had offered to take one of him, he had refused.
"No one else I want to show it to, Granger."
The day drifted in afternoon and tea with the Minister and his wife. Hermione found Wurzinger fine – a little cold, a bit distant, but friendly enough. His wife Charlotte was a delight. Her and Hermione spoke the whole afternoon, discussing Britain, elves' rights, never once talking about the war, as Malfoy looked on in amusement while he covered the politicking with Wurzinger.
There was another dinner that night with all the department heads of the Zaubereiministerium. Hermione felt more in her element than the welcoming party. It was a smaller group, all sitting around a table at the Austrian Minister for International Magical Cooperation's house. He reminded her of Scot. Thoughtful, kind if slightly awkward. It was a night of wine and policy debates – something Hermione relished in. Malfoy watched with an unreadable expression as herself and the Minister for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures went toe-to-toe on how manticores should be addressed by governmental policies.
Before she knew it, the day had ended and she was back in her hotel room, falling into Harry's t-shirt and bed, setting up wards like it was second nature, and drifting into a peaceful sleep.
Peaceful until memory ripped into terror, enveloping her in reminders.
When she woke up in the morning, her long-healed scar was burning.
All she remembered from the dream was silver agony.
May 10, 1999
"It's our last day, Granger. We've spent the whole week being shepherded. Finally, a full day off, at least until the party. What do you want to do?"
Hermione glanced over at Malfoy thoughtfully. They were sitting at the Bäckerei down the street from the hotel. After the visit to Schönbrunn, the two had fallen into an uneasy alliance of sort. They could tour the city together. They could attend parties and dance, having moved past the initial awkwardness. They could engage in small talk, as long as they stayed away from the elephant in the room.
Which was odd since the elephant was the whole reason for the trip in the first place.
But Hermione pretended. She learned that Malfoy was quite witty when he wanted to be, had an alright sense of humour, was addicted to sarcasm, and held fascinating opinions on governmental policy. As long as they remained within those bounds, Hermione felt comfortable enough to continue.
But it was also unsustainable – Malfoy had chosen to treat her with kindness, or not necessarily kindness but civility. It was not unwanted given their forced proximity, but certainly off-putting. It reminded her with startling clarity that these shared moments existed in a pocket universe – far from Great Britain, from the war, and their past.
Hermione was unsure when they would reach the point where they could no longer continue the façade, but for the moment, she was content to exist in cordiality with Malfoy.
"Granger, are you still with us?"
"Yes, sorry," she muttered, taking a sip of coffee. "I mean, is there anything you would like to do?"
"Nothing comes to mind. But based on your expression, something is exhausting all of your thoughts."
She glanced at the table, picking at the wood with her nails.
"Granger, Merlin's sake. What could it possibly be that's bothering you so much? Is it embarrassing? Would you like to visit the red-light district…"
"No," she burst out, blushing furiously. "Gods, how do you even know what that means?"
"Somethings are universal, Granger. I am a man."
"I don't want to visit the red-light district," she muttered. "I wanted… I wanted to visit the National Library."
She glanced up at him under her eyelashes, expecting the taunting to commence. She could see it all her head, a fifteen-year old Malfoy standing before her at Hogwarts, mocking her for spending an afternoon in the library. Just her and her books. Her and her imagination and her academics and no war. No fucking war.
But Malfoy was not laughing. Instead, he was nodding at her; assenting. Agreeing.
"That sounds lovely, Granger. Would you like to go now?"
Her jaw dropped. "You… you're okay with that?"
"Of course, I'm alright with it. You aren't suggesting murder, what is this about then?"
"No one ever…" she started, before stuttering off. She suddenly felt like a child, no longer a war heroine but a teenage girl, teased mercilessly for her love of books. A girl who had finally felt accepted at Hogwarts, where even there, the centre of magical academia, loving the library was somehow discouraged. Somehow foreign. Somehow wrong.
As if she were wrong.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "No one ever what?"
"Wants to go to the library with me," she finished, whispering the words so quickly that she was unsure if Malfoy had even heard her.
She glanced up nervously.
He was laughing.
Her heart dropped.
There it was.
She would never be anything more than the bookworm that had followed Harry and Ron around for years. The girl with a slouched back because her book bag was too heavy. Bushy-haired and bucked teeth.
Everything they had decided she was. Everything he decided she was.
Never giving her the chance to be anything beyond. Anything more.
"You don't have to come," she muttered angrily, taking a sip of her coffee and trying to swallow her embarrassment.
He was still laughing. "No, Granger. You misunderstand."
She raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"No one wants to come with you to the library when it's a Friday night and you want to write an essay six weeks in advance. That is different than wanting to visit the Austrian National Library on our last day in Vienna. Come on now, I know it's taking all your energy to not jump out of your seat."
She must have misheard him. "You'll… you want to come?"
He nodded. "I do."
"You're serious?"
"I am. Merlin, Granger. Do you never get to pick the activity?"
"My friends…" she started before stuttering off. Ron's laughing tone at the idea of visiting a museum rang through her mind. "They have different interests."
"We all have different interests, Granger. But we don't mock our friends' passions."
"You have no legs to stand on, Malfoy," Hermione bit out, more aggressively than intended as a flare of defensiveness arose in her chest. "You were no better."
He paused, considering her for a moment.
"No, but I was not pretending to be your friend."
"And what are you doing now?" she asked.
He gave her a look so intense that it bruised for a moment. When she looked again, it was gone.
A trick of the light.
"I am taking you to the Austrian National Library, Granger. Finish your coffee, now. They won't let it near the books."
"Are you nervous, Granger?" he asked her as they made their way up the steps of the colossal marble steps.
"Excited," she whispered back, as they crossed the threshold. "Remember, it's a library, you can't make too much noise…"
But as she walked into the atrium, all thoughts of silence were wiped from her mind. She couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips.
Malfoy gave a low chuckle before coming up behind her and whispering in her ear, his breath hot on her skin.
"Remember, Granger. This is a library."
But she couldn't help herself. It was breathtaking.
Deep mahogany bookshelves, painting the walls from floor to ceiling. Volumes and tomes as far as her eyes could see. The floor was marble patterns, alabaster and maroon, leading her feet forward like a treasure map. Marble columns leading upwards, the roof above her head painted with saints and angels, allowing herself a moment to contemplate God, at least in the face of heaven like this.
"Might want to pick your jaw up off the floor," Malfoy murmured behind her. "You might start drooling."
She turned back to him, awe on her face.
"You don't need to stay if you don't want to."
He gave her a strange look. "I want to."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
He shrugged, brushing past her deeper into the shelves.
"I like books."
She lost track of time in the Austrian National Library. Another wizarding war could have erupted just beyond the entrance, and she would have been none the wiser. Her feet glided across the marble, as her fingers ran delicately down the spines of books. They were riveting, of all languages, of all histories. She could lose herself in here, she knew it.
In a way, she felt like she had.
Malfoy followed her without complaint, picking books off the shelf of his own accord, sometimes flipping through tomes long enough that Hermione accidentally left him behind. But he did not complain. He simply explored.
The sun moved higher in the sky, evidence of time passing, and before Hermione could blink it was mid-afternoon.
She looked up from the desk she had found herself at, trying to find Malfoy. He was sitting in an armchair down the corridor, reading a book, a pair of reading glasses on his face.
Hermione blinked to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. However, when she looked again, they were still there. A pair of wide rimmed spectacles she had never seen before in her life, resting on his nose as his eyes moved quickly over the pages.
As if he sensed her gaze, he glanced up, meeting her eyes. A blush crept up her cheeks, and she felt as she had been caught in the act.
However, that implied wrongdoing.
What was wrong about noticing that Malfoy had reading glasses?
He closed the book he was reading before standing to return it to the shelf. He walked over to the desk she was occupying, before taking off the glasses, wiping them once, and slipping them inside his coat pocket.
"Issue, Granger?"
"I didn't know you had glasses," she blurted out suddenly, receiving several hushing noises from the library occupants around them.
Malfoy chuckled softly before nodding. "I only use them for reading. Got them after fourth year."
"I never noticed," Hermione admitted.
An unfamiliar look passed over his face.
"Then I guess you weren't paying attention."
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, forcing her gaze out the window.
"We should get going. We need to get ready for the party."
Malfoy nodded. "I'm sure the Austrians are going to send us out in style. Best be prepared. Don't forget that balancing charm."
She frowned. "How did you know I cast a balancing charm?"
"Granger, I am certain of few things in this world. But I am positive you cannot stand in six-inch heels without magical assistance."
"Granger! What colour are you wearing? We should probably match, given that it's the last night."
Hermione glanced at herself in the mirror, running her wand up her arm once more to cast the familiar glamour. As the word disappeared from her skin, at least momentarily, she felt a weight lifted from her shoulders.
"Pink, I guess," she answered back through the wall. "But it's soft pink. Not hot pink."
"Granger, that was the most unhelpful description I have ever heard. Just let me see so I can pick an overcoat colour."
She groaned, forcing herself to the door to unlock it. Of all the parts, good and bad, of this trip she had anticipated, matching herself to Draco Malfoy had not made the list.
Opening the door, she met Malfoy's eyes before they drifted downwards to appraise her dress choice. He seemed to have been waiting directly on the other side of the door. He was dressed in black slacks and a soft grey shirt, just waiting for her to decide the colour to go above.
He glanced down at her dress for several moments without speaking, making her feel quite self-conscious.
"What?" she snapped. "It's pink, what did I say?"
"Sure, Granger," he muttered, still staring at the dress. "Pink. Very helpful description."
"It is," she huffed, turning back to the mirror, tripping over her heels, reminding her to cast the balancing spell. "Ginny helped me pick it."
"Makes sense that Weasley chose it."
"Why?"
"Because it's fucking gorgeous, Granger, and you have no fashion sense."
Her breath stilled in her throat, and she glanced over her shoulder to see if he was kidding. But the expression on his face was not of a man mocking her. It was something deeper.
Something that made her uncomfortable if she considered it for too long.
She glanced back at the mirror, trying to see what Malfoy apparently did. It was a soft colour, pink but also silver, indescribably in-between, off-the shoulder with flowers sewn into the chiffon all the way down.
"What colour would you call this?" she asked, unsure now of her initial description.
After several moments without an answer, she glanced at him once again.
She met startling silver eyes.
"Champagne, Granger. You're dressed in champagne."
She frowned. "That's not a colour."
"It is. It's a colour and a drink, and gods, the way I could just…"
He stuttered off, his face flushing before he finished the sentence. He shook his head a little as if forcing the thought to evaporate. He swallowed.
"I'll wear black. Seems a fitting image, given the way… given us."
He turned on his heel to return to his room, leaving Hermione wondering, more than she cared to admit, how he wanted to finish that sentence.
They walked into the ballroom amidst thunderous applause, Hermione's hand resting on Malfoy's forearm. She felt nervous with all those eyes on her, but more so after her shared moment with Malfoy at the hotel. It had been … loaded. Too loaded. Uncomfortably so.
They had forged a sort of peace this week, against seemingly all odds. They were good for that – casual conversation, a touring partner. And she'd remiss to mention how he could dance.
But anything beyond felt untenable. They were two adults, forced in each other's presence so far for nearly one hundred and seventy hours, it was natural to exchange… a moment. But this was not reality. This was not her life. This was fairytale castles and massive ballrooms and silver eyes that made her feel unmoored.
They were both war-shattered shells, she could not forget.
She could not douse trauma in champagne.
She would not.
Not for the likes of Draco Malfoy.
They reached the centre of the ballroom, where Wurzinger and Charlotte were waiting. Hermione curtseyed to them as Draco bowed.
"Dear friends," Wurzinger boomed out. "We are forever grateful for your presence in Austria. We hope that this week has shown you the beauty of our country, and you will return to Great Britain with only fond memories of our homeland."
"Absolutely, Minister," Malfoy replied. "Your hospitality has been more than we deserve."
"We hope you enjoy this final party," Charlotte said, smiling at them both. "And we hope you return to Austria one day."
"With certainty," Hermione answered.
Wurzinger clapped his hands. "Then let the party commence!"
And commence it did.
Hermione danced first with Wurzinger, a ceremonial gesture of sorts. She found herself unable to fully relate to the Austrian Minister but enjoyed his presence. Besides, he could be droll when he wanted to. Dry sarcasm hit a humour spot for her that she had not realized until lately, and something about Wurzinger just made her chuckle.
She drank a glass of white wine, followed by red, before two flutes of champagne made her feel positively giddy. She was spun around by minister after minister, high-raking official after aristocrat, repeating the same conversation over and over until she felt as if she were stuck in a time loop.
As one waltz drifted into another, she was spun once more, as strong arms caught her on the opposite end.
Arms that she had begun to recognize instinctively, much to her discomfort.
"Malfoy?" she asked, his fingers grazed her hips. She shuddered.
Pocket universe. Remember the pocket universe.
"Granger," he replied, taking her hand in his and beginning to waltz. "Would you care to dance?"
She chuckled, her lips champagne-kissed and careless. "You're not exactly asking, are you?"
"Not particularly, but we're already several notes in. It would be punishment to leave a man alone mid-waltz."
"That's so typical of you," she murmured, feeling light-headed as he spun her once more.
"Hmm?" he asked, pulling her flush against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat – steady.
"Not asking," she answered, hiccupping slightly. "Just taking."
He paused, missing a step in their waltz.
"What are you insinuating, Granger?"
His voice was soft. Almost curious. Unthreatening.
She knew better.
Pocket universe.
"You're a Malfoy," she whispered, suddenly hyper-aware of where she was. Of what she was doing. Of who she was allowing to touch her. "You… you take what you want, you do what you want, damn the consequences. Damn who gets hurt in the process."
Screams echoed in her mind, painted in deep silver.
And there it was – the bubble shattered. Because as kind and thoughtful Malfoy had been this week, this was not who he was. This was not the man she knew him to be – who he had proven himself to be through the spilling of her own blood.
Why had she allowed him to slip into her circle? To treat her as if he gave a shit about her, about people like her.
Show-business. A façade. A charade.
The tour melted into her life, distorting her conception of reality.
Because that was something that she was certain was real.
Draco Malfoy was not a good man.
He was… he was not.
That was truth.
It had to be.
"Is that what you think of me?" he asked quietly, looking over her shoulder now. "Even… after this week?"
He couldn't look her in the eye again.
"It's been a week, Malfoy. A week does not replace seven years."
"I never intended it to," he answered, regaining his pace as he swept her across the dance floor. "I… I thought perhaps that you would maybe see that I was more… more than what I was."
She felt drunk. Unstable.
Standing on shaking foundations.
But she knew it with certainty – she had to. This was not more than farce.
And Hermione Granger could not tolerate farce.
Her eyes met his. "A week doesn't change the fact that you watched me be tortured and did nothing."
He froze, and Hermione felt his burning gaze drift down to where her scar was concealed on her forearm.
The music ended. They took a step back, bowing and curtseying, Hermione hyper-aware that she was at the centre of the room. Centre of attention.
They were still on the tour.
She did not feel very golden now.
"I'll see you at the hotel," Malfoy said curtly, giving her a quick nod, before turning and disappearing into the crowd.
Hermione reached for another drink as a tray floated by.
She had said nothing untrue.
It had been six days.
Six days could never compete with a lifetime of nightmares.
Hermione stumbled home to the hotel quite late. Bauer walked her back, thanking her for her time and her visit the whole way. Malfoy had left separately, earlier than she had. As she climbed the steps to the room, she tripped, her balancing charm wearing off. Cursing, she ripped off the damn shoes and carried them in her hands until she entered her room, throwing them on the chair in the corner.
She could not stop thinking about her conversation with Malfoy. Had she been out of line? She did not feel so.
The elephant in the room had stampeded over her, urged forward by a few too many glasses of liquor.
It was true, she thought, slipping out of the dress and into a t-shirt, falling into bed. He could be charming and kind when he wanted to be, he could take her to the National Library, but he was still Malfoy. He was still the coward she had known during the war, the boy who had stood by while Bellatrix tortured her on his drawing room floor.
How could she be out of line for questioning him? It was all show, ballgowns and alcohol and dances, hiding the darkness beneath. Her very soul felt shattered, and here she was, spinning across Europe with Draco Malfoy.
She bit her lip, snuggling under the covers. Gods, could she do ten more weeks of this? Of this… façade. This charade. This show of unity that was breaking her apart her inside.
She could not enjoy her time with Draco Malfoy. Not after everything he had done to her. To people like her. He must… he must still think she was beneath him. No man forgot the way he was raised in a year.
And she had let him hold her, let him take pictures of her, laughing in the gardens behind the palace. She had let him buy her coffee and walk at her side down the street.
What had she been thinking?
She knew the answer; it was rational. She was thinking that she would not survive eleven weeks parading around Europe with her worst enemy. So, she tried to pretend – pretend that she was not Hermione Granger and he was not Draco Malfoy and they did not have such a tumultuous, torturous history. But like all glass sculptures, it shattered under the smallest amount of pressure.
In her case, about a bottle of champagne.
She could not paint beauty where there was none. They would forever be a destroyed canvas, scraps of fabric laying across the ground.
To pretend otherwise would be immoral.
To ignore her own trauma.
And that was something her subconscious would never let her do.
"GRANGER! GODS, GRANGER, JUST HOLD ON!"
She bolted awake, sitting straight up in bed just as the connecting door between hers and Malfoy's room slammed open, revealing a panting Draco Malfoy.
Holding the covers tight across her chest, she watched him look her over, his wand raised in a defensive posture.
"What… what are you doing?" she whispered, shaking slightly.
He swallowed, lowing his wand slowly. It was only then that she clued in; the sky outside her window was pitch black, and Malfoy was dressed in pajama pants and nothing else.
"I heard screaming," he said quietly. "I thought… I don't know what I thought."
Hermione felt her blood go cold as she realized with startling clarity what had happened.
The wards. She had forgotten to put up the wards.
She had been so focused on Malfoy she had forgotten the wards.
She had never forgotten the wards.
"I…um," she started, her voice cracking, abandoning her. "I have nightmares."
Malfoy's eyebrows hit his hairline. "You… you were screaming in your sleep, weren't you?"
She gulped, nodding slowly.
"Why… does that happen every night?"
"The majority," she whispered, wrapping her arms around her chest.
"I've been sleeping a door over from you for a week and I've never… I've never heard that before."
"I usually put up wards," she muttered. "After the gala, I must've… I just forgot."
He seemed frozen in the doorway. After a moment, he turned and returned into his room. A second later, he reappeared, holding a half-empty glass of firewhiskey.
He sauntered into her room uninvited.
"Look, Malfoy," she said, nervously, as he tossed her shoes aside from the chair in the corner and sat in it. "You… I'm sorry I woke you up, but you don't need to…"
"You didn't wake me up, Granger," he replied, taking a sip of firewhiskey. "I've been up for an hour."
"An hour?" she asked. "It must be the middle of the night."
"It is," he answered. "I can only sleep in about two-hour increments. Then I wake up, have a glass of firewhiskey, and go for another two hours."
She felt her jaw drop open as his eyes remained focused on her.
"I can't sleep for the same reason you can't, Granger," he whispered. "For the same reason that I bet most wizards and witches in Great Britain can't sleep."
The scar on her arm burned.
"What do you dream about, Granger?" he murmured. "What haunts your soul so completely that it bleeds into your nightmares? Is it losing all those people? It is when Potter was declared dead? Is it everything?"
His eyes bored into hers and against her better judgement, she felt compelled to answer.
"It's… it's when we got captured. It's being tortured on your drawing room floor."
Malfoy nodded, unsurprised. "I figured as much. Makes sense why you're so skittish around me."
"I'm not skittish…"
"Yes, you are, Granger. I'm not blaming you. You're not the one who stood by. You're not the one who did nothing."
Hermione's heartbeat felt out of control, erratic.
"Do you blame me, Granger?" he asked quietly, his eyes now on the glass of firewhiskey in his hand. "For that mark on your arm? For the scars on your soul? Do you think it's my fault?"
She stared at him for a long moment.
"Yes," she whispered.
He sucked in a long breath. "I knew you would, I – fuck, I wish… but it doesn't matter."
"Malfoy," she whispered, watching him down the rest of the glass. "I'm s…"
"Don't you dare fucking apologize, Granger," he hissed, raising a finger to shush her. "You… you owe me nothing. Of course, you blame me. I fucking blame me."
He closed his eyes, letting his head fall backwards on the chair top. "I see it almost every night, you know. That psychotic bitch carving that word into you. The Cruciatus, so many times that I lost count. And your eyes, your giant brown eyes, looking at me. Begging me. To do – fuck, anything. Anything but what I did. Nothing."
"Malfoy, please," she whispered, scooting to the edge of the bed until her legs were free of the covers and were over the edge. "I don't want to relive it when I'm awake."
"Of course, you don't," he murmured, looking at her again. "I'm… I'm sorry. I heard you screaming, and I thought I'd fallen asleep, into a night terror. But this was real. It was happening again. And I couldn't stop it."
"I mean, you sort of did," she muttered. "You woke me up."
"You know what I mean," he whispered. "I just… I couldn't hear you scream again. I've heard it enough. In memory, in nightmare, you fucking haunt me. And I haunt you. We've been haunting each other for years."
"Years?" Hermione asked, confused. "Malfoy, what are you on…"
"And the worst part was that it was the same colour," he muttered, ignoring her. "It was bright red. You and your Gryffindor spirit. It runs in your veins. And you bleed like me. And that's all I could think in that moment. You were bleeding out on the fucking floor and all I could think was that it didn't look like mud."
"Are you… are you still drunk, Malfoy?" she whispered quietly.
"Only way I can sleep," he muttered. "Only thing that calms the demons."
"What demons?" she asked against her better judgement.
"The demons in me, Granger. The demons that hurt you."
His cheeks were flushed as he met her gaze once again.
"What do you see when you look at me, Granger?" he whispered, and she sensed that his sanity rested on her answer. "Do you only ever see that night? Could you ever see… anything else?"
"I… I don't know," she admitted quietly, tucking her knees under her chin.
He nodded, breathing deeply, as if weathering the pain.
"Ten weeks left, Granger. A finite amount of time to…"
He stuttered off; his eyes drifting shut.
"To what?"
A pause.
"To convince you otherwise."
A breath shuddered in his chest, and suddenly he was snoring, drifting into sleep on the armchair in the corner of her room.
She stared at him in silence for several moments. Maybe it was the champagne still in her veins, or just her sheer exhaustion, but she crawled back under the covers without waking him. It took a while for her to fall back asleep, but eventually, with Malfoy's soft snores as her metronome, she was able to drift into sleep.
When they woke up in the morning, they didn't talk about it. Malfoy went back to his room to pack without saying a word. She threw her shoes and ballgowns back in the bag without allowing the memory to cross her mind.
They walked back to the Zaubereiministerium in silence. They hugged Bauer goodbye wordlessly. When they landed in Scot's office, they recounted the details of the trip with serious revisions. They left each other by the floo, each flying through green flames back to their own separate realities, breaking the shell of the pocket universe.
They did not speak of it again.
Please leave a review and let me know what you think :)
Next chapter - Lisbon - out on August 5th.
You can find me on FFnet and twitter as starkidsftw (if you aren't on Dramione twitter, what are you doing), on tumblr as loveandharrypotter, and on instagram as starkidsftwauthor. Hoping to connect with you folks elsewhere as well!