If he hadn't made such a grand fuck up of the situation with Granger, he would have been excited to see her again. She had invited him to her flat and, while Draco had been hesitant, it was probably for the best that they didn't have such a conversation at a public venue.

True to his word to Potter, he intended to come out with the truth―or at least a sliver of it―to see if any part of her memory might be triggered organically.

But Merlin, if he wasn't convinced it would go poorly.

She lived in a small flat not too far from the campus of Queen Mary University. He arrived outside of her designated suite number, nerves already clawing up his throat. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, warmth swelling inside of him. Then he rapped sharply on the door.

Moments later, it swung open, and Granger beamed at him. "Hi," she said brightly, stepping back to allow him entrance before sealing the door once more.

Gazing around the entrance of her flat, he gathered his bearings. Directly off the entryway was a sitting room that fed into a kitchen, and a corridor went the other way.

He didn't know exactly how he anticipated the conversation to go. It had loomed heavily over him all day with no inkling on how she would take it; he could never forget that she had hit him once before.

"I was just going to make tea," she said, "unless you'd like something stronger?"

Draco slid his hands into his pockets with a nervous chuckle. "You know I can't say no to your tea."

Casting him a smile, she made towards the kitchen. "How was your day?"

He trailed after her, eyeing a piece of artwork on the wall nearest him. Dreadful. Abysmal. Nerve-wracking. He drawled, "It was fine. How about you?"

After fixing the kettle on the stove, she turned back towards him, leaning against the countertop. "Uneventful. Better now that you're here."

Draco couldn't quite help the smile that curled his lips at the genuine warmth in her words. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close for a moment. He released a long breath and planted a kiss on her temple. "Same."

In his hold, her form felt exquisite, as though they were made to belong together. Just in case it was the last time they spoke, he wanted to enjoy the moment.

When he released her, she smiled up at him again. "Raspberry herbal?"

"Sounds perfect." Draco peered around the small kitchen and its modern, well-organised features. A number of Muggle appliances sat on the counter, and he couldn't tell what purpose most of them served. "I like your flat."

A hint of colour flourished in her face. "It isn't much―I'm sure it isn't anything compared to what you're used to―"

"I think it's wonderful," he said quietly. "It's not that different from my flat, anyway."

"I wasn't referring to your flat," she teased, reaching into a cabinet to draw out a tea service, "but your manor. Just the sound of it is intimidating."

Idly, he thought back to the time when she had visited the manor, and a little of his determination faltered. Her life now was so much simpler than the youth she'd grown up with, surrounded by war and strife and pain. But he knew the desire to understand swelled within her soul as it always had.

"Honestly," Draco drawled, peering at a copy of that morning's Muggle newspaper on her island. "The manor itself is lovely. It's old but well-kept, and the grounds are beautiful, especially in the summer. My mother tends prize-winning gardens and―" He caught her gaze, lips twitching. "I like your flat better."

Granger tittered as she poured two cups of tea and placed them onto coasters atop the island; they settled into a pair of tall stools.

"I'm sure it isn't the manor itself that you don't like," she said quietly, "but I can't presume to know what exactly you faced there to push you away."

Draco took a sip of his tea, staring at her for a moment. His heart clamoured in his chest; now that he was there—and they were together—he knew he had to tell her. The longer he delayed the matter, the worse it would become.

He set his cup down, staring hard at the surface. "What if you did?"

She sat in silence for a moment, and he chanced a glance. "What do you mean?"

"If you knew something about it before."

The remaining warmth dropped from her face, replaced with beseeching eyes and a furrowed brow. She carefully settled her own mug. "What are you saying, Draco?"

Blowing out a long breath, he clenched his jaw and stared at her. "Look, this isn't exactly―I didn't know how to bring this up, and now it's..." Shaking his head, he trailed off. "I used to know you. Before."

Her only response was a sharp intake of breath.

Silence hung between them for so long, her gaze locked on him, that he looked away, searching for any words he could possibly say to make it better.

"You've been lying to me?" she finally asked, her voice calm but whisper-quiet. "All this time, you've known more than you let on?"

"I didn't know anything at first," Draco muttered, unable to quite meet her eye. "When I first saw you, I was―I'd thought you were dead. I didn't know what to say."

"You've had plenty of chances to say something," she said, her voice raising a little.

"I know." Scrunching his eyes shut, he dragged a hand through his hair. "I don't have any excuses as to why I've put it off, and I'll understand if you don't want to see me anymore. I only thought a reminder from your past might jar something."

When he looked her way again, a flicker of curiosity sat in her stare. "I don't know anything about that. But you've obviously come here tonight to tell me, so... tell me." Her voice fell to a strained whisper. "Everything, please."

Lifting his brows, Draco swallowed and nodded. He fiddled with the handle of his mug before taking a quick sip.

"We met at eleven. Do you remember meeting Harry Potter? My colleague." Her eyes widened, but she remained silent. "The private school we told you about―you went there, too. He was your best friend, Hermione."

"What?" she breathed.

"That's your name," Draco went on. "Hermione Granger."

"Hermione." She tested the word quietly. "Is that what you called me? That first day? Granger."

"Yes." Anguish pulled at her brow, and he pressed on, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage. She deserved as much of the truth as he could share. "Your parents were originally from London, but towards the end of our school years, they moved to Brisbane."

"Brisbane," she breathed, and her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

Draco took another swallow of his tea, drumming his fingertips on the island. There were so many things he wanted to say, and he didn't know how to get through it all—whether she would even allow him. "You and I did not get along. My friends hated your friends, and it grew worse in later years. I was a prejudiced, spoiled shit and..." He trailed off, swallowing. "I treated you miserably."

Although he could still feel her eyes on him, shame swept through him, and he couldn't handle the coldness he was sure to find there.

"Do you remember what I told you about my father? And how I almost ended up in prison alongside him."

"Yes," she whispered.

"I had a lot of hard lessons to learn, then," he went on quietly, "and I'm still trying to deal with some of them now. I should have told you sooner, but I never meant to hurt you. I'll answer any questions you have."

Granger sipped her tea in silence, but he knew better than to think her brain wasn't spinning below the surface. At last, she said, "And how am I ever supposed to trust anything you say to me again?"

"I don't know." His stomach churned with nausea, blood pounding behind his ears and edging towards a migraine.

"Were you ever going to tell me any of this?" she asked, that same unnerving calmness in her voice. "And why are you telling me now?"

Draco swallowed, searching inside himself for courage and coming up short. "I don't want to lose you. But it's more important that you know who you are."

"Okay," she whispered, "then who am I?"

"You are Hermione Jean Granger." He stared hard at the ceiling. "Brilliant―you consistently beat me out for top grades every year. Your parents were Richard and Jean Granger, both dentists. You're incredibly brave and fiercely loyal. You had a lot of friends, all earned of your own merit. You and I would never have looked twice at each other back then."

He caught her gaze for a moment, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. "Most importantly―you're exactly that person now. Because even though you lost your memory, you didn't lose your character, or your integrity, or the absolute beauty of your heart." He lowered his breath, chest clenching tightly. "And I wish you knew how incredible you were―and still are."

Silent tears tracked down her cheeks as she stared at him, her lips parted in despair. "I don't remember you at all." Deep, lingering pain etched itself into the lines of her face. "What happened to me?"

"That I don't know," Draco said. His throat felt impossibly dry, and he took another sip of tea, the tangy sweetness strong on his tongue. "I didn't see you for a while after school, and all I heard was that you'd gone missing and then eventually, you were presumed dead. I looked into your case after seeing you initially at the tea shop. The trail went cold even before making it back to England."

She sniffled, swiping at one eye. "Dead." She shook her head slowly, confusion mingling with the anguish. "Why did I have false identification on me, then?"

"I can't say. The circumstances around your trip to Australia are unknown to me beyond a visit to your parents. Potter might know better."

"And he was my friend?" she asked with a thick swallow. "Why didn't he tell me any of this?"

Draco peered at her for a moment, hating the way she flinched from his presence. "We want to help you regain your memory, and the safest way to do that is to allow it to happen naturally."

"How is that even―" Grinding her jaw, she rose from her seat and paced the small kitchen. "Don't you think if that was going to happen, it would have already done so? I've been dealing with this for years."

Beneath the sadness in her words, Draco could hear the anger. The betrayal.

"I don't have any better answers right now."

She worked her jaw for a moment, staring at the far wall. "So you say you want to help me, but you've been lying to me all this time. Has this all been some cruel, horrid joke or something?" Tears streamed in earnest down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms across her front as though to protect herself. "I hate that you've kept this from me."

Leaning an elbow on the island, he dropped his face into his palm. "I hate myself for it, if it helps. I just didn't know how."

"So you let me believe there was actually something here―"

"There is," he pressed, looking up at her. "Or was."

She rubbed the tips of her fingers against her temples. "But you said we've always hated one another."

"We did."

"So why would you possibly―"

"Because you didn't look at me like you hated me."

They both fell silent, and Draco felt heat flare in his chest and throat, clawing up into his face at the admission. Her eyes landed on his, watery and filled with indecision, and his heart locked up as he stood and crossed the kitchen. He could see in her face that whatever might have once grown between them was gone.

"I never meant to lie to you, Hermione." Her eye twitched at the name. "I know I've gone about all this in the worst way, but when I stumbled across you, I genuinely didn't know what to do."

"If you wanted to help me," she whispered, "you should have told me. Because right now, I feel like I can't trust anything you're saying." She glanced away, pressing her lips into a thin line. "And I don't know how to wrap my head around any of this right now. I don't know if I have anything to say to you."

Even though he suspected that would be the case, Draco reeled at the way her words slammed into his chest like they carried physical weight. He forced a thick swallow, everything within him roiling against the thought that he might never see her again.

"I'll go, then."

She swiped with frustration at her eyes again. "Yes. No―I don't know." Despair still drew at her face, but she shook her head as though to clear it. "I don't know what to think anymore, Draco."

"You don't need to figure anything out tonight," he mused, offering his best effort at a smile. "And if you don't want anything more to do with me, I'll leave you alone. I just need you to know I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know," she breathed, and after a moment, she shifted closer, banding her arms around his middle.

Draco drew her closer, basking in her touch. The embrace felt like a goodbye.

"I need some time to think," she murmured against his chest, then drew away. "And I don't know anything else right now."

"Of course." He wanted to challenge her decision, to show her how important she had become to him in such a short amount of time, but a cold melancholy crept into his soul, sapping his energy and pushing his brain to shut down. "If you decide that you want more information…"

"Okay."

Shame and devastation swept through him as one, and he allowed himself one last moment before he made for the door. Granger followed at a distance, eyes red and dried tear tracks on her cheeks.

Before he could reach for the handle, however, she said, "I have one question before you go." He froze without turning around, heart racing as he waited. "How much of this between us was real?"

A harsh breath fell from his lips. "All of it." He turned the handle, offered a soft, "Goodbye, Granger," and left her flat.


"What's the matter with you?" Theo asked, peering at Draco overtop his ale. "You've been moodier than usual tonight."

"Nothing's wrong," Draco replied, taking a deep swig from his own glass. "Just a long week."

Although Theo rolled his eyes, his visage rife with disbelief, he didn't press. "Fine. But honestly, if you need to talk about it―"

"I don't."

"Fine." Theo pursed his lips, staring around the pub. "Is your mother faring better now that she's back home?"

The topic was hardly one Draco wanted to discuss any more than the reason behind his attitude, but at least it was something he was able to answer. "Not particularly. She's so damn stubborn about all of this that she's already driving her healers crazy. And they still haven't figured out a proper course of treatment."

Theo shook his head. "Sorry, mate. I hope she's back on her feet soon."

"Honestly, same. For as much as she and I get one each other's case, I hate seeing her like this."

Sinking back into his seat, Draco dragged his fingertips through a ring of condensation left on the table by his drink. In actuality, he had only owled Theo to go for drinks to get his mind off the guilt that had lingered within him for days already. It had been a physical and mental effort to keep from going to Granger's yoga class that afternoon. A part of him had considered going anyway, and an even smaller part had hoped she might have invited him.

He hadn't heard a word from her in the days since they had spoken at her flat.

The worst part was that he wasn't surprised―and he didn't blame her.

But Merlin, if he didn't hate it.

"You're honestly not going to tell me what's eating you?" Theo asked, his face surprisingly sincere. "I've known you since we were children, Draco, and if you don't know you can trust me by now." He fell silent and clenched his jaw. "Anyway―if it's something to do with yoga girl, I'm sorry."

Draco stared at him, exasperated. "Yoga girl isn't a thing." He didn't want to think about Granger, or talk about her, or imagine the brightness in her eyes that she had once reserved for him because she would never look at him in that way again. "How's Potter? You haven't told me anything about him, which either means it's nothing, or it's something, and you're afraid to get your hopes up."

Theo thinned his lips, brows shooting up high. "The second one."

A chuckle fell from Draco's lips, the feeling unfamiliar. "Fascinating," he drawled. "I am a little surprised, but not. Maybe if Potter's soft for you, he'll stop giving me such a hard time at work." They exchanged a glance, and Draco shook his head. "Probably not, yeah."

"Probably not," Theo agreed. "But I have enjoyed our time together. We've only seen one another a few times, but I think I don't mind him. All things considered."

The cryptic response coming from Theo was almost equivalent to a profession of intent.

"That well, eh," Draco murmured, taking a sip of ale. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're happy. And if that changes, I'll kick his arse for you."

"Please," Theo scoffed, "I'll kick his arse myself." They shared a grin. "I would like to kick someone's arse on your behalf, though. I can't remember the last time I've seen you so despondent."

"It's nothing, I swear." Finishing the last of his drink, Draco swept a hand through his hair. "Just a slump. I'm hanging on by a thread at work; my mother's very sick; I just need some time to get myself settled."

Theo released a long sigh. "Look, I didn't want to bring it up, but Harry mentioned you two came across Hermione Granger." The blood in Draco's veins turned to ice as his head snapped up and his hand clenched around his drink; Theo's shoulders sank. "And judging by the look on your face―"

"What did he tell you?" Draco ground out through clenched teeth.

Theo's face softened. "Not nearly as much as you just did."

"It's nothing," Draco repeated quietly. He ought to have known Theo would see right through him; the inverse would have been true had the tables been turned. "We went out a few times, but it was never going to work. She doesn't even bloody remember anything about me."

Humming, Theo took a long sip of his drink, then looked around the pub again as though Draco's words hadn't even registered. Finally, he released a long sigh. "That's what you were asking me about―a few weeks ago."

"Right."

"And if she did?" Theo asked. "If she remembered you―would it be the worst thing?"

"You remember how I used to treat her, I assume," Draco drawled, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. "And it's irrelevant because she hasn't spoken to me since I told her we knew one another before. She doesn't want anything to do with me."

Theo offered a wry, half-hearted shrug. "I mean... I don't think you're the same arsehole as you were at sixteen."

"Irrelevant," Draco snipped again, unwilling to even entertain the thought.

"I can only imagine it must be one hell of an adjustment," Theo went on, finishing the last of his drink. "Maybe she just needs time."

Draco didn't want to talk about her, almost as much as he wanted to talk about her. He wanted to see her and apologise, and he wished she would even so much as entertain the thought of giving him another chance.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Draco said, the words falling more assertive than he had even intended. "I fucked it up, and that's all there is to it. If she never wants to speak to me again, I won't be surprised."

Theo cocked a brow, but he didn't say anything more about it. Instead, he only waved towards the server with a grimace. "It sounds like we need another round or three."

Releasing a heavy breath, Draco felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over him. He hated the way the situation had drained him of everything, when already, he had so little left. "Thanks, Theo."

With a thin smile, Theo clapped him on the shoulder. "Nothing like drowning one's sorrows in alcohol, yeah?"

Draco snickered. "Cheers to that, mate."


Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you (sort of) enjoyed the chapter. I'll be posting a smutty one-shot for Draco's birthday tomorrow to make up for it XD

Alpha and beta squishes to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.