2

Draco was only a tad drunk⸺just a little something to help take the edge off. He certainly wasn't the only one being rather indulgent today. Alcohol had proved to be an efficient way to numb himself on this dreadful day.

May 2nd; the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.

It had been two years since that tragic day. Two years filled with trials and sneers and double-takes; filled with cursing his family name. It had been two years since his father was killed in a cell in Azkaban; two years spent consoling his grieving mother. It had been two years of painstaking recovery and donations and charity; of forgiveness and apologies.

It had been two years of trying to redeem the Malfoy name;

which is why he had made significant donations to help set up this 'Remembrance Day'⸺or whatever the hell they were calling it. Salazar, it might have been called 'Happy Harry Potter Day' for all Draco cared. This was how he had found himself here at this Charity Gala, forced to attend due to some nonsense about how he had been the biggest sponsor.

No one wanted to see a Malfoy today. He was a walking reminder of the past, bathed in bloodshed. He wondered if he would ever be able to outrun it. Draco was practically the poster boy of making all the wrong decisions. He tugged at the knot of his tie, fiddling with it but it didn't help. Nothing ever did.

The evening, as expected, was dreadfully dull and yet, Draco did his best to play his role. He offered half-hearted smiles and nodded when needed, pretending to listen to everyone's stories. Being front and centre wasn't half as rewarding as it used to be given that most of the conversations were layered with undertones of hostility.

So, Draco mostly kept to himself, sulking in the corner, trying not to be seen as people circled around the blessed Golden Trio nearby.

Harry caught his eye, offering him a smile. Draco tried his best to return it. He still wasn't used to the camaraderie. The steadfast and loyal Gryffindor had wormed his way into the Malfoy household after declaring himself as a steadfast supporter of Narcissa Malfoy, claiming he owed her his life. Mother had resolutely reminded him that the debt had already been paid a hundred times over but the plea fell on deaf ears. So, a tentative friendship had been born, though both involved parties would deny it till their dying breath.

Draco truly doesn't want to talk to Harry today; he doesn't want his empty placations. The same looping conversation with no true conclusion; just his guilt festering infinitely. He turned around, shuffling away absentmindedly as he tried to dream up excuses to make his escape. Lost in his thought as he was, Draco didn't see Rita storming up to him until it was too late, a reluctant Granger trailing behind her with a pained expression on her face.

"A picture for the Prophet, darling?" Rita crooned, "Golden Girl and Malfoy Heir! What do you say, dears? Dance for an old bird like me, won't you?"

Draco blinked, eyes flickering between the obnoxious journalist and Granger, who offered him a sheepish smile. He sighed, outstretching a hand toward her. She stared at it in confusion, as if she had expected him to throw a tantrum.

It had been years since Draco had done what was traditionally expected from him, anyway.

"You heard the woman. A show of good faith, Granger?"

She paused and Draco wondered if she might actually turn him away but she gingerly took his hand and they made their way to the edge of the dancing crowd. They took their positions, swaying slightly as they joined the masses.

"I didn't peg you for a Ministry man, Malfoy," she stated.

"It's a perfectly respectable position."

"No, I know- I just-" she lapsed into silence and Draco cursed himself. She was just trying to make small talk; trying to make an effort. He must have had more to drink than he had originally thought because that was the only excuse for the next words out of his mouth, "The dress suits you, Granger."

Great. Absolutely perfect, really. Now, she probably really thought he'd lost it but the compliment had been instinct; falling back onto the lessons drilled in his head.

But the thing was, she did look rather lovely.

Hermione Granger was supposed to be boring and matronly and yet, she looked exquisite. Her golden dress hugged curves Draco hadn't even known she had; all silky and tight fitted to her figure. Her hair was pinned up in that gravity-defying way girls had⸺where the hair was all pinned up and falling all at the same time.

Her eyes widened and she accidentally stumbled into the choreography, "Are you feeling alright there, Malfoy?" she questioned, not even trying to hide her bewilderment. Was the thought of him being kind truly so incomprehensible? But he had never given her any reason to believe otherwise.

His interaction with her was limited to occasional nods in the Ministry corridors or a reference brought up in Harry's conversations. He avoided her for the most part. Hermione Granger was a living and breathing reminder of his mistakes. Even after all these years, he could still hear her gasping sobs and piercing screams from that day. He didn't think he would ever forget them. His eyes drop down to her artfully glamoured arm; no sign of the scar he knows is there. Draco swallowed back his rising guilt.

"I've never been better." The unmistakable flash of a camera went off in his periphery⸺Rita clicking away, no doubt. They must make a startling sight. Lion and Snake. Muggleborn and Pureblood War Heroine and Death Eater.

Granger and Malfoy.

The headlines would practically write themselves. He saw her eyes shift as more flashes went off, looking uncomfortable with the added attention. Draco, personally, was too far gone to care. His inebriated state lent him its own peaceful state. Besides, he was far beyond caring about something as fickle as public opinion anyway.

He waited for her to say something else, but she didn't, quietly following his lead with the elegance of a practised danseur. She seemed determined to get through the song in silence. The corners of his mouth turned down slightly because silence and Hermione Granger were not two terms that went hand-in-hand. He would even go as far as to venture to call them blatant opposites.

"Granger, how are things working with the new Werewolf Legislation? I admit it is a lost cause, but everyone knows you like pity projects." His baiting words have the desired effect. She came to life in his arms, mouth set in a familiar stubborn line. An expression he vividly remembered from their youth. Draco would admit that he zoned out after that, simply watching her bright eyes and animated face as she delved into her furious lecture. He was abruptly reminded that Hermione Granger wasn't just a pretty witch, she was a rather smart and powerful one as well.

"Are you even listening?" she exclaimed and he was jolted out of his thoughts. Draco smirked and she huffed in exasperation. The music dipped and faded and she stepped away. He bowed slightly, as was customary. Granger, however, quickly scanned the room before meeting his eyes. She sniffed once and left him standing in the middle of the floor, no returning curtsey in sight.

He grinned. The sun rose in the east, the sky was blue and Hermione Granger was still as easy to rile up as he remembered.