Welcome to the Athens chapter!
As always, I do not own Harry Potter.
There's something I should tell you
It's about this room
Redlight beams, white beams
Transmitting master keys
In my day dreams
Felt like a nightmare
MASN – Athens
July 9, 1999
Draco sat at his desk in what used to be Lucius's office. Frowning at the letter in front of him, he dipped the quill in the ink, taking his sweet time before pulling it out, allowing a few excess drops to fall from the tip.
He took a deep breath and scrawled across the page, forcing himself to put his confession into words and send it before nerves set in.
Dear Potter,
Thank you.
July 10, 1999
Hermione sat at the table in Harry kitchen, drumming her fingers on the wood as she nursed a glass of rosé. She and Ginny were having a girls' night – though technically, Ginny still resided at the Burrow, especially if Mrs. Weasley asked, Harry and his girlfriend had spent almost every night together at Grimmauld Place since Ginny's graduation three weeks prior.
Hermione would bet her ministry salary that the only reason Molly hadn't combusted yet was because it was Harry Potter.
The Auror and Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville had gone out to the Leaky Cauldron for the night, leaving Hermione and Ginny with the house to themselves. Having only gotten back from Berlin a few days prior, she had not had the chance to catch up with her friends about the trip.
And though she would not admit it aloud, she was thrilled about sleeping with someone else in the house.
Returning to her quiet one-person apartment after Berlin had been more difficult than she had imagined – more difficult than it should have been. In her small bedroom, wrapped in familiar warmth, she felt cold. It was not as startling as being doused in cold water – Hermione had a stark memory of falling into the Black Lake in fourth year.
This cold, it was like standing outside in the late fall. It seemed manageable at first, until the chill crept into your bones and you felt unhoused in your own skin.
As if you didn't belong anymore.
And where could she belong, if not within herself?
And that fact, of all the disconcerting elements of her trip to Berlin, was what stuck with her. That through a choppy sea of black and white that had shifted into soft grey currents, she had somehow washed ashore secure in a lifeboat.
As morality and understanding ebbed and flowed around her, she had stayed afloat.
Secure in the arms of Draco Malfoy.
"Hermione?" a voice interrupted her. She glanced up over the glass of wine where Ginny was eyeing her, her face flushed – from passionate ranting or wine, she was not sure. "Are you there?"
"Sorry, Gin," she murmured, leaning forward. "I… I'm just tired. What were you saying?"
Her friends' face broke into a furious grin. "I was saying that I've made my decision. I'm going to take the Harpies up on their offer."
"You are?" Hermione exclaimed. Ginny had received an offer to play reserve chaser for the Holyhead Harpies in mid-June, right before her graduation. She had been stewing on it ever since, unsure of whether she wanted to dive right in after school or take a break. "That's amazing, Gin!"
"Thank you," she blushed, and Hermione decided the red painting her friend's cheeks was from excitement. "I was thinking about it, and finally decided – why not now? What could I possibly be waiting for?"
"A good thought," Hermione smiled, as she took another sip of wine. "No time like the present."
"It just feels odd," Ginny replied. "Feeling excited about something. Like genuinely excited about the future."
"Somewhere in the distance, Harry just screamed."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Harry doesn't count. I mean something entirely new, something that has nothing to do with Hogwarts, or anything from before. The future. I feel like I'm finally moving on."
"Moving on?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. "From school? It's only been a couple of weeks."
"Not from school, necessarily," she said, shaking her head. "From… from Hogwarts and the war. The two are so interconnected for me. I mean, I was eleven the first time I had to deal with Voldemort. Sticks with a person. Going to the Harpies, I was worried about getting ahead of myself after finishing my education when I could have taken a break. But then I thought about it – I deserve to feel excited about the future. Not just grateful that I get one, you know?"
Hermione nodded slowly. "I mean, I agree. I think you're a couple steps ahead of me yet, Ginny."
The redhead cocked her head. "What do you mean?"
She sighed, tasting the tang of the rose on her tongue. "I just, I'm not sure if I feel excited about anything like that, not yet, at least."
"What about the trip? You've got eight cities left to visit, I'm sure one of them suits your fancy."
"Of course, they do," Hermione murmured, unsure if she was explaining herself correctly. "I can't wait until Moscow, personally. But beyond the trip. When the lights fade and I run out of dresses, and it's just me alone in my apartment, what am I excited about? What do I wake up to in the morning and look forward to? I don't know yet. I'm too busy trying to recover from the night."
Ginny gave her a look of sympathy. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I get what you mean. I think we all do."
"I'm not sure," Hermione whispered, the slight haze in her head pushing her forward into confession. "You and Harry have each other. Harry has the Auror Department and now you have the Harpies. Ron is working with George on the joke shop. Besides this trip, what do I have? An office job? As if that will sustain me forever."
"I thought you liked your job."
"I do," she murmured. "But I don't wake up in the morning ecstatic about it. I wake up in the morning still haunted from the night."
"You'll find something, Hermione," Ginny said with the confidence that only alcohol could afford. "I'm sure of it."
Hermione gave a weak smile, as she felt another confession playing at the tip of her tongue.
Could she tell her friend? Admit to her that the best she had felt in years was sleeping in the same bed as Draco?
Even his name felt like penance.
She was so close to revealing what had occurred, how her and Draco were drifting into unknown territory that Hermione was certain no chart could tell her the depth of.
Because whatever they were doing was unwritten.
She hesitated.
To put it into words would give it weight, force in into reality, require her to acknowledge it, explain it.
Defend it.
Defend it like crumbling city walls before the barbarians broke in.
She had no weight to stand on.
She would fall like Rome.
So instead of saying it, allowing it to see the light of day, Hermione swallowed whatever peace she had found with Draco like bad liquor.
It burned on the way down.
And Hermione was not certain it would stay within her for long.
Plastering a fake smile onto her face, she nodded at Ginny.
"You're right. Sorry, I'm being such a downer. I'll get there."
An image of Draco pulling into her into his bed appeared in her mind.
At least she was not sleeping alone tonight.
She just had to make it to Athens.
July 20, 1999
She was not going to make it to Athens.
The nights were somehow growing longer, even though the summer evenings now faded into blinding orange sunset before succumbing to deep navy. For Hermione, passing the solstice and leaving Berlin had elongated the dark.
She felt like she was drowning in it.
Every night she tumbled down the rabbit hole into nightmares, unable to contain her screams as she bolted up, shaking and sweating, convinced that this time it was real. This time it wasn't just her subconscious torturing her.
But it always was.
So, the cycle would repeat the next night.
Hermione thought that it was because she had tasted relief. Contrast was a powerful manipulator. Were her nightmares worse? She could not tell, not objectively.
But after tasting ambrosia, even water burned like acid.
Regardless, she could not wait until Athens, when she could feel relief again.
She just wanted to sleep through the night.
And gods help her, he was how she did that.
She had considered contacting him a few times, in the worst of her moments. What would it hurt? They had already broken down this barrier. What difference did it make if they found comfort in each other in London or abroad?
But each time she wrote a letter, it would end up ashes in the fireplace.
Because it did matter.
Elsewhere, he was Draco.
And here – he was still Malfoy.
And the distinction was killing her.
Or, at the very least, making it quite difficult to sleep.
She stumbled through the fireplace to Grimmauld Place, where Harry, Ron, Ginny, Seamus, Dean, and Neville were already drinking. Forcing a smile onto her face, she felt herself wrapped up in welcome hugs. It was as if she were watching herself from a distance. She had glamoured her eyes to hide the entrenched bags beneath them, but only so much could be disguised.
Looking around at her friends' glassy eyes, she was suddenly grateful.
Alcohol would be her faithful aid tonight.
"Hey Hermione," Harry said, pulling her into a hug. "Happy to see you."
"Harry," she chuckled, wrapping her arms around her best friend. "We had lunch yesterday."
"Still nice. When you're gone a week out of the month, makes me appreciate you more when you are around."
"The world traveler of the group!" Ron shouted from over by the sink, shooting her a wolfish grin. "When do you leave for Athens?"
She tried to hide how much she flinched.
"A week and a half," she replied, clenching her jaw. As if she didn't know it to the day. To the hour.
Gods – what was happening to her?
Forcing her gaze away from Ron, she looked over at Ginny. "When are we heading out?"
"Now," Ginny replied, the flush in her face definitely because of the liquor. "We were just waiting for you."
"Sorry, I'm late," she said quickly. "I got held up at the ministry."
Harry waved his hand dismissively. "Just gave us more time to drink in advance. In a way, you're saving us money."
Hermione could not help but snort. "Glad to be of service. To the Leaky?"
"To the Leaky!" Harry shouted, as if he were leading them all into battle. The Chosen One walked forward, grabbing floo powder and tossing it into the fireplace.
Hermione chuckled. "After you, my fearless leader."
Harry shot her a cheeky grin over his shoulder.
"And don't you forget it."
Hermione sipped at her third butterbeer as she listening to the boys and Ginny argue passionately about some game of Quidditch. She had begun checking out after the first mention of a Wonski Feint, and it was all downhill from there.
The bar was packed for a Friday night. Hermione knew a nightclub had just opened in Diagon Alley, and it seemed most of Wizarding Britain had decided to start the evening at the Leaky.
It was overwhelming.
It was fun.
It was exhausting
It was all of the above.
Hermione rolled her eyes as Ginny slammed her palm on the table shooting "IT WAS A LEGENDARY PLAY!" Taking a deep breath, she finished the rest of her pint before standing, knowing that if she were going to listen to this entire conversation, she would have to get another drink.
After ordering a beer from Tom, Hermione took a quick sip before turning back to the room. Considering quickly if Neville would go dance with her instead of arguing about Quidditch, she was not paying attention when she walked straight into another body.
Stumbling back, trying not to spill her drink, she spluttered out apologies. "I am so sorry…"
Glancing up at the stranger she had just tripped into, she paused.
Because this was not a stranger. This was a man she knew, by a loose definition of the term, but had not seen in almost a year.
The world was getting smaller each day.
She frowned. "Fancy running into you here, Nott."
Theodore Nott gave her a grin as he brushed some drops of beer from his black button up – his hazel eyes mischievous. "Taking the term quite literally, are we, Granger?"
She chuckled, taking a sip from her beer. "Sorry, I was thinking about Quidditch."
"Isn't that some sort of deadly sin for you?"
"Sorry, thinking about not thinking about Quidditch," she replied, the haze in her brain starting to manifest.
"Granger, are you hammered?"
"No," she frowned, as Nott looked incredulous. She sighed, gesturing in the direction of her booth, where she could see that Dean and Seamus were about to come to blows. "My friends have decided that it's international Quidditch debate night, a subject that I am not exceedingly interested in, so I was thinking about how to get out of it when I walked into you. Sorry again."
"No harm no foul, Granger," Nott replied, smiling once again. His eyes wandered over to her booth, and Hermione saw a spark of inspiration appear in them. It made her nervous.
He glanced back in her direction. "Well, if your lovely Gryffindors are boring you with their sports, how about a gander in the snakes' den?"
Her eyes snapped up to his. "Sorry, what?"
Nott gave her an impish grin. "Do you think that I came to the Leaky Cauldron alone on a Friday night? I'm actually quite popular, dear Granger."
"And you want me to… hang out with you?"
He shrugged. "Figured I'd give you the offer. Just a Friday night with friends. You're more than welcome. And besides, I'm sure Draco would be thrilled to see you."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat against her will. "Draco? He's here?"
Nott gave her a look that made her feel nervous and self-conscious, as if he were in on a secret that was right on the tip of her tongue. "Yep. It's me, him, Blaise and Pansy. Our normal crew. I know the two of you have gotten friendly with your whole 'touring Europe' thing, so figured he'd like it if you say hi. I promise we're not talking about Quidditch."
Hermione glanced back at the booth containing her friends. It seemed they had not noticed she was gone yet – they were so engrossed in their argument.
And even if they did notice, would it matter what they thought?
It wasn't as if she were hiding anything.
There was nothing to hide.
She turned back to Nott. "Sure. I'll come say hi."
Nott's face broke into a ferocious grin. "Absolutely splendid of you." He held out his arm, and Hermione, chuckling at his theatrics, decided to take it. He began leading her through the throng of people until he called out. "Hey, you lot! Look who I found lost and in need of friendship adoption."
Hermione frowned. "I did not say I needed friendship adopt…" However, she stuttered off as she reached the table.
Because she suddenly realized where she was.
Not in a far-off European city under the starlight and champagne gazes. No – she was in the middle of London with her friends a few tables down.
Standing in front of Draco Malfoy with his jaw on the floor.
Zabini broke the silence first. He raised his glass of firewhiskey, his dark eyes dancing with mirth. "Granger. A pleasure."
Parkinson, at his side, gave her a slow grin. "Granger! What a pleasant surprise. I'm glad to run into you, I wanted to ask about a dress you wore in Lisbon."
Hermione could not sense any insincerity off the bat, so she smiled back hesitantly. "Sure, Park.. Pansy. I'm no fashion expert, and I did get help, but I chose the colours."
"Shove on over you lot, make some space," Nott declared, sliding into the booth next to Parkinson, leaving a single spot available to Hermione.
Right next to Draco.
He still looked thunderstruck at her appearance, and Hermione wondered briefly if he understood she existed outside of the trip.
"Hey, Draco," she murmured, sliding into the booth. When her thigh came to rest against his, she felt him tense.
"Hermione," he answered curtly. "I… it's good to see you."
"Sheesh," Theo interjected. "What's with the coldness, Draco? We've all seen the two of you practically snog on the front page of The Prophet for months now, no need to pretend for our benefit."
Hermione blushed a furious shade of red as Draco looked up at his friend.
"Theo, I'm going to murder you one day."
"And I await it with great excitement," he replied sardonically. "In the meantime, make the lady feel welcome!"
Hermione could not help but chuckle. "Theo, are you always this obnoxious?"
Parkin – Pansy and Blaise burst into ferocious laughter and Hermione felt some of the tension release from Draco beside her.
He turned towards her, and suddenly she was inches away from silvery eyes that she had missed somehow. That had turned into the first thing she saw in the morning.
"Only when he likes you, Hermione. Welcome to the gang."
The conversation flowed easily with the group, and Hermione was shocked at how welcome she felt. Pansy was snarky, Blaise spoke with a seriousness that sent her into giggles, Theo was a chaotic mess, and Draco – Draco was here.
She was next to him, their thighs touching, and as the night moved forward and Hermione remained with the Slytherins instead of returning to her group, she felt more at ease. It was as if the shaking relationship they had established in Vienna, then Lisbon and Berlin had bled into the streets of London.
But she did not feel uncomfortable.
She felt secure.
Pansy got them another round of drinks, and once Hermione had finished three beers with the Slytherins, Draco threw his arm behind her on the top of the booth. His skin was just grazing the back of her shoulders. She wondered if he was drunk - if he hadn't noticed. Or, if he had forgotten. The casual intimacy that they had fostered from starlit dances to sleep-filled nights had toppled into the quotidian.
Into dive bars with their friends at separate tables, reminding her vividly of the fissure that was still there.
But she could feel shockwaves emanating from the space between her shoulders and his forearm, an infinitesimal distance that felt the size of a canyon.
All she had to do was shift the tectonic plates.
And then what? She wondered. What would happen if she just moved an inch?
If she just gave an inch.
Seismic changes.
Would her Lisbon survive?
But that was the thing about earthquakes – these were natural phenomena, unable to be shaped by the hands and dreams of man.
But by the way that Draco's arms inched towards her – an imperceptible amount to the common observer – she felt her suspicions grow.
Perhaps man was an agent in this after all.
She was just listening to Theo tell an intricate story involving a bat and a handlebar when she heard it – reality.
And this was not the chill that sunk into your bones – that unsettled you at the core.
This was being doused with ice water.
"Hermione?"
She whipped her head around to meet the confused green eyes of one Harry Potter, standing next to his equally confused partner. In the distance behind them, she saw the rest of the group still at the corner booth – unaware that she had not rejoined them.
"Harry," she replied, trying to gauge the confused look on his face. Ginny seemed to be putting all her effort into saying nothing – her eyes were obviously pinned to Draco's arm on the back of the booth.
"Potter?" Theo interjected loudly, his voice taking on that of a faux magistrate. "Of the Chosen One variety?"
Harry looked over at the other man, and in the brief reprieve from his gaze, Hermione felt Draco retract his arm.
She felt the distance now.
"Nott," Harry said cordially, raising an eyebrow. "How… how's your night?"
"Simply incredible, dear Mr. Potter," Theo exclaimed. "Us Slytherins have been graced by not one, but two members of the Golden Trio. If we get a third, do we win a free trip to the Bahamas?"
"More likely a punch in the face," Draco drawled, taking a sip of his drink.
Harry's eyes turned back towards her, drifting to the man sitting at her side. "Malfoy."
Draco gave a curt nod. "Potter."
A stiff silence filled the air as Hermione watched Draco and Harry look at each other, as if they were each daring the other to flinch.
After a moment, Harry looked away first.
Hermione let out the breath she had been holding.
"We were wondering where you'd gone," Ginny interjected, a coy smirk playing at her lips. "Nice to see you found friends."
"Hermione Granger is always welcome with us," Blaise said, and Hermione flinched, expecting the sarcastic kickback that accompanied the majority of the Italian's speech.
It never came.
She turned back to Harry. "Yes, sorry. I went to go get a beer and ran into Theo and…"
Hermione stammered off, looking helplessly at the group. Pansy, seeming to sense her discomfort, leant forward.
"And Granger here was quite exhausted by your inability to discuss any subject other than Quidditch, and so we thought we would entertain her for a moment."
Harry chuckled. "A fair criticism."
Hermione was flabbergasted.
What was happening?
"Hermione," Harry said, turning back towards her. "We were going to head back to the house, if you wanted to come. Are you still sleeping over?"
"Absolutely," she said quickly, praying that he would wait until they got back to ask what the hell she was doing. "Just give me a second."
Harry nodded, and gave a small salute to the Slytherins. "See you lot again. Thanks for entertaining Hermione while I failed in my role as best friend."
Theo snorted. "Potter, you are a delight. Did you defeat Voldemort using only quips?"
Harry rolled his eyes before turning back to Hermione. "We'll be by the floo."
With that, he pulled Ginny away just as she opened her mouth to say something. Wisely, she closed it and followed Harry out of earshot.
Hermione turned back to the group, her heart hammering. "Uh… thanks for tonight. I… I had a blast."
"Anytime, Granger," Theo drawled. "Bring Potter whenever you swing 'round next. He's a riot."
"He's something," she muttered, standing up from the table. "I… I'll see you lot… soon."
She nodded at them all, letting her gaze linger on Draco for a second longer than necessary before she turned. As she took a step away, she felt herself pulled back as an arm shot out to grab her, fingers she recognized wrapping themselves around her forearm.
Electricity.
She turned back. "Yes, Draco?"
"Hermione," he said, his voice slightly slurred and his eyes hazy – the Occlumency long gone. All she could see what depth. "If you… if you ever need me. I'm only an owl away."
She felt her heart stutter to a stop as her lips parted. Blaise, Pansy, and Theo all seemed suddenly quite interested in their individual drink glasses, but Hermione could not tear her gaze from those silver orbs.
"I…" she whispered, knowing exactly what he meant but unable to voice it. "Thank you."
He nodded, releasing her arm. "I… I'll see you soon."
"Soon," Hermione repeated, before turning and practically sprinting away.
Soon. A relative term. Not fixed.
Nothing was fixed anymore.
She made it to the fireplace where Harry and Ginny were standing. She met familiar green eyes and felt her chest constrict.
"Ready to go?" Harry asked, as Ginny could not stop grinning.
"If you're going to say anything, just do it now," Hermione burst out, unable to stand the delay.
Harry frowned. "I have nothing to say."
"You… what?"
He shrugged. "You spend a week of the month with the guy, makes sense that you two are friends. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner."
"I think it's brilliant," Ginny finally burst out. "Let me come next time, I need to talk to Pansy about the spread she did for Witch Weekly in June."
"You aren't mad?"
"Mad?" Harry chuckled. "Mad that you've grown to like someone you spend a ridiculous amount of time with? No, Hermione. I'm not mad. Whatever makes you happy. That's all I care about."
The tension in her core eased. "Thanks, Harry."
He pulled her into a side hug. "No worries, Hermione. Maybe next time I'll meet your new friends. If you like them, there must be something good."
She gave him a small smile as they disappeared into the flames. However, try as she may, one word that Harry had used gave her pause.
Because it didn't quite fit.
Friends.
Nothing was fixed anymore.
August 1, 1999
She did not owl him. She could not make herself.
As the week dragged on and each sleepless filled with more terror, she found herself asking why she had not.
He could always refuse.
But she could ask.
However, even though Draco was now comfortable with his arm around her shoulders, the quotidian and the fairytale blurring before her eyes – she was not there yet.
I need you.
She could only say it on the continent.
The morning of the Athens trip came like a lighthouse in the storm – exactly when she was ready to curse herself and her ship into the Aegean Sea, avoiding Charybdis by the narrowest of margins, they had found safe harbour.
She walked through the ministry quickly, avoiding prying eyes. The Greek trip had been all over the papers for the past week – it was the first Mediterranean city they had visited, in the middle of summer no less.
The people needed their Evita – in beautiful gowns under the constellations.
And it was her job to give it to them.
She reached her department in record time – if making your way through the ministry at ungodly speeds were a sport, Hermione Granger would be an Olympic champion.
"Hey Scot," she said, walking into his office without knocking. There did not seem to be much of a point, honesty. This was their fourth trip of the tour; he knew why she was there.
"Miss Granger," he replied, going over some paperwork at his desk. "Right on time. Mr. Malfoy should be here any moment…"
"And by any moment do you mean now? Impeccable timing."
Hermione turned suddenly, nearly dropping her bag.
He was leaning in the doorway, looking more at ease than she had ever seen him. He wore khakis and a white oxford, the top two buttons let loose. Hermione let her gaze linger at the portion of his collarbone peaking out of the shirt, unsure why it fixated her so.
Draco sent her a smirk. "Hermione."
"Draco," she replied, forcing her eyes upwards. It had been a bit over a week since she had last seen him – hazy eyes with dark hoods in the back of the Leaky Cauldron. Why did it feel like eons?
Perhaps, she considered, because she had spent all that time waiting for reunion.
"Are you ready for Athens?" he asked, walking into the office.
"Absolutely," she said, her voice a little too quick, a little too enthusiastic. His eyes darted over to hers and she felt she had revealed something personal.
What that was, she was not sure.
Scot placed a pair of sunglasses on his desk. "Figured it was fitting, given this month's destination."
"Meaning?"
"Goodness, Miss Granger. Did you even look at the weather report?"
Athens was hot – oppressively so. It was the type of heat that sweltered through the air, the August sun boring down on them in a way that made it feel crowded in complete solitude. That made your body feel disconnected from your soul as the former tried to grapple with the realm of the physical.
Hermione loved it.
It was not that London did not enjoy its summers. But that heat was dry – it burned to the touch, cracking the concrete beneath her feet. But this, with the sea breeze of the Aegean, the water crystal blue with hints of turquoise, the sun golden, bringing out the red in her hair and the smile on her face.
This was Elysium.
Hermione threw open the windows in her hotel room, letting the curtains flap in the air as she leant over the balcony rail. Their place of stay was up from the harbour, in Kallithea – right between the port and the Acropolis. As Hermione watched muggle cruise ships dock, she thought of the three thousand years between the two, and all that had changed in this city since then.
But still, it stood.
Hermione wondered briefly what it would have been like to stand in this spot three millennium prior, watching as Spartan ships overtook the harbour, torches representing the city-state about to rule the peninsula.
What was it like to watch your world burn and not know it would survive?
She felt that she knew.
How little man had changed since the days of Pericles.
"Hermione?"
She turned around from the window towards the door to her suite. She could not help the smile that appeared on her face.
"Hey, Draco."
He sauntered in, hands in his pockets. The heat – which she thought was treating her well – was immaculate for Draco. His hair, normally so pale, had speckles of gold within it, crowning him in leaf. He was no longer like a Greek God to her – he embodied it. If he had walked down from Olympus that afternoon, she would not be surprised. His grey eyes were like the sea – and how she longed to dive right in. She was long past shipwrecked – she was sinking into him, losing herself to waves and millennium.
She was no fool. Draco Malfoy was an attractive man. But if Narcissus had a face as he did, she could understand the desire to spend your days above a pool, basking in your glory.
Hermione was basking now.
And she was too far gone to mind.
"Like the heat then, do you?" he asked, meeting her at the balcony. His eyes were on the city.
Her eyes were on him – mouth suddenly dry.
"It's glorious, Draco. Gods, have you ever wanted to burn alive before?"
As she asked the question, he turned his gaze to meet hers – his pupils quickly dilating. She tried to swallow, but her tongue felt like sandpaper, her heartbeat stuttering irregularly.
"Once or twice," he murmured, shifting his arm a tad closer to hers on the railing.
Perhaps man was an agent in this after all.
"I'm excited for the gala," Hermione said, pulling her eyes away from his and back to the harbour. "I… I've been looking forward to this since Berlin."
This time, she knew she had revealed something personal.
"Me too," he said, and Hermione heard a yearning in his voice that only the sea could reveal. Waiting, patiently, for the waves to part and offer up a ship with everything you had ever wished for aboard.
How had Penelope felt?
"What are you wearing, Hermione?" Draco asked her. "Britain seems as excited about this leg of the tour as you are. I'll make sure I compliment you as is deserved."
As is deserved.
As you deserve.
She took a deep breath. "I'm… I'm wearing grey, actually."
A pause.
"Grey?"
She turned her head to the side where she could see him. His marble façade had dropped slightly, and the yearning had returned.
This time to his eyes.
"Yes. I thought it was time for me to match you."
The dress was immaculate – a personal favourite of hers from the trip so far. It was of the softest grey that shifted with the light – sometimes lilac, sometimes blue, sometimes silver, and somehow all of them at once. With embroidered branches and flowers up the skirt, she felt as if she had woken in a grove, pulling herself from the earth under a moonlit sky to meet him beneath a willow tree.
She had left her hair down, her brown curls dancing down her back. Brushing a piece behind her ear, she knocked on his door.
This was intention.
He opened it without hesitation and Hermione saw a man come undone.
His mouth parted so slightly, breath gasping out between his lips. She watched her eyes rack over her body – treacherously, coveting each glance with a possession that ran down his arms to his clenched fist. Her choices had been deliberate, an experiment of sorts. She was testing something that had been hinted at ever so slightly, under veiled eyes and skin that crackled with proximity. By the rise of Draco's chest and the erratic pulsing at the base of his neck, her suspicions were confirmed.
They were circling Charybdis. But this was not something born of her fantasy, of a recognition that this man was attractive.
They were both at the helm of this ship.
Just wood and sails preventing them from plummeting into the deep.
"You look," he whispered, his breath catching on the air – on the moment. "You look divine."
She could not help but flush. "You look quite the Adonis yourself."
And with deep navy robes flowing like silk down his body, his eyes silver tonight, she felt there was no better a comparison.
He quirked an eyebrow, a smile dancing on his lips, threatening to pull her under. "Who is Adonis?"
"Figure from Greek Mythology," she answered, memories of reading books on the subject during childhood filling her brain momentarily. "He was the mortal lover of the goddess Aphrodite."
"Aphrodite?" he said slowly, as if tasting the word. The syllables on his lips were starlight. "Goddess of love?"
A lump formed in her throat. "Yes."
He took a step towards her, too small to have been intentional, too large to have been an accident.
Eyes of steel, of elemental silver, bore into her.
"Seems fitting, Hermione. Because you look immortal."
The look he gave her could stop the centuries.
They walked into the welcome gala to thunderous applause – Hermione could hear nothing but excited voices and clapping, see nothing but flashing lights from camera bulbs. But her arm was wrapped around Draco's.
And therefore, she was anchored.
The crowd parted to form a pathway. Draco led her forward to a platform, with a man in deep green robes stood to greet them. With olive-skin and dark hair left loose in curls to his chin, he was gorgeous. Hermione could not help but gasp slightly as she met his honey-comb eyes – as warm as the Athens sun.
She heard Draco chuckle next to her.
"Calm down, lioness. He's twice your age."
Hermione was blushing furiously as they reached the Greek Minister for Magic.
"Welcome, honoured guests," the man said, his voice a deep baritone. "My name is Dimitrius Christopoulos. We thank you for visiting our country."
Hermione sunk into a deep curtsey, as Draco bowed at her side.
"Minister Christopoulos, it is us who are thankful," she said.
He chuckled, the sound like bells in a rainstorm. "Call me Dimitrius. We are amongst friends."
"Friends," Hermione repeated, as she felt Draco tense at her side. "Thank you, Dimitrius."
He clapped his hands together and gestured to the room. "Let the festivities commence!"
And commence, they did.
Hermione found herself twirled out into the centre of the dance floor of the minister's arm. After a particularly close dance, she was blushing as she returned to where Draco stood, watching her, his eyes narrowed.
She took the glass of wine he offered her without allowing herself a moment to consider what the glint in his silver meant.
The location was exquisite – they were at the top of the tallest of Athens' seven hills, Lycabettus. The church of Agios Georgios and surrounding patio had been charmed with a muggle-repellent charm for the evening. Having apparated up with Draco, as Hermione looked over the edge from Athens' highest point, she appreciated not having to climb the hill in heels.
The lights of the city spread out like infinity around them, the edges of the buildings meeting the stars at the horizon. Constellations spun above her, and she could see Hercules dancing through the sky.
Her eyes followed the hero through the night until they landed on a familiar shape. Her heart skipped a beat – this was one that she had seen a million times before, at starry midnights above Hogwarts, staring through a toy telescope with her father at age six.
A dragon watching over her over all these years.
Draco.
"What are you staring at?" a voice asked behind her.
She quirked her head as Dimitrius met her at the edge of the courtyard, stargazing as she was.
"Constellations," she replied, turning back to the sky, trying to pick out the dragon once again. But in her brief moment of distraction, she had lost it, the perpetuity of the stars preventing distinction.
She frowned.
"They are beautiful from here," he said, taking a spot next to her. "Some evenings, they are impossible to see because of the city lights, but other nights, we are fortunate."
"I feel fortunate," she said, taking a sip of wine. It was her second glass – the rosé blending with the summer air.
"You know, the Greeks were some of the first Astronomers," he stated, taking a sip of his own drink. "We have arguments with other ancient civilizations about who really was the first, but we are definitely at the table."
"Many of the constellation names come from your mythology," Hermione said. "At least in Europe."
"That's true," he conceded. "Though I would urge you to consider the word mythology – you have seen enough in your short life to know that the limits of possibility are beyond our comprehension."
She could not help but chuckle. "I agree, minister, but somehow I still doubt the existence of the Medusa."
He shrugged, turning slightly back towards the party. "Your Draco seems to be real enough."
Her eyes found the dragon in the sky once again.
"Astronomy is a fascinating subject, Miss Granger," the minister continued. "Part science, part art. Full of trust. Belief."
"Belief," Hermione answered, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"
"We are molecules in the cosmos," he said. "Small and meaningless, but so determined to understand that which is greater than us. Especially in ancient times, there was a certain amount left up to the heavens."
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."
"Did you know that the first astronomer to suggest heliocentrism was Greek?" he replied, taking a sip of wine. "Copernicus was not for centuries."
"Really?" she responded, interested. "No, I didn't know that."
"A man by the name of Aristarchus of Samos in the 3rd century BC," Dimitrius explained. "He saw something no one else did, understood the sky in a way that others only dreamed. But he died nearly two millennium before he would be proven right. But he remained true to his theory – how could that not be belief?"
She pursed her lips. "I suppose, in a way."
Dimitrius took a sip of wine. "It's important to know what you orbit around, Miss Granger. Or how far you'll go to rearrange the cosmos."
Hermione snorted. "Aristarchus did not rearrange the cosmos. The sun was always at the centre."
The minister shrugged. "But he did see what those around him could not – discovery is certainly not creation, but it takes a certain type of magic to see beyond the din, to realize what you are looking at."
Her eyes wandered to the sky again – the same sky that Aristarchus had stared on when he had noticed the positions of the planets in relation to the sun. When he had put the galaxy into language.
"I wonder, Miss Granger," he drawled, his honey eyes on her face. "What will you discover beneath Athens's sky?"
Her eyes found the dragon constellation again.
Her heart stuttered.
She wondered, indeed.
Draco and Hermione took a portkey back to the hotel as midnight reigned victor above them. Dimitrius had kissed her hard softly in parting, wishing her a good trip, and admonishing her to contact her if she required anything. She had been giggling as Draco rolled his eyes and pulled her away.
They landed in the hotel lobby, waving to the receptionist of the wizarding hotel as they started their way up the stairs.
"What a night," Draco murmured. "The wine alone… gods, the Greeks know what they're doing."
She giggled again as they reached their floor. "Dionysus's realm, after all."
"You need to stop with these references, Hermione. I have no sweet clue what you're talking about."
"I'll get you a book tomorrow," she murmured. The two of them had arrived at Hermione's door. She turned back to him – the look in his eyes was the same as it had been in the Leaky Cauldron.
Open. Hazy.
Offering.
And this time – reality would not be her downfall.
"Draco," she said, her words tripping over themselves on the way out. "I… we're in Athens."
He quirked an eyebrow. "Astute observation."
"I mean," she whispered, unsure if she should voice how impatient she had been for this moment since leaving Berlin. How much she had needed it?
Was it too much?
Would he back away?
He stepped closer.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his eyes tracing her face with the delicacy of a paintbrush.
"Your offer," she murmured. "From the Leaky. Does it still stand?"
His Adam's apple bobbed. "It does."
She took a deep breath. "Then I'd like to take you up on it."
The reaction was instant. A smile appeared on his face, his lips widening as he inched towards her again.
"Oh, Hermione," he whispered. "Here you are."
She reached a shaking hand up towards his face – wondering what marble felt like.
Cupping his cheek as he closed his eyes, she decided.
It felt like indulgence.
"Here I am," she breathed.
Reaching behind her, she opened the door to her room as Draco stumbled in after her. After the door was locked, she turned around as he sat on the edge of her bed.
"Close your eyes," she murmured. He obeyed.
Slipping out of her dress, the fabric pooled at her feet. Draco sat on her bed, not peeking as she threw on an old baggy t-shirt. Rustling her hair out of the coiffed curls, she sighed.
"It's alright."
His eyes drifted open, and had she not known better, she would have thought she was wearing a gown of sheer gold. Draco let out a small noise that sounded pained – wanton. His eyes were black, the silver disappearing into the night.
"Do you fancy yourself a Helen, then?" he murmured.
She raised an eyebrow. "Helen?"
"Of Troy."
"I thought you said you didn't know any Greek mythology," she chuckled.
"I may not know anything about Greek mythology, but I do know about beautiful women that wars are fought over."
Her breath hitched as she understood.
He stood up and pulled his robes over his head. She did not bother looking away – his eyes compelled her. When he was stripped down to his boxers and Hermione was once again reminded that not only statutes could be carved to perfection, he gestured to the bed.
"Come on then, Helen," he said, pulling back the covers. "I haven't slept well in a month."
"Me neither," she admitted quietly, crawling into his waiting arms.
It felt like coming home from her own personal Odyssey, seeing Ithaca on the horizon. Of hearth and home as he wrapped her into his embrace.
After a few moments, she found whatever bravery she possessed.
"Draco?"
"Hmm?"
"If I'm Helen," she whispered. "Who are you?"
He paused.
"Menelaus or Paris, you mean?"
"Yes."
"That depends, I suppose," he murmured, his breath dancing across her skin.
"On what?"
"On whether you are willing to begin a war to escape me or be at my side. The choice is yours, Hermione. It always has been."
There was no denying it any longer.
They were in Charybdis, swirling ever further into the depths.
Gods, she wanted to drown in him.
August 2, 1999
She woke up enveloped in him; at some point in the night the covers had been abandoned in the Athenian heat, leaving just her limbs and his; tangled like brambles across the bed.
His arm was tight around her waist, holding her flush to him as he breathed softly into the crook of her neck. He was nowhere near awake – his breaths were a steady beat, like waves meeting the shore on a calm summer's day.
Was she the sand, then, meeting him there?
Shifting gently as to not wake him up, she removed his arm from her, pulling her skin away from his until she was disconnected. Standing up and brushing her hair out of her face, she walked to the window, pulling the curtain back slightly, to reveal the sparking city beneath her gaze.
Athens was sprawling.
From behind her, she heard movement. Glancing back, she realized that moving the curtain had allowed light to pass through the window, landing on Draco's face. It seemed to be rousing him – but the man was taking his sweet time returning to consciousness.
She took the moment to observe him without return observation.
It was clear to her – as the water in the Aegean – that this man was beautiful. But a part of her and thought it was the night, wine, and parties, and an escape from reality.
But looking at him now, slowing waking in the morning, she knew she had been wrong.
Draco was lovely in the moonlight.
In the sunlight – he was iridescent.
And that gave cause for concern.
He shifted once more, his eyes opening slowly, coming into focus, trying to sense what had intruded on his sleep. A confused crease appeared between his eyebrow, distorting his face momentarily with tension. But then he saw her and it disappeared once again.
"Good morning," he murmured, pushing himself up to seating.
"Hey," she whispered, letting the curtain fall close before returning to bed. It was as if they had done it a million times – an action that was intimately familiar, that felt natural. They had spent eons asleep at each other's sides, and not just a scattered handful of stolen moments over several months – hundreds of miles away from their lives.
"Were you up long?" he asked, as she sat up against the headboard at his side.
"A few minutes," she replied, shrugging. "Sorry to wake you, I didn't realize it was so bright outside."
"Woken to worst sights," he said, glancing over at her. Hermione tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach at his words.
They were in the sea of monsters, now.
Acquaintances bordering friends, that was one thing. As Harry had said that night at the Leaky, that was to be expected. The way her best friend had explained it, it was as if mere proximity would have allowed the fragile relationship between her and Draco to form – as if it hadn't been torturous, full of push and pull and disbelief, followed by humility and grace, leading to now.
She still felt unsure about whatever tentative friendship she was forming with the man. For goodness sake, she had only admitted last month that she liked him. Putting the bed-sharing aside, she was only starting to explore what it meant to allow herself to be content talking to him. She had enjoyed speaking to him since that first night at the ministry gala. But to relish in that, without the nagging part of her brain insisting it was wrong, it was unnatural.
Or worse – insisting that she was betraying her trauma by allowing herself to enjoy his company.
But something about the honesty of their moment at the Berlin Wall had split her open – allowed her to breathe in her pain and breathe out forward momentum. Something had to give, one way or another.
And it had gone the way of this.
The man was no longer showing her indifference. This was effort, plain and simple.
He was trying to prove her otherwise.
And she was letting him.
The progress they had made – and that is all it could be, progress – was now being threatened. By soft touches and intense looks that made her feel raw. Stripped bare. As if there was nothing on the planet besides her and his permanently smoldering eyes.
Merlin help her.
A part of her thought she was imagining it – the ferocious chemistry erupting between the two of them. But then she remembered the way his eyes had lit up at her dress the night before, showing a want so strong that Occlumency could never conceal it.
Nothing this intense could be one-sided. It feeds.
It feeds off mutual desire.
It feeds off denial.
"Any thoughts for the day, Hermione?" Draco asked, inching closer to her as her suspicions were once again confirmed. "We have hours before the cabinet dinner."
She groaned. "Must we do a cabinet dinner in every country?"
"Every country has a cabinet."
"Yes, but it's so," she muttered, shrugging. "Repetitive."
He snorted. "Poor Hermione Granger, has to go to state dinners across the continent. Goodness, how will you survive?"
She rolled her eyes.
"But back to the subject at hand," he repeated. "Thoughts? Plans? Besides teaching me incessantly about Greek mythology. You know, this country has done other things in the past three millennium."
"I find it interesting," she muttered. "I used to read books on the subject as a child. It was the closest I could get to magic before Hogwarts."
His eyes softened. "Alright, there, no reason to get sappy so early in the morning. You can bombard me with facts on one condition."
"You and your conditions," she said. "What is it?"
"You allow me to distract you at a certain point."
"Distract me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "How?"
"It'll depend on the situation," he shrugged, sitting up out of the bed. "I can think of many activities that can be distracting."
Ah yes.
She was brutally and supremely fucked.
They had decided on visiting the Acropolis for the day. Throwing on sandals and a sundress, she had met a casually dressed Draco Malfoy in the lobby before they departed. She grabbed a yoghurt parfait with cherries to eat as they begun their trek up to their destination.
The remains of the Acropolis sat on a main hill in the centre of the city. They wandered up slowly, taking their time in the heat.
"Do you think it'll be this hot all week?" he asked her.
"I hope so," she retorted, taking a bite from her parfait. "It's splendid."
She felt a bit of the yoghurt catch on her lip – without thinking, she stuck her tongue out to lick it off delicately. Draco's eyes dilated.
"Athens will burn me," he muttered, as they continued their ascent.
When they were almost at the entrance, a few cats sitting on a stone wall caught Hermione's attention. She could not help but stare at them.
"Didn't you have a cat?" Draco asked her, his gaze following hers. "Orange, kneazle creature."
Her chest constricted as she watched one of the tabbies groom the other. "Yes."
"Who watches it while you're away?" he continued, not sensing her growing tension. "Potter?"
"No one watches Crookshanks," she replied quietly. "He's… uh… he's gone."
"Gone?" Draco questioned, turning his eyes back to her. "I'm sorry, did he… die?"
"No," she said. "He's… he's with my parents."
"Ah," Draco said, taking a sip of coffee. "Do you seem him on weekends?"
"I haven't seen him in over two years," she muttered, the honesty pushing through the breakwater before she could stop it.
He stumbled mid-way through his step. Two years. She watched realization dawn in his eyes.
"Hermione," he said slowly, cautiously. "Did your… your parents… during the war…"
"They're alive," she murmured, answering his unasked question. "They're… I… I don't want to talk about this."
"Alright," he replied, his eyes concerned, but his lips closed as he accepted her silence.
They did not say another word until they reached the top. After they had gotten their tickets (Hermione fiddled with the Drachma as Draco watched on with confusion), they entered the Acropolis.
"What was this place?" Draco asked, finally breaking the silence as they walked forward amongst the rubble.
"The centre of Athens," Hermione replied, her eyes drawn in all directions, desperate to soak it in. "A citadel, a theatre, a temple. People have lived at the top of this hill for millennium – it has such defensive potential. But these buildings, they're all from around the fifth century BC. Pericles."
"Gods, Hermione," Draco muttered. "Did you swallow an ancient Greek encyclopedia?"
She bristled. "I loved it as a child."
"Fifth century, BC, you say?" he asked, running his hand slowly down a stone wall they passed by. "And this is all that survived?"
"Exactly," Hermione whispered as they reached the remains of the Parthenon. "It survived."
She felt awestruck in the presence of the temple. It was the original usage of the word – awesome. Awe-inspiring; to create awe. Though what she witnessed was inarguably ruins, it was still present – built upon the earth in a way that had survived the eons.
"It looks like rubble," Draco noted, taking a sip of coffee.
She rolled her eyes. "Gods, does anything impress you?"
"Yes," he answered, not elaborating further.
"I suppose it is rubble," she said, speaking when he did not. "But it's more than that."
"Not everything needs to be a metaphor," he chuckled.
She shrugged, taking a few steps forward and running a hand down a column. "But somethings are – poetry seems meaningless in the face of places like this."
"What do you mean?" he asked, following her around the Parthenon.
"I mean," she started, struggling to find the words. "I don't think language could ever create something beautiful as what this place represents."
"And what does it represent?"
"Time," she whispered, her eyes enthralled. "Survival. Reality. Beauty."
"Be less clear, Hermione, I dare you."
She chuckled. "I'm no poet, Draco."
"And I'm no philosopher but did my fair part last month."
She paused, turning towards him. His grey eyes were expectant.
"Go on then," he whispered. "Surprise me. Surprise yourself."
Her lips parted as she took a deep breath.
"It's just," she started, struggling. "Nothing escapes time, right? We all succumb to it in the end."
"This is true."
"But we succumb to more," she continued, feeling something within her begin to speak. "We succumb to storms, to war. We succumb to each other. Pristine is unsustainable – though beautiful. But nothing can remain unscathed forever. The world itself won't allow it. And whether it takes seconds or millennium, everything falls. Everyone is made of ruins, just waiting for their time."
"But not this place," she whispered. "It survived. Gods, it survived wars, conquests, barbarians, storms, fires – and here it stands. Watching over the city it swore to protect. No, it's not what it once was, hardly anything ever is. But it's here. And it's glorious."
"We all have cracks in our marble," she said softly. "But there is a diluted sort of perfection in what remains of us after attempted destruction. And no, I know it does not impress you, but it doesn't need your approval. It stands regardless. Marble to this, one day to dust. But three millennium on, it has not succumbed. And that demands recognition. It demands respect. Rubble is that which has been destroyed. Ruins are that which have survived."
She turned back to him, her gaze having wandered throughout her soliloquy. He was watching her thoughtfully, the slightest quirk of an eyebrow betraying his engagement.
"Thoughts?" she asked, unsure why she wanted to know but certain that she did.
He watched her for a moment before responding.
"I take it back, Hermione. You're not a poet."
"Excuse me," she said, flushing. "You're the one who demanded I explain."
"You misunderstand," he replied. "You're no poet, observing the beauty of the world and shaping it into language."
"Then what I am?"
"You're the poetry itself."
Her breath hitched as he took another sip of his coffee, eyes eclipsed by the shadow of the Parthenon.
They had been standing in ruins much longer than this.
They toured the Acropolis for the rest of the day. As Hermione continued to rattle off facts, Draco listened with interest, asking questions when applicable. She was surprised that he was most interested by the Theatre of Dionysus, built into the side of the mountain.
"So, they didn't need any amplifying charms?" he asked as they stared down at the archeological remains.
"No," she replied. "See the way the stage is built in relation to the hill? All they needed was natural acoustics."
"Acoustics?"
"It's the way that sound travels."
"The actors just stood on the stage and spoke?" he wondered, incredulously. "And everyone heard?"
"Yes."
"I don't believe you, Hermione. This place is huge. They must have been using a Sonorous."
She could not help but smirk.
"Not a chance, Draco. That's called muggle ingenuity."
He snorted. "Must you sound so gleeful?"
"Yes, I must."
"Then I'll give it to you," he chuckled. "Whose theatre was this, anyway? Dionysus? You've said that name before."
"Dionysus was a god, Draco, he didn't own the theatre."
"Was he the god of the theatre then?" Draco asked, as they walked down the steps.
"Yes, and wine. Religious ecstasy."
"Theatre, wine, and religious ecstasy," Draco mused. "He sounds fun at parties."
"They used to have three-day festivals in his honour," Hermione explained. "In a way, the man invented the party."
"A god after my own heart."
After they had exhausted themselves with the Acropolis, they retired to the hotel, taking only a few moments to rest and change before heading to the cabinet dinner.
It was as predictable as Hermione thought it would be; matching the dinners in Vienna, Lisbon, and Berlin in terms of policy conversations. The only difference Hermione noticed was the attention paid to her by the minister, and the glares shot in his direction by Draco.
It made her nervous.
It made her excited.
That night, the question of sleeping arrangements was not even addressed. He followed her into her room without question, pulling her into his arms as they fell into the bed. Following the dinner, it felt more intense.
More possessive.
That night, she dreamed of what it may mean to allow herself to be possessed by Draco Malfoy, if only for a moment.
She woke up sweating.
August 4, 1999
"Explain to me what the Olympics are."
"Gods, Draco, sometimes you're such a wizard it hurts."
They had spent the entirety of the day prior at planned photo-ops and dining with the old wizarding families in the area. Before retiring to the hotel for the night, Hermione had nipped away into a bookstore to buy a copy of Mythology: Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes by Edith Hamilton.
Draco had cackled as she shoved it into his hands.
That morning they had had brunch with the Greek Head of International Magical Cooperation, giving them the afternoon off to explore. Scot would be pleased, Hermione had accidentally secured dittany trade for the next year.
"You still haven't explained what it is," he insisted, as she led him down the streets of Athens to their next destination.
She sighed. "It's like the Quidditch World Cup, but for muggles. And more than one sport."
"So like, if there was a tournament for Quidditch and Gobstones?"
"And seventy other events," she continued. "They started in 776 BC."
"Muggles have been running the same sporting event for four thousand years?"
She laughed. "No, of course not. There was a large gap in the middle. The ancient Olympics were held in Olympia, another Greek city. It was said to be the home of the gods, on top of Mount Olympus."
"The Ancient Greeks really liked their gods, eh."
She rolled her eyes. "From what we know of them… oh, excellent! We're here!"
They had arrived at Hermione's destination for the afternoon; the Panathenaic Stadium. In the centre of the city, in the shadow of the Acropolis, lay the stadium, ready for fifty thousand spectators.
Draco frowned. "I thought you said the first games were in Olympia."
"They were," Hermione said, as they passed a sign in English denoting the place as the host of the first Olympic Games. "When the games restarted in the late 19th century, they remade this stadium to host the revival."
"It's remade?" Draco asked. "But it looks so old."
"Remade while honouring the past," Hermione said. "Marble does not always mean decrepit, Draco."
As the sun glinted off his skin, she knew her statement was true.
"So, does Greece always host the Olympics now?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, it rotates between countries. Many places have hosted the Olympics. Nagano, Japan hosted last year. But they keep a lot of the same traditions. Like the Olympic flame."
"Educate me, Granger. I know you want to."
"Granger?" she chuckled. "We're back at that?"
"Only when you act like a bookish swot. Go on, then. What is it?"
"Basically, they light a flame at Olympia and carry it all the way to the destination of the Olympics. Then, they light a cauldron and it symbolizes the beginning of the games."
"From Greece to Japan?" he asked, incredulous. "You're joking, right?"
"Not at all," she smiled. "It's tradition, I suppose. And besides, fire was really important to the Ancient Greeks."
"Isn't fire important to everyone?"
"It's a story from Greek Mythology," she explained. "The gods wanted fire for themselves, but a Titan…"
"The bloody fuck is a Titan…"
"Read the book I bought you. Anyway, this Titan, Prometheus, stole fire from the gods and gave it to humans, allowing them to begin human civilization. He defied Zeus, the king of the Olympians, to give us fire, and he was punished for all eternity for it."
He paused.
"That makes sense."
"You admit it, then."
He gave her a look, before answering slowly.
"I understand what it means to burn for something you've coveted."
"And what have you coveted?"
"Moments," he whispered.
She frowned, opening her mouth to answer, but before she had a chance, Draco spotted something over her shoulder.
"You can throw javelins here? Absolutely fuck yes…"
He took off towards the reenactment before she could consider what he had said.
August 7, 1999
Their last day in Athens came faster than Hermione would have liked. Herself and Draco had fallen into a routine that made her feel comfortable and safe, while still ignoring the increasingly growing elephant in the room.
Each day, they posed for the press, attended parties and dinners. They had mastered the art of publicity.
In the private moments, they explored. Hermione appreciated the irony of them finding solace with each other in the muggle world, but she did not bring it up. They explored muggle Athens peacefully, as Hermione prattled off Greek history while Draco listened, the ever-attentive student.
At night, they fell into each other's arms and into the land of Hypnos. It was like a sleeping curse – all they needed was each other and proximity, and they were free of the terror.
Finding solace in each other.
Hermione could hardly fathom that she would have to give it up for another three weeks before Budapest. Every time it entered her mind, she pushed the inevitable away, remembering what he had offered her. What he had promised her.
If you ever need me.
But it was different in London. What would she do? Appear on the doorstep to Malfoy Manor? Ask to stay the night when Narcissa answered the door? Fat chance of that.
But was the alternative worse? To be without him for three weeks?
She would be rubble herself.
And then there was the other issue – the increasingly-growing energy. Because with each night she spent in Draco Malfoy's arms, the more she admitted to herself the other ways she wanted him to hold her.
These moments were loaded.
And by the way he looked at her in the morning, she knew that she haunted his dreams, too.
Did he wonder what it would feel like to possess her?
The final night, Hermione's nerves were as explosive as a live wire. The building tension – both from the anticipation of what would soon end and what had not happened yet – was tearing her apart.
She did not know what she wanted to do.
She knew what she wanted.
She did not know what to do.
Dressing for the farewell gala, she felt as if she were preparing for battle. Her ballgown felt like armour, protecting her.
As she knocked on the door behind which he was getting ready, she knew.
He had proven to be her Achilles' heel.
Pushing one single loose curl of hair behind her ear, she heard the door click open.
"Hermione," he said, attaching his cufflinks. "Are you ready…"
His eyes drifted up to hers and he froze, his lips parting as he took her in.
And she realized – she was not Helen, hiding behind the gates of Troy, waiting in defense.
No – she was Achilles himself, breaking down the city walls.
She smiled, hoping her heart wouldn't explode out of her chest. "Do you like it? I thought it would be a good dress to finish the trip on – given how feral the photographers have gone for us."
"Hermione," he breathed, moving his hand from his cufflink and grabbing at the doorframe – bracing himself. "You look…"
He stuttered off as his eyes widened, taking her in.
She could not blame him. The dress was marvelous – Ginny had helped her pick it out. A tight bodice tucked around her chest, of cream and silver, the fabric nearly see-through as the sleeves ran down her arms – golden leaves and branches threaded in, almost as if they had been drawn onto her arms. The corset fanned out from her waist, the silver disappearing into the gold once again, as ostrich feathers started midway down, finishing the skirt, dusting the ground.
Her hair was pushed out of her face by a silver laurel wreath, crowning her curls. Her face was open – lips of softest pink.
She would never have worn this dress normally – but nothing about the situation was.
All that remained now was intention.
Men could be bested by more than swords, after all.
But something told her this would not be a defeat.
His eyes screamed of willing surrender.
"Hermione," he whispered again, his eyes taking her in. "You look like a goddess."
She could not help but smirk. "A woman that men would fight wars over?"
"With abandon," he murmured. "A thousand ships, a hundred thousand. Fuck."
"You look lovely yourself, Draco," she replied, trying to hide her glee at his reaction. But it was not a lie – his robes were of soft blue, matching the sea from which they all come – to which they would all return.
She would sink for him.
"You ready then?" she asked, holding out her arm. He took it without hesitation.
"Hermione," he muttered. "You… do you know what you're doing?"
She paused.
"Yes."
Admittance.
More epic than poetry.
"Good," he murmured before apparating them away.
When they arrived at the party, Dimitrius gave a short speech before allowing the festivities to commence. Like the Festival of Dionysus, religious ecstasy exploded beneath Athens's sky.
Dimitrius announced that they must toast to the trip, pulling out Ouzo, a Greek drink, and pouring her a shot. She slammed back two with the minister, thankful for the time she had spent with the man. Camera bulbs flashed, and Hermione could not help but giggle at the idea that her doing shots with the Greek Minister for Magic would make the front page.
She drank a glass of wine as she was handed from ministry official to ministry official to dance. Spinning around the room, she was handed another shot of Ouzo, which she threw back with abandon.
The dry and sweet liquor tasted of sin – of seduction.
Her eyes found Draco in the crowd.
Of perfection.
The location was more spectacular than the opening gala – if that were possible. On a rooftop in central Athens, they were just beneath the Acropolis. As she looked at the lit-up Parthenon, she felt she understood the Greek Philosophers.
Because the sight before her made her believe in something more.
"You were right, it is exquisite."
Hermione glanced over her shoulder, where Draco had appeared at her side – they had been parted for a few hours as the party raged on. Now, they both stood at the edge of the balcony, staring up at the wonder before them.
"I told you," she said triumphantly. "It's not just rubble. It's ruins."
"No, it is rubble," he said. "But sometimes you just need a new angle or the moonlight to see the beauty in it."
She chuckled, taking a sip of wine.
"So, Hermione," he said, his lips holding on to her name for a millisecond longer than usual. "I have a question for you."
"Yes, Draco?" she responded, taking the same care he had around the syllables of his constellation.
He shifted slightly – closer. Still too far.
"I opened that book you gave me," he said. "The one about Greek mythology."
"Really?" she exclaimed, the liquored excitement in her voice evident. "You did?"
"I said I would," he answered. "And I stumbled upon something familiar."
"Hmm?"
"Something becoming intimately familiar," he murmured, causing her heart to skip a beat.
She paused.
"Which is?"
"Your name."
A small breath escaped through her lips as her nerves increased.
A live wire.
"Yes."
"I had never heard your name before you," he said. "It's not a common wizard name."
"And Draco is?"
He chuckled. "I am named for a noble constellation."
"I know."
"But your name," he continued. "Hermione. I found it in the book. And suddenly you were written across the pages. All this discussion we've had of Troy, and Helen, and you never mentioned that you were named for her daughter."
It was as if he had opened a box inside of her – one with secrets, one that was private. But as she glanced over at him, she knew she could not lie to eyes like those.
"Yes."
"And it made me wonder," he continued. "Why you didn't mention it. Why you didn't say you were born of Greek mythology."
"So were you," she whispered. "Ptolemy named the constellation."
"Born of legends, then. We both are. Of shared history."
"We've always had shared history, Draco."
"Not like this," he whispered. "Not one that the other did not know. So, it made me wonder why, why you didn't just tell me that you were born of Helen. And then it occurred to me, moments connecting like stars in the sky – forming your constellation."
He knew. He had opened her Pandora's box, and she would not be able to force the winds back in.
"Why you like Greek mythology. You read about it as a child. Your cat, you haven't seen for two years. And your name. Hermione, daughter of Helen."
She could not lie to eyes like those.
"So, Hermione. What happened to your parents?"
It was as if the breath had been knocked out of her – beneath the Athenian sky, she felt shipwrecked once more. But she was no longer here – she was thousands of miles away.
In Melbourne, Australia.
And the truth burst out of her like Anemoi.
"They're gone," she whispered. "Richard and He… Helen Granger. They're gone."
"Where are they?"
"They're in Australia," Hermione whispered, the secrets spilling from her lips. "Before the Horcrux Hunt, I… I wiped their memories."
"You… you wiped their memories?"
She nodded, taking a deep breath. "It was too dangerous with the war, and the connection to Harry. So, I obliviated them, replaced their memories with false ones, and sent them to Australia. They have no idea I exist. They are Monica and Wendell Wilkins, living happily in the southern hemisphere with their cat."
Draco pursed his lips. "Why… why haven't you lifted the charm?"
"Because it's too dangerous," she said quietly, admitting something aloud that she had only told Harry and Ginny. "The charms have been on so long that removing them has the potential to cause insanity. So, the question is, do I risk their health and happiness to get them back? Or do I let them remain obliviated, safe and happy, but with no idea I exist? It's not really a question at all."
She braced herself on the railing, forcing her eyes to look at the Parthenon and not at him.
She would not cry.
She had cried enough.
"Hermione," he started, but suddenly, her first name on his lips felt tainted.
"Don't call me that," she whispered. "Not… not here."
"Alright," he answered immediately. "Granger."
That was better.
Safer.
None of this was safe.
"That was incredibly selfless, what you did for your parents," he said. "I… I'm really sorry."
"It's fine," she whispered.
"No, it's not. It does not have to be."
She choked momentarily on a sob, swallowing it back.
"I'm… I'm sorry I pushed you to talk about it," he said.
Surprising even herself, she shook her head. "No, you didn't. It was… needed. I never talk about them. Only Harry and Ginny know."
"Not Weasley?"
"Not in detail."
"Ah," he responded.
They stood in silence for a moment.
"Granger," he whispered. "What are you thinking about?"
She stared at the Parthenon above them. "I… I'm thinking that perhaps the rubble is just that, after all. Just rubble."
"Oh, please, Granger. Don't personify the rocks."
"Why not?" she shot back. "I… I feel like rubble sometimes. Now, even. Like nothingness left over from destruction. Not like something that has survived. Every time I feel like I'm starting to move forward, something happens – small or big – that reminds me that I'm as wrecked as the remains in an archaeology site."
"That's bullshit, and you know it."
"It's not," she whispered. "What am I made of besides time and destruction?"
"More," he answered. "Everything. You said it yourself – pristine is unsustainable. And no, you're not pristine, we're all fucking damaged. Cracks in our marble. You're not rubble, nothingness scattered across the earth. You are ruins – you are made of that which has lasted. Like the goddamn Parthenon itself, you fucking shine in the moonlight."
"Says the man born of constellations," she muttered.
"To the woman brighter than the stars," he responded, reaching his hand up and taking her chin, turning her to look at him.
It was as if the moon was just waiting for this – to allow them the moment.
She was no fool – this had been prophesized.
Draco took a step towards her, still holding her chin, making her look at him. Acknowledge him. As if she could ignore the meteor that had burst through her sky.
"Tell me," he whispered. "What will you to succumb to?"
Whatever air was left in her lungs escaped through barely parted lips.
He took another step forward until his chest was pressed against hers, his hand shifting from her chin to cup her cheeks. He wrapped his arm around her waist as if they were going to waltz.
But she knew, as she knew that the dragon flew above their heads, that this was not a dance.
Not beneath the Athenian sky.
His lips were millimetres away from hers, his breath dancing across her own.
"Are you made of ruins, Granger?"
She stared up into his grey eyes, finally allowing Charybdis to pull her under.
And with the force of a whirlpool, she brought her lips up to meet his.
He kissed her with ferocious desire, that which the millennium could not contain. That had been caged and restrained, fighting for release. Standing up on her toes to meet him where he was, she wrapped her arms around his neck, as he groaned into her mouth.
His lips were one of the wonders of this world.
She only had two thoughts as she kissed Draco Malfoy for the first time, the stars and the past as their only witnesses.
Firstly, was it possible that two pairs of lips could be sculpted for each other? They were of the same marble, parted, waiting for eternal reunion.
And secondly – terrifying her more than the deep of the Aegean could ever:
Draco Malfoy tasted like survival.
Thanks for reading! Leave a review and let me know what you think.
Chapter 6 - Budapest will be out August 26.
As always, you can find me on twitter as starkidsftw, on instagram as starkidsftwauthor, on FFnet as starkidsftw, on Tiktok as starkidsftw, and on tumblr as loveandharrypotter.