One single headline on the front page of The Daily Prophet was all it took to sour Hermione Granger's mood entirely.
WAR HEROINE SET TO RETURN TO HOGWARTS: EDUCATION, OR TROUBLE WITHIN THE TRIO?
"Does that foul, loathsome woman have nothing better to do with her time? Honestly!" The paper came down on the book store's front counter with enough force to make some of her morning coffee spill from its mug. The outraged war heroine-and-bookworm in question let out an aggravated huff as she yanked a few paper towels out from under the counter and proceeded to forcefully wipe away the evidence of her mini temper tantrum. It didn't matter what she said or what she did, her life would always wind up being front page news. For better or worse. She absolutely despised reporters, detested the insipid waste of ink and paper known as the bloody Prophet with every fiber of her being.
She had endured enough, sacrificed more than enough for an entire lifetime. She didn't owe anyone anything at this point in her life except for Harry. Why should anyone be privy to any part of her personal affairs? All she wanted was to be left alone, for Merlin's sake! She couldn't even openly claim ownership of her own bloody shop because of those stupid vultures. What more could they want? She gave up her childhood and her parents for this world. She faced death for them countless times. She endured homelessness and starvation for them. She bled for them; was tortured mercilessly for them all.
Why was it so hard to get even a fraction of peace? Couldn't a girl simply run a small bookstore and acquire her N.E.W.T.s without a publicity circus? Her eyes glanced down to the rather sizeable pile of mail that arrived shortly before the paper that sat underneath the counter.
No. Of course not. If that pile was anything like the others that regularly arrived, chances were that at least fifty percent of those letters were hate mail. Even now, her muggle born status and friendship with the boys (mainly Harry) earned her a shocking amount of disdain.
She tried not to let those letters get to her. Honestly, she didn't. However, seeing the slur that was carved into her arm aimed at her by complete strangers still tore her up inside. What had she and so many others fought for, if it didn't change anything? What had so many precious lives like those of Lupin, Tonks, Dobby and Fred been cut short for?
The realization that blood prejudice had not died with Voldemort was a solemn truth that she was unsure if she would ever be able to properly cope with. It felt dirty in a way that words couldn't describe. During moments like these, Hermione wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. She wanted to bombarda everything in sight, she wanted to...
She wasn't sure what she wanted, yet she knew a violent rage would forever swell inside her with devastating force. Those letters, proof that the very thing they fought against still lived, made her question whether all the death and destruction had been in vain, and she hated it.
An amused voice cut through her inner turmoil. "You'd think the beetle would have learned her lesson by now." Hermione sent an annoyed glare towards Ginny, who was propped up against the counter in front of her with a cup of tea. "Clearly not," she grumbled. At that, Ginny's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Do you want me to pay our favorite trash reporter a visit? I haven't gotten to hex anyone in a while."
"Ginny," Hermione lightly scolded. It might have been more effective if a small smile hadn't crept across her face. The redhead returned her grin, leaning further across the counter until the girls were nearly nose to nose. "Come on, 'Mione," she teased. "A few dozen bats flying out of an old beetle's nose would be brilliant and you know it." A wide, devilish grin spread across the younger witch's face, wiping away several years from her with it. For a moment, Hermione could feel her infectious youthful excitement. It was almost nostalgic in a way that was simultaneously foreign to her. This is what her childhood should have been like. She felt it in her bones.
Alas, Ginny's mirthwas,indeed, infectious. The mental imagery was too comical to be ignored. Hermione brought her steaming coffee cup to her lips in a poor effort to hide her smile.
That was how the two women were found when the little bell on the shop door jingled. Hermione's eyes darted to the open door, setting her mug down at the same time that Ginny turned around. The brunette witch's mouth opened, but no words would form on her lips. In no lifetime would she ever have expected him to set foot in her store.
He looked so much better now than he did at his trial.
When she was initially asked to testify, she had been unsure. There was no denying that her childhood bully managed to take actions that aided them in the war. However, she had been unsure about actually taking the stand. How much of her testimony would actually help? Her memories could have easily condemned him, rather than kept him out of Azkaban. The two never were exactly on the best of terms.
The memory of his face staring down at her within the drawing room of Malfoy Manor being the most prominent of them all.
It wasn't until Hermione saw a sickly and frail Draco Malfoy enter the court room in chains that her decision had been made. Anyone else in her position would have cheered at the sight of their bully, their tormentor, the personification of their trauma, facing life behind bars. Literally anyone in her position would have taken the stand to personally demand he got the Kiss.
Yet, the sight of him sent a shock through her core. Her breath caught in her throat when he actually swayed a bit under the weight of his chains. His cheekbones were prominent, jutting out beneath skin so pale he could pass for a corpse. His arms and legs were scarily thin, and she knew that if he were to lift his shirt, she would be able to count the bones of his ribs. He was gaunt; a walking skeleton. Never had she seen the likes of Draco Malfoy so visibly broken, lifeless, and scarred.
Hermione cringed at the loud, damning noise that bounced off the walls from him being shackled to his chair.
Somehow, Malfoy found Hermione in the crowd. Her breath caught once more at the sight of the purple bruising and dark circles under his once molten silver eyes. At that point, they faded to a dull, dreary grey. She had never seen true remorse on his face until that moment. More than that, she saw something in him that mirrored in herself: he was haunted and tired. More tired than any eighteen year old boy had a right to be. He might have been a right prat, a prejudiced bully, and just an awful person in general, but he wasn't a monster. No. The true monsters here were dead.
It was no surprise to anyone that Harry would be the first witness called to the stand. Hermione's hands balled into fists as both lawyers tried to pick him apart with their line questioning. Their "questions" were more like bullets, and Hermione couldn't tell if Malfoy's own lawyer was even on his side. It got to the point where Kingsley himself had to step in just so the actual crime the trial was being held for would be examined. In the back of her mind, she made a mental note to take her best friend out for a butterbeer after the fiasco was over.
However, the one thing that would stick out in her mind above all the rest was what came after her own testimony.
Kingsley's tired voice still managed to boom above the crowd. "Does the accused have anything to add before we deliberate?" Malfoy straightened as best he could before saying clearly, "No."
The entire court room immediately buzzed. Kingsley had to hammer his gavel with a loud, "SILENCE!" Once the murmurs quieted, he shot a withering look at Malfoy. "Are you certain?" It was then that Draco Malfoy took a deep, shuddering breath before saying words she had never heard come from his lips before. Their eyes locked as he said, "I'm sorry."
The Malfoy that stood before her now had come leaps and bounds since then.
He had a healthy glow about him. The near-green, sickly paleness about him was long gone. His platinum blond locks had clearly seen a salon. It had been cut short and found its shine again. Malfoy's features weren't quite so pointy anymore, either. Rather, they were now sharper and more defined. Sophisticated, even, although Hermione would never admit that out loud.
If there was anything good about Malfoy getting all his clothes tailor-made, it would be that it was easy to tell that he had gained weight in the last year. His body had filled out and regained most of its muscle. She would dare to say that he was nearly back in top Quidditch form. The defeated slouch and sluggish steps from the year before had completely disappeared. He held himself tall with an easy confidence once more, though with a notable lack of arrogance about him.
Another secret that would go with her to the grave: Hermione Granger was genuinely glad to see Draco Malfoy looking somewhat like himself again. That didn't mean that she wasn't thoroughly flabbergasted to see him standing in her place of business. Didn't he have other places to be? For instance, literally any other shop in all of Wizarding England? Why did he have to come here? Ginny looked every bit as shocked as Hermione felt. She, too, stared at the boy they once called "ferret" with a dropped jaw, bulging eyes, and her brows shot up nearly into her hairline.
What Hermione should have been prepared for was Malfoy sensing that he was being stared at. His head turned directly over to the counter where the two witches were gawking, admittedly like a pair of idiots. It was the first time the Brightest Witch of their Age could recall being unprepared for anything.
Hermione hated the way she instantly noted that the dark circles under his eyes had lightened, though they had not disappeared. She hated how the noticed that the molten silver she remembered had not returned, either. She vividly recalled them looking alive, albeit they consistently held nothing but malice and contempt before. They still looked dull; lifeless. Was it the war that took the life out of his eyes, or was it his sentencing? Better yet: why should she care? Draco Malfoy was absolutely none of her business. She did her part and testified for him. That is as far as anything between the two of them went and would ever go. It wasn't like they were friends or anything. She shuddered internally at the thought. No. Caring about whether or not a fellow classmate lived definitely did not equate to friendship of any sort.
Of course, even if she wanted to, it would be impossible to truly be friends with someone who reminded her of the darkest times of her life. A lot of those awful memories featured Malfoy, honestly, and the ones that didn't necessarily feature him, he contributed to.
She didn't doubt that he wanted to change, to be a better man, but that sort of thing simply couldn't be overlooked. The best Hermione could do was support his efforts to turn his life around... from a distance. A very, very far distance.
Malfoy relaxed into a casual stance, if that were possible, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. The corner of his mouth pulled up into an amused smirk as he strolled toward the counter, where the two witches instantly drew up straight. "Malfoy?" Ginny loudly blurted. "What are you doing here?"
"Shopping, Weaslette," the blonde replied, though both women noticed that his tone didn't hold a hint of malice. Ginny blinked rapidly for a moment as his gaze drifted directly to the brunette behind the counter. "It figures that I would find you in a book store, Granger." It took Hermione longer than she would have liked to process the fact that the words carried no hostility. No contempt, or anything. As a matter of fact, his words sounded... conversational? Shifting into what she thought of as her "customer" persona, she reached for the paper in front of her, trying to shove it under the counter before she spoke. Malfoy's eyes followed the action, and his mouth flattened into a tight line. "Can't even agree to go back to school without making the front page," he muttered.
Hermione shook her head, closing her eyes as she did so and took a deep breath. "No, I guess not." With her nerves settling, she looked back up at him and asked, "So, what brings you in here, Malfoy?" She didn't miss the way Ginny's head kept turning between herself and the man in front of her with careful skepticism written all over her face. Suddenly, Malfoy's head snapped towards the shop window, where a painfully beautiful dark haired woman stood. Hermione was certain she had to be at least part veela. Even looking around with a slightly panicked expression on her perfect face, she was completely ethereal with her flawless skin and unconsciously graceful movements.
"Nothing," Malfoy answered before turning his attention back to her. Hermione's eyes narrowed as he turned and walked back towards the front door. "I think I'll be going somewhere without a pest problem." Ginny reached for her wand, ready to hex him on the spot. "No!" Hermione warned. The bell above the door jingled once more just before Malfoy was heard saying, "And with less hair."
Hermione reached for her own wand as the door closed and bellowed loud enough to be heard by the couple outside her window. "THAT FOUL, LOATHSOME, EVIL LITTLE COCKROACH!"
Both girls missed Draco's unbridled laughter as he guided Astoria Greengrass towards Flourish and Blott's.