Late morning light poured in through open curtains. It burned as Hermione peeked her eyes open.
"Oh," she groaned.
She tried to pull the pillow over her head, but something weighed it down. Blonde hair spilled over the shared pillow, moving a bit at the disturbance. It teased her nose until it tickled enough for her to fully awaken. Headache and all.
Hermione was shocked to see Daphne Greengrass sleeping in her bed cuddled up next to Ginny as they snored loudly into each other's faces. Both wore baggy T-shirts over cotton panties. Hermione was dressed similarly. Compliments of a wardrobe raid while hammered. Bulging drawers of the dresser a big indication that Hermione was not in her right mind.
The mattress moved only slightly as she slipped out of bed, leaving the two girls to sleep in peace.
Hermione didn't remember coming back to the flat the night before. Apparating was clearly not an option, with all the alcohol they'd consumed. A splinch was a bitch of an injury to recover from, plus the awful scar it gave. But Floo? What happened to the Floo? It was for the exact reason when Apparating wasn't an option.
An awkward morning greeting in the shame of drunken night out was not a good way to start a Sunday. Especially with a migraine the size of Hogwarts on her temples.
She slipped out into the main area of the flat where the living room and kitchen and dining room were all together in the open. Her feet slapped against the bare tile. It echoed typically in loneliness, as Hermione was left alone more often than not with Ginny's practice and game schedule, but now it was drowned out with the sound of sleeping. Noisy, nasally sleeping.
The kettle sat atop the cooktop. It dipped below a pouring faucet and filled with the cold water. Tea. She needed tea. Her tongue felt like a dry sack in her mouth. Merlin, she was thirsty.
She pulled out the tin of tea, and bottles of Hangover Potion. She guessed they'd all need it. She did.
Hermione chugged hers until not a drop remained.
"Feeling sick, are you?" There was a snicker behind her.
She whipped around on heel. Malfoy stood in a pair of tracksuit bottoms in silky green and a simple black tee.
God, he looked great. All teased and ruffled up.
Wait. Why was he here?
Malfoy stopped short when he noticed she wasn't wearing pants. His eyes shot up to the celling trying to avoid any kind of eye contact which was the most surprised Hermione ever recalled being. A gentleman, Malfoy? Since when did he care to shield her from shame?
There was a stirring in her mind that reminded her of words. Hers and his. The night before was a bit blurry later in the night, but she swore it was them coming to a truce.
The fact that he stood, ashamed of catching her in a perceived embarrassing moment, made her eyebrows raise. He had meant them? Not as a drunken promise made to be broken? Whoa.
"Need a moment?" He asked, doing his best not to glance down at her bare legs.
She shrugged, transfiguring her panties into leggings. "Sorry. I'm so used to Cormac always cornering me that it doesn't seem to matter anymore."
"Pardon?"
Ugh. The pervert. Why did he always have to sour good moments?
"Oh nothing." She sighed. "Need one?"
The potion sat on the counter in plain sight.
Typical Malfoy smirk entered right on cue. "No thanks. Some of us know how to handle our alcohol."
"Sod off, Malfoy."
He stood tense until he saw her smile and relaxed his shoulders. Instead, he swooped in to help with tea and settled in on the couch, far enough away to seem proper but still not in obvious avoidance.
Their tea cups settled against the nearby table, steaming in airy wafts from the porcelain.
Snores came from both rooms in noisy competition.
"It's a wonder how they're able to talk at all, doing that all night long, isn't it?" Hermione observed.
Without liquid courage, she felt less bold near Malfoy, suddenly aware of just how familiar they'd been the night before. It was suddenly aware that her and Malfoy were not common in any form. They didn't share interests. Their worlds, completely different. Topics of conversation failed to come to mind.
She examined Malfoy as he sipped his overly milky white tea. It was clear that he was relaxed, not on edge like she was.
"Blaise is the worst," Malfoy stated casually.
He lifted up the morning's delivery of the Daily Prophet. She hadn't even heard the owl this morning.
"I think Daphne gives him a run for his money. Ginny will be deaf when she wakes up."
The quiet fell between them. Malfoy fixated on the paper, Hermione on watching him. He sneered as he read, no doubt in distaste for what was printed, and sometimes smiled in a cheeky grin. It was odd to see his face contort through emotions so clearly.
As long as she'd known him, Malfoy was an unexpressive person. His father Lucius was similar in air and attitude. A certain level of disdain through words, but a blank face. She'd never known Draco to react so clearly.
It felt wrong to view it out in the open. Did he even realize?
"Quit the staring, Granger." His eyes read on. "I know I'm beautiful, but you could at least try to be subtle."
She blanched. "I wasn't – Oh honestly Malfoy. Like I'd be interested in that."
"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind."
They sat in content silence until the group of friends started to rouse from their slumber, groaning at the open curtains and the noisy neighbors overhead. Malfoy and Hermione swallowed back their enjoyment of their complaints, watching them fight each other for the Hangover Potions on the counter. Daphne elbows Blaise in the ribs, Blaise yanked her hair which staggered her back a few steps.
"Where is Theo and Ginny?" Hermione entered the kitchen and set out two more cups near the teapot.
"Theo bailed last night," Blaise sneered. "What a blowhard. Too good to share a bed. Good thing I hexed his wand to wake him every ten minutes starting at 5 am."
Daphne laughed. "Ginny is still passed out. Looks like your jog will be delayed, Draco."
He folded the paper close, careful to leave it on the crease lines. "Figured as much. I'll head out then."
"Wait. You don't want to do brunch?" Daphne sounded disappointed. "We always do brunch. Hermione will come, won't you?"
"Brunch?" Hermione repeated. "I hadn't really thought about it…"
Malfoy paused. "We go to Muggle places. Not anywhere near Diagon Alley."
Another Muggle establishment? That was a surprise. None of them were too keen on them while in school. The war had changed everything.
Their eyes turned to her, the brilliant sky blue of Daphne's, Blaise's chocolate brown a dynamic feeling but none compared to the chill from the gray eyes right before her.
"I wasn't talking about that. It's just that Sundays are usually mine and Ginny's breakfasts together. We don't get to do it much since we both work and most weekends she is gone," Hermione admitted with a dense blush. "After her jog, I mean."
"No wonder she's so fast," Malfoy commented.
The second time they'd mentioned that. Daphne and Blaise broke off into their own conversation about something that Hermione didn't notice. She began to feel that they'd been friends with Ginny longer than she realized. How had they even become friends in the first place?
When they were in school together, Ginny was the most anti-Slytherin out there. No fear when it came to hexing a few, and never backing down when it came to a fight. Malfoy was a prime target for that because of his hatred of Harry.
That was the internal deflate that Hermione felt. Was this all a way for her to get back at Harry?
"I'd love some brunch," Hermione said with a smile.
She hated to feed the very mechanism meant to spite her best friend, but there was little option left for her. Ginny was all she had left. Hermione couldn't go back to the Burrow, she couldn't stand to see yet another Weasley brother who looked exactly like him. And she refused to continue on the path of lonely existence where all she looked forward to were the days that Luna showed up to hand her a latest addition of Quibbler or speak of a newly discovered species she found.
But. She was going to ask Ginny. Later.
The group left for brunch little after ten thirty and walked down the street to a sweet café that Hermione knew. It was cheap, with plastic seats from the eighties, but the food was perfect. Though the group she brought was hardly impressed. They settled into a booth by a window swallowing in uncertainty as they eyed the menus.
She hid her giggles as they tried to order their meals, fit with ridiculous names. Tom foolery was the restaurant theme. It burned Blaise's throat to even ask what their extra special Sunday sauce was.
Once the drama (that's Slytherin's for you) of ordering settled, they fell into conversation that drifted naturally from their lives to their jobs to what they did for fun.
Daphne lived at home with her parents and sister. She worked as a Trainee Healer at a small clinic in the outskirts of the city. It often left her overworked, leaving little apt time to find suitable friends or marriage prospects as her parents pushed for.
"Unlike Stori, whose already been put into contract with someone," Daphne cleared her throat quickly shaking her thoughts away and continued, "my parents think that I am too career driven. And too attached to my rascal friends here. They tried to put Blaise and I into negotiations."
"Negotiations? As in, engagement?" Dated practices of the elites put more medieval spins onto their world rather than modernism that Hermione viewed it as. "How can you stand it? Someone making that kind of decision for you?"
For once, Malfoy added in. "It is not about personal choice. It is about heirs and inheritance. To ensure family means stay within established families."
"What's it matter if Daphne uses her fortune to her every whim? It is her life."
"Not if it isn't her money," Malfoy curtly answered. "She's at the will to make her own choice, just give up her own position in family standing. It is not so necessary for her family as she has other siblings that could well establish the line."
There was a small detail there. Somewhere…
"Aren't you an only child, Malfoy?"
He tensed suddenly caught in a snare. "Why do you ask?"
"Curious. That's all," she answered. "You haven't declared having a fiancé. She hasn't come around or even been mentioned. Curious how long you think you'll be able to swerve a similar fate."
Refills of tea and Blaise's coffee were given, relieving the surmounted tension radiated from Malfoy as he sat in silence. His eyes drained of all interest. Throughout the conversation she glanced at his distracted nature, more intent on the window to the dirty streets of London rather than his own friend's company. She figured it wasn't her place. They weren't that well acquainted. Maybe, just maybe, she overstepped a line.
Blaise was a Potioneer, of course. Professor Slughorn helped him get into an internship with a prestigious recluse who cooked his potions in a dusty attic with poor ventilation. Fumes of various potions gave Blaise more than a few reasons to be brought to St. Mungos, a responsibility of his own since his mentor did not leave his estate. He simply waited for Blaise's return and continued on with their work.
Then came the topic of his mother, Mrs. Zabini. She was infamous for her wretched luck or proclivity to marry men so close to their surprising deaths. News was in the papers that she was on the prowl again, this time with a werewolf. The ripple through the group showed.
"They are people, you know. Cursed, but still people," she assured him.
Greyback was a known werewolf and loyal minion of Voldemort's during the war. It appealed to some magical creatures although Hermione wasn't sure why. Voldemort ensured he'd enslave anyone with magical blood that wasn't pure. With the standing of the werewolves with the war, she assumed there to allegiance between the elites and them.
Based on the reactions, apparently not.
"There is some kind of mate thing that happens between werewolves. It's weird. All they do is shred the house during a full moon. Frankly, it's disgusting."
Hermione choked on her water. "I'm sorry?"
Finally, the pariah in the corner broke his silence.
"It means they fuck like crazy, doesn't it, Blaise?" Malfoy pronounced with obvious delight, slinging his arm around his friend's shoulders.
"Take that smirk off your face before I hex you."
"Boys…" Daphne touched both their hands. "Let's be adults or I'll hex you both."
The tone forced a level of attention. Blaise nodded in compliance, turning back to his plate, but Malfoy resisted. He still held a smug look.
He glanced at Hermione and relented.
"Fine."
"That's kind of sweet, actually," Hermione said offhandedly.
Blaise, Malfoy and even Daphne looked at her confused. Oh, come on. Daphne had to know what she meant.
"My mom having sex with a werewolf is sweet? Do you know what they've done to the wallpaper? My own door has claw marks. Whose were they? I don't know!" Blaise went white in the memory.
Hermione instantly regretted her words. "Oh, God, no. I just meant that it's like every girl's fantasy to be someone's 'mate' , you know, destined to be someone's forever, and now your mom gets to be his. That's sweet for her, isn't it?"
She nudged Daphne's shoulder. "You know what I mean. Like Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey."
Her new girlfriend scrunched her nose. "Am I supposed to know what those are?"
"What, are you serious?" Hermione's mouth fell open. "You've not read or seen either of those? I've got all the books and the movies if you want to borrow them sometime. They are so good."
"Maybe we could all come over and watch it?" Daphne smiled as she dug into her Funky Bleedin' Waffle plate. "What about Wednesday?"
Hermione suddenly blushed at the attention of both guys from their side of the table. "Er, I don't think that's too good of an idea."
Malfoy chuckled. "Yeah? And why not?"
"It's got some scenes in it that make it…a bit cheeky."
What man doesn't like that word?
There was distinct interest in Blaise's eyes. "Cheeky? Wonderful. Does it have to do with the werewolf and my mom thing?"
"Twilight does. Exactly that. We can watch that all together and then just Daphne and me for Fifty Shades?"
A noise came out of Malfoy's mouth that was unheard of. Somewhere between a chortle and a snort. Whatever it was, neither Daphne nor Blaise thought it normal. They craned their necks and flexed perplexed eyebrows his way.
Hermione found it interesting. It was easy to gauge when he was just being Malfoy or when he was being peculiar.
The more she observed him, the more confused she was. Their school days were not that long ago, and her memory was attuned to memories that included him. Draco Malfoy was a constantly sarcastic, teasing, harsh person. He loved to put others in line, below him typically.
This new experience with an adult Draco Malfoy was something out of a movie with impossible positivity. An actual reform? A turn around for someone after the horrors of war aligned with dark forces was as problematic and likely as Darth Vader embracing the light side of the Force.
Articles in the paper left little doubt what Draco Malfoy suffered since the war, and his trial had been telling to the rest of what he endured. She knew it was awful at Malfoy Manor. Voldemort had used it as a headquarters during the war and liked to punish Draco with torture and witness the atrocities he was party to whilst under the Dark Lord's control. The fall of Malfoy had been great. His money, his fame, and his unending ability to capture attention of witches was now a mark of shame. Disgust. Societies shame, one they once embraced with puppy dog eyes, now blurred behind their own embarrassment.
Hermione knew more from Harry, too. She knew that Malfoy was forced into more than he was willing. One emotional circumstance she tried to forget was Malfoy crying to Myrtle in the bathroom, his sixth year a blinding light throughout their school career.
Who was this new Draco Malfoy? Sure, she like his friends and he wasn't difficult to be around like she assumed, but there wasn't a welcoming wagon for each to be around. He was plenty pleasant, but avoidant in a way. Where were his scars? The war left plenty on her. He had to bear some, too. Some insecurity, unfortunate habit, depression? Draco Malfoy could not be the stone that he pretended to be.
The question of real friendship gave her waves of doubt.
"What was that?" Blaise's voice went squeaky.
Hermione giggled behind her hand as Blaise was mocked for his high pitch. She hid behind her hand as she tried to think a way out of it. She really didn't want to explain Fifty Shades of Grey to two boys. There had to be a way to get out of it.
"I don't care what it is," she heard Malfoy say above the screeching of her thoughts, "but by the way Granger's face went red, I wouldn't miss it. This Fifty Shades."
"Oh my god, no." Hermione gasped. The sex scenes were too intense for new friends. New friends that were boys. It'd be so awkward!
"Does Wednesday work for you guys?" Daphne beamed with a devious smile, a sudden reminder that she wasn't amongst a pride of lions, but a colony of snakes.