Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the (many) things/music that I reference throughout.
Important: I typically have a "you do you, boo" attitude towards what you do/don't listen to when reading fanfic. However, music is a huge part of this story - Draco/Hermione are often listening to music throughout the story and many songs/albums are referenced. I have put together a Spotify playlist for each chapter that takes you through the songs referenced/sometimes has an added song throughout. I think the playlists help enhance the overall reading experience - but music is a very personal thing so - you do you. I can't link them here because FFN won't allow it but you can find my on Spotify at canttouchthis or you can find the playlist on my Tumblr account at canttouchthis87.
Finally...this story would have been impossible without the help and support of a few people. First, a big thank you to Melanoradrood for being on the receiving end of my 'so - what do we think about a grunge AU?' message and helping me find a way to turn this from a plot bunny while listening to the Smashing Pumpkins into an actual story.
Thank you to Art3misia for the hours and hours spent researching the 90s with me and all of your help. You have been an amazing Alpha/cheerleader and I couldn't have finished this without you. Thank you also to my Beta on this, Astrangefan for helping to find my typos/make this readable.
A last thank you to my ex-husband who will never read this but whose music acumen/snobbery were a massive help throughout.
This story will update every Friday until complete.
September 2, 1997
Hermione felt numb to the scene before her - the bustle aboard the Hogwarts Express playing out like a scene from Clueless. She rolled her eyes at the squealing second year girls and the rowdy laughter coming from a nearby compartment of sixth year boys, playing on their Gameboys.
At one point such a sight would have filled her with warmth - she imagined a younger version of herself smiling at the antics. But all she could see now was naivety; the immaturity of children completely oblivious to the world around them.
She tucked her knees into her chest, placing her headphones over her ears and blasting Crowded House, allowing the cacophony surrounding her to fade away.
She had been looking forward to returning to Hogwarts for her Seventh Year just yesterday - holding on to the notion that the familiar routine would bring her out of her reverie. She had envisioned herself racing through the train searching for Harry, giggling with Lavender and Parvati about whatever incessant boy band they were obsessing over and spending hours on end in the library.
She had assumed the familiarity of the places and people would be enough - that outside of the home where her mother died, she would be able to return to a different version of herself. But the scene of parents bidding their children goodbye on the platform made her stomach twist.
"Crowded House? Really?" She jumped at the intrusion, narrowing her eyes at Draco Malfoy who was smirking from the seat across from her.
She glared at him, pointedly turning the volume on her CD player up to block him out. He raised a single eyebrow but proceeded to pull out a dilapidated notebook and ignore her.
Hermione watched him carefully use a ballpoint pen, his face scrunched in concentration over whatever he was doing. His nails were painted black, though the enamel was cracking. He wore faded jeans and a Pearl Jam concert tee with an oversized leather jacket hanging over the ensemble. He'd grown his unnaturally blonde hair out - the tresses streaked with black dye reaching his chin.
She had known Draco Malfoy since First Year - but they had never actually communicated with one another outside of class assignments or when Harry would insist on talking to the blonde when she was around. He was typically amongst a gaggle of Slytherins, all listening to grunge or punk and otherwise looking down on the other houses with a false air of superiority. It had always struck her as odd - the idea that a house defined by its rejection of Muggles was filled with students emulating Muggle culture.
Harry tried to explain it to her once - that it was a sort of silent rebellion against the establishment. When she then asked Harry if that was why he exclusively wore baggy JNCO jeans, he gave her a sheepish grin and changed the subject.
If she had cared, she might have questioned why Malfoy felt the need to invade her space on the train. Instead, she simply snorted at the thought of Draco Malfoy and his emo getup, sitting cross legged on a black comforter, delicately painting his nails with a bottle of Wet n' Wild polish, blasting "Everybody Hurts" by REM.
He looked up at the noise, his mouth moving - but Hermione couldn't hear him over the sound of "Don't Dream It's Over". She pointed at her ears and shifted her gaze out the window, pushing the nascent thoughts of Draco Malfoy out of her mind.
As the landscapes flew past in a blur of green and blue hues against the overcast sky, she tried desperately to be positive - to consider the year ahead of her as the adventure it should be. But her thoughts betrayed her, returning her to that hospital bed where she said good-bye to her brain-dead mother and faced the fact that she would never see the woman who raised her again.
'Mum', she thought as she did when she grew overly melancholy, 'well, I took the first step. I got on the train.'
Her music abruptly stopped, and she narrowed her eyes at the sight of Malfoy holding her CD player, detached from her headphones.
"What do you want?" she asked, purposefully allowing the vitriol to escape her throat.
He didn't seem bothered. "Nice hair cut."
Her hands flew to her hair, fingers pushing through the short bob. She met his gaze, somewhat taken aback by the warmth in his grey eyes, the soft smile playing on his lips.
"Thanks," she responded somewhat warily. They weren't friends - they were hardly acquaintances. He and Harry were 'cousins' of sorts and Hermione put up with the blonde solely to maintain the peace.
He looked thoughtfully at her CD player, still in his hand, before digging through his own folio and replacing her Crowded House CD with one of his own.
"What?" she scoffed as he handed back her belongings. She was about to open the Walkman to check the album when he placed his hand atop the player.
"Just - trust me." He removed his pale hand slowly and returned his focus to the notebook and his scribbles.
She didn't trust him, had no reason to. But she plugged her headphones back in anyways, pressing play and letting the soft notes of "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness"wash over her as her gaze once again turned to the window, the Scottish highlands beginning to take form as the sun slowly worked its way to the horizon.
September 9, 1997
Hermione moved the mashed potatoes and gravy around her plate, her eyes focused on her meal while her classmates continued to posture around her. Harry kept dropping meaningful looks her way, his boyish smile taunting her with its sincerity. Beside him, Ron Weasley kept sneaking glances in her direction, as though his long time crush on her weren't the worst kept secret in Hogwarts. She did her best to avoid rolling her eyes at the pair.
They were talking about Quidditch - or maybe it was football. Neither resonated with her, and she pulled out her familiar Walkman, playing the Smashing Pumpkins album Malfoy had placed within it a week before.
"Hermione!" She frowned, reluctantly removing her headphones and sending a disinterested look Harry's way.
She and Harry had been virtually inseparable since meeting on the train First Year. She had been a wide-eyed Muggleborn with no idea how anything in the Wizarding world worked and Harry, finding her ignorance and fascination with the Magical world amusing, had taken her under his wing. She always assumed his mother was likely responsible, either through a direct order of 'befriend the Muggleborns' or perhaps by virtue of her own tales of feeling alone and out of sorts at Hogwarts.
"What?" she asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her tone. Truly, she wasn't annoyed at him - she just found his continued efforts to 'cheer her up' or 'include' her grating.
"Just seeing if you're still taking Arithmancy this year," Harry responded with a slight frown.
She shut her eyes, chastising herself for taking her despondency out on him. "Of course," she confirmed, trying her best to sound engaged.
Harry continued to eye her skeptically, obviously not fooled in the slightest. She wondered why he would have brought it up - Harry wasn't in Arithmancy after all - they only shared Charms, Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts at this point.
"You'll probably have the same time table as Malfoy," he told her evenly.
She frowned. "Really?" If she were being fair, she would acknowledge that Malfoy tended to be in her elective classes and did have a habit of answering questions correctly. For some reason though, perhaps based on how he dressed or the fact he constantly had a guitar slung over his back, she had always considered him something of a slacker.
"Yeah - I was going to ask you to keep an eye on him," Harry told her, his tone calculating. "Just - let me know if he seems off."
She tried to run through everything she knew about Draco Malfoy, which was, admittedly, not much. "Why?" she asked finally, giving up on drawing any conclusions on her own.
Harry clamped up, "I just worry about him." He shrugged it off. Perhaps a year ago, Hermione would have pushed him, curiosity getting the better of her. As it was, she was happy when her best friend turned to Ron Weasley and resumed talking about some inane sport or other.
Hermione sank into her seat, cracking her neck and replacing her headphones, letting the dulcet tones of "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" wash over her. She let her gaze float over the hall, landing momentarily on Dean and Seamus on the other end of the Gryffindor table, not so subtly selling a gram of weed to a 4th year. Nearby, Lavender and Parvati had their faces glued to a copy of Bliss Magazine, whispering into their wands and making the ads hover around them, much to their neighbors' annoyance.
It wasn't rational, but Hermione couldn't help but feel resentful of the laughing students. She was like the titular character Daria; observing the world around her but unwilling to engage. When her eyes landed on the Hufflepuff table and she saw Justin Finch-Fletchley holding court, likely regaling the Puffs with some outlandish story, she couldn't help but laugh. The boy wore a wife beater and baggy pants, his hair a greasy disheveled mess with a joint tucked behind his ear. She watched with continued amusement as Professor McGonagall confiscated the contraband and chastised him.
Her eyes inevitably landed on the Slytherin table and the sea of blacks and greys, accented by Theo Nott's typically colorful hair - this time a green mohawk. She noticed Malfoy's sticker covered guitar case lying underneath a bench, and a small boombox sitting in the middle of the table, too far away for her to identify the specific tune emanating from it.
She glanced down at her half-eaten meal, the now soggy potatoes and peas looking particularly unappetizing, and left, turning up the volume on her Walkman as she walked to her dormitory alone.
September 25, 1997
Draco strummed his Gibson acoustic guitar, his eyes shut and hair blowing softly in the slight breeze. He frowned, inching his left eye open as he adjusted his grip, trying to hit the chords just right. He found if he kept his head perfectly still, he could sit beside the Black Lake and focus on the steady rhythm of Alice in Chains' "Man in the Box", letting everything else flit away with the wind.
He felt Hermione Granger's presence before he heard her, the distinctly rough exhale followed by a shuffling of feet. He imagined her huffing with her arms crossed, perhaps aggravated by his presence or expecting him to react to her immediately.
He finished the song, smiling with satisfaction as he strummed the final note. He waited a moment, allowing his gaze to land on the Black Lake, curious to see if she would make herself known.
"Malfoy," she stated uncomfortably. He could envision her shifting in his mind, perhaps struggling with whatever brought her out there in the first place. "I have your CD."
She walked around and shoved the disc at him. He eyed it before shifting his gaze to her. "I think you need it more than I do."
He started arbitrarily strumming his guitar, playing a series of power chords to keep his fingers occupied. Meanwhile, he watched Granger seriously frown at the CD, as though willing it to divulge all its secrets.
Since finding Hermione Granger sitting alone on the Hogwarts Express earlier that month, looking completely despondent, Draco found himself utterly fascinated by the witch. He had grown used to her constant hand raising and the twitch of her lip when the Professors inevitably awarded Gryffindor points for whatever brilliant feat of magic she pulled off. To see this Granger - her formerly wild tresses forced short and flat, refusing to utter a word in class - was something he found he couldn't simply ignore.
It had been three weeks since he had sat across from her on the train, lost in his own predicament, only to be caught off guard by the grating sound of 80s music. He had given her Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness out of a sense of obligation - she obviously knew nothing of good music and it was his duty to educate her.
Though in the intervening time, watching her clutch her red Walkman covered in duct tape for dear life, he felt the album possibly more poignant than he realized. When he got around to asking Potter about his best friend, his cousin sent him a panicked look before relenting - explaining the girl's mother had died suddenly that summer.
He had felt his own stomach drop at the words - finding himself suddenly empathetic to the Gryffindor girl he had previously felt nothing but - well, nothing for. His own mother had passed 10 years earlier, from a particularly lethal blood curse, leaving Draco alone with an overbearing father.
"It's yours." She tried to press the CD to him once more, a determined look covering her face.
He didn't move his hands, instead continuing to play the same power chords again and again. "What was your favorite track?" He swayed slightly left to right, humming a melody to the tune. This isn't your everyday he considered the lyrics in his mind, pausing to write the words down in his notebook before he forgot.
When he returned his focus to Granger, she had furrowed brows, her eyes locked on his notebook. "What is that?" she asked.
"I asked you a question first," he quipped, wordlessly vanishing the pen to his black canvas backpack and returning his attention to the guitar.
They remained in relative silence, only the strumming of his guitar and the nearly audible annoyance rolling off of Granger disturbing the rather pristine fall day. It was finally cool enough to wear the vintage leather jacket gifted to him by his Uncle Sirius that summer - well, cool enough to wear without sweating profusely, that is.
"I guess "1979"," she shrugged, continuing to wave the disc in his face, willing him to take it.
"Really? "1979"? But it's so - upbeat," he replied, his fingers freezing against the strings for a moment before resuming.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Ignoring whatever insinuation you're making, it may have a - poppy - melody, but the song itself is much more than that." He watched her intently, waiting for her to elaborate, but she simply stood there obstinate.
"And?" he queried, trying to think of the specific lyrics of "1979".
"It's about growing up. The push and pull of adolescence and adulthood," she explained succinctly.
Draco put his guitar gently atop its case and cast a quick Engorgio against the shrunken boombox he always had on his person. He finally accepted the CD from Granger, finding the song in question and gesturing for her to sit.
He wished he had a Polaroid to capture the image of Granger as she debated whether to comply, the way she bit at the inside of her cheek so obviously before a look of raw determination came over her. Finally, she sat a solid meter from him, sliding her legs to the side in her denim skirt.
Her dark brown eyes refused to meet his, instead focused on the boombox. Draco found "1979" and carefully listened to the lyrics, seriously considering Granger's proposal. When the song finally ended, he forced the CD to start from the beginning and the album's titular instrumental song played softly in the background.
"It's just nostalgia, right?" Draco pointed out.
She shook her head, and he saw a glint of something familiar in her eye. It was a look he would typically associate with the witch getting a particularly tricky answer right in class, or when she finished a Potions assignment before him. He reflexively prepared himself to be bested.
"It's a longing for a simpler time - to when there were no worries. It's less about pure nostalgia and more the juxtaposition of youth and adulthood. That moment you're on the precipice," she explained, a slight smile betraying her enjoyment of the discussion.
"Is that how you feel?" he asked, unable to help himself. Her mouth dropped into a frown almost instantly, but he only felt moderately bad for asking. "You think because of your mum you've been forced to suddenly grow up?"
He was fairly certain if she had a better grasp of wandless magic she would have caused him physical harm at that point. But still, he felt the need to push, having watched the once vibrant girl become a shell of herself since the start of term.
"I don't mean offense, Granger," he placed his hands up in surrender, "Potter told me. I'm sorry by the way - though I'm sure my platitudes are meaningless." She softened slightly, the anger in her eyes deflating and the blood beginning to drain from her cheeks.
He wondered if anyone bothered to challenge her - to even mention her mum to her - or if the thought of a parent dying was simply too taboo. As he looked at her, with her eyes beginning to water and her hand tucking a stray hair behind her ear, she seemed vulnerable in a way he was unfamiliar with.
She shook herself out of it, returning to the matter at hand. "We're all on the precipice, aren't we?" she suggested almost ethereally, still frowning. "What's your favorite song?" she pointed to the boombox where the album was still playing.
He struggled for a moment before playing "Tonight, Tonight". "This," he told her, smiling lightly at the familiar melody.
"Really?" Fleetingly, she looked surprised, before a calculating expression marked her features.
"Really," he confirmed, "it's about focusing on the present, about what we have right now. I guess it's about change like "1979" but it's about not focusing on that."
"And is that what you do, Malfoy? With your notebook and your black nail polish?" Her eyes drifted back to the notebook, curiosity clear in her gaze.
He knew she was mocking him. Her nails were bare, her face devoid of makeup and her hair boasted its natural murky brown. She wore a long sleeved deep red crop top that stopped where it met her waist high denim skirt. Her shoes were practical grey Chuck Taylor high tops. Hermione Granger didn't belong to a scene - no one could accuse her of being grunge or punk - she just was.
He took her words in stride, chuckling as he fingered the chipped polish along his nails. "It's something I strive for." He told her honestly.
They sat in an oddly amiable silence and Draco considered, as the CD skipped slightly at the final chorus, that this was the longest he and Granger had ever spoken. Even on the rare occasion they were forcibly partnered in class, such conversation was always limited to succinct questions and one word answers.
He was surprised she remained, though as he watched her stare intently at the boombox, a few stray tears beginning to fall down her cheeks, he thought he could understand. It was the same reason he would stay up late into the night organizing his albums, or playing Nirvana on repeat. Because sometimes music was what it took to get through the day.
"So." She wiped her cheek and faced him. "Will you tell me about your notebook now?"
He clutched the aforementioned book, the cover plastered in Sharpie and bumper stickers. He eyed her carefully, another lyric suddenly hitting him at the sight of her quirked lip: If you're going down, I've fallen deep.
"It's my songs - or well, my attempts at songwriting," he admitted, feeling an odd obligation to be vulnerable with the witch who had just exposed herself to him. He opened the notebook and quickly jotted down the lyric, unveiling pages of chicken scratch.
She raised her eyebrows at him, a look of disbelief marking her features. "You want to be a songwriter?"
He wasn't sure if he should be offended or amused. Instead, he simply shrugged. "Music's changed my life - made me who I am. If I could write a song - just one, that mattered, I think it would make me content." He felt naked in a way, watching her process this. He wondered if a bookworm could understand such musings, if the girl who spent the last six years determined to be the best at absolutely everything could appreciate the desire to do just one thing perfectly.
"But - don't you have certain - obligations? I was under the impression that all of the Purebloods are required to take on specific careers after Hogwarts." She didn't say it unkindly but the words stung regardless. He felt the last vestiges of a grin fall, a slight frown taking its place.
He reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds. He offered her one, to which she scoffed, before wandlessly lighting his cigarette with the snap of his fingers.
The fight he had with his father before leaving for Hogwarts nearly a month earlier played in his head. His father's demands that he stop with the 'music nonsense' and find himself a nice 'Pureblood' girl to settle down with.
Lucius Malfoy was the consummate businessman - down to his pristine three piece Muggle suits and brutal dedication to the bottom line. It had been made readily apparent to Draco his entire life that his sole purpose was to carry on the Malfoy legacy - to ensure all of their family's business ventures remained liquid and, of course, the continuation of their untarnished Pureblood line.
Nowhere in this plan for Draco was there a time and place for music. It was made clear his continued obsession with his Gibson and insistence on streaking his hair and wearing clothes befitting a 'hobo' would no longer be tolerated.
Of course, for a teenager on the precipice of adulthood, Draco took this as a direct challenge to play his guitar more, perhaps make his clothes more outrageous. He was currently considering getting a tattoo, something utterly permanent his father couldn't spell away.
"Sure," he finally responded to Granger, "I mean - there are certain obligations. But that doesn't mean I can't also play."
It was a lie - but it was one he liked to tell himself. That after he graduated he would somehow find a way to make it all work - to fulfill his familial obligations and continue to make music. He hoped if he pushed enough, his father would relent. He believed the man had once enjoyed music - Draco had come across boxes of old Led Zeppelin and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young records in the cellar, covered in dust but still able to play their classic tunes. But when he questioned the man, Lucius had simply admonished Draco for touching what was not his.
Draco could vaguely remember music from when he was younger, it was a fleeting memory that would help him fall asleep when the loss of his mother would keep him up at night. He would recall her playing the Beatles on an antique record player, her melodic voice singing to him while his father beamed from the threshold of the bedroom. The problem was, as he aged, the memories grew faint and he found himself questioning if they were simply the creation of a sad boy who missed his mum.
"Are you any good?" Hermione asked, her eyes shifting from the notebook to his guitar.
"I'm decent," he shrugged, vanishing the cigarette butt and picking up the Gibson, strumming "Stairway to Heaven" automatically.
"I meant with the songwriting," she clarified.
He paused, his fingers hesitating briefly. "I'm - I don't know. I have moments where I think I'm onto something and then I lose it."
"But you enjoy it?" she questioned, her gaze now focused on the grass where her fingers were picking at the blades.
"I - yes, I enjoy it," he told her, biting at his lower lip and watching her delicate fingers become a light green. "I guess I'm sometimes not sure what to write about."
"Well," she sat up straighter, wiping her hands and scooting a few inches closer to him, "you write about what you know, right?"
"Yeah, sure," he frowned, "but I mean - I've lived a fairly privileged life. Not much to write about."
"Oh, come on Malfoy," she teased at him, all vulnerability from their last conversation vanished and a playful glint coloring her eye. "I'm sure that's not true."
He gave her an indulgent smile, shaking his head. He had at one point tried to write about his frustration with his father, the expectations set upon him - but the words always came out in a metal tantrum. Only Pansy had enjoyed the resulting angst.
"I guess I want to write about something more than fights with my father," he explained.
"Maybe I can help you," she offered unexpectedly.
"Help me? How?" He continued thrumming the guitar, though his attention was solely on her.
"Well." She looked down at her fingers briefly, as though gathering courage, before returning her gaze to him. "You were kind enough to lend me your CD when I needed it. Perhaps I can help you find something to write about."
There was something in her words that moved him, and he could feel another lyric on the tip of his tongue: When we've fallen it'll be too soon. He rushed to jot the words down, before they slipped from his consciousness.
"And what would that be?" he asked. A particularly strong gust of wind pushed against them, causing her short bob to whip across her face. He felt his neck warm at the sight of her hands aggressively trying to get the strands to comply, as though in spite of the short cut and whatever amount of product she used, the tresses still had a mind of their own. He felt he was watching Hermione Granger in a moment of her life that truly mattered - in that line between being a child and an adult. He didn't want to look away.
He felt connected with this grieving girl, and felt reasonably certain he wasn't alone as her cheeks reddened and she stood, brushing bits of dirt off her skirt.
"I'm sure we'll think of something," she promised, magically changing the song on the boombox, letting "Farewell and Goodnight" blast as she walked away. She paused a few meters from the Black Lake, turning her head slightly and shouting, "And Crowded House is excellent."
Draco chuckled to himself, shaking his head and returning to his guitar, strumming a tune from the recesses of his mind.
A/N: All feedback/comments are appreciated!