Chapter Fourteen- Granger
It seemed to be a habit of theirs but they walked quietly, trekking their way down the well-worn and thus, rather slippery slope, down across the grounds. Though she was wearing her winter boots, Hermione kept losing her footing, clutching onto the tufts of frozen grass and muttering high-pitched pleas to whatever entity was listening. It was made all the worse for the snowballs that occasionally pistoled towards them and she had no time nor security to find her wand and shield them both from attack. One came hurtling at her head and she screamed, ducking, her feet taken from underneath her as the dirt crumbled away, grappling for purchase, for something to cling onto-
"Fuck. Granger! Will you-!" she heard Malfoy grumble, his breath hot on her forehead, but she knew her hold on him was firm and she hadn't stopped skidding and was therefore unwilling to let go. Hermione felt something haul her to her feet and she gripped at thin air. It was only when she was firmly planted back on flat ground that she released his arm, muttering a reluctant thank you and they continued on their way. Hermione, more cautiously than before.
She couldn't see him but she was certain that Malfoy stopped for a moment when they reached the Hogwarts gates. Hermione heard a sharp intake of breath, though it could have been the wind whistling through her hair. Either way, she didn't comment, and carried on walking, sneakily glancing behind her, watching his footsteps in the snow, to make sure he was following. There was something reassuring about the fleeting trail they created, and the way the snow would kiss the imprints to cover them over.
The walk down to the village seemed quicker than she imagined, though Hermione had a feeling that time would sprint today, for it was usually what time did when one wanted it to do quite the opposite. Even against the onslaught of wind that chilled her to her bones and the snow that flecked her cheeks and congealed on her eyelashes, there was something warm that bloomed in her chest; Hogsmeade was everything she remembered it to be, and more. As they got closer, the snow gave way to an emerging row of white-wrapped buildings; the roofs overhung, their mismatched brickwork tucked away under a blanket of winter for as long as the snow persisted, golden walls rarely peeking out if any of the snow collapsed from the windowpanes and flower baskets. Hanging signs danced wildly in the wind, clanging and creaking, revealing the odd letter or emblem. Students and villagers, protected by their winter robes, hats and scarfs, weaved in and out of shops, whose doors would fling open and spill a puddle of enticing heat onto the frost-bitten ground. A well-trodden path snaked deeper into the village, though snowflakes continued to fall, smoothing it over with fresh powdery mounds that the students were all too happy to jump in.
Hermione breathed in the cold air. It had been so long since she'd felt that familiar warmth of normalcy, but it embraced her now, that sobering blast of freedom. She hadn't realised she'd stopped walking completely until she heard Malfoy hiss her name.
"Oh. Sorry."
Hermione led him through the village, breathing in the smell of roast potatoes from The Three Broomsticks, distracted by the laughter and sparks and whizzing bolts of light from the joke shop, not stopping until they'd made it past every shop on the main street and had weaved their way past darkened windows and boarded up doors, falling into the empty shelter of The Hog's Head pub.
She heard Malfoy make a derisive noise but ignored him, smiling at the barkeep (who was certainly not Aberforth, what with his perspiring bald head and bulbous moustache, pipe poking from between the gaps in his teeth), and making her way to a table in the corner. Hermione sat down, biting back a smirk at the hesitant and inconspicuous scraping of the chair opposite her as it was pulled out and drawn in again.
"Interesting venue," he remarked under his breath.
"There's method in my madness, Malfoy," muttered Hermione.
She could hear the smirk in his voice. "Isn't there always, Granger?"
Hermione chose not to comment, slipping her wand from out her bag and murmuring the warding spells she'd used whilst on the run. There weren't many other patrons in the pub; two older gentlemen in roughened leather coats were playing cards and gambling for a considerable amount of money if the pile between them was anything to go by, a woman with deep wrinkles seemed to be having tea with her cat, and a bunch of Seventh Years, their ties multi-coloured, their heads down, looked like they were studying for their Christmas mock NEWTS.
Her eyes flicked away from them all, and she could feel her hair starting to frizz, the magic ebbing from her and making the air around them pulse, surrounding them in a bubble. She only lowered her wand when the bubble muffled out the sound of everything else and she momentarily felt like she'd been submerged entirely underwater.
Hermione turned back. "You can take the Cloak off now."
Silence. Then, a whispered, "What?"
"Take the Cloak off."
"Granger-"
"I've warded this corner. No one can see us," she said. Then looked at him demandingly. "Why do you think I chose this pub over The Three Broomsticks? It certainly wasn't on principle of design. There are less people here who can pick up on my magical signature. They probably don't even recognise half the wards I've used."
He didn't react immediately and Hermione continued to stare into empty space when-
Malfoy appeared suddenly. His hair was tussled and half his shoulder was still missing and it was a minute later that he combed his fingers through his hair and pulled the Cloak the rest of the way off. His cheeks were pink. He swallowed.
Hermione waited as his eyes roved the pub. She knew it was dingy and the floorboards were curving upwards and the wooden panelling on the walls was falling off, but the circular table she'd chosen was just behind the table next to the window (she didn't want to risk sitting too closely) and she'd made sure she was sitting with her back to the rest of Hogsmeade so that Malfoy could watch the world pass by over her head and feel a part of the way the snow fell.
Sure enough, his eyes snagged just past her and he watched the way life drifted by through the window. Hermione let him have it. She stood and his eyes barely flicked to her when she said, "I'll get us some drinks," before he nodded once and they flicked back again.
Hermione slipped away, leaning against the bar then recoiling when she felt something sticky on her arm. She flashed a hasty grin at the barkeep and said, "A Butterbeer and a Firewhiskey, please."
He raised an eyebrow.
She smiled guiltily at him, cheeks flushing. "It's been a long week."
The barkeep huffed, chewing on his pipe, which lit itself and started to puff. He nevertheless accepted her money and got to work on her order. Returning to their table a few minutes later, she placed the drinks on the coasters, noticing that her sudden appearance seemed to wrench Malfoy from whatever had so transfixed his attention.
"Thanks," he said, taking a swig, and he didn't even wince.
Hermione grimaced, wrapping her hands around her glass. "I don't know how you can drink that stuff."
"You grow numb to it."
She sipped her drink. "That sounds healthy."
Malfoy snorted. "Don't lecture me, Granger."
He stopped then, rummaging around in his pocket. The chill from outside had snaked its way into the pub, and they kept their coats buttoned up to their chins, though they'd removed everything else. Malfoy dropped some coins on the table. Hermione blinked.
"What's this?"
"I'm not a Weasley," he sneered. "I can afford to buy my own drinks."
Her eye twitched but she pursed her lips, pushing the galleons back to him. "Will you stop being so offended at everything! Let me buy you a drink."
Malfoy stared at her. After a moment, as Hermione sipped her Butterbeer to show him it wasn't up for debate, he cupped the coins back up and slid them into his pocket. "The next one is on me then, Granger."
"Very well. I'll hold you to that." She put her glass back down on its coaster, licking her lips. Malfoy snorted. "What?"
He kept quiet, eyebrows raised, eyes dancing.
Reproachfully, Hermione demanded, "What are you giggling at?"
Malfoy was full-on grinning, and she forgot her frustration with him just for a moment because he looked so different, so carefree, almost happy. He traced his upper lip and she scrambled to wipe her sleeve across her face. Her ears went red.
"You've missed a spot," said Malfoy, and his voice was light with his mirth. He reached over the table and wiped the foam from the corner of her lip, then on his jacket.
"Thanks."
She watched him curiously, her mortification dying down, as he continued to stare out the window, swigging his whiskey every now and then. She watched the snow fall in his eyes and melt in his hair. It was a situation she never thought she'd find herself in, sitting, having a drink with the boy who had tormented her for years. They'd both been in a war, though you wouldn't know it, looking at them. Hermione's hands were clean and small. There were no scars snaking between her fingers. She was sleeping and eating a little bit better recently so she knew she didn't look haunted; she recognised herself in the mirror again. Draco looked whole, too. His skin was perfect alabaster, carved like stone, like a sculptor had painstakingly shaved the curvature of his throat and jaw to create just the perfect amount of shadow. If he was a statue, Draco Malfoy was a colossal monument of carefully crafted lines and sinews, impassive and cold, and he was full, fit to bursting inside-out, with colourful, burning feeling. Hermione had seen it. He was not as cold as he made himself out to be.
Malfoy frowned at her, then said, "To say you're the one who forces your company on me-"
She jumped at the sudden sound of his voice, and some of her Butterbeer sloshed over the side of the sup, and snorted. "Forces!"
He ignored her. "You sure do look at me with some contempt, Granger."
Hermione pressed her lips into a line, and her eyes dropped to her hands. She folded her fingers together on the table.
"I don't-"
"You look at me like you don't recognise me," he said.
She forced herself to look him in the eye because he deserved her honesty. He was staring at her, grey eyes piercing.
"You're a very different person to the one that Moody turned into a ferret." Hermione paused, then added, "Deservedly so, by the way."
Malfoy made a disdainful noise, slapping the comment away with a flick of his wrist. He levelled his gaze on her suddenly. It made her shift in her seat, but she tilted her chin just a little higher and met him straight on. Malfoy took a swig of his drink.
"Am I still annoyingly charming?"
The dryness of his voice made Hermione flounder for a second, because the joke was so misplaced. She huffed out a laugh.
"You got the annoying part right."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "I'm wounded," he said. Another swig. "You're not so charming yourself, you know, Granger."
"And yet you keep coming back."
A single fine eyebrow raised. The bottle froze between the table and his lips.
"Curiosity."
"Killed the cat."
"But satisfaction brought it back," he countered, and there was a ghost of a smirk that made her stop. She couldn't hold back a small smile of her own.
"You don't ever seem to be overly satisfied with my company," said Hermione. She felt betrayed at the smidge of hurt in her voice.
Malfoy's smirk dropped frighteningly quickly and she felt her stomach sink. He downed some more of his Firewhiskey. Grimacing, he slammed the bottle down on the table and said, "Anything is a step up from my father, Granger, even you."
"Have you seen him?" she asked. "Since the war."
Malfoy shifted in his seat, regarding his drink curiously. His tongue flicked out nervously. "Once."
Hermione swallowed, nodding slowly. She didn't want to pry but part of her was burning up to ask-
"It was just after he got his sentence," Malfoy continued, eyeing her as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. She kept his gaze and he seemed to cling onto the resolute look in her eyes. There was no pity there. She made sure of it. "My mother was still waiting for her trial. We were allowed to watch. The Wizengamot took three minutes. Three. That's all my father's life was worth before they sentenced him. We were allowed to say goodbye and I haven't seen him since."
Hermione was desperate to ask about his mother but she sealed her lips closed. His voice had broken upon simply saying the word.
She owed him some honesty now. She drew in the form of her Butterbeer. "Remember what I told you about my parents?" she asked. Malfoy nodded once. "I Obliviated them the day after I returned from my Sixth Year. I knew they wouldn't be safe after Dumbledore-" He flinched. She stopped. "But I wanted one more day with them. To say goodbye. We didn't do anything special, we just sat together and watched the telly that night and then the following morning I stood outside the door and listened to them. They bickered about using the same spoon for my mum's tea that my dad used for his coffee, and something on the news, and what to add to the practise." Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. "I couldn't say goodbye. Not properly. I knew I'd lose my nerve. So I erased myself from their memories and sent them off to Australia. They'd always wanted to go to Sydney. They planned on moving there, a long time ago, but then I was born and, I suppose life got in the way. There was never a right moment after that."
Malfoy was staring at her. "I never knew before-"
She smiled ruefully. "That was the point."
"Have you tried to find them?" he asked.
Hermione shook her head and her curls whipped her cheeks. "I haven't had time." She let out a derisive laugh. "That makes me sound awful, doesn't it?"
Malfoy's gaze dropped to the table. "No," he said. "Life gets in the way, sometimes."
He offered her a small smile. Hermione returned it.
"How bizarre," she said, "that this is probably the most at peace I've felt in years."
There was a smirk blossoming in the corner of Malfoy's lips, growing and twining so as to encompass his entire face, flowering in his eyes. "In a dingy old pub, in the company of a Death Eater who you hate, my, Granger, you must have had some shitty years."
Hermione knew he was joking but she could only stare at him. Puzzled, she said, "I don't hate you."
Malfoy's smirk froze. He became, quite suddenly, very interested in his drink. His silence prickled her.
"Do you think I hate you?"
He didn't reply straight away. Then, he said, without looking at her, "I didn't want to assume."
"Draco, when I brought you to the Hospital Wing, I sat with you all night. You must know that. You asked if I was staying and when I said yes, it wasn't just so you wouldn't throw up your medicine. I meant I was staying for it all. For now, for later, for your trial. Until you tell me to leave, and even then, you'll have a hard time getting rid of me. Trust me, Malfoy, I'm not easy to get rid of-"
"Call me Draco," he said. Malfoy looked at her. His eyes were light and bright and blue. "I prefer it when you call me by my name."
Hermione gaped. She closed her mouth and nodded. "Okay."
A few moments later, she added, "You can call me Hermione. If you'd like."
Malfoy started to reply then paused. His eyes flicked to hers. "You're Granger to me," he said finally, and it didn't leave her disappointed like she thought it would. Instead, it made her smile.
They finished their drinks soon after, draining them and savouring the last drop. Hermione noticed Malfoy took his time, taking small sips, holding it in his mouth before swallowing, sometimes. She wondered if he was allowed to drink alcohol. Probably not, but this was his three hours of freedom. He had not expired yet. So the idea of breaking the law worried her considerably less than she would have thought.
Hermione checked her watch and when she saw the time, she felt her heart clench a little. "We should probably get going," she told him, knowing her voice was far too chirpy and trying not to cringe at the sound of it. He didn't outwardly react, but she suspected he was deflating inside.
As they got up to leave, Hermione left a few coins on the table, catching Malfoy's frown. She scowled at him. "What?"
"What are you doing?" he asked, lip curling.
"I'm leaving a tip!"
"He didn't do anything, Granger."
"He didn't judge me when I came in here alone and ordered an alcoholic drink at three o'clock in the afternoon! It will buy him a new pipe," she argued.
Malfoy looked at her, lips pressed together and then he sighed as though she was the biggest pain in his arse, and dived into his pocket to throw some of his own coins down on the table. Hermione couldn't hide her surprise.
"Now he can buy some new teeth," he said snidely.
He was stung, but she didn't care. She couldn't stop the smile from creeping across her face as she grabbed her coat, flinging it round her back to try and navigate her arms into their sleeves. It was easier said than done and she kept missing the corresponding hole. Fumbling with her coat, she shoved her woolly hat between her teeth so she had her hands free. The sleeve evaded her arm again and she let out a frustrated mewl.
Malfoy glanced at her and said, "Oh, honestly, Granger," and impatiently grabbed her coat from behind her, holding it out so she could slide it on. He spun her round once the coat was safely on her person, snatched her hat from her teeth and shoved it on her head, so far it covered her eyes and tickled her nose. Hermione huffed.
She adjusted it so she could glare at him. He raised his eyebrows at her, as if daring her to say something snarky.
"I take it back," she said. "You haven't changed a bit."
Malfoy bit out a laugh, and Hermione noticed that when he was amused, the crinkles by his eyes would deepen and cut into the porcelain of his grey face. It made him look young again. "I'm glad to hear it, Granger. Now, move."
He gave her elbow a little push before throwing the Cloak over himself and disappearing. Hermione disarmed the wards and they left the warm, if a little dingy, pub to brave the biting wind outside.
The snow had started up again.
It was odd to be alone again, to not physically see him by her side-
"Don't look like that, Granger," his voice was biting but nervous.
"Like what?" she blinked.
"Like you're possessed!"
Hermione huffed. "Well I can't see you! What am I supposed to-?"
Suddenly, something grabbed her hand and she jumped, wrenching her arm away and stumbling backwards. A shriek left her lips, undignified, before she could stop it. "Draco, what-!"
"It was just an idea," he grumbled. He sounded further away. "So you weren't second-guessing where I was..."
Hermione's mouth dropped and she realised what he'd been trying to do. Hesitantly, she reached out her hand, outstretching her fingers.
There was a moment where nothing happened-
Then, Malfoy took her hand. Their fingers threaded together. It was practical, Hermione assured herself, nodding, pretending the warmth of his hand through their gloves didn't make her heart beat faster. More practical.
"It's not contempt," she said quickly. Despite the frost on her nose, Hermione felt her face go hot. His fingers seemed to tighten around hers.
For a moment, she didn't think he was going to reply and then, between the gasping wind and echoing laughs from lower down the village, there came an, "Oh?"
"The way I look at you," she clarified. "I mean, that's not to say I look at you any specific way. I just mean I really don't… hate you. Not at all. Not even a little."
Hermione cringed. There was quiet again. Not quiet because the world was much too noisy for the pair of them but quiet from him.
Then, Malfoy's voice. "I don't hate you either, Granger."
Hermione nodded. "Lovely. Lovely jubbly. Pleased to clear that up."
They started walking.
"It's just-" She really needed to stop talking and she was, moreover, acutely aware of the fact and yet, despite it all, she carried on. "I really thought I did. Even that first night. I remembered how cruel you'd been, how petty and nasty, and I tried to convince myself I still hated you. It's easier. It would've been easier... But I just couldn't equate who you were with the same person that told me to drink jasmine tea to help me sleep."
She was glad she couldn't see him but it made her heart beat faster in anticipation. She wondered if he could feel it in her fingers. After a moment or two, he said, "Did it help?"
Hermione frowned. "What?"
"The jasmine."
"Oh. Sometimes it does. Sometimes the nightmares come anyway. I think they do as they please."
He huffed a laugh, his breath was warm against her cheek. "Tends to be the case."
They continued walking, Hermione's arm tucked into her side so she wouldn't look like she was holding hands with an invisible boy whose pulse she swore she could feel in her fingertips. The snow had softened now. It waltzed down from the sky, dipping and twirling, kissing their cheeks, their eyelashes, their lips. She wondered vaguely what his eyes would look like, ringed with snowflakes.
The sky had started to drop dark, and a deep dusk clung to the horizon, weighing down the clouds. It was almost like a light-switch, the sun drifting below the lake, causing the distant castle to light up, one window by one. They wandered around the village as the last motley throng of students made their way back up to Hogwarts. Hermione was glad to be left alone; their footprints were stark on the pathway now, marked out in the slush, and she couldn't risk them being found out with only thirty minutes or so left.
Time had gone, as she had predicted, treacherously quickly.
"Have you had a good day?" she asked him, murmuring out of the corner of her mouth so it wouldn't look like she was talking to herself. That was the last thing she needed.
Hermione couldn't tell if she imagined it, but she thought he might've squeezed her hand. "It's been the best day I've had in a long time."
And a moment later, "And you?"
She nodded, then realised she couldn't possibly know if he was looking at her, so cleared her throat and said, "Yes." She sniffed. "But I think I'll probably have a cold tomorrow."
His scoff was far too loud to be inconspicuous and she clutched his hand so tightly she felt his bones crunch. He whispered a curse.
"That's just pathetic, Granger. It's not even that cold!"
Hermione spluttered. "Excuse you! It's freezing! I don't think I can feel my hands!"
"I'd wager you can," Malfoy grumbled. "You broke at least two of my fingers a minute ago."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be so dramatic."
They stopped at the very edge of the village, where the pathway wound up to the mountains, and the lake shimmered at their feet. Hermione thought it was funny how the world could be condensed so easily, made so simple that it took your breath away, when everything else was such a confusion.
"I think this is my favourite place in the whole world," she said.
"Not the library?" was the droll remark she got in reply.
Hermione hummed in thought. "Good point. Second favourite, then."
She grinned but Malfoy was quiet. She glanced sideways, then remembered she couldn't see him. It was disheartening to see the trees and lake and mountains instead.
"I wish I could stay here forever," he said finally.
Hermione swallowed. Hesitantly, she leaned into where she thought he might be stood. He froze, then melted, and his arm against hers was solid and real and tangible.
"Me too," she whispered.
But alas, they couldn't. They waited until the sun had split and burst, exploding through the forest, skating the lake, and christening the mountain peaks, before it sunk lower and doused itself completely. Then, they set off back to the castle, in the falling night. Their steps were slow, meandering, wandering, taking their sweet time because time was limited and they were running out of it. She stuck to Malfoy's pace, swinging their hands between them now that no one was there to think her crazy. Hermione wasn't sure if he enjoyed it but he didn't stop her and he didn't make a sound, so she squeezed his fingers and continued doing it. It calmed her nerves.
Just before they entered the castle, they stopped. Hermione didn't know who stopped first, but they stood and let the night slip over them. One of them squeezed the others' hand. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath-
The chatter of dinner sobered them, the doors closing behind them as soon as they'd stepped into the Great Hall foyer. Their day had expired.
"We need to check in with McGonagall," said Hermione, chewing her lip, looking at the floor. "To tell her we're back and- put your band back."
Malfoy took the Cloak off and appeared in front of her. Hermione felt obliged to look at him. His hair was ruffled, his nose and cheeks slightly pink. He looked alive. He handed her back the Cloak, reluctantly, and she knew it must feel like handing back his freedom.
She felt a yawn coming and tried to smother it quickly. He noticed anyway, if the quirk of his lips was anything to go by. "Go to dinner, Granger," he said. "Then get an early night. You look like you need it."
Affronted, she glowered at him, but another yawn was threatening to escape her. She swallowed it and said, "Don't be silly, Draco. I'll come with you."
Hermione started forwards but he reached out and held her shoulder. She stopped and stared at him. He was still smiling. Malfoy said, "Granger. Go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
He dropped his arm. Unconvinced, she tried to make a joke. "I warned you I'm not that easy to get rid of-"
Malfoy shook his head, but turned around and began walking away from her. "I'll hex you if you follow me. Get an early night."
She watched him walk away, in half the mind to run after him. His shoulders were straighter, she noticed. He stood taller. There was almost his old arrogance in each step.
Hermione didn't think that would have ever made her smile.
"Goodnight, Draco," she called after him.
She heard the smile in his voice. "Goodnight, Granger."