A/N - So, this is my first time writing fanfiction, or anything creative really, and I'm finding it hard to resist reading back through what I've written and continue editing even after I've posted. Some of it is simple grammar or spelling corrections, other times it's adding more descriptive detail, but I'm rarely changing anything significant to the plot. All that to say, if you read this when I first posted you don't have to re-read to know what's going on, but if you do want to I'll post when each chapter was most recently edited in the A/N at the top. I'll also put some description of what was changed (unless it would be a spoiler).
Thanks for bearing with me as I figure out how to write a story, and hope you enjoy!
Edited: 7/26/22, spelling/grammar, added description of Draco and Hermione's apartments, added Crookshanks!
Edited: 10/09/22, spelling/grammar
Thursday, July 1, 1999
"I think that's the last of the boxes," huffed a young man, Theodore Nott, wiping the sweat from his brow. His dark, wavy hair was damp with perspiration and he quickly rubbed a small towel over it in annoyance. Helping Draco move into a fifth-floor walk-up on the hottest day of summer so far (without magic) merited an award in his opinion. It would be another two weeks before the floo connection request for Draco's new residence would be approved, leaving a rented lorry the only option available to them to transport his things from Wiltshire.
Fortunately, Theo had decided to get his driver's permit the year prior, and spent his 8th year holidays exploring the English countryside. He loved his friend, but Draco Malfoy was a sad combination of spoiled rich boy and clueless pureblood. He shuddered to imagine the outcome if the driving had been left up to him. Still, credit where it's due, it took guts to move out of his comfortable manor, leaving his mother behind to establish some independence in muggle London.
He also had to admit that Draco had good taste. The facade of the building was a Beaux-Arts style that looked like it was lifted directly from the 6th arrondissement, and the lobby and central staircase were decked in mirrors and gilded details. It was exactly the sort of frippery you'd expect from the home of an heir to a family that hailed from French noblesse.
Draco had furnished the apartment with several pieces in a more modern style though, including a grey couch with matching armchairs that resembled amorphous blobs and a glass-top dining table with seating for eight. Thankfully, he'd had a delivery service bring those large items up and only asked Theo for help with his personal effects (of which there were still far too many), else Theo might have been driven to homicide.
The flat in total was perhaps 250 sq.m. (a shoebox by Malfoy standards), but it felt even larger thanks to the 3-meter cielings. The entry had three doors, one on the left leading to what would be the floo parlor, one on the right that led to a small library, and glass-paned double doors straight ahead that led to a large open plan kitchen, dining, and living room area. A further door beyond the living room led to a hallway for the guest bedroom, guest bathroom, and the master suite.
"Where do you want this one?" He shouted over his shoulder. Muffled rustling from the room beyond was the only reply. "I said," Theo gingerly navigated the half-unpacked contents of the boxes littering the living room, moving towards the flat's master bedroom to get within audible range. "Where do you want the last box?"
"Hell if I know," grumbled Draco, who was wrestling with wooden slats and glaring at a set of furniture assembly instructions as though they had personally insulted him.
"Will you please just hire someone to do the rest? I know you can afford it." Theo had tried to make his friend see reason several times over the last few weeks, but was met with fierce resistance.
"Muggles can do this. So can I."
"Draco, it's not a question of whether you can do it..."
"No, that's exactly the question. The point of our probation is empathy. I'm trying to take this seriously." Draco had been surprisingly earnest and uncompromising in his acceptance of the terms of his sentencing following the war. He was allowed to return to Hogwarts to finish his education, during which time he'd kept his head down and achieved his N.E.W.T.s, but thereafter his wand had been confiscated forcing him to live like a muggle. Theo had been similarly stripped of his wand, but whereas he felt that the occassional use of wandless magic was acceptable, Draco chose to follow the spirit of the law rather than the letter.
It was only temporary anyway. Theo would get his wand back at the end of the year, and Draco would get his back the following June. Having been minors during the war, with ample evidence of coercion and duress, the Wizengamot had limited their punishment to equal the amount of time they'd spent serving the Dark Lord. They were even generous enough to count their time at Hogwarts as time served against their probationary period. Theo had felt surprised at the fairness of it all.
"Fine. Can we at least take a break then? It feels like it's forty degrees…" Draco nodded, throwing the pieces of what would ostensibly become his bedframe to the floor, and pulled open the french doors that led to the balcony. The air outdoors was no cooler than inside, but the breeze still felt refreshing against Theo's sticky, overheated skin. The late afternoon sun would soon dip beneath the height of the surrounding buildings and bathe the street in the shadows of early evening, hopefully cooling things down a bit.
"Thanks, by the way," Draco muttered quietly as he leaned against the wrought-iron railing and watched the cars pass below. Theo waved away Draco's awkward gratitude and offered his pack of cigarettes, lighting one for himself and taking a quick pull.
"So, what's the plan?" Beyond moving to London, Draco had been tight-lipped about his post-graduation intentions. Most jobs would of course be out of reach without a wand, but Theo had managed to arrange an apprenticeship with a magical metallurgist in Diagon Alley - a craftman named Elias Grimstone - who didn't ask questions about Theo's role in the war. The first few months without magic would be all grunt work, but he was looking forward to it nevertheless.
Draco sighed, blowing smoke up towards the clouds. "I officially inherited, you know..." Theo hadn't known, and his eyes immediately dropped to Draco's left hand where he caught the telltale glint of a platinum signet ring. Theo had a similar gold one sitting in a locked drawer of his desk at home.
"That's...surprising." As the last surviving member of the Nott family, Theo had also inherited, but most heirs received their signet ring literally over their father's dead body. Pureblood aristocrats were known to maintain control over their estates with an iron-fist, jealously guarding their legacies from even their own progeny. To Theo's knowledge, Lucius Malfoy was still very much alive, the consummate survivor.
"Yeah, well, with father in Azkaban for the forseeable future and mother spending more time in Paris, we did the ritual last month. My birthday..."
"Sorry I couldn't be there."
"Don't be. We just went to the ministry and filled out the paperwork. No pomp and circumstance."
"Well then, Lord Malfoy..." Theo drawled in a teasing tone.
"Theo..." Draco rolled his eyes and groaned. There was a time not too long ago when Draco would have preened at the title, but pride is one of the earliest casualties when you find yourself on the losing side of a war.
"Guess that explains why you haven't been fussed about getting a job. Taking care of the accounts?"
"Sort of. The goblins do most of the work. Not much to do, to be honest."
"Right, which is exactly why I signed up with Grimstone. You know what they say about idle hands..."
"If by 'they' you mean muggles, you know I haven't the foggiest idea," Draco parried dryly.
"Actually, neither do I," Theo admitted with a laugh. "But I heard someone say it once and gathered from context that it's nothing good. You need to find something to occupy your time or you'll go mad."
"I've been thinking..." Draco paused and draped himself over the balcony railing, languorously taking a deep drag of his cigarette to disguise the tension of his posture. Theo knew that whatever Draco wanted to say next was important, but was willing to play into Draco's feigned nonchalance if it would make him more comfortable. Draco had become closed-off lately - and who could blame him after having the Dark Lord as a housemate? - but as his friend of nearly two decades, Theo was an expert in coaxing him out of his shell.
Theo hummed lightly with polite curiosity, careful to gaze out to the horizon rather than attempt to make eye contact. A watched Draco never boils. Sure enough, after several minutes of companionable silence, Draco continued.
"I want to go to a muggle university."
Theo snuck a glance back over to Draco to gauge his sincerity. It wasn't fashionable to subscribe to blood purist ideology anymore, but there was a big difference between public and private views and many of the ancient and most noble families quietly resisted true change. Theo's family was now a lonely party of one, so there wasn't anyone left to steer him towards 'traditional values', but for Draco this would be an inflammatory act.
"I've read a lot of muggle literature about university life," Theo said in his most casual tone as though it was perfectly natural for the son of a notorious Death Eater to be well-versed in muggle culture. "Seems like it could be fun."
"You've read muggle books?" Draco turned to meet Theo's eyes, shocked out of nervousness. Theo was almost annoyed at the disbelief in his voice, but remembered laughing at the expense of muggleborns alongside Draco at Hogwarts. He'd played the part of dutiful, pureblood scion well. It would have been dangerous to act otherwise while his father was still alive.
"I have always hated my father," Theo reminded Draco. They both knew why. "And I may have indulged in the occassional teen rebellion behind closed doors."
"Fuck, he would have throttled you if he'd known. Are you insane?"
"Or thrown me down the stairs like my poor mum. Yeah, I might be a little unhinged."
Draco raked a hand through his hair in agitation. "I might be a little unhinged too...my mother won't like this."
"Mate, I get the sense that your mum is just relieved you're all alive. I'd be more worried about locked-up Lucy if I were you."
Draco huffed a laugh at Theo's cheek. "I can handle him."
"If you say so..." Theo trailed off in a sing-song tone of skepticism. Draco's daddy issues ran nearly as deep as his own.
"I just want to get away from it all for a bit. No one knows me in the muggle world. They don't know what I did."
"I get it." And Theo really did. He'd experienced his fair share of uncomfortable glares and confrontations, but the Notts weren't half as high-profile as the Malfoys had been at the height of the war. "Well, what pray-tell do you plan to study?"
"Chemistry," Draco answered with a surprising swiftness.
"Do you even know what chemistry is? Don't tell me you've also been secretly learning about the muggle world all this time." Theo lifted a brow in question. Draco grimaced and looked away again.
"No, I really believed...until recently...I mean..." Theo decided to let him off the hook and moved on from the uncomfortable topic.
"Chemistry makes sense. It's close to Potions and you were always a dab-hand."
"Yeah," Draco seized the lifeline immediately. "Yeah, I liked Potions. Anyway, I already applied and got in. The course starts in September."
"Wow, congrats. You're really doing this?"
"I'm really doing this."
"What about--"
"Hey, is that Potter and Granger?" Draco interrupted, squinting at the sidewalk across the street.
"I think so..." Theo was more than reasonably sure. Potter's glasses and Granger's messy curls were clearly visible even at a distance. Draco and Theo watched as Granger pulled out a key and shouldered her way through the front entrance of the opposing apartment complex. "Does Granger live there?"
"That'd be news to me. Wonder what she's been up to since graduation..." Theo didn't know any better than Draco so he simply shrugged, snuffed out the dying embers of his cigarette butt, and stretched.
"Come on, I can help you finish unpacking your bedroom and then you're buying me dinner."
What Hermione Granger had been up to since graduation was best summarized as hiding, or at least that's how Harry would describe it. No one had seen or heard from her in several weeks, until Harry had recieved an owl out of the blue inviting him to her new flat and mysteriously requesting that he come alone.
He'd been surprised to hear that she'd settled in the muggle side of London, but held his questions as he met her at Hyde Park Corner and followed her on foot to her new address. She'd explained that she hadn't had a floo installed yet, and apparently it was a complicated proccess since there wasn't an existing fireplace. She'd certainly found a posh neighborhood, half residential and half embassy enclave. Her tree-lined street was surrounded by a number of stuffy structures in a traditional style, but she pulled out a cardkey to swipe into the only new construction building on the block.
Her flat was on the ground floor and towards the back of the building, but recieved plenty of natural light from the floor-to-cieling windows that framed a view to the jungle-like garden terrace. The place was cosy, seemingly just one large room that had a small kitchen tucked in the corner, a bar with two stools, and a fluffy white couch. To the left there were two doors, one that must be a bathroom and the other maybe a coat closet. And in the far corner he could see a small staircase that presumably led to the loft that he could see the ledge of from the round dining table where Hermione had gestured for him to sit.
She looked tired -- not that he would say that out loud. He had developed the good sense not to comment on a witch's appearance in any way that could be interpreted negatively. He settled on a roundabout line of questioning instead.
"So, how have you been?" He winced at the lame opener and fiddled awkwardly with the cup of tea in front of him. The air conditioner in Hermione's flat was on full blast, so the hot beverage was welcome despite the sweltering heat outdoors.
"I can't come to your birthday party," Hermione blurted out, surprising Harry not only because it wasn't strictly speaking an answer to the question he'd asked but also because her voice was unnaturally high and squeaky. She cleared her throat and added "I'm sorry" in a more normal tone of voice.
"What--why? I don't understand…" Harry felt a dull pang of hurt as he processed that one of his oldest and dearest friends seemed to be pulling away from him. Hermione stared vaguely at a point in the middle distance over his shoulder and avoided meeting his gaze.
"I can't do it anymore... I can't... I don't want to be around Ron," her lower lip trembled and Harry instantly softened. He didn't know the details, but he did know that although his two best friends had been dancing around romantic affections for each other over the better part of the last four years, something had happened during their final year together at Hogwarts that had rather abruptly ended things. Oddly enough, neither Ron nor Hermione had offered Harry any information about what had happened.
"I know he's been an arse lately, but Lavender won't be there if that helps?" Worse than the flameout of Ron and Hermione's might-have-been relationship was that Ron had started dating Lavender again at the beginning of the summer. They were just as gratuitously affectionate together as they'd been in sixth year. Ron was Harry's best mate, but so was Hermione, and he found their public displays distasteful to say the least.
"It's not that," Hermione gave a weak laugh at Harry's skeptical look, "Okay, it's not just that. Now that we've graduated...I want a fresh start."
"Can I ask?" Harry swallowed thickly, unsure how Hermione would react. "What happened? Between you two, I mean."
"Ron did something... unforgivable." Harry's imagination ran wild with the possibilities of what her admission could mean and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "I didn't want you to have to take sides, and I'm still not really ready to talk about it... anyway, I'm planning to take some time for myself. Please don't be mad?"
Harry reached out to grasp her hand and tugged on it, silently willing her to look at him. When she finally did, he squeezed her fingers gently. "I haven't always been the most loyal friend to you Hermione--no, don't argue," Hermione had immediately opened her mouth to protest, but he wouldn't hear it. "I've made a lot of excuses for Ron's behavior in the past, and silently overlooked even more, but after he left us..."
The air seemed heavy with shared memories of a cold forest, an empty bed in their tent, and the burden of saving the wizarding world.
"He saved my life that day with the locket... he did, and I wanted that to be enough to fix things. But you saved my life too, so many times. More times than I can count, really..." Harry smiled at her, hoping the praise would stem the flow of tears that were coursing down her cheeks. "What I'm trying to say is that I won't make excuses for him anymore. Whenever you're ready to tell me what happened with you two, I'll listen, and you'll always have a place in my life."
It was messy, and they both knew it. Harry couldn't promise that Ron would never be around. One day, if Ginny would have him, Ron might even be his brother-in-law. But for now, he hoped that he had set her mind at ease that he wouldn't shut her out.
"Thanks, Harry," she sniffed mightily and rubbed the tear tracks off her face with her hands. "Just give me some time away from... all this. I promise I'll come back and be a better friend."
"You're already the best friend I could ask for," Harry enveloped her in a bear hug that was cut short by Hermione wriggling out of his hold.
"Oh! I almost forgot!" She exclaimed, jumping out of her chair and scurrying up the stairs and out of sight. Crookshanks, who had been dozing peacefully on his cat bed in a sunbeam, mewled balefully after her. He wanted to follow, but Hermione had set up a baby gate at the foot of the stairs.
"What's with the baby gate?" Harry called.
"Crookshanks is getting old," Hermioned answered. Then an ominous thump and a soft swear came from the direction of the loft. "He dislocated his hip the last time he tried to go downstairs by himself." She reappeared a few moments later with a small wrapped box. "Since I won't be at your party, I wanted to give you your birthday gift early."
"You didn't have to get me anything," Harry protested, as he did every year. It was still a novelty to get presents, and the embarrassment never failed to make his ears turn red.
"Nonsense. Open it!"
"Thanks, Hermione! Er-- what is it?" The gift box was about the size of a galleon and its contents seemed to be an even smaller box.
"It's travel-sized. Just tap it with your wand to un-shrink it." Harry did as instructed and the box promptly expanded to reveal a white briefcase with a lime green cross emblazoned on the front.
"A first-aid kit?" Harry guessed, having seen similar red crosses adorn the boxes of supplies in his primary school nurse's office.
"Close! It's a healer field kit!" Hermione sounded more like her usual self as she switched into lecture-mode. She reached across him to unlatch the kit and reveal its contents. "It's got several potions in this top part here-- murtlap essence for small cuts and abrasions, essence of dittany for more serious injuries, pepperup potion for long shifts, skelegro... you know all about that one... then on the bottom there's some bandages, burn paste, blood replenishing potion, a couple bezoars, and... this took me a long time to find... a small vial of phoenix tears!" Her face took on a stern and bossy look that hit Harry with a sudden wave of nostalgia. "Save that one for absolute emergencies, do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," Harry laughed. "This is amazing, Hermione. Really, thank you."
"I just figured that since you insist on continuing to fling yourself in the path of dark wizards, this is the best I can do to keep you safe. You're still sure I can't convince you to be Ginny's house husband instead?"
"Considering that we don't have a house, and I'm not her husband yet, yes I'm sure. I want to be an auror," Harry said emphatically, but with patience. He knew that Hermione was just worried. It was a dangerous career choice, and they'd both already had enough danger for several lifetimes, but Harry had grown to accept that he had a 'saving people thing'. "Now, tell me about your new job! Ginny said you bullied Kingsley into starting a new division?"
"I didn't bully anybody!" Hermione squawked. "Kingsley was persuaded to help me create a suitable position for myself once I explained the appalling operations of the DRCMC."
And just like that, the earlier tension was forgotten and they slipped easily into the well-worn grooves of friendship.
