Hermione eyed the clock as she finished getting ready—Oliver told her that he was late to the hospital Christmas party because Quidditch practice ran long. He promised he'd be on time for the New Year's Witches' Aid charity ball tonight, but Hermione still had her doubts about his ability to be punctual.
She was dressed in a floor-length black velvet dress with a plunging neckline that hugged her curves. Hermione had a neutral lip colour and eye makeup that highlighted her caramel eyes. Her chestnut curls cascaded around her shoulders, save for a portion that was pulled back behind her ear and secured with her favorite silver dragon clip.
The fireplace in her flat came alive and her boyfriend stepped out looking dashing: he wore classic black dress robes with a white button-down and black bow-tie. "You look lovely, Hermione," he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
Hermione smiled, "As do you. Congratulations on your win this evening!" She slipped on a pair of neutral pointed-toe pumps and linked arms.
"Thank you," Oliver grinned, "the Falcons are a step closer to the English League Cup! I'm ready to celebrate!" Her boyfriend had led his team to an amazing victory earlier in the evening against Puddlemere United.
They apparated side-by-side, landing right outside an unmarked warehouse in wizarding London. Tonight's ball was organized by Narcissa Malfoy and hosted by Daphne Goyle, née Greengrass at one of her husband's nightclub locations. The nightclub was decorated into an elegant ballroom with beautiful chandeliers, round tables along the perimeter with sophisticated floral arrangements, and a proper parquet dance floor in the center.
The equally elegant event organizer glided over to the couple—Narcissa Malfoy's black and white hair was twisted back in a bun and she wore a deep burgundy gown with puffed shoulders and slim long sleeves and gold jewelry.
"Miss Granger, how wonderful to see you again," The lady embraced Hermione in a la bise greeting, which Hermione had grown to expect with her colleague's mother.
"Likewise, Ms. Malfoy," Hermione smiled.
"Mr. Wood, nice to meet you," Narcissa shook his hand.
"Mother, you're looking rather Gryffindor-esque this evening," Hermione heard from behind her, but had no trouble identifying the pompous drawl.
"Nothing wrong with that, right Miss Granger?" Narcissa smirked.
Hermione laughed, finally seeing where Draco inherited his smirk from, "Nothing wrong at all, Ms. Malfoy, some would argue you look stunning tonight in your Gryffindor-esque ensemble."
Draco rolled his eyes, "Mother, this is Miss Emily Evans—" Hermione and Oliver took their leave towards the bar.
"Two shots of firewhisky please," Oliver grinned at the bartender, "we have a win to celebrate."
"Oliver, shots? We're at a charity ball!" Hermione exclaimed incredulously.
He shrugged and downed both vials of liquid, and motioned to the barkeep with two fingers for another round. "I just had a big win, why not?" Hermione's eyes widened.
He convinced her to take a shot of the amber whisky and she conceded. Hermione spotted Harry, Ginny, Luna, and Blaise enter together and waved them over—the Witches' Aid organization was well supported by many prominent witches and wizards.
"Congrats on the win, Wood!" Harry greeted cheerily.
"Thanks, mate! Here, have a shot on me,"
Hermione gave a strained smile in greeting to Harry and Blaise, then pulled Luna and Ginny away, leaving the men to chat and drink. They settled at one of the tables across the room.
"Wow, Wood's well on his way to getting sloshed tonight, hey?" Ginny laughed.
"Yeah, he's happy about the game I guess," Hermione shook her head, turning her attention to Luna, "How was the weekend in Italy?"
"It was splendid, Hermione!" Luna smiled dreamily. The three women chatted merrily for most of the night, catching up on Luna's recent travels for the Ministry, doting over Ginny's pregnancy, and people watching. She savored the time with her girlfriends until the dancing began. Blaise was the first to ask Luna for a dance, then Harry came for Ginny.
Narcissa Malfoy floated over to the table, "Miss Granger, thank you, as always, for your donation to and support for Witches' Aid."
"It's a no-brainer, Ms. Malfoy. I'm happy to do what I can to help end violence against witches and children and provide necessary resources," Hermione smiled as the woman took a seat beside her. Narcissa walked the talk when it came to charitable deeds: she had become owner of Malfoy Incorporated after her ex-husband's sentence forced him to relinquish control of the family business, and Narcissa had started charitable partnerships and sponsorships under the Malfoy Incorporated name without hesitation.
"How is the business?" Hermione inquired, obliging in the small talk. Malfoy Incorporated was the largest muggle and magical pharmaceutical wholesaler in Europe.
"It's doing well. Even after ten years, juggling business, the Wizengamot, charity work, and a social life hasn't gotten boring!" Narcissa's eyes twinkled with delight.
"Well, you make juggling look so effortless!"
"I'm hoping Draco will take up the Wizengamot seat in the next year or two to take something off my plate." The older woman seemed to stop herself. "But you haven't come here to chat with me, dear—you really ought to be dancing," Narcissa gestured to the middle of the room and shooed her from the table.
Hermione laughed politely and set off to find her date, but she had to make a quick pit stop at the loo. As she neared the hallway to the washroom, she felt the whispers before she saw the eyes on her—the rich and noble were not above gossip. Hermione was confused though: these men and women were used to seeing her around charity events and it had been ten years since the war, nothing special to whisper about now. Maybe there was something on her chin. She hurried around the corner of the hallway to swing into the loo, but she stopped dead in her tracks.
Around that corner was her boyfriend, tangled up with a skinny blond girl. Hermione's wide eyes took in the scene with shock: the anonymous woman's head tossed back, his lips on her neck, her leg curled around his, his hands on her...quaffles.
Without thinking, Hermione flicked her wand, sending a bat-bogey hex towards her boyfriend. Though her execution of the hex would never beat Ginny's, the two sprang apart. Hermione bolted out of the hallway and in a matter of furious, blurry minutes, she ended up at home in her living room. She crumpled on the faded persian rug, feeling a chasm form in her chest.
On the opposite side of the ballroom, Draco was tucked into a corner with his girlfriend, unaware of the commotion revolving around his coworker.
"Draco, we need to talk."
"We're talking right now, aren't we?" Draco rolled the glass tumbler in his hands. He never understood why people used that phrase, or the phrase 'Can I ask a question?' Regardless, he knew that string of words never indicated good news.
"Hanging out has been super fun and I really appreciate you showing me your side of London, but I think we should break up," Emily bit her lip.
"Because I don't particularly enjoy clubbing every weekend?" Draco knitted his brows. He was London's most eligible bachelor, why would she break up with him?
"Well, you're a bit of a jerk. For example, you always get me a gin fizz, even though I've told you I prefer rosé." His girlfriend (about to be ex-girlfriend) shook her head in annoyance.
"Oh now you're starting to sound like Granger," he rolled his eyes. Growing up, Hermione always called him a jerk, an insufferable git, an insensitive prat, a tosser, and so on.
"And that's the other thing, you're clearly obsessed with Hermione." She gave him a pointed look, eyebrows raised.
"I am certainly not obsessed," Draco scoffed. What was this witch on about? Granger bested him at every corner from ages 11 to 22 at Hogwarts then healer school—thinking of ways to outpace her was almost second nature to him, but he wasn't obsessed with her.
"Then why do you know her favorite drinks, what food she orders, and her robe size?"
"We're just work friends," Draco threw up his hands in frustration, "but what do you know about that," he muttered under his breath. In his defense, that knowledge was all work-related: they switched off ordering drinks for each other at hospital events to be efficient in networking, they ordered food in when they stayed at work late, and he had to put in an order of new uniforms last month, which was how he learned of her robe size.
"I have work friends but I don't memorize what sushi roll Jeremy likes," Emily explained evenly.
"Jealousy doesn't look good on you."
"Don't get me started on jealousy, Draco. I know you don't hate Oliver Wood just because."
Draco watched, bewildered, as the American girl walked away. Surely, his ex wasn't right about his feelings for his enemy-turned-colleague-turned-friend?
He shook his head in an attempt to shake his thoughts straight, wandered out of the warehouse, and apparated home. He fell onto the sofa with a huff and stared at the ceiling of his living room, more absorbed with sorting out his ex-girlfriend's accusations than the fact that he was just dumped.
The next morning, Hermione awoke to someone banging on her door. "Hermione, let's go for a run!" Through the dried gunk left on her eyelashes from crying, she saw her clock read 6:00 am.
She rolled out of her bed reluctantly and stumbled to the door. Blaise looked back at her, dressed in trainers, slim-fitted joggers, and a hooded sweatshirt, "Quit dallying and get changed, we're going for a jog around Richmond Park."
Hermione gave him a glare and grumbled, "Seriously?" She turned away from the door and Blaise trailed in. Hermione trudged back to her bedroom and begrudgingly, changed into leggings, a thick long sleeve, and a down vest, putting a warming charm on each piece of clothing.
They put on gloves and hats and apparated to their usual cropping of trees in Richmond Park that was shielded from muggles. She and her best friend fell into a moderate pace with each other and emerged from the trees, headed towards the ponds. They ran in silence for the first couple miles.
Hermione's mind ran at the same pace as their feet, replaying the mortifying memory from the previous night and thinking about her relationship with Oliver. She flexed her fists, balling them and unballing them: partly to keep them warm and partly out of anger. Looking back, there were signs she had interpreted wrong: he didn't smother her, he always went a day early to away matches, he didn't care about her going to the movies with Malfoy, and maybe that's why he was late to the Christmas party. She felt so angry and she felt stupid: how did she not see this before? How did she let herself get hurt like this? Ron's words of warning replayed in her head: "Can't keep his hands off the quaffles, if y'know what I mean."
"Ugh, why didn't I see it before?" She huffed through the cold air, breaking their silence.
"You were busy being a power woman, a boss arse bitch, it's okay," Blaise shrugged as they rounded a loop and started their way back across the park on a different path.
"It's not okay—it was only three months of my life, but I wasn't smart enough and I got hurt!"
"No, what Wood did is not okay, but you did nothing wrong."
"I guess that's why they say hindsight is 20/20." She shook her head and her ponytail swished across her back.
The snow and gravel crunched under their stride. They passed an elderly man reading a newspaper on a bench. She hadn't even thought of what the rags would print about it this morning: probably something horrid. Usually, she wasn't bothered by what the tabloids printed, but this time, it was going to be true and that hit differently. She clung to what Blaise said and tried to believe it wholeheartedly—she couldn't blame herself.
They finished their run at a nearby muggle cafe, grabbing a croissant and coffee, before apparating their separate ways. Hermione was glad Blaise knew what she needed—the run cleared her head a bit and she felt better than she would have laying in bed with ice cream for breakfast.
She sat down at her kitchen table and kicked off her trainers. As she began tearing into her croissant, her owl tapped on the window with her mail: copies of British Medical Journal, Wizard Times, Phoenix Examiner, London Magic Post, Witch Weekly, English Journal of Healing, The Quibbler, The Daily Prophet, and a handful of letters.
She shuffled through, setting the medical literature aside for later, then scouring the front pages for her dignity to be dragged in the mud. Hermione grew confused—she was sure there would be some humiliating stories of her getting cheated on. She finally came upon The Daily Prophet. Splashed across the front page was her ex-boyfriend kissing the anonymous blond then stumbling backward as mucusy bats flew out of his nose—the girl had a look of disgust on her face. Underneath the magical moving photo, the headline read, "BEWARE SCUM OLIVER WOOD: CHEATING PRAT WITH BOGEY BATS"
Hermione laughed as she scanned the article—this was likely the first time a wizard's been thrown into the jaws of the gossip mill instead of the witch: Seamus Finnigan was quoted saying, "The bloke's got a shit chat—I reckon his shaggin' isn't any better!" Hermione found the collection of quotes was compiled from an interesting variety of people. Anyhow, she agreed with most—Oliver did have a shit chat.
Hermione then opened a crisp white envelope that was stickied to her copy of the Prophet.
Miss Granger,
You'll notice that The Daily Prophet is the only rag to have printed a story on your misfortune—if they did, they'd have to pay me in limbs. I couldn't not run something on it, but I hope the unconventional narrative rightly expresses my gratitude.
R. Skeeter
She smiled and shook her head—who knew Rita Skeeter had a decent bone in her body. Hermione wondered if maybe the only bad bone in Skeeter's body had been the arm she amputated, but snorted: Rita Skeeter had to have way more bad bones to publish what she had in the past. Regardless, Hermione was fairly relieved—this would make the recovery easier.
It had been about a month since her break up with Oliver and it had blown over pretty quickly in the gossip mill— though it may have just seemed that way since all the negative attention wasn't on her. Hermione was back to her normal busy routine, mainly consisting of work and research.
She strolled into the healers' lounge, looking for a sweet snack. Ivan, Parvati, and Enzo were huddled around the small table by the vending machine. "Hermione! What are we doing for the team outing this year?" Parvati asked.
"I think we should go to Hearts, this new club where there are cupids serving boozy cakes and there's candy everywhere!" Ivan almost yelled in excitement.
Hermione tried to suppress a laugh, "I don't know, Parvati. Sounds like we've got one suggestion. What do you want to do?"
"Oi, Draco, this lot does a team outing—why don't we do one of those?" Enzo called over to the blond wizard as he sauntered into the lounge.
"Shouldn't earning a paycheck be motivation enough?" Though his back was turned to them, making tea, Hermione could hear his smirk.
"Oh is that why you come to work every day, Malfoy? As if there's not enough already piled in your vaults?" Hermione mocked.
"That, or saving lives and bringing new ones into the world, you tell me." He eyed her challengingly as he turned around with a fresh cuppa.
"Oh! Why don't we do one together? It'll be a third-floor team event!" Ivan clapped his hands, satisfied with his idea.
All of them, including Malfoy, looked at Hermione with varying looks of hope and expectancy. She rolled her eyes, "Yeah, why not."
"It's settled then, I'll get us a block of tickets to the Harpies' match on Friday." Malfoy pushed off from where he was leaning on the counter. He strode towards the exit, but paused as he reached the doorway, "Are the trainees included in these shenanigans?"
"Malfoy, we should be deciding the activity together—I doubt the majority wants to go to a Quidditch game," She gestured to the other healers at the table.
Draco raised his eyebrows, "Anyone object?"
The table was silent and the three avoided eye contact with Hermione. Ivan let out a breath, "Ok now that's decided, we only usually bring the top two second-year trainees—a little motivation to keep up through the year."
Malfoy nodded and turned on his heel. Hermione huffed, swatting both Parvarti and Ivan's shoulders before also exiting the healers' lounge.
…
The week went by quickly and the group of ten were filing into the stands of the Holyhead Harpies' match against Puddlemere United. Malfoy likely scored a two-by-five block of seats from his new ties with the Harpies' offensive coach Ginny Potter. Ivan, Andrew Wilson, Jenny Jones, Enzo, and Pavarti were seated in the lower row, while the upper row held Ana, Hermione, Draco, Alan Davies, and Olivia Brown. Andrew and Olivia were midwifery's top second-year trainees and Jenny and Alan were poison's top trainees.
Despite the charmed dome over the stadium, the group was bundled up in thick coats. The stadium roared as introductions boomed: big screens around the arena provided close-up views of each player. The announcer made quick work of the introductions and within minutes, the players were aggressively zooming around the pitch.
In a natural manner, Hermione plucked a chunk of pink peppermint treacle fudge from the cellophane bag Draco held out silently to her, while he reached into her bag for a heart-shaped chocolate toffee. The stadium concessions were selling all types of St. Valentine's themed treats with the holiday around the corner and both she and Draco had an undeniable sweet tooth.
Again silently, Draco pointed to her cup of coffee and she obliged, handing over the steaming cup.
"Mmm, that chocolate toffee is so good with black coffee," he murmured to her, handing back the mug while keeping his eyes on the pitch.
Hermione wasn't necessarily fond of Quidditch. She found it fun to watch Ginny's games, but she never went out of her way to keep up with the entirety of it and definitely didn't play. She gathered she might enjoy analyzing the strategies and statistics of each player and team, but never found the time for it—especially recently, she avoided the Quidditch scene, lest she run into her ex. She was gunning for Head Healer in a few years anyhow and needed to direct her attention to being the best at her job.
Luckily, Hermione found that Ana also didn't really care for it and Ana was seated on the other side of her. Hermione wasn't close with the French gal but had interacted here and there at the hospital and at The Boot. Hermione found that Ana was a quirky and interesting cool girl—she looked like a model, had an eclectic array of friends, loved clubbing and women, had trained ballet when she was young, and liked tinkering with muggle motorcycles.
Ana padded gracefully up the steps and sat back down, handing Hermione a coffee refill and holding a fresh vodka soda for herself. "Tsk, Draco, you shouldn't have arranged the seating like this. I'm going to charm this lovely lady away from you—look, I'm already buying her a drink."
"What are you on about? There aren't assigned seats." He waved her comment off, still watching the match in front of them. "Here, a few sickles for your trouble on the coffee, jeez." Draco reached over Hermione and shoved the coins into their colleague's hand. Hermione was confused by Ana's comment and the interaction as a whole. She shrugged, maybe it was an inside joke that they had.
She and Ana chatted off and on, but Ana often leaned over to talk with Ivan who was seated in front of her. All the while, Hermione and Draco exchanged sweets and drinks comfortably.
"Time-out called by Puddlemere United; we'll reconvene in 20 minutes! The score is 210 to 180, Holyhead Harpies." The announcer's deep voice boomed across the pitch. Some spectators began shuffling out of their seats, presumably to use the loo or grab a pasty and bevvy. After a few minutes, another voice rippled around the stadium—the voice was more jolly, "Ladies and gentlemen, love is in the air—tomorrow is Valentine's Day! You know what that means: the Kiss Cam is coming out!"
Most of the crowd cheered in good spirits. Hermione hollered too—though she didn't have a great run of love herself, she always enjoyed seeing the cute older couples and the parent and child love captured on the Kiss Cam.
"We've got all kinds of love here tonight!" The large screens swept across the crowds and showed a close-up of a white-haired couple clad in Harpies' colors, they laughed toothily and gave each other a smooch.
The Kiss Cam then roved around, zooming in on a young couple that was cozied up—the two wizards gave each other a peck. "Wonderful! Who's next?" the jolly voice cheered.
To Hermione's horror, she saw herself and Malfoy on the big screens, "How about these two cuties?" Hermione's face flushed in embarrassment and their colleagues roared with laughter. She glanced sideways—Malfoy seemed nonchalantly surprised. She waved at the Kiss Cam and shook her head, "Oh we're not together." No one heard her over the boo's of the crowd.
Luckily, her and Malfoy's image disappeared from the screen, but not without the commentator saying, "We'll try again later. Let's see some love from mum and son!" The screens filled with the image of a young boy sitting in his mother's lap and he pecked her on the cheek.
As the Kiss Cam roamed around the crowd, she felt Malfoy's shoulder press into hers as he teased, "You didn't want to kiss London's most eligible bachelor?" She rolled her eyes.
"What about this bloke?" The commentator boomed and the screens showed Ivan grinning and he kissed his tankard of beer and downed it with wild cheers from the audience. "Let's revisit his neighbors!"
Hermione and Draco were on the big screen again and the crowd was encouraging them loudly, including their coworkers. "We're not leaving until we see a kiss!" the commentator bellowed, kicking off a stadium-wide chant, "Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!"
Hermione threw her hands up and stuck out her cheek and Draco smirked, giving her a kiss on the side of her face. The crowd booed loudly and the announcer said facetiously, "We're not letting you get away with just a peck! Snog!" Another chant of "Snog, snog, snog, snog!" reverberated around them.
She faced Malfoy and saw his eyes gently searching hers. She nodded slightly and craned her neck sideways towards him, their shoulders pressing together. Hermione felt their lips meet. His lips were soft and sure. They tasted like coffee and chocolate toffees. Her body moved on its own, squaring her shoulder towards him and sitting forward into the kiss. Her body tingled from her lips to her toes. She felt his hand slide up to the side of her face. His thumb dragged across her cheek, leaving a warm trail. Hermione nibbled his bottom lip. It felt like they were moving in slow motion, but not even seven seconds later, they broke apart. The roars of the stadium hit her ears, pulling Hermione out of her trance, the kiss left her half-dazed, half-panicked for the rest of the match.