Hermione watched out the car window as the countryside flew by in flashes of grey and emerald green. Moisture streaked the glass and rendered the scene indistinct, melancholy. She sighed.
"All right back there?" Hamish's bright eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. Charlie twisted around in his seat to regard her too.
She sat up straight. "Yes, fine! Just enjoying the scenery. And the music." The song was dreamy and sad. A perfect complement to the landscape and Hermione's mood.
"It's The Clientele. Their newest one. Gorgeous, isn't it?" Hermione nodded as Hamish sang along.
They had been on their driving tour for two days - staying at sweet little inns in pretty villages, eating at lovely gastropubs with roaring fires and warm decor. With Hamish in charge of organising the holiday, Hermione hadn't expected anything less, but she was still surprised and touched at the care he'd taken, arranging an extra room for her at each place, frequently checking in as he'd just done, drawing her out of her introspection and into conversation. And Charlie too. He'd made sure to work some vigorous walks and rambles into their itinerary and the sharp air in her lungs combined with the sweeping views of the countryside had been a balm.
"'What are men to rocks and mountains?'" she'd muttered with a half smile from the top of a sharp peak.
What she hadn't realised, (and what she quite suspected Hamish and Charlie may have deliberately kept from her) was that their itinerary was cutting directly through the middle of Wiltshire. The road they were on now would take them past the turn-off to The Meadows. And she understood from this morning's daily run-down of the route, that the village they were staying in this evening was adjacent to the facility. She'd sighed at this news, but didn't feel as if she could dictate the terms of her friends' holiday. Charlie's sheepish and Hamish's challenging look in response had basically confirmed her suspicions.
So now she was pensive, uncertain. She knew it would probably come to nothing, but a tiny voice continued to whisper, 'what if?' in the back of her mind.
"This must be the beginning of the village," Charlie's gravelly voice pulled her away from her restless thoughts. Small buildings and charming cottages were beginning to appear with some regularity at the side of the road, and eventually they came around a sweeping curve into a well-preserved High Street. The pavements were crowded and shop windows glowed warm gold in the darkening afternoon.
"It's lovely," she murmured, rubbing at the window with her jumper sleeve.
"Yes," Hamish caught her eye in the mirror again. "I couldn't resist booking us here. It's supposed to be an absolute jewel. And I thought if I told you up front, you might skitter off." He wiggled his fingers and his eyes widened then crinkled. So bloody charming. Hermione found it impossible to be annoyed with him.
"You were probably right," she said with a shake of her head. "Where are we staying?"
"The Unicorn," said Charlie, "it should be just up on the left." As he spoke, Hamish guided their comfortable hired car to the kerb in front of a beautiful, ivy-covered inn. "We thought we might drop our things and then take a little walk through the village and surrounds?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes, please." She could use some air.
They exited into a damp cold, their breath blowing in clouds around them. Running up the steps to the inn, Hermione was grateful to pass into the warm interior. She looked around. The trip so far had been a mix of muggle and magical places and accommodations, but this inn - and the village surrounding it - were clearly of wizarding origin. If the fluttering of robes and the tall shapes of peaked hats in the high street hadn't been enough to clue her in, the eclectic decor of the cosy lobby would have done so. Also the fact that there was a goblin behind the front desk and house elves to take their bags and bring them refreshment as they waited to check in.
The process was concluded after some confusion over why they were traveling in, and what to do with, a muggle car — but they were soon back out on the High Street stamping in the cold.
"Let's strike off," called Charlie, obviously restless after the hours of inactivity. He strode up the way and took a left, out toward what looked like a riverside walk. Hamish and Hermione walked briskly behind him, companionably silent as they passed through the beautiful countryside. Presently they came to a sweet stone bridge and paused for a minute to take in the view of the meandering river, held in by dark green banks and just touched by bare, trailing branches.
Charlie leaned against the bridge wall and cut a quick glance over to Hermione, "I'd like to visit The Meadows while we're here."
She couldn't prevent a sharp inhale at his words. Hamish's hand went to her arm.
"You don't have to come, of course." Charlie's eyes were kind. "But I wanted you to know that I plan to go. I corresponded with him a bit, you know. Last year."
Hermione shook her head. No, she hadn't known. She supposed it would have been awkward to bring it up.
"He'd read our paper." Charlie's shoulder went up in a half shrug.
"Oh?" Her mind turned this information over. Charlie was undoubtedly referring to the treatise he'd completed with Hamish on depression in dragon populations. It was what had brought the couple together - Hamish the writer and Charlie the field researcher. It had been hugely influential in certain circles; she shouldn't have been surprised that Draco had seen it.
"Yes, we wrote back and forth a few times. I'm fascinated by what he's doing here — the possibilities and implications. I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't take the chance to see it since we're so close by. I have no idea if he's here, though. I haven't corresponded with him at all about this trip. I would have told you."
"Of course," Hermione's words were rushed and she felt warm. "And you should definitely go."
Hamish spoke up. "Have you ever been?"
"Not since… not since the war," she whispered the words.
"Oh God, of course," Hamish placed his hand over where she'd braced hers on the stone railing. "I'm an idiot. So sorry, darling."
"No, it's fine. I'm over all that. It's changed so much now, anyway. Now It's a … 'a symbol of a radical dismantling of the past,'" her voice caught on the remembered phrase, and her mind on their day in the park, and she suddenly felt like fucking sobbing.
Hamish was saying something about that being exactly what The Meadows was, but Hermione barely heard him. Her mind was racing. Should she go? What if she saw him? She was curious, but she couldn't - not if she was this unsteady. She'd probably just end up blubbering all over the reception desk.
Hamish had clearly asked her something and was now looking at her expectantly. "I'm sorry," she said faintly, blinking at him.
"I said, I think we could all use a drink. And a spot of dinner," he repeated, his voice gentle.
"Yes, let's get back to the village. The pub at the inn is supposed to serve a cracking shepherd's pie," Charlie added, linking his arm through Hermione's and pulling her against him. She suddenly came to, shaking off her confusion and leaning over to touch her head to his shoulder. His teeth gleamed as he threw her a quick smile.
"I love both of you dearly, you know." She declared, forcing herself to lighten - to be present with her friends.
Hamish slung an arm over her shoulders. "And we you, petal."
~oOo~
Sipping at a pint of crisp cider, Hermione leaned back in the booth and told herself to relax. The pub was cozy and the smells wafting from the kitchen were heavenly. Her back was to the door and she was sure if anyone came in, Hamish would give her a signal to dive under the table or something.
"You can go straight out the side door," he said, amusement glinting in his eyes.
"How do you do that?"
"Keen observer," he sniffed. Hermione gave a weak giggle.
Charlie looked up from his menu, puzzled. "What?"
"Nothing." Hermione and Hamish chuckled as they said the word at the same time and the barmaid bustled up to take their order. She smiled as they all requested shepherd's pie and asked if they were in town on business with 'the facility'.
"Well not per se," said Hamish, "But my fiance does want to go see it tomorrow. Do you know the best time to go up if one just wants to have a look around?" The waitress looked at Hermione, who pointedly turned her eyes to Charlie and raised her brows in his direction.
"Oh!" the waitress recovered quickly and addressed Charlie. "My sister works there and I can owl her for you. She's in public relations and sometimes acts as a kind of a tour guide. She'll take you around."
"That would be grand, thank you," Charlie said with a smile.
Hamish cut in, "And do you know if Mr. Malfoy is there?" he glanced in Charlie's direction, his eyes staying pointedly off of Hermione's.
She felt her heartbeat speed and her breath shorten as she waited for the girl's reply, which seemed to come in slow motion.
"Mr. Malfoy? Oh no, he hasn't been here in ages. I think Nell said he was in America for a good while. Or was it France?"
Hermione's shoulders relaxed, although she also felt a distinct stab of disappointment.
"He's supposed to be here soon, though." The girl continued. Hermione's heart rate increased again. How soon? "Making a big announcement at The Meadows on Monday. Nell has been working non-stop to ready it."
"Do you know Mr. Malfoy very well?" Hamish's voice was like silk, and Hermione saw Charlie send him a warning look. The girl hesitated and Hamish cut in, "or maybe he's not in here often... bit high in the instep?" He tilted his head.
"Oh no!" the girl cried. "He's not like that. I mean, of course he's posh and all, but he's not a snob. He comes in loads when he's here. Always polite and friendly. Interested in what's going on. The whole village relies very heavily on the facility, you know. A lot of people employed because of it. No, he's fairly well-liked around here."
Now Hamish's eyes did swing to Hermione and his brows went up.
Hermione's voice came out rusty, "Monday you say? Monday is the announcement?" It was Thursday.
"Yes, and now I remember Nell said Mr. Malfoy would be arriving Saturday — with a party of friends. She has to ready the guest house at the manor for them. Do you know him? Are you part of that group?" Her gaze darted around the table and landed on Charlie.
"Oh no," he answered. "We're acquaintances, but very distant. I doubt we'll see Mr. Malfoy — especially if we go up tomorrow." Hermione felt the implied comment to her in his statement.
"Aww ok," the girl smiled. "But will I owl Nell and tell her to expect you? 11 o'clock?"
"Perfect, thank you." said Hamish.
"Right, I'll just run off and put these orders in for you," she tossed them one last grin and sped away.
"Well I think that settles it," Hamish clapped his hands and trained bright eyes on Hermione.
"What?"
"You're coming with us."
~oOo~
How Hermione found herself walking up the path to the front doors of Malfoy Manor the next morning, she didn't exactly know. After Hamish's declaration, she had flat-out refused to consider the possibility. But he'd managed to make a few comments during dinner - before Charlie had given him a look of death and told him to stop running it into the ground - that had gotten her thinking, turning it over in her mind. God damn him.
To be honest she did want to see The Meadows. Desperately so. She was so curious. What was it like now? Of course she knew intellectually what Draco had done. She'd read about it and heard about it from him, but what would it feel like to be there? Her memories of it were so bleak…
She'd lain awake for several hours worrying before sinking into a fitful sleep. When she woke in the morning she was no less indecisive.
Hamish had been curiously silent at breakfast, which hadn't helped. Judging by a few looks that passed between them, she figured Charlie had given him a talking-to.
They'd all gone to the small village museum for a quick morning jaunt; Hermione barely paying attention to the exhibits or replying to conversation, she was so wound up. Then she had entered a small room — the last on the tour — to see a model of The Manor. Instead of satisfying her curiosity, the accompanying photographs and descriptions (frank about the building's past as well as its current state) had only whetted her appetite. Then her eye was caught by a small brass plaque indicating that the exhibit had been made possible by a generous donation from, and collaboration with, Mr. D Malfoy. She'd run her fingers over the letters of his name and sighed.
And then her thoughts had started to shift. He wasn't supposed to arrive until tomorrow. She could go and not give her name. Hope that the tour guide wouldn't recognize her. Just a quick look around. She'd stay for 30 minutes - apparate out and meet up with Charlie and Hamish later.
So she'd made a snap judgement almost in spite of herself, and here she was, mounting the steps, memories washing over her. A black night, being half dragged over these very stones. The pure, pissing fear that had coursed through her.
She must have made a little sound, because suddenly Charlie was grasping her hand. "You sure you want to do this?"
She nodded once and he smiled, then dropped her hand and moved ahead to catch up with Hamish - seeming to understand that she wanted to take it all in on her own.
Hermione actively pushed her memories away and forced herself to look around with new eyes. The changes were immediately apparent. She'd not seen much of the manor that night, but her impressions had been of a gothic palace - dark and suffused with the evil of its occupying force.
But it was light now - warm sandstone, white gravel and green lawn. The fussy formal gardens had been replaced by the meadows of its namesake, criss-crossed with walking paths and benches. It looked as though the ancient trees had been left behind, though. Neat signage indicating the way to different therapy centres and dormitory blocks also did much to promote the air of warm efficiency.
It struck Hermione that there was no pride of blood here — no reminders that this had been a great house of an important family. It felt entirely given over to its new purpose. Strangely, she felt tears prick at her eyes upon this realization. It acted as a more potent declaration than any she had read or heard.
She passed into the interior, noting the white walls and gleaming wood floors of the atrium. Again, almost clinical except for a series of bright muggle canvases that adorned the walls — nothing but the stonework to harken back to the manor's earlier form. She looked around, craning her neck and taking in the soaring ceilings and huge double staircase that curved to the upper floors. The hallway between the two led to the drawing room where she'd been tortured, although she almost couldn't believe it now.
A young woman walked out from behind a long reception counter and came forward to greet them, her obvious resemblance to their friendly barmaid marking her out as their tour guide. She introduced herself and started into an introductory statement, clearly practiced and often-recited. Conducting them to a few of the treatment rooms, an occupational therapy workshop and an art studio in the building, she gave an impassioned endorsement of the facility.
"I'm sorry," she said after a particularly gushing comment, "I just truly believe in what we do here and sometimes get a bit carried away."
"No, no," Hamish shushed her, "it's fine and you're right to be proud. It's clearly an incredible place."
"It is!" the girl joined, her face lighting again. "It's also so important to the community. The village was very depressed, you know, before the war." Her voice grew quiet. "The previous generation of owners weren't concerned with the well-being of the population. A few had employment here as domestics, but the estate was largely separate."
Hermione nodded along. The girl caught her eye. "And then during the war it was very bad. For many of our families."
Hermione reached out involuntarily and placed her hand on the guide's arm. Their eyes met and Hermione nodded. The girl took a deep breath and seemed to recover herself.
"But now, of course it's totally different. Thanks to young Mr. Malfoy." Her cheeks flushed slightly with this remark and Hermione knew she would see the lifted brow on Hamish's face before she actually did.
"And what's he like?" Hamish asked smoothly. "My fiancé and friend have made his acquaintance, but I never have." Hermione saw the stern look she shot at him mirrored in Charlie's face.
"Oh you know him!?" The girl's wide eyes flew to Hermione and then to Charlie. "He's lovely, isn't he? So kind. All of us who work for him feel in good hands."
Hermione nodded and murmured, not trusting her voice. Charlie took over, explaining he'd really only corresponded by letter, but had heard good things as well. He then changed the subject, asking after the therapy programs that incorporated animals, creatures and beasts. The girl launched into an excited monologue to which Hermione should really have been paying attention, but instead her thoughts drifted.
What a privilege it would be to be a part of this. To work or consult here. To support it in any way. What Draco was doing was so important and needed. She'd thought it before, but never really understood it until standing here, listening to a proud employee and soaking in the profound change to the atmosphere — to the very bones — of the place around her. She took a deep breath and turned slowly in place, her eyes darting around to take it all in. Then she stopped, feeling a rush of sadness.
She could have been involved, could have been part of it.
But she'd pushed it away. Pushed him away.
Tears threatened again and she looked up to realize Charlie was addressing her, his voice gentle. "We're heading out to the creature facilities. Do you want to come?"
As much as Hermione would have loved to see the areas that pertained most closely to her own work, she suddenly felt very much as if she needed to go.
"No, I think I'll, uh, head back to the village. I'll meet you both at the inn in a couple of hours?" The last words came out in a rush.
"That's fine, darling." Hamish's eyes were soft on her and Charlie nodded.
The tour guide chirped a goodbye and the three turned to go as Hermione hurried toward the main doors. "Oh!" the girl exclaimed and clapped her hands. Hermione turned. "I was going to end the tour by showing you the Muggle Integration Project room! It's just off the atrium before you exit. Take a peek if you're interested. It's our newest major program and we're very excited about it! All about how to bring the muggle families of magical youngsters into our world. I know that's probably an area of particular interest to you..." she blushed a little and Hermione realized with a little dart of dismay that she had been recognized. "Mr. Malfoy will be up tomorrow to make an announcement about the launch. It's a very important project for him and he's had deep involvement in every detail. He only introduced it to us two months ago, but it's already on track to go live early next year. Have a wander!" The girl waved cheerily as she shepherded Hamish and Charlie out the door.
Hermione's voice said goodbye, but her mind reeled.
A muggle integration project. For muggle families of magical youths. Started two months ago.
Had he done it because of her? Because of their conversation?
Her steps took her to the room the girl had pointed out and she entered slowly, her eyes widening as she looked around. The space was vibrant, colorful, and she struggled to take it all in at once. In the center of the room was a glass case holding two finely worked models similar to the one she'd seen in the museum earlier. One was labeled "Muggle Integration Centre - The Meadows and the other Muggle Integration Centre - Hogwarts." Hermione circled them. It seemed as if each facility would hold not only classrooms and therapeutic facilities, but also exhibition rooms for muggle art and innovations. So the integration would go both ways — help the wizarding world to understand and appreciate the muggle one as well.
She put an unsteady hand out and leaned on the glass case, blinking down at the miniature buildings. Then her eyes rose again to take in the rest. Plans and moving magical photographs on the surrounding walls described classes, therapy and discussion groups, practical lessons and demonstrations. They were interspersed with quotes from the Headmistress and other community leaders referencing support for and commitment to the project. Looping photographs of prominent muggle-borns described in short vignettes the struggles their families had faced as outsiders.
She should have been a part of this.
Could she still? Ideas swamped her mind and she pulled out the notebook she always kept in her purse, holding it up against the wall so she could jot a few things down. She wondered if he'd had support from the ministry — or if he still needed it… What was in the course of study? And had he thought about drafting accompanying texts? And what would he think of an exchange program…
She was so intent on not losing her train of thought that she didn't hear the sound of footsteps approaching the room. But she couldn't miss the sharp inhale that came from the doorway directly afterward.
Her eyes flew up and she felt her heart stop. Her pen clattered to the floor.
He was there.
Impossibly. Like she'd conjured him with her thoughts.
Time froze. She froze. But her eyes drank him in. The tall lean frame, bright hair, searching eyes. His face... Her first thought was that he looked exhausted, drawn, but still beautiful. Her second was more of an impulse — to go to him, put her hands on him, touch him to make sure he was real - smooth her fingers over his jaw, run her thumb over the crease in his brow. Her third was a wave of pure panic and embarrassment — ohgodohgodohgodohgod. What must he think of her? Here. Now. With no word or warning...
He cleared his throat, his cheeks faintly flushing. She started and her brain stuttered. He tilted against the doorway and she saw his hand briefly grip the frame. What was he going to say? What the fuck was she going to say? Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.
Finally after a moment which seemed to stretch for an eternity, he stepped through the door, picked up her pen and handed it toward her.
Lifting his chin to encompass the room, his eyes met hers. "What do you think?"
~oOo~
Draco felt like he was moving underwater. His reactions were slow and he couldn't quite reconcile what his eyes were seeing with his perception of reality. There was a loud rushing in his ears.
She was here.
Standing and taking bloody notes in his Muggle Integration Project room.
For a second his brain wondered what the fuck strange dimension had he wandered into.
But no, she was real — because she turned then and made a sound. He saw her fingers slacken and heard her pen clatter to the floor. Her beautiful eyes widened and ran over him, alive with some strong emotion, but then they swept down and he missed reading it. A deep red bloomed over her neck and jaw and up to her cheeks.
One of them had to speak.
He took a step into the room and asked her the first thing that came into his head, "What do you think?"
He picked up her pen and walked closer, handing it out to her.
She looked at it as if it was a crust of bread and she a wary bird. Her eyes darted to his. "You weren't supposed to be here until tomorrow. I would never have…" Her voice trailed off.
His heart dropped. She'd been hoping to avoid him. He felt the ice in his blood seep into his voice.
"I was. But I decided to come a day early."
His tone seemed to stiffen her. She inhaled and closed her eyes. "I meant to say... that I think it's wonderful. Amazing." Her voice was soft as she stepped forward and took the pen. Her closeness brought a wave of her scent, which made him feel weak. He could almost reach out and touch a silky curl, brush the satin of her cheek.
Their eyes met and caught. Her lips parted. He was at a loss.
"Hermione, darling - are you still here!?" An unnaturally loud voice intruded. Draco whipped his eyes to the other door - the one that opened directly to the outside.
She spun around. "Hamish!"
Draco felt a tide of red wash over him. Who the fuck was Hamish? Oh, he looked to be a handsome, well-dressed, absolute cunt who was calling Hermione 'darling'. His fists clenched.
"Yes, I'm still here," she was faltering. No doubt alive to the awkward circumstance of having to introduce the new boyfriend to the ex.
"Oh, hello," the cunt's voice was quiet as his eyes took in Draco, as if he were a fucking dangerous animal. Well maybe he was.
And now someone else was coming in. A dark red head pushing through the door, followed by powerful shoulders. "You're still here?" the second man said in Hermione's direction.
The cunt turned and ran his hand over the other man's arm as he walked into the room. Draco frowned. Wait..
"Yes, and it looks as if someone else has arrived too."
The redhead took in Draco's posture, blinked, then walked forward slowly. "Draco Malfoy?" he asked in a soft, even tone, holding out his hand. "Charlie Weasley." He looked over his shoulder, "and this is my fiancé Hamish Gardiner. We were touring the facility. Amazing place."
Draco felt his world freeze in place for the second time that day. Charlie Weasley. Fiancé. Gods.
How he managed to complete polite introductions, he didn't quite know. The cunt, no Hamish, Charlie Weasley's fiancé, helped quite a lot. Chattered brightly about the facility, asked questions about the Project. Draco managed to answer fairly evenly, although he had almost no idea what he was saying. He hoped it was coherent.
Charlie chimed in with a few questions and comments, but Draco could tell he wasn't much of a talker — unlike every other Weasley he'd ever met. He liked him instantly. He actually liked the c — Hamish too. He was glib, but intelligent and keen. They told him that their tour guide had been called away, so Draco found himself taking them around to the spots they hadn't seen yet, speaking about different facilities and programs. He even offered to bloody let them use the pool and gym while they were in the area. He chalked it up partly to their friendliness and partly to the fact that he couldn't seem to gather his wits.
And while he might have felt fuzzy, he remained hyper-aware of her — her position in the room, the soft sounds she made. She had receded into almost total silence, murmuring only when she was directly addressed, but every time he chanced a look at her, her dark eyes were on him. Did she seem thinner than when he'd last saw her? There were definitely faint tracings of purple-blue under her eyes.
At one point Hamish drew Charlie ahead, "Ohh look at the size of this beech, Charlie. It's magnificent!" and Draco was left alone with her.
She looked up at him and he noticed hectic spots of pink on her cheeks. She took a deep breath. "It's so different here," she said, glancing around the grounds. "What you've done is…" a brief smile, "I have no words."
He inclined his head. He was sympathetic - he had no idea what to say either. Despite the desperate things bubbling to the top of his mind. I'm sorry. I miss you.
Finally he cleared his throat. "Astoria is arriving tomorrow morning."
"Oh!?" her tense face brightened. "How is she? How is she finding Beauxbatons?"
"I'm sure she'd like to tell you herself."
"Oh," she looked down then quickly back up at him. Even tired and drawn, she was so beautiful. "I'd like to see her too."
"Shall I bring her round to have lunch with you?" Her brows drew together so he continued, "I have business in the village — I could leave her at your inn on my way."
Hermione nodded and Draco sensed Hamish and Charlie draw near again, though he was finding it difficult to drag his gaze from her face.
"Lunch with whom?" Hamish's light tone diffused the awkwardness of the moment.
"My ward, Astoria Greengrass. I hope you don't mind if she monopolizes Hermione for a bit tomorrow." He turned back to Hermione. "She'll be so keen to see you."
"Of course not. How lovely." Hamish smiled expectantly at Hermione.
"I'd love to see her," she murmured.
"And how long are you staying?" Draco addressed her, feeling a slightly mad plan forming that he didn't want to think through too carefully in case he second-guessed himself.
"Two more nights," Hamish cut in quickly.
Draco swung to him. "Then you'll have to come to dinner too. Tomorrow night. Here - at the guest house."
He heard a little sound from Hermione's direction and talked over it — looking back at her. "Theo will be there. Blaise, Daphne, Astor, of course."
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"Theo will be desperate to see you, once he knows you're here." He hated that he was trying to convince her, but he couldn't help himself. She looked down and it occurred to him suddenly that she may not want to see Theo. She might still be angry with him. Shit. He started to speak, to give them an out, but Hamish cut in again.
"We'd love to. Thank you very much." Charlie added his thanks and Hermione nodded slowly.
Charlie glanced around the little group and cleared his throat. "Well, this has been lovely, but I think it's time we stopped imposing on you."
Draco murmured something polite and walked them to the apparition point. There was a flurry of goodbyes, him telling Hermione he'd deliver Astoria at noon and Hamish asking him to owl the details for dinner. And then they were gone, the last thing he saw a flash of her dark gaze over her shoulder.
He stood in place for several minutes just staring, before he jolted back to himself and strode off, although he wasn't sure exactly where he was going.