November 2007
He could do this. He could totally, completely do this. It was absolutely within the capabilities of Draco Malfoy to ask Hermione Granger if she would like to grab dinner some night this weekend. He would be the height of casual when he asked. As friends. Well, almost friends. What would you call the pair of them?
It was Draco's monthly appointment and Healer Browning had finally convinced Draco that this was becoming ridiculous. It of course didn't prevent him from lashing out at the older man.
"If you think I'm acting childish, then bloody well say so!" Draco seethed at him.
Browning merely raised an eyebrow over his spectacles and met Draco's furious glare with one of patience.
"Do you think you're acting childish?"
Draco threw up his hands in frustration. "Well I don't fucking know, that's why I come to you! All I want to know is how I'm supposed to ask her to dinner!"
Browning met him with another calm stare, not once giving in to Draco's emotional outbursts. "You use your words Draco, a simple, straightforward question."
"But I don't want her to think this is uh, a… date or anything…"
"You don't?"
"No." Liar.
Wait, what?
"No," Draco repeated firmly, ignoring the little voice in his head. "A platonic outing. I want to see if she's open to that… because you know, we spend all those mornings together and it feels odd that we haven't… progressed beyond that." Because apparently progressing in friendship with Granger is something I want now. I am in control of this.
Scratch, scratch, scratch went the floating quill.
"Well Draco, I have to admit I think this is a phenomenal step forward for you. Inviting someone out for an activity without a guarantee that they will accept shows a willingness to be vulnerable."
Draco shrugged and tried not to shudder at the healer's mention of vulnerability. Because that's exactly what Draco was in the presence of Hermione Granger. Overwhelmingly vulnerable.
Monday morning came and went. Every time Draco opened his mouth to ask Hermione about dinner on the weekend, some stupid, banal question popped out instead.
On Tuesday, Granger commented on how tired he looked and bought him an extra cup of coffee unprompted, but did he thank her and ask her to dinner then? No, he snapped at her like a surly prick to mind her own sleeping habits, and mulishly drank the coffee she brought him. To her credit, she only briefly smirked when he quietly thanked her as they walked to work.
Wednesday was definitely the morning that Draco was going to pose the question of a weekend dinner. But then Hermione went into one of her passionate monologues about using her Ancient Runes knowledge in studying and relating to some of the oldest Mer-people tribes in the Mediterranean and Draco found himself rapt with attention as she chattered all the way down the street. By the time she waved goodbye, he remembered that he only had two days left in the week to accomplish his seemingly simple task.
And now it was already Thursday and Draco still hadn't asked Hermione about her weekend plans.
"Have you ever visited Venice?"
Her question interrupted the inner pep talk he was giving himself and sufficiently distracted him for the moment.
"This upcoming spring there's an academic conference on the communication methods of magical civilizations and you have to submit a formal proposal for your attendance. They usually don't send someone from my department, you know, because Merfolk liaisons have their own office in the Department for International Magical Cooperation, but given my interest in Ancient Runes—"
"Don't you mean your utter brilliance and unmatched skills in Ancient Runes?" He interrupted with a smirk. Hermione flushed prettily at his compliment.
"Well, I don't know about all that..." she muttered bashfully and bit lightly on her smiling lips.
"What about Venice?" Draco steered the conversation back to the original topic so she might stop biting her lower lip and he could go back to ignoring that his stomach gave a curious flutter at her reaction to his words.
"Right, so as I was saying, I'm submitting a request to attend the Venice conference to my department head and if that gets approved then I have to work on my submission to the conference review committee, and do you recall yesterday what I was telling you about the ancient Mer-people tribes?"
"I do," Draco cut in eagerly. "You were saying that some of the oldest Mer-colonies were only recently discovered off the Italian coast and that some of them didn't even speak Mermish but rather resorted to runes carved on their dwellings and stone tablets to communicate."
"That's right!" And she beamed at him. For Salazar's sake, did no one in Granger's life listen to her when she spoke? She always looked like she wanted to bestow him with an Order of Merlin, First Class, any time he was able to recall something she'd previously said in conversation.
"The conference is a whole week, and I hope to have at least some free time in the mornings or evenings to explore the city. I know they have one of the oldest magical libraries there with scrolls from—"
"Granger, seriously? You're going to Venice to hole up in the library?"
"Well then tell me what I should go see then," she answered with a withering glare. "I take it you've been before?"
"Of course," he sneered, though these days it lacked any malice behind it, at least when it came to Granger. "I'll give you a list of restaurants and wineries. And if you don't make time to visit the Bridge of Two Suns then don't bother going to Venice at all."
"Ooh, what's that? I've never heard of it!"
"What's that Granger? Did you just admit I know something you don't?" he drawled and earned himself an eye roll. "I'm not sure of what the Italians call it, but there's a bridge over one of the canals that operates under some very ancient magic. If you stand on the bridge during sunset and face east, a sort of viewing portal appears and you can see tomorrow morning's sunrise. No one really understands the magic behind it, but the locals use it as a sort of weather predictor for the following day."
She was staring at him while he spoke with that sort of wide-eye fascination and slightly parted lips that set off a curious reaction in his gut as of late.
"Wow, it sounds beautiful, thanks for the recommendation!"
And then there was that. The constant thanking him for the simplest of things. Fuck, you'd think he'd given her one of his kidneys by the sincere way she thanked him all the time for just talking with her or getting her tea or recommending a wine.
"We should get going, I think," Granger's voice broke through his inner monologue and Draco began to panic. His task of asking her to dinner remained unfinished and he was almost out of time. They walked in companionable silence to their normal separation point in front of the Leaky Cauldron, but internally, Draco was a nervous wreck.
"See you tomorrow Malfoy!" she chirped and began walking away. Do it now, do it now, do it now. I am in control of this.
"Hey, Granger, wait!"
She turned around and gave him a curious look. The brisk November breeze played with the ends of her curls and Draco counted the little puffs of her breath made visible in the cold morning air. He then counted several heart beats before he closed the short distance between them, feeling more foolish with each step.
"Tomorrow's Friday." Wow. Smooth.
She gave him a confused stare at his obvious declaration. "Yes. It is."
If someone could just Avada him right now, that would be awfully convenient. He took a deep lungful of chilly air.
"Right, well, do you have any plans? In the evening, I mean, obviously you're working during the day." Salazar's fucking arse, could he be any more awkward?
Granger continued her stare of confusion. Come on Granger, put it together, please put me out of my fucking misery here. "Er, no I don't. Why do you ask?"
Damn it all, he really was going to have to say it. Coward.
Another deep breath. "If you're free in the evening, which I guess you are, because you just said… would you be up for grabbing some dinner out?"
Her eyes became impossibly wide in shock and Draco wished he could stuff the words right back in his mouth and then obliviate the both of them. That not being a realistic option, he tried to desperately remedy the situation.
"It would just be to talk over dinner, not like a… uhh… well, we could talk more about Venice without having to rush off to make it to work on time." He'd been uncomfortably close to using the word "date." Why was he such a bumbling fool all of a sudden?
She still couldn't seem to shake off her shocked expression. "You want to have dinner together?"
Draco rolled his eyes mockingly and made a stab at his usual sardonic tone. "Why yes, Granger, I do believe that's what I asked. Will you join me or not?"
She finally quit gaping at him like a fish and regained some of her composure. "All right then. What time?"
Merlin's beard… that meant yes, right?
"7?" Draco had already made a reservation, but he wasn't about to let that slip.
"Where?"
"Have you been to The Wilting Rose? It's in the theatre district." It was one of the only restaurants Draco frequented anymore in Diagon Alley.
"I haven't! I suppose I'll be trying it with you then! Still on for coffee tomorrow morning?"
"Of course Granger."
"See you Malfoy!"
Was he imagining it or did her smile look a little brighter as she turned to leave? Draco shook his head and made his own way to work and tried to ignore the fact that he felt lighter than he had in years. It's just dinner. One dinner. I am in control of this.
Of course Hermione Granger arrived early. Draco found her fidgeting nervously in her professional, gray robes by the host stand of the restaurant. Her hair was spilling down over her shoulders now, as opposed to this morning in the coffee shop when she'd had it neatly pinned back. Draco wondered if this is how she looked by the end of every work day: her wild waves no longer contained as they came undone, lock by soft lock, out of the style Granger tried to tame them with each morning for the office.
For his part, Draco had immediately gone home after work and changed into more formal robes and a fresh black suit. He didn't dare spend time analyzing the fact that it took him far longer than usual to decide on what to wear for dinner tonight. He was in front of the large vanity of his bedroom fussing with his hair when he caught a glimpse of his watch and realized he would be late if he didn't stop messing about with his looks like a vapid socialite. This was just dinner with Granger after all, no need to obsess over his appearance so much.
When Hermione turned toward him and shot him a relieved smile, Draco took note of the host's suspicious face casting a surly look at Hermione behind her back. Draco could have kicked himself.
The reason he was still welcome at this particular establishment was because in the years before the war, he used to frequent The Wilting Rose with his parents. The Malfoy family had been a most welcome presence in this pureblood sympathizing business, frequented by many members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight in its heyday.
Furious with himself for so easily falling back on the comforts from his old life, Draco drew himself up to his full height as he approached the host.
"Granger," he greeted her, then turned his attention immediately to the host before Hermione could open her mouth to reply. "Is there a reason my companion wasn't seated immediately upon her arrival?" He affected the iciest tone possible and raised a disbelieving brow at the older gentleman, who had the awareness to look momentarily abashed.
"Apologies, sir, I had no idea the young lady was dining with you."
Draco sneered, not believing the slimy wizard for a minute. "Indeed. Granger did you inform this man we had a reservation this evening under my name?" He turned back toward Hermione and noticed she was turning rather pink in the face.
"I did, but Malfoy you don't have to—"
"I thought as much," he cut her off and turned back to the host. "Now, why don't you make yourself useful and show us to our table."
The man nodded meekly and levitated menus in front of him as he led Draco and Hermione to a dimly lit back room. The whole restaurant was decorated in rich burgundy and dark gray furnishings with mahogany tables, chairs, and pillars. Paintings of all sizes adorned the walls, each containing an image of a blood red rose that revolved slowly and almost pulsed inward on itself, the red paint of the petals so lustrous Draco had often wondered if he touched the painting whether his hand would come away wet.
The front dining room was full, but Draco had secured a more private table in the back room, hoping it might make Hermione more comfortable to be seen out in public with him. Now he realized this had all been a giant mistake. No one in this restaurant would pay them any mind anyway: it was mostly old families and no one from the Prophet was allowed on the premises. That's what made upscale, exclusive pureblood businesses so successful: the promise of an extravagant experience under a modest cloak of privacy. If pureblood families wanted notoriety and attention, they knew how to get it, especially from the high society lapdogs in the wizarding press. But places like The Wilting Rose catered to the more refined and secretive inclinations of the old families.
Why he thought this would be a good outing with Granger to test the friendship waters, Draco had no idea and was stewing with regret.
When Hermione had removed the outer cloak of her robes, Draco practically tore it from her hands and shoved it and his roughly at the host. "Please do take care with these. Also, I think a bottle of your finest elf-made wine for the trouble you gave my companion wouldn't be amiss, now would it?" Draco snarled and the host blanched, muttered something that sounded like "Right away, sir," and scuttled off.
Draco took a deep breath and sat down across from Hermione. "You didn't have to do all that," she said quietly.
He scoffed. "I absolutely did, that little flobberworm needed to be put in his place."
Hermione let out a giggle and Draco frowned. "What's the joke?"
She gave him an apologetic smile, but quickly divulged, "It reminded me a bit of when we were in school together. I swear the next words out of your mouth were going to be 'wait until my father hears about this!'"
Draco chuckled at her teasing and felt some of the tension leave his body. "Well, luckily for me, that wouldn't be possible."
Hermione's face paled and she looked completely ashamed. "Oh Merlin, Malfoy I'm so sorry, I forgot. I didn't mean… anything by it…" she trailed off awkwardly and Draco averted his eyes in shame. She was sorry? Sorry that his bastard father was dead? The man had personally tried to murder and/or maim her own friends on more than one occasion and she was sorry?
No, this would not do. Draco couldn't hold it in anymore.
Before he could open his mouth, a wine bottle gracefully floated down on the table and two crystal wine glasses appeared in front of them. The cork jumped from the bottle and the airborne carafe proceeded to pour a generous measure into each of their glasses.
Draco downed half his glass of the ridiculous vintage (1876, damn) and noted that Hermione had done the same. Apparently they both needed the liquid courage provided from practically chugging a rather expensive glass of wine in one go. She was looking anywhere but at him and Draco knew this was the time. It was now or never to finally seek his penance from the one person who could truly grant him absolution. He hadn't planned on the night coming to this, but then she'd gone and been that selfless caring person she always was, and Draco was going to burst with the guilt. Countless healing appointments had brought Draco to the point where he finally felt ready to exorcise the demons surrounding his treatment of Hermione Granger.
And with no Calming Draughts, no potions at all in his system, he charged ahead.
Draco set his wine glass down firmly. Her brown eyes finally met his and he sought courage in their warmth. I am in control of this. Draco took one last deep breath, and then he took the plunge.
"I need to get this all out and Granger, I know how you like interrupting and asking questions when an idea strikes, but please, please, if I don't get this all out now, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to."
She nodded, her eyes wide and strangely bright.
He took a deep breath and a generous glug of wine. The bottle got the hint that he was low on liquid and floated over to refill his glass and then Hermione's in turn. You can do this. You have to fucking do this one thing.
"I owe you, probably, a lifetime's worth of apologies. When I was a bratty school boy and I went to Hogwarts thinking I was better than everyone… I treated you horribly. Those inherited values and prejudice, courtesy of my family… it shaped everything about my childhood. I honestly believed I was better than you because of my blood status. But a tiny part of me, even then, knew it was all bollocks. When you beat me on every exam, when you were top in every class… I started running out of excuses for why you were inferior. So I stuck with the only thing I could hate about you: your lineage. It was pettiness, plain and simple, Granger. You were better at magic and it burned me up inside. And instead of respecting you for it, I was going to tear you down the only way I knew how: with slurs about you and your family. Reminding you, and everyone else like you, that you could never be an equal in our world built me up for a while, and I could go on pretending that any of that mattered. But it was all bollocks… I know that now." He leaned closer over the table, earnest in expunging these long buried confessions. She was hanging on his every word. The intensity of her eyes both encouraged and frightened him simultaneously.
"As a kid, you were this impossible thing to me. How could someone my father told me was dirty, stupid, less than me… how could that person be so brilliant? Everything about magic and our classes, all the friends you had… every single thing seemed to come so easily to you. I couldn't square the two realities in my head so I picked the lazy option. I chose to belittle you and threw myself into hating you and everything you and Potter represented. It wasn't right, and it scares me when I think about how easy it was for me to live in that hatred." He finally paused for a breath.
He gulped the wine again and noticed his hand was trembling. The next part might be his undoing and his body was warning him of the impending stress. Hermione's hand twitched on the table between them and he wondered if she'd thought about grabbing his hand in hers. Draco set his glass down and clutched his hands in his lap. He didn't deserve her kindness.
"I'm sorry for how I treated you in school and for the horrible, awful things I said. I'm sorry I ever called you Mudblood. I'm sorry I ever fucking thought that word in association with you. But most of all, I wish I could take back that night at the Manor." This was killing him inside, ripping open fresh wounds that had scarcely begun to heal, but he forced himself to hold eye contact. The longer Draco talked, the more it felt like when Potter hit him with Sectumsempra all over again, small and large gashes across his body, bleeding him dry.
"I could hear you. I couldn't bring myself to watch, but I could hear her torturing you and I did nothing. I'll never be able to take back the fact that I stood by while you screamed, while you suffered. I still have nightmares about what happened that night… because I should have done something, done anything, but I was a coward. You should hate me."
The next words he spoke pained him, but she needed to know he wouldn't hold her immediate actions against her. "And if after all that, you wanted to walk out of here tonight and never see me again… I would understand." Her eyes still retained that odd, bright quality as silence fell between them.
"Is that what you want?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Sorry?"
"Is that what you want?" Hermione repeated in that same quiet voice. "Has that what all this has been about? Has all our time together in the mornings just been about you working up to this moment?"
"No." His response was firm, but his voice hoarse with emotion. No, of course not, how could you think that, Granger? Mornings with you are the only reason I leave my bed. I had to do the honorable thing and offer you a way out, please, please, don't fucking leave.
"I just… couldn't stand seeing you every day, pretending we didn't have this history. And before I blurted it all out at the wrong time and fucked it all up, if I didn't tell you how I regretted everything… it was eating at me constantly, Granger. It's no good acting as if we were simply old school acquaintances."
His breath felt like it was coming in short bursts. He finished his wine and looked down at the table, feeling spent. She had the option to leave, but that didn't mean he had to watch her go. Always the selfish coward.
"I forgive you," she said quietly. "And I don't want to walk out. I don't want to stop seeing you in the morning." That swelling feeling of hope filled his chest cavity as her soft words seemed to penetrate his very soul. Her decree of forgiveness coursed through his veins, thrumming along with his magic and building up a powerful wave of emotion. He didn't know how to express the depth of his gratitude, so Draco merely nodded as he found her gaze again and noticed a tear escape her full eyes. She didn't bother wiping it away.
Hermione cleared her throat. "You're wrong, though, about a few things." She took a shaky breath.
"Things were never easy for me, far from it. There were times when I was with Harry during that last year of the war that I felt like giving up. We had this impossible task in front of us and there were times I wanted to fall asleep at night and not wake up the next day. I couldn't tell Harry or Ron, of course, but some days it all felt so monumentally unfair. The things we were expected to do." She paused here and gave him a pained smile. Another tear leaked out.
"We were children. All of us. You, me, my friends…" she whispered and Draco detected a bitterness to her voice.
She cleared her throat and adopted her usual brisk and bossy affect. "And as for your 'inherited values and prejudice' well that simply is not true. Prejudice isn't inherited, it's taught. Children, people, are taught to hate. No one enters this world with those types of preconceived beliefs. Make no mistake, Malfoy, it is akin to abuse, forcing those blood purity ideals onto children."
Draco shook his head. Though he couldn't describe the relief coursing through him that she wasn't completely disgusted with his existence, she needed to know he wasn't a good person. Why aren't you scared of me Granger? I'm the bad guy in our story.
"I had a choice though, didn't I? Eventually I was old enough to know better," he countered bitterly. Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
"True. But you know better now. It's never too late to make the right choice."
She was being far too lenient and it unnerved him. Why don't you run from me? Haven't I shown you already? I'm the villain. You screamed and writhed and suffered mere feet from me and I did nothing.
"I could have helped you—"
She cut him off abruptly. "Voldemort would have killed you. You and your entire family."
"Maybe he should have."
"Don't say that."
She responded immediately in a severe tone, giving Draco a sliver of hope that she might actually care about him in some small way. Her eyes still shone but it seemed her tears were done falling. Draco leaned back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair.
"Well, this wasn't how I imagined my Friday night," he said and earned a shaky laugh from Hermione. She dabbed her eyes completely dry and when she looked up again her expression cleared. "How about we get another bottle?"
Draco happily obliged and motioned to a passing waiter. When they had two full glasses in front of them again, Hermione raised her glass toward him. "To old-new friends."
He clinked his glass against hers, but then set it down. "Are we? Friends?"
Hermione cocked her head to one side; a question in her eyes. "I thought so."
Draco nodded. "All right then. Friends." The word felt odd coming out of his mouth, though not unpleasantly so. A calm settled over their dark table at last, and they both visibly relaxed.
After the emotional start to the evening, things took a turn for the normal as they ordered entrees and talked about their respective work days. At Hermione's suggestion, they took a walk through the theatre district after dinner.
Despite the fact that it was late in the November evening, neither Draco nor Hermione felt particularly cold, especially after splitting two bottles of wine over the course of the meal. For his part, Draco was glad to oblige her suggestion of a walk, if only to clear the slight buzz in his system.
They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, close enough that their shoulders were brushing, but neither of them minded. If he concentrated, not that he should, Draco could catch that mysterious floral scent of her hair.
Hermione broke the silence first.
"About what you said at dinner…" she trailed off and Draco raised his eyebrows and he looked down at her, waiting for her to continue.
"Thank you for apologizing. I know that was probably very difficult for you."
Draco shrugged and averted his eyes. You have no bloody clue, Granger. But I had to try.
"It was necessary," he responded stiffly.
Hermione nodded. "Still, it was appreciated."
They began walking along the cobblestones again at a slower pace. The November air was frosty, but Draco still felt pleasantly warm even without casting a charm. Whether it was from the wine, her words, or her company, he couldn't say, and would rather not dwell on it at all.
She spoke softly again. "Despite what you may have thought, I never hated you, you know. It was more a feeling of… disappointment."
"How do you mean?" Draco's heartbeat quickened, wondering if the axe was about to fall.
They came to a stop in front of the ballet theater. Hermione turned to look up fully into his face with a pensive expression.
"When you bullied me at school, I could never bring myself to feel actual hatred for you. Obviously, I didn't particularly like you, as you did quite a lot of damage to my confidence and I shed more than enough tears over you in my early school years…"
Draco cringed at the memories. Merlin, he'd been a prick, hadn't he?
"But it always seemed to me that you had a lot more to offer the world than the life your father wished for you. I know you earned good marks in school, and getting to know you has allowed me to see that you're intelligent, discerning, and ambitious. I want you to know that I saw all that potential in you at a young age, but every time you opened your mouth and spouted off the bloody purity nonsense or goaded Ron for his family's lack of money, it left me feeling disappointed that you would choose to waste your self-worth in that way."
His breath hitched. Her assessment of him was one of the most honest things Draco had ever heard from another person. How could Granger be so comfortable sharing this with him? This must be what it was like to have an actual friend. She hadn't let him entirely off the hook, nor should she, but she'd also listed off things she admired about him. She believed in him. Draco couldn't remember the last time someone had paid him a genuine compliment.
Draco swallowed thickly. "Thank you, Granger. That means a lot… most especially coming from you. I'm so sorry I ever—"
She held up a hand to pause his contrite speech. "Malfoy, look, I've had enough of apologies for tonight. Truthfully, I forgave you a long time ago for your childish behavior. Trust me," she let out a hollow laugh. "I saw enough real horror in my life to dwell too long on your old prejudices from when we were children."
Draco watched as she hugged her arms around herself and turned toward the brightly lit front of the ballet theater. Her brown eyes were staring at something faraway, it seemed. "I also still have nightmares about what your aunt did to me in your home," she continued and Draco bit the inside of his cheek and felt his fists clench, a mixture of both shame and fear radiating through him. "And I do forgive you, I do. I know the impossible position you were in with your parents. I'd still like to talk about it, someday, when we're both ready."
She turned back to face him, and Draco was puzzled to see a small smile playing about her lips. "Just not tonight. I'm having too nice a time."
"You are?" he blurted the question and cursed himself for his lack of control. Why did Granger always have him feeling so off kilter? I am in control of this.
"I am. I'm glad we're friends, Malfoy."
"Me too, Granger."
She gave him another genuine smile and Draco experienced that body-wide warm feeling again. He noticed Granger casting her eyes about and looking slightly awkward. She must be trying to find a way to gently end the evening. How did one usually part from a friend? Draco had a feeling the "later, mate" he exchanged with Theo wouldn't quite do for Granger. As he struggled internally with how to perform a basic social interaction, he almost missed her speaking up.
"The ballet is back in season after the holidays." Hermione gestured toward the large, moving posters of dancers adorning the darkened theater doors.
"The Moscow ballet is one of the best and it looks like they're sticking with a classic show," he offered.
"I wouldn't know, I've never been to the wizarding ballet," she admitted quietly.
"Seriously?" he arched a brow at her and she nodded.
"I used to go to Muggle ballets with my parents when I was younger. We made sure to see a performance of The Nutcracker around Christmas every year," she said, smiling wistfully.
Draco wrinkled his nose but decided against saying anything negative about Muggle ballets with ridiculous sounding names. The Nutcracker?
"We should go then. My family are still patrons of this theater, so I'm fairly certain we have season tickets."
"Wait, really? You have season tickets to the ballet and you'd take me?"
Draco shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant. He hadn't gone to a ballet since he was a small child and truth be told, it bored him to tears. But Granger looked so bloody excited, how could he not offer this to her? That was what friendship was all about, right?
But maybe she didn't want to go with him. Be seen with him in public. He scuffed the toe of his dragon-hide shoe against the cobblestone, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"Of course, you could take one of your female friends instead. Maybe Weasley or Lovegood?"
Hermione snorted a laugh. "It's Potter, and good lord no, I can't take either of them. Ginny would rather be force-fed gillyweed and Luna is convinced that ballets are a conspiracy invented by gazelles to make humans feel self-conscious."
"Sorry, what?"
"Never mind. The point is, you're the only friend that would willingly accompany me. Please? I'll even pay you for my ticket."
Draco waved an impatient hand and tried to ignore the swooping sensation in his stomach at the way she'd said "Please."
"Don't be ridiculous. Fine, I'll take you to the damn ballet. Pick a date in January or February and we'll go."
Hermione clapped her hands together excitedly and Draco tried to ignore the light feeling in his chest at the thought he'd made her happy. He sure was doing a lot of ignoring and suppressing of feelings tonight. I am in control of this.
"Excellent! I'll select the night and let you know Monday." She looked up into his face, her smile wide and sincere.
"This was nice, Malfoy, thanks for suggesting dinner."
He inclined his head toward her. "Not at all Granger," he murmured.
Hermione took a step back and gave him a little wave. "I suppose I'll see you Monday then. Enjoy the rest of your weekend."
He merely gave her a friendly nod before she apparated away and left Draco staring at the empty space she had occupied just moments before.
When he returned to his own home moments later, two letters were waiting for him. The first and more exciting letter was from McGonagall. The school governors had accepted her motion to review the fund for children of non-magical parents, and he should receive a list of comments from them after the New Year.
Setting the good news aside, he opened the second, less thrilling piece of post. It was a letter from his mother, currently in France, asking if he might like to visit before she returned to England for the holiday season.
Draco took his mother's letter to the writing desk of his bedroom. He penned Narcissa a cordial rejection, saying he would be too busy with social obligations for work (this was sort of true) in the upcoming weeks as the Christmas season ramped up and that he could unfortunately not spare the time for a visit. He wrote that he looked forward to her return and pointedly did not address Narcissa's paragraph detailing the names and attributes of several young, French witches who had asked after his well-being.
Draco snorted aloud as he imagined his mother's reaction to his dinner out with Granger. Yes, Mother, I'm sure those lovely young ladies are concerned about my actual well-being and not whether if a marriage to me would result in a key to the Malfoy vaults at Gringotts. By the way, I just spent the evening in the company of my friend, Hermione Granger. You might know her as being a war heroine and the young woman who was tortured by your sister on our manor's drawing room floor? Yes, well our time together generally consists of intellectual stimulation at a level most humans dream of because she's bloody brilliant and—
Obviously, he would not be writing that to his mother tonight. Instead he included a brief paragraph about his job, and whistled for his owl.
A/N: Fun fact about this particular chapter, the apology scene at the restaurant was the scene that jumpstarted this entire fic. Years (oh lord, years and years) ago, I imagined what it would be like for a character like Draco to sincerely apologize to Hermione… and then I thought about how they would even arrive at that moment and how would this affect them after and then it all spiraled into this gigantic slow-burn story that I'm finally able to share. I can't begin to express how happy all your interactions with this story make feel, so once again, thank you thank you thank you.