"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. You had a coffee date with Draco Malfoy?"
"Yes, Draco Malfoy. And no, it was very much not a date, and for Merlin's sake keep your voice down, Ginny!"
Hermione whipped her head to either side of the Weasleys' kitchen, but it was mercifully empty, save for her and Ginny Potter. Molly had asked the pair of them to retrieve a few extra place settings for dinner, and Hermione had leapt at the chance for some alone time with Ginny. Private conversations were such a rarity at the weekly Sunday dinners at the Burrow, and Hermione needed to talk about her strange encounter with someone not named Harry or Ron.
"But you go to a Muggle cafe. And he just sat down at your table?"
"Sort of. He stalked over in that arrogant way of his and accused me of stealing his table to spite him."
Ginny gave her a wide-eyed, searching look. "That's just so odd! Not the arrogant part, obviously, but the fact that you both visit the same place… it's weird. And that he managed a civil conversation with you."
Hermione furrowed her brow as she remembered their conversation. It had felt odd at first.
"How did he look?" Ginny's question broke through her reminiscence.
Lonely. Thin. Tired. Broken, but trying. Exactly like me.
"Lost." Hermione softly replied. Ginny nodded sympathetically.
"I can imagine. I don't think he really has anyone in his life."
"Girls!"
Molly Weasley's shriek broke through the quiet of the kitchen, causing both women to jump and almost drop the plates in their hands.
"Honestly, I could have come and gotten these plates myself in the time it's taken you! Come on now, you two can gossip later!" She chivvied them out of the kitchen and back to the dining room.
"Sorry Mum," Ginny offered meekly as they passed.
Hermione stuck close to Ginny before they reached the rest of the group gathered. "Ginny, don't tell anyone, please. About Malfoy. I think Harry and Ron would be weird about it. And it really was nothing," she whispered.
"Of course, Hermione, I won't tell."
Ginny kept half of her promise to Hermione. As she and Harry got ready for bed that night, she told her husband about Hermione's encounter with Draco. Harry placed his glasses on the night stand and turned to his wife with a frown on his face.
"Hermione had a coffee date with Malfoy?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "No, nothing like that. They just had a sort of… reconnection over coffee, you could say. Hermione said it was actually a pleasant chat."
Harry's frown deepened. "Don't tell Ron, all right? Hermione didn't even want me to tell you."
"I won't tell Ron," Harry promised her, and intended to keep his word. As Ginny drifted off to sleep beside him, Harry was wide awake. He remembered the discretion he once promised Draco Malfoy six or so years ago, when he'd received a visitor on his door step. He'd kept his word then, and had almost forgotten all about it. Harry pushed the memory away, but couldn't help but wonder about the path Draco's life had taken since the end of the war.
It was Monday morning, and Draco was wide awake at 5:05 AM. This time however, it seemed anticipation rather than pain had woken him at this early hour. Perhaps he should adjust his routine to just a bit earlier if his body clock was getting him up at this hour? I am in control of this.
He bought his coffee, and then waited at his table. This morning, Hermione Granger did not disappoint. She entered, dressed for work as usual, swept some hair aside and turned her head toward him. She gave him a small smile and a nod, then went to retrieve her usual order.
On her way out, she raised her hand in farewell, and Draco returned the gesture.
Well look at you, convincingly portraying a normal, functioning human. Draco told his taunting subconscious to fuck off.
For every day of the work week, Hermione and Draco performed their little polite social ritual. Draco avoided going to the café over the weekend, taking advantage of the rare nice weather to do some flying over the land behind his home. Did Granger go to the café that weekend? He decided he was entirely too fixated on what Granger did in her spare time, and so took to practicing a few dangerous broom maneuvers to distract himself. I am in control of this.
The next work week brought the same behavior and Draco accepted that it was now embedded into his morning routine. Get coffee. Sit down. Look up when Granger enters. Nod politely. Track her movements as she places her order. Return her wave out the door. Repeat Monday through Friday.
Trust Granger to flip the script of his new, carefully cultivated routine. Ten minutes after her usual arrival time on the third Monday of this morning acknowledgement ritual, Granger practically ran up to Malfoy's table.
"Couldn't watch this for me could you? Thanks!"
Before Draco could even begin to form a response, she dumped her bag and several notebooks right in front of him and dashed off to the counter. She was definitely having one of those mornings where she seemed somehow both over-prepared and overwhelmed for whatever was going on at her office.
Granger hurried back with her drink and began stuffing as much of her possessions as she could into her bag, which Draco could see now was magically expanding to fit the literal library she seemed to carry around with her.
"Cheers Malfoy, see you tomorrow!" And with that, she swung her bag over her shoulder and scurried out the door before he could even muster a "See you, Granger."
That had certainly been interesting. Hermione Granger had, for a brief minute, trusted Draco Malfoy enough with her personal possessions to leave them in his care.
They were not friends. They were barely acquaintances. And yet, she'd trusted him and then thanked him, for absolutely no reason.
The following work week, their routine remained the same. Though it may have been all in Draco's head, but it did seem as if her smile got a little wider each time. It started to look like a true smile, rather than a tight-lipped one of social obligation. But he surely imagined this.
Then one Monday, Hermione arrived about 15 minutes before her usual time. She smiled at Draco, but instead of continuing to the counter, she approached his table. Oh sweet fucking Merlin, what could she possibly have to say to him?
"Hi, mind if I join you for a bit? I've got some extra time before work."
Draco cycled through several responses in his head:
Why?
Seriously, why?
Is this a joke?
Do you think I'm a joke?
What the fuck has gotten into you Granger? Don't you remember every awful, horrible thing I said to you at school?
But he went with the more rational response of "Sure," and nodded his head at the empty chair across from him.
She smiled, again with the smiling, and set her bag down. "Do you want anything? The masala chai is my absolute favorite here, I get it every morning." So that's what she ordered.
Draco shook his head and indicated his mostly full cup. "No, I'm all set."
This was weird, right? Hermione Granger just offered to fetch him some coffee, like it was no big deal. Like he hadn't been a nasty, disgusting bully to her for years. Like she hadn't been tortured to near death in his own home. And now she was returning to a table they shared, like this was a normal, natural situation.
Hermione sat back down and blew on her hot tea before taking a sip. But instead of reaching down to extract one of the many papers or books hidden in the fathomless depths of her work bag, she asked him, "So, how was your weekend?"
How was my weekend? How was my fucking weekend? Fuck it all, if this was some weird, alternate dimension, then Draco was going to just play along until he was snapped back to reality. Draco realized he must have taken a bit too long to answer, because the pleasant look on Hermione's face was crumbling into one of doubt and concern.
Sorry, Granger, but I spend so much time in my own fucked-up mind that human conversation seems to have eluded me.
"Erm, it was fine. Did a bit of flying since the weather was so nice." Sweet Salazar Slytherin, he was talking about the bloody weather.
"It was nice, wasn't it? I actually went to my parents' for a visit and helped my mum put in a fence around the garden. But do you have to travel often on weekends? I'm not sure when you do your scouting since quidditch is in the off season right now."
"Oh, er, yeah, I usually go to the office during the week to file reports in the morning and then apparate to a couple teams' training sessions during the day. Scrimmages will be on the weekends, but it's just in the mornings and those don't start for a month yet."
Why was he yammering on about all this?
"It must be nice to get to travel so often, even if it's locally. I've put in requests for several international conferences, but we'll see which get approved by the budgetary committee. They definitely don't seem very keen on sending me to the goblin talks this year, but I've had success at the various discussions on Mer-people, which means another trip to the Mediterranean, probably next spring."
"I didn't know they let you leave the country so much, doesn't the Ministry fall apart without your brilliance?"
"Yes, and then I return and all is right in the world again, so you're welcome," she smirked at him over her cup.
Hermione glanced down at her wrist and drained her tea. "I'd better be off, see you tomorrow Malfoy."
She said it like it was normal, like he was normal. Draco ran a shaking hand through his white-blond hair. It was probably time to discuss this at his next appointment. I am in control of this.
Hermione was messing with his routine, again. Now the mornings began with her entering, sweeping pieces of her hair back, approaching Draco and asking "Mind if I join you for a bit?"
Draco would always respond "sure," and nod at the chair.
March 2007
On Wednesday, Draco left his office just before 11, and walked a few blocks further into Diagon Alley. He entered a familiar polished brownstone, and walked up one flight of stairs to Healer Browning's private practice. Draco was always exactly on time, meaning the front-desk witch would show him in directly, and he wouldn't have to bother with idle chit-chat.
Draco settled on a comfortable leather sofa and steeled himself for his monthly appointment. Across from him, in a high-backed leather chair, sat the only person in the world who knew just how far Draco Malfoy had come in almost nine years.
Draco had been assigned two years of mandatory healer appointments as part of his sentencing after the war. The appointments in the beginning were twice a week, and the first few months had been particularly rough.
Now, years later, Draco kept himself to monthly, voluntary, paid appointments. Only Draco's boss knew where he went every third Wednesday of the month at precisely 11 o'clock. But people in the quidditch industry kept such weird in-office hours, Flooing or apparating to various training facilities or to meet with players that no one else thought anything of it.
"Good morning, Draco, and how have you been since we last met?"
Browning began every single session with this question. A bald man with keen, almost-black eyes slightly magnified by his gold-rimmed spectacles, Draco would hazard a guess that he was in his mid to late 60s. Too old to have gone to Hogwarts with Lucius. A quill floated just beside the healer's chair, poised over the parchment and ready to record Draco's response, or rather, to record Browning's impression of Draco's response.
"Erm, fine, I guess." Draco never felt like he had an adequate response to this opening question. Oh fine you know, briefly suicidal, but now I seem to have entered an alternate reality where I meet up with Hermione Granger every morning over coffee and so the thoughts of self-harm have been pushed to the back burner for now.
"I see." Scratch, scratch, went the quill. "Anything specific you would like to add about your recent emotional state?"
Draco sighed. This was the dance they did every appointment. Draco gave a vague, non-descript statement about his feelings and Browning dug in and the quill scratched the parchment until Draco gave him an opening.
"Well I was having nightmares again." Scratch, scratch, scratch.
"And what did these nightmares entail?"
Draco shifted in his seat. He'd opened the wound, maybe Browning could suck out the poison.
"Erm, the usual ones. The Dark Lord making me torture people or he's torturing people… and that giant snake…" Draco shuddered as he trailed off.
Scratch, scratch.
"And did you take any potions to stave off these nightmares?" His tone was professional, neutral. Draco had been here long enough to know it wasn't an accusation, but a request for accurate information.
"No. I didn't use." Browning nodded, but offered no praise. Draco had been clean of Dreamless Sleep Potion for years now. He took a Calming Draught every now and then on really bad days, but that wasn't addictive.
"And how has work been?"
No scratching any more. He must have reached his conclusion of Draco's mental state already. No more need for quill calculations just now.
"Fine, same as usual."
"Have you heard from your mother recently?"
"Yes, she's still in Vienna, I think she may be extending her stay."
"And how do you feel about that?"
Draco shrugged. His mother was a grown woman with nothing but Draco to tie her to her home country. She could do as she liked. Plus it was easier to ignore Narcissa's passive aggressive comments about Draco's lack of a wife, or any sort of meaningful relationship, when they came via letter.
"It's fine, really. I think it's still easier for her abroad."
"And what have you been doing in your personal time?"
Ah, there was the million Galleon question. Browning knew Draco too well by now, and his previous month's surly responses of "nothing at all" and "just larking about on a broom" had surely gone down as "worrisome" on the parchment.
Well sod it all, there was no one else in his life he could talk to about the Granger situation. This is why he was paying Browning after all.
"I actually sort of… reconnected with an old classmate of mine." That was technically correct.
"Indeed? And where did this take place?" Though it wasn't evident in his voice, Draco speculated that Browning was surprised. After all, the only friend Draco even mentioned (or had, really) was Theodore Nott.
"At that Muggle café I always go to. Turns out she visits each morning as well."
"Was she a friend of yours from Hogwarts?"
Draco laughed, actually laughed, at his question. "Merlin, no. I'm certain that she hated my existence."
That's as much detail as Browning was going to get this time. Because Browning already knew all about Hermione Granger. There were probably rolls and rolls of parchment about Hermione Granger filed away from Draco's previous sessions. His first several years of healing had involved a lot of confessions and regret, about her, specifically. But he wasn't going down that road, not today. Scratch, scratch, scratch. That bloody quill.
"So was this an unpleasant meeting?"
"Erm, at first, but we managed to talk a bit. We haven't seen each other in years so I think it was more a shock than anything."
"And these meetings have continued?"
"Yes. She recently started sitting at my table with me."
"What do you talk about with her?"
Draco shrugged. "It's only been a few times. We've stuck to work topics."
"How does spending time with her make you feel?"
How did it feel? It felt like he was barely holding it together. She, of all people, should shun him. Or yell at him. Curse him. Spit at him. Take out her wand and blast him off the face of the earth. It was crushing guilt and relief and confusion all at once when he looked at Hermione Granger every morning. And she acted like everything was so bloody normal!
"Overwhelmed."
On both Thursday and Friday morning, Hermione asked if she could sit with Draco, and Draco now said "of course."
But over the weekend, alone in his large, country home, Draco was left to brood on this new peace with Granger. Surely she must have told Weasley about this? And Potter. Yes, definitely. They were probably having a right little laugh about Granger having coffee with the lonely, pathetic ferret every morning. The little ferret Death Eater who was so afraid of some wizarding establishments that he'd sunk so low as to have to patron a Muggle café.
Come Monday, Draco had endured a sleepless weekend and was in a rather foul mood. Then in came Granger, walking over to his table with that damn smile on her face as she pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. Wait a minute.
"Morning!" she said brightly. She took out her paper, laid it on the table, then walked away to get her tea.
But she hadn't even asked him if she could sit with him today! Just gone and plopped her crap down like she bloody owned the place and never mind what Draco thought! The impertinence on her part! I am in control of this.
And then she was back with her steaming mug and sitting down, again, without even bothering to ask how he might feel about her presence.
"Good weekend? I meant to take some time off and go see my parents again, but then did you see that they're discussing lifting that ban on unicorn hair in retail clothing? I had to send so many owls out, my home is starting to resemble a post office." She paused to breathe and sip her tea and Draco finally seized his opening.
"Granger." He said slowly. "What the hell are you doing?"
She stared at him, confused. "Sorry, what? What do you mean?"
Draco huffed in annoyance. "What are you doing here? With me?"
He was pleased to see a slight blush creep up her cheeks. Good, he had some effect on her, and now he wasn't the only one uncomfortable.
"I thought that, you know… I was just… did you want me to leave?"
"No!" Did his response need to be that quick and desperate? Now Granger only looked more confused.
"Ok," she began slowly. "I just thought that you were… all right with me joining you. If I've done something to offend you then I'm—"
"No! It's not that!" He cut her off because he knew exactly where her sentence was going and if he heard those words from her, he was going to need about 14 Calming Draughts to get through the day.
"Then what is it?" Oh Merlin, now she looked concerned and her pity was going to make him physically ill.
"Look, I just want to know… why did you approach me at all? Why do you keep coming over here every morning?" He hoped he didn't sound too pathetic, but fuck, he needed to know.
Hermione regarded him thoughtfully and he saw the comprehension dawning in her eyes. She knew exactly what he was asking.
"Every time I looked at you, I saw me." Draco noticed her hands were gripping her mug tightly, as if it were tethering her to the table. She took a deep breath and continued. "Please don't… please don't be offended. I know I'm over stepping. But I recognized a very specific look on you that I'd only ever seen when I looked in the mirror."
She stopped here, perhaps to give Draco the chance to yell at her or argue or simply walk out, but Draco felt as if an invisible force held him there and not for all the gold in the world would he leave right now. If there was just the slimmest chance that one other person on this blasted earth could understand, then he was going to take it. Even if that person was Hermione Granger.
"I don't think that I can explain it properly. I've been coming to this place every morning because it gives me the briefest of moments to exist anonymously. I don't have to live up to all the expectations around me. I can just be. I'm not 'the brightest witch of her age' or 'Harry Potter's brainy female sidekick,' I'm just a woman on her way to work who really enjoys her morning tea. But lately I think I'm relying too much on this feeling. I'm worried if I let this emotion take over… if I need to feel this way more and more… then what does that say about the life I lead?
So, recently when I kept seeing you here, I thought I imagined it. Every day I looked over at you just to make sure I hadn't dreamt you up. Because you were such a stark reminder of my hidden, magical life that I was pushing aside for the morning, but your presence kept shocking me out of it. And when you looked at me… I felt like you were maybe here for the same reasons as me. To just exist peacefully for this little bit of the day. Does that make sense?"
It did make sense. It made so much fucking sense to Draco that he felt a strange mixture of raw grief and elation coursing through him. But before he could give himself over to these feelings, he needed to know one more thing.
"And what does your husband think of our morning meetings?"
Hermione wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Who?"
"Your husband. Weasley."
"Ron!?" She let out a rather undignified snort of laughter as she giggled and Draco wasn't sure he got the joke. When she recovered from her giggling bout, she gave him the full answer.
"Ron and I haven't been together for quite a number of years now. We're still best friends, obviously, but no, Ron and I are neither married nor dating. He's been with Padma Patil for a while now, do you remember her?"
"I think so. Our year, Ravenclaw? Didn't he show her a spectacularly awful time at the Yule Ball in Fourth Year?"
"Oh yes, he made a fool of himself a few times over that evening," she replied with a smirk. "It's actually a rather sweet in-joke between the two of them now."
Draco sneered but decided to keep the derogatory comments about Ron to himself. "So tell me Granger, did you marry one of his many brothers? Weren't there another 15 or so waiting in the wings?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, and since it seems like you're going to interrogate me on how pathetically un-wed I am at my age, I'll save you the trouble. I'm quite unattached at the moment."
Draco blanched. "Oh, um, I wasn't trying to mock you…" Well great, she'd gone and assumed the worst of him, but she now looked equally as horrified.
"Oh! I just thought you… well it doesn't matter," she trailed off in a small voice as a thick, awkward silence descended around them. It was only fair of her to assume awfulness on his part. After all, what had he ever done to inspire any sort of faith that he wasn't always a ruthless bully?
I am in control of this.
"Well, turnabout's fair play, Granger. I get weekly letters from my own mother reminding me that I am, how did you put it? Pathetically un-wed at my age. She does also love to inform me that I have yet to produce an heir nor does it seem like I am even trying to succeed at relationship-building."
It was only a brief moment, but Draco caught her blink of surprise at his confessional olive branch before she offered him a tentative smile.
"That does sound rather interfering. My parents are mercifully not so nosy about my love life. Wish I could say the same for Ginny."
She looked down at her watch and frowned. Was she actually regretting having to leave his presence?
"I do have to get going though. See you tomorrow?" He nodded and she stood up to leave for work.
"Granger, wait." He was going to sound desperate and childish but he had to make sure.
"What you said… about why you came over to talk to me? You did explain it properly. I guess I just thought you might be… laughing at me," he finished bitterly, furious with himself for revealing his fear to her.
"No, Malfoy. I would never do that." Not even to you, was left unspoken but Draco could practically hear the words leave her lips.
He tried not to imbibe alcohol during the work week, but his conversation with Hermione this morning had him summoning the firewhisky as soon as he returned home from work that evening. He poured himself a tumbler and settled in front of the fire in his bedroom. Draco swirled the amber liquid around the crystal glass, while Hermione's words played back in his mind.
"I don't have to live up to all the expectations around me. I can just be." That's how Hermione had described her presence at the coffee shop. And though they could not be more different (pureblood and Muggleborn, Slytherin and Gryffindor, pariah and heroine) she'd said she recognized a sameness between them. If you washed away the specifics of their backgrounds and choices, Draco realized she was right.
Hadn't they both been just children, tasked with things most adults would have cowered from? They probably even shared a few overlapping nightmares. They had both survived, against all odds. And reading into her confession this morning, it seems they both were just doing their damn best to not crumble from within.
So she hadn't married Weasley after all. That was certainly an interesting fact. Draco had of course assumed they'd been unhappily married for some time now with at least four children between them. But then, if he actually thought about what he knew of Granger, and remembering her words today, it did make sense. Everyone in the world would have expected Granger and Weasley to do just exactly that. He wondered why things had ended between them, but knew he could never ask. Hermione seemed quite over that relationship if her giggling fit were anything to go on.
Draco downed the whisky in one gulp and decided he didn't much feel like eating dinner.
"Good morning."
"Granger."
Hermione sat down across from Draco with a shy smile and he quelled the urge to roll his eyes and make a biting comment. No need to be a prat so soon.
She looked tired today. Did she spend most of last night awake reliving yesterday's conversation too? He probably looked like a walking corpse.
"Malfoy, about yesterday…."
Oh, Merlin, here we go. Of course she would want to discuss her bloody feelings about their chat.
"Don't Granger, it's fine, just don't—"
"No, look Malfoy, I want you to know that I wasn't trying to—"
"Granger, seriously it doesn't matter, just forget it, and… bloody hell who are we kidding?" He hadn't meant to let his irritation seep through, but she had gotten right under his skin within one minute and his plan to be cordial was blown to bits.
"What do you mean?"
"Who are we kidding? You and me, we're not… well, it's just odd is all and don't you think it's naïve to pretend we're just old school chums reuniting? We were never that and you know it. There's too much bad history here."
Why, why, why was he doing this? Why did he feel the need to blow up everything in his life? Because of what you did. Because of everything you did. Especially to her.
"You're right." She replied quietly. Draco nodded sullenly, knowing that whatever these mornings had meant to him, that it no longer mattered. Granger would leave now, as she should, and he'd remain here. A nameless person in the world, alone but for the voices in his own head.
But she didn't leave. Instead, Hermione cleared her throat, pushed back some of her curls off her shoulder and held her hand out to him.
"Hello. I'm Hermione Granger."
Draco stared at her extended hand. His gaze flicked up to her brown eyes and he could detect no deceit, no mockery. Granger was all warmth and earnestness. He stared back at her hand and all it represented. A chance. A clean slate. And at this point for Draco, a lifeline.
He took her proffered hand.
"Draco Malfoy."
A/N: Thanks for reading! Next chapter in a few days.