Hi friends! This one-shot is a companion piece to the work-in-process, The Bright Green Blanket, following Hermione's experience that takes place around Chapter 10 of the story. It's going to reference things that happen in that fic, but if you haven't read it, then don't worry. It should still work as a standalone piece. If you want a TL;DR of TBGB to better understand this fic, then scroll down to the A/N at the bottom.

A new chapter for TBGB will be added either today or within the next few days at the latest.


Hermione Granger always knew what she wanted in life. Or at least she thought that she did. She would finish Hogwarts at the top of her class, awaiting multiple job offers at the Ministry. She would feel fulfilled, knowing that whatever she ended up doing would be helping others. Meanwhile, her social life would be as eventful as her career. She would have friends who didn't see her as the quiet and frizzy bookworm, and she would find a husband that she loved from the start.

Maybe she could have still had all those things, even after the war. She was a hero. She had Ron, and he would have given her the world. But then it all suddenly felt too scripted. She should have felt different, going through what she'd gone through. Knowing how everything could turn out started to make her nauseous, and her sudden doubts were only proven when Ron suggested that they start their family. Hermione thought that she had misheard him at first. Starting a family immediately after a war? When they were still children themselves? It was nearly a decade earlier than she could have anticipated having to answer that question.

Months of uncertainty came when she finally stood her ground. Had she made the right decision? Or the worst of her life? Maybe the Ministry would never hire her for real after her internship at the Wizengamot, and she would be trapped as the Golden Girl for the rest of her life. Too famous to work in a quaint little bookshop, but not good enough to do anything else. And maybe she threw away the only person who could love her.

The thoughts stopped when she saw Draco Malfoy sitting across from her in a room full of wizards, all of whom were to decide the boy's fate. They were two people with complete opposite upbringings and roles in the wizarding world. She should look at him with anger, hatred, and a thirst for vengeance. But none of those emotions bubbled in her stomach when she looked at him or spoke to him. Instead, she saw a boy that she barely recognised. One that she hardly knew at all. And somebody that didn't know her, either. But she wondered what it would be like to let him learn. And so she made it her mission. She would find a way to be in his life in a way that was different than their Hogwarts days. Maybe it would be a mistake, like the dozens that she had made before. And maybe, if she was lucky, she would have a new friend at the end of it.

Weeks later, after kindly forcing her way into Draco's life, she found herself waking up on his couch. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but there was something about the fire, the closeness of another body, and the comforting surroundings of hundreds of books, even if they were cursed to want to hurt her. Hermione woke that morning before her eyes opened, and a piece of her wondered if she would open them to find Draco Malfoy lying across from her, dreaming of kindness.

Draco wasn't lying next to her, as she soon realised. The only surprise that she found was that her body and mind felt well-rested, which was something that she had not experienced in months. Maybe not even since before the war. She had the energy to do anything. Maybe she could stay and help Tomsy the House Elf by making Draco's breakfast. She wondered what his favourite was. Or she could go and clean up the mess they'd made brewing a potion together the night prior. She could even sneak around the manor and explore. Hermione was sure that there were so many secrets hidden within the walls, and the idea of uncovering them made her fingers tingle. But then she imagined Draco, somewhere in the manor, and wondered what he would think if he found her there when he woke up. Maybe he was already mad at her for falling asleep and staying longer than she was invited. He would probably be frustrated at her for helping his house-elf or for sneaking around his home. She had to get out.

Before she could go, Granger was careful to bottle up the long-lasting Draught of Peace they had brewed. Her modifications had worked perfectly, but Hermione barely had the time to celebrate her success when she started questioning what she should do with it. Surely, she should be bringing it back home with her. It was her triumph. Months of research and potion-making, she had discovered something that nobody else had. But then she remembered the look on Draco's face whenever he thought about the past, or the future, or anything beyond what he was actively doing. And she decided to leave it, thinking that it might help ease some of his worries. And so, she left after she could overthink the short note she scribbled for him, tucked in with the blanket he'd left her with and a potion that his hands had helped her make.

The sun is finally welcoming the new day when Hermione walks back into her flat. The fresh air inside should comfort her. The orange peels sitting in the bin, the cans of muggle air fresheners tucked away, and the scent of Crookshanks' habits is what home should smell like to her. But walking in feels like returning from a vacation, where what was once familiar is now just a cruel reminder of the things that stay unchanged. She ignores the feeling; hopes it's fleeting and gives Crookshanks a scratch on the head before setting down her wand and peeling off the rest of her clothes.

She thinks twice before showering. Her body felt good and warm like nothing should be changed before she started her day. But she shoves these thoughts back and tries to clear her head, knowing that real work awaits her. She can't let her hobbies or friendships interrupt what really matters. So, she showers, scrubbing away the night before, spending a few extra minutes resting her forehead against the cold tile of her shower before she gets dressed for work.

Her day at the Ministry starts to go by in a blur. She writes up reports for members of the Wizengamot, detailing the upcoming weeks of trials and highlights complaints from the days prior. She fetches coffees for Elliada every hour and hangs around after each handoff, hoping for some positive feedback or more tasks to work on. Lunch finally comes, which is when Hermione would normally go to the shops just outside of the Ministry and buy a bagel, the same thing every day, but her routine already feels so thrown off that she decides to go back home instead. Her stomach doesn't want her to eat lunch, so she forces down some tea instead and paces back and forth, repeating affirmations about her job skills. Working is what you're good at. Focus on your job. This will get you where you need to go. You're focused, Hermione. Stay focused.

The hours after she returns to the Ministry go by much slower. Her usual hurried pace drops much slower, hoping the lag between tasks makes the time go faster. She asks everyone around her if they need help working on their projects. Most don't. And even if they did, they wouldn't warrant the help of the intern. She re-reads the Daily Prophet and the issues from the days before, just to fill the gap between when her evening comes.

There are letters waiting for her when she returns home, which Crookshanks has politely coated in his fur by using them as a place to sleep. Hermione's stomach does a summersault, wondering what they could be, and who they could be from, and imaging what they would say if they were from Draco. One ends up being a Ministry newsletter. Another is a muggle bill for her cable services. The third is from Ginny, asking her how she is been and if she'd like to catch up at a pub the following evening.

She quickly writes back in the affirmative, almost wishing that they could go now to provide her with a distraction from the millions of other thoughts that she needed to avoid in her mind. The emotions that she was feeling, a strange and cautious optimism, were too new to her to name. She was used to planning her actions around the threats of war or sorrow, and it seemed impossible not to want to do the same now when it wasn't warranted.

Her hands go back to the quill and parchment after sending off Ginny's response, and she starts writing out Malfoy's name. But then Ginny's comes back to her thoughts and the dread of wanting to tell her best friend about her new companion, acquaintance, or whatever it was that they were spills over.

Draco Malfoy's father had manipulated Ginny in her first year at Hogwarts. Not only that, but Ginny's very own partner had considered Malfoy a bully for years. She wouldn't think too kindly about him now. But she was also one of the most understanding women that Hermione had ever met. She was a firecracker, strongly opinionated, and refused to settle for anything less than she deserved. And with that came fierce protection for Hermione, who looked after her in a way that was different than the boys ever did. Maybe Ginny could understand if Hermione could craft the perfect story to help her. But then again, what exactly was it that she needed to justify? A friendship? Whatever would come next was not a question that Hermione knew the answer to. Maybe she could, if she was willing to ask herself, but she kept changing the conversation in her head as quickly as it came to mind.

She returns to her own library, far smaller than the one at the manor, to distract her for the remainder of the evening. Jane Austen is her pick of the night, as anything magical would be too much of a reminder about what she was avoiding. On another night, she might have just gone to visit Draco, to have somebody there to help make time move faster, but she was worried about having the conversation about her sleeping there. Would he be offended that she didn't stick around for breakfast? Would he bring it up at all? She needed some more time alone with her thoughts before going back.

Elizabeth Bennet was like Hermione in a lot of ways. They were both bookish, unconventional, and sometimes foolish. And as she spends the next few hours reading, Hermione finds that it is herself that she pictures in her head, playing out the scenes on the pages. She sees herself and Lizzie, too, being drawn toward someone cold and plagued with a reputation for being unlikeable. Draco wasn't exactly a Mr. Darcy. He was, to his benefit, much kinder and perhaps more understanding. But Hermione still starts to imagine his blond hair, long limbs, and clouded eyes when Darcy inserts himself back into Elizabeth's life. And when she's told that she's too generous to trifle with him, Hermione wonders what it would look like to have that conversation with Draco. To be so compelled to be honest, to speak about the things that so far needed to be left unsaid and left to their imaginations.

She knows how the book ends. Has read it before, sitting underneath the tree in her parents' backyard during the summer holidays at Hogwarts. She used to read it and wonder if it would ever be her and Ron falling in love like that, and worried that maybe they would never have such an impressive realisation of love. Reading it now, knowing what has changed, prevents her from finishing the final pages. She tucks it away, between her histories of magical inventions books, and tries to fall asleep so that the next day might come sooner. It doesn't, and she's left imagining the night before, until sleep appears out of nowhere, dreamless and unrestful.

Her day at the Ministry goes by the same as the one before. She looks at the owls swooping around outside, the interdepartmental memos whisking by her head, and thinks about her own correspondence. Nothing was stopping her from writing to Draco. But maybe she should wait for him to say something first. And if he never did, then whose loss would it be?

Hermione remembers to be excited for her dinner with Ginny. It would be nice to have the distraction. And as she rushes home after work, gets changed and heads to the pub, there are moments where she forgets to think about work or about Draco. It doesn't feel peaceful, though. Just distracted.

The women sit themselves at the back of the pub, a newer addition to the post-war Diagon Alley, and order a pair of Butterbeers. They catch up on work and the news, and act as if no time has passed since their last reunion. Finally, Hermione throws something deeper out.

"And how is Ron?"

"Hermione… We don't need to do that."

"I'm just curious."

"And how would you feel if I told you? Would you be thrilled if I told you he was miserable, that he didn't spend a day not asking how to win you back? Or if he was thriving, would you feel jealous that you weren't there to see it? Ron is just… Being Ron. You know him, you can probably imagine how he is doing. Let what you think he's up to be the answer."

Hermione wants to feel angry and pry deeper, demanding to know how Ron is doing out of sheer curiosity and desperation to hear news that brings her back to her old self. But she knows that Ginny is right, and that no answer would change how she is living her life.

"Okay. Then you can at least tell me how Harry is doing. I haven't spoken to him in a bit, but we're well overdo for a dinner."

"He would like that. You know him, just getting caught up in the work of the week. But he's good. We're good. It's nice to have time together where we don't have to worry about it being taken away."

Time without a prescribed ending. Hermione often felt herself wondering if that was what her relationship with Draco – or, friendship, whatever she could call it – would start to feel like as the days before his trial inched closer. She wasn't imagining what it would be like if he lost. Couldn't bare herself to. But it was a possibility, and if he had to spend the rest of her life in Azkaban, she would have to be comfortable with the time that they did have together.

Ginny is the one to bring up Draco.

"I heard that you were at the trial for the Malfoy family."

"Yes. Lucius and Narcissa were both sentenced."

"And Draco is back home?"

"Yes. Snape hired a lawyer, which nobody had anticipated. There are a few more months to go before they decide what his outcome will be."

Ginny leaves behind a few comments, mostly about Lucius, thanking the system for sending them away. The conversation starts to go by quickly, and Hermione wonders if this is her only chance to bring things up. Maybe she could get by without it. But then she wouldn't be able to stop wondering how it would have gone, so she takes another sip of her drink, shoves her fingernails into her palm, and does it.

"About Draco, actually…" Ginny raises her eyebrows. "With the way that things went at the Wizengamot that day… Well, I couldn't not go visit him. So, I did."

"And?" Her expression is unreadable now.

"Well, he's all alone there. You know? And it looked like he's had a tricky past few months. I wouldn't go so far to say that we're mates, but I have visited a few times."

"Merlin, Hermione. You can be friends with whoever you want, but really? Draco?"

"We have all done some bad things, Ginny."

"Yes, but how many of us have Dark Marks on our forearm?"

The image of it reappears in Hermione's mind. She thinks back to the first time that she saw it, back at school, or maybe it was that horrible night at the Manor when the snatchers brought her and the boys to Bellatrix. It didn't matter when it was, but she knew that it wasn't the same boy that she knew now.

"He's quite kind, actually. Especially now that he isn't spending so much time with his parents or his other friends. He grew up around a lot of bad influences."

"And we grew up around him, and maybe we're worse off for it."

"I don't think that's true."

"Are you telling me you've got a soft spot for him now?"

Hermione suddenly feels eager to keep defending him, and to make Ginny see what she has seen. But how could she when she wasn't sure if it would be worth it in the long run? Instead of retelling the times that they have spent together, Granger redirects the conversation elsewhere. Ginny accepts the change and is more than happy to start sharing stories and updates about the other students they went to school with. Many of them were already getting married, or having children, or gallivanting across Europe. There was enough to gossip and giggle about, and Hermione's mind finds peace for at least a few hours before she returns to her cold flat.

Three more days rush by. She works, reads, studies, and does all her chores and shopping over and over. She even re-reads Crafted Creatures, and lets her thoughts wander to what Draco's might have been when he read the same story. It's calming to her to know that they've shared the words somehow. Like their thoughts were undeniably in the same place, interpreting the same quotes.

No owls come from Draco. On the fifth day she wonders if she should be worried about him. She probably should have been even sooner, knowing how melodramatic he has been in the past. But she finally has time where there are no options to distract her. No work to be done, or friends to catch up with. So, she wanders over through the Floo network, and is greeted by the kind house-elf Tomsy. Draco is just freshening up, he says, and so she waits. And waits some more. And then when almost an hour is passed, she thinks about leaving. But when she turns to walk back to the fireplace, her feet take her to the sound of running water instead, and she walks into Draco's bedroom.

She wants to take a moment to take in his room. It smells so much like him; she wants to lay in his bed and get acquainted with the intrusion on her senses. But instead, she knocks on the bathroom door, hoping to get his attention and to announce her presence. Nothing comes, and worry appears. She knocks again, harder this time. Nothing. There are bottles of Sleeping Draught around the room, and few signs of movement over the past few days. Maybe he's fallen asleep in the shower. Or maybe he is just much more preoccupied with cleanliness than she'd imagined. But after knocking a third time, ear pressed to the door for signs of movements, she enters. It's dark at first, so she quickly illuminates the room with her wand, and prepares to need to shield her eyes in case she's walked in on something she shouldn't.

Instead, she finds Draco, back to the tile of his shower, sitting under the running water and surrounded by steam. His eyes are closed at first, but slowly blink open at the intrusion of light. Anger flashes across his face, but when his eyes land on her, there is a moment of relief that is unrecognisable on his face. His eyes close again, quickly, clearly tired. He's almost half-dressed, which concerns Hermione the most, although she's grateful not to need to ask him to cover himself. She tries to keep her eyes on his face, hoping to find out more about his well-being from the expressions hidden on it, but her eyes aren't as polite, and drift down to his bare chest, still covered in the faint scare from Harry's sectumsempra curse a few years before. It's quite beautiful, actually, the way that it paints his torso. Her heart softens, wonders how it must have felt to hurt so much, but it quickly redirects to the rest of him that is hurting now.

She fires off words of worry, about how long he's been there, and statements about what on earth he's doing. But she also turns off the water before approaching him and grabs a towel to give to him. She considers wrapping it around his shoulders or sitting next to him on the soaked shower floor. Instead, she hands it to him, happy that he accepts it quickly, and moves to find fresh clothes.

She turns, lets him get dressed and dried, and then leads him back to his bedroom. Hermione leans against the window, eyes full of concern for Draco as he approaches the bed and considers crawling in, going back to sleep. But then she's tossing him a Pepper-Up Potion, clearly eager to continue a conversation. She was concerned for him, and she was realising now that maybe it was because of how she might have played into his distress.

Hermione starts to make excuses for her absence, knowing that her quietness could have been understood as guilt to him. Guilt about spending the night, about becoming friends with Draco Malfoy, or about opening the door to something more. And while he wasn't entirely wrong, and guilt and nervousness and confusion had all crossed her mind, the idea of him blaming himself felt like a punch to the gut.

"Obliviate me," he asks her, twisting the pit in her stomach even more.

She wasn't about to agree, she knew that much. But the look on his face was filled with a desperation that she hadn't seen before, even when Ron had begged her to stay all those months ago.

"No."

"Please. Obliviate me." His words made her wince, and an image of running back home and hiding from his pain crossed her mind for a second longer than she would ever admit.

"No."

"Don't make me beg." Wasn't that what he was doing?

"No." She speaks this one for her own benefit, whispering it quietly enough that she wonders if he would even hear her.

"Then why are you here? Why would you come over? If you care about me at all, then you'll do this. Nobody has to know that it was you. Just do it, please."

Hermione knew now, without any doubt, that she cared for him in a way that she didn't expect to. She must have had to have started somewhere in their late nights. The feelings had grown during the pauses she took whenever they spoke, as if she had anticipated that he would interrupt her many stories with claims of boredom. She always gave him that opportunity, and he had never taken it. He had always let her finish, always asked a question that made her feel heard. And in return, she had made sure that he didn't go lonely in that cold manor, awaiting trial for something bad that he had undeniably taken part in.

Her final refusal is even quieter than the last, wondering if he's listening closely enough to hear the air between them. Another wave of defeat crashes against his face, and she can feel the weight that her presence has over him. And it makes her feel special, seen, and maybe even understood. She doesn't even have time to look down at his lips, to plan where she is going, before her body moves forward for her.

She brushes up against him slowly, gently at first, before realising that she must keep going before her mind stops her. She kisses him as if she's angry at herself, but whether it's for kissing him in the first place or waiting so long to do so is something that even she doesn't know. Her hands fly to the back of his head, pulling him closer to her than she'd ever thought possible. They weren't just breathing the same air anymore. They were sharing it, purposefully, and desperately.

He responds to the kiss in a slower, more guarded manner. She thinks its hesitancy at first and holds her hands in place even firmer as she fears that he will change his mind in between kisses. But he doesn't, and she is flooded with relief when his hands gently make their way into her air. Should she have brushed it more thoroughly? Would he be turned off by the thickness of her curls, the weight of her hairspray? Her worries sit with her until she feels a new wetness brush against her top lip, snapping her back to the moment. To the man that she had attached herself to. This is enough to convince her that she can start taking her time, and so she does.

Hermione lets her tongue travel further, gently lapping at Draco's until she's exploring the insides of his cheeks. Nothing else matters by the time he's tracing his hands down her back. Where will he touch me? The endless days of uncertainty wash away. Will his hands keep going lower? Her insecurity about the new inches added to her waist and to her hips disappear. Would I let him undress me if I wanted? Would he want to? There was no longer a Hermione Granger that existed outside of this moment. There was only the one that was feeling his warmth, his hardness, pushing against her. How does anybody ever stop themselves from begging for more?

His head finally tips back, giving them both the space to snap out of the haze of lips and tongues and fluttering chests. She opens her eyes slowly, blinking at him as if surprised by his closeness.

"Am I dreaming?" Draco asks sleepily. His hands quickly return to her face and he runs his thumb against her jaw, as if checking to make sure that she is real. Hermione considers moving her face against his hand, taking his finger into her mouth and sucking on it, desperate to taste more of him.

"Am I?" She asks, wondering if she would ever have a nightmare again. Hermione can't stop herself from falling back into him, kissing him with a similar daze. She can no longer decide what to do with her hands, eager to know what every inch of him feels like under her skin. But his hair feels like a good place to stay, and she tugs at it with desperation, wanting to keep kissing him until he's convinced that they are dreaming.

It's Hell when he peels himself away from her, and every nerve in her body screams to keep him attached.

"Obliviate me," he asks, more out-of-breath than before. "Obliviate me. Take away everything and leave that. Just that. Just these last few minutes. Please."

His pleads are even more desperate than before. Hermione doesn't want to consider it, to give more weight to the words that he dares to speak. But she knows that kissing him back isn't enough to fix what he is asking for.

"No," she says firmly.

"Why not?"

She wants to tell him that he can't obliviate himself now. Not when she can't go five seconds without thinking about him, or when he has finally started to share himself with her. How dare he want to disappear when he has proven that he's capable of growing up and away from the terror that he grew up with? But there isn't enough time to explain it all to him now, and maybe it would even spook him if she did.

"Because what if I want to do that again?" She settles with asking.

They look at each other. Not in their usual way, dancing between deciding who will speak first. Instead, their eyes lock onto each other, as if they are trying to merge their thoughts and become one, even if only for a few moments. She wants to fall back into him, to take his lips with hers until he takes her up to his bedroom. And as she wonders if he will, can see the thought dancing in his eyes, somebody dares to interrupt them.


Man, is it ever nice to take a break from writing first-person POV.

TL;DR for TBGB: Draco and his family decided to run after the battle of Hogwarts, but Draco is so full of guilt for his crimes that he turns the family in. His parents are both sent to Azkaban. Unbeknownst to the family, Snape had hired a wizard lawyer to defend Draco, who helps push back his trial date and keep him in Malfoy Manor until then. Hermione, interning at the Wizengamot, is the only person who comes to visit him. They find themselves drawn to the idea of friendship or companionship in the other, especially after everything they thought they knew changed after the war. After falling asleep at the Manor one night, Hermione starts to wonder how she really feels. And then you get this fic! If the rest of the story sounds interesting, then please give TBGB a try. It's still a WIP but we're getting near the end.