Chapter 3

It was more than a month before he saw her again. Like the rest of the world, he was aware of the unfolding story of the breakup of Weasley and Granger, sensationalized though it was in the pages of Witch Weekly and the tawdry magazines. The picture Granger had arranged to appear in the front pages the day after the Ministry Ball showed a fearful Ron Weasley coming out of the Petrificus Totalus spell, incriminating evidence still on his face (and clinging to his side). Undeniably embarrassing for the whole Weasley family (other pictures included a very pregnant Ginny Potter being restrained by her husband from launching herself in anger at her youngest brother), the picture ensured that there would not be a reconciliation.

In the ensuing stories, it became more and more clear that Ron Weasley was not the good guy everyone thought he was, but was, in fact, the Weasel that Draco had always believed he was. He didn't know how many of the girls who claimed to have slept with the Weasel actually had, but he did know that the one in the lavender dress (conveniently named Lavender, so he wouldn't forget, and who was apparently one of his old classmates) did not hold anything back when claiming her new place at the side of Ron (Won-Won) Weasley.

To the credit of even the bloodthirsty journalists, none of the stories were sympathetic towards the Weasel. Wizarding society may have loved Ron Weasley, but they clearly loved Hermione Granger more (a sentiment of which Draco wholeheartedly approved of). It helped that Harry Potter was quoted as coming out unequivocally on Granger's side. No one would dare choose sides against Harry Potter, in light of the fate of the last dark wizard to do so. Except, apparently, Lavender Brown, who was clearly as stupid as her name.

He didn't like how the tabloids painted Granger as a pathetic dupe, though. Her tear-streaked face was always front page news, followed by a pathetic story about how she must have been completely oblivious to Ron's less-than-faithful ways. Whenever he saw those pictures, he felt that same rage he'd felt on that night, with the strongly held belief that those tears ravaging her face were a travesty to all that was good in the world (a category that possibly began and ended with her, anyway). Despite his rage, he devoured all the news, reveling in the condemnation of the Weasel and scouring them for word of what Granger was doing now.

He cheered when he saw she'd moved into a place of her own. He laughed aloud when he saw the picture of her biting the head off of a chocolate frog, holding up a picture of the card with Ron Weasley's face that came inside the package. And when he saw the picture of Ginny and Harry Potter proudly displaying "Baby Jamie" from the maternity ward at St. Mungo's, being held in the arms of proud Auntie Hermione, he softly traced the lines of her face as the magical image of her looked directly at the camera, beaming from ear to ear.

To be fair, there were later pictures of Harry and Ron with his new nephew, but those pictures were sans Hermione, and sans Ginny, and Harry's face always looked strained. Harry and Ron may have been best friends for many years and legendary Auror partners, but what few people truly understood was that Hermione was Harry's only sister, the very closest family he had outside of his wife and new son. Draco knew what few people knew, that when the chips were down, Ron had weakened, and Hermione had never once faltered. Ron was no doubt surprised to discover that Harry's loyalty, while unswerving, could be divided and found in favor of Hermione.

It was yet to be seen what would happen to their Auror partnership. Harry had taken more than the necessary time off for paternity leave, ostensibly to spend as much time as possible with his wife and child, but the whole department was waiting to see if the breakup of Weasley and Granger also meant the breakup of Weasley and Potter.

Draco knew from those same papers that after a short period of time off Hermione Granger was back at work, and busily righting the wrongs of the world by ensuring the rights of all Magical Creatures. But it still took him by surprise when she showed up in his office.

She stood a little awkwardly in the door frame, her hair pulled tightly back in a ponytail. The severity of her black pencil skirt and very proper white blouse would have made her seem stern if it wasn't for the tentative expression on her face. "Malfoy?" she called softly.

The quill in Draco's hand paused in its motion before he slowly looked up at her. He had been caught up in the recollection of events he was reporting on and so his concentration was a little hazy. He recognized her voice, but for a split second he thought he had imagined it. His finely trained Auror senses quickly ruled that out, and he needed the brief pause to collect himself, his heartbeat speeding up as he thought about her presence in his office.

He looked up at her, slowly setting his quill down, but didn't get up from the desk. "Granger." His greeting was neutral, the tone slightly questioning, unsure of what her purpose was. Unsure of what he wanted it to be.

She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, possibly the only curl that dared to escape the confines of her ponytail, a tiny sign of her hesitance. With a quick glance behind her, she stepped inside. "I—I just thought I'd—I wanted to," she started, stammering slightly, clearly nervous.

Draco didn't say anything, didn't move a muscle, and watched her visibly collect herself and stand up a tad straighter. She confidently walked back to the door and shut it softly before walking over to the chair in front of his desk and sitting down. She fiddled with her skirt for a moment before she brought her head up to look at him, his eyes focused on her intently.

She gave him a small, rueful smile. "I hope I'm not disturbing you." The statement was ridiculous, since he was clearly at work, and therefore clearly being disturbed, and he didn't bother answering it because she disturbed him all the time, wherever she was, and there was no good reason to bring that up. "Well, at least not too much," she amended.

She reached over to touch the Golden Snitch that was on display on his desk, her fingers stopping just short of touching it, realizing she was looking for an excuse to keep her hand occupied. When she looked at him with an almost apology for nearly touching his things, he quirked an eyebrow at her, and she gave him a real genuine smile, causing his heart to beat off rhythm for a moment.

"Sorry," she said. "I've just been," and she paused, a shadow passing through her eyes, "out of sorts, lately." She quickly looked down, knowing she was making an understatement. She took a deep breath, before she began, "I just wanted—"

"You'd better not be thanking me for saving Weasley's life again," he interrupted her. "I'm beginning to think it wasn't a very good choice, after all."

She blinked at that, and shook her head, causing her curls to bounce behind her. "Well, not that I think you should have left him to die, or anything." A brief glimpse of humor in her tone. "But no, that wasn't what I wanted to thank you for."

Draco felt a churning in his stomach, as he thought of the last few weeks of stories in the papers, knowing the perfect life she thought she had had just been turned upside down. No thanks to him, no help from him, not even any sympathy from him. "Granger, I have done nothing for you that you could possibly be thanking me for."

At this statement, she looked at him earnestly, "Oh, but you have!" He couldn't bring himself to look away from her, wishing there really was something he could have done for her.

"That night," she began, and there was no need to explain which night she meant, "it's like a nightmare to me. I asked myself so many times if it could possibly be real." She stopped to think for a minute, deciding how she could say what she hadn't been able to tell anyone else yet.

"I think I knew immediately, though, that it was real. I think," she paused, glancing at the closed door, "I think I may have always known. They say I'm the brightest witch of the age, so how could I not know? But even the brightest can be fools, I guess. I think I was just hoping that I was wrong, pretending that everything was okay." She tugged at the hem of her skirt, again, an excuse to look down and not at him. She was ashamed of herself, her words reflecting the type of self-loathing Draco was intimately familiar with.

Draco couldn't imagine why she was telling him this. They were only the most casual of friends, occasionally sharing a deeper moment. He didn't have a reputation for being sympathetic or caring, and if she was seeking comfort, there was very little he would be able to do that Potter and She-Potter wouldn't have done better.

"The tabloids all like to show how…devastated … I am," she stumbled a bit over the well-used adjective. "I think I feel vastly more disappointed in myself. For being one of those girls. One of those foolish girls. One of those weak girls who can't face unpleasant truths. And one of those ridiculous girls that gets wronged, and then blames herself." Her words were coming out a little faster, a little stronger.

Incensed, Draco blurted out, not caring about diplomacy, "You are not to blame that Weasel is an idiot!"

He was rewarded for his outburst with a small grin from Hermione, "No, I know that. I mean, I think I know that. In my head, I know that. I say almost the same thing to myself every day, actually." Appeased, Draco resolved to hold his tongue, watching her face slowly fade from the grin. "It's just hard, sometimes, to feel like," she licked her lips carefully, "I could have been better at being a girlfriend. At being a fiancée."

"That's ridiculous!" Draco bit out, his eyes hard, his tone brooking no contradiction. "Weasley wouldn't know quality if it stole his wand and hexed him with it! It's an unfortunate failing of Weasleys everywhere, and he clearly had more than his fair share."

Hermione actually laughed at that. "Watch it, some of my best friends are Weasleys."

For a second Draco thought she meant that she was still on friendly terms with Ron, and he was prepared to be horrified. Then he realized she meant all the rest of the Weasleys who were surely like family to her. "Well, maybe he inherited Ginny's share, too," he begrudgingly admitted, "She's a Potter now, anyway, and don't tell him I said this, but Potter is," he nearly choked on the words, "a quality guy."

"Why, Malfoy," she teased, "that was almost affectionate."

"I take it back," he grumbled. "I hate him and the broom he flew in on."

She laughed again, sending a thrill down his spine, and making it difficult for him to keep his surly face. "Much too late, Malfoy. I see right through you."

At that, he looked in her eyes again, wondering if she really could. Wondering how badly he wanted her to. He was relieved, though, to see that some of the shadows were gone from the few seconds of levity they had just shared.

"Malfoy," she began again, less unsure this time, "I wanted to thank you," and here she ignored the slight growl he emitted, raising her voice to continue uninterrupted, "for your anger." She knew she had his attention, and confused, he could think of no response.

She elaborated. "I was upset that night. I daresay I was a bit angry. But mostly I was hurt. I was disappointed in Ron, and in myself. And in all the days afterwards, people felt sorry for me. And people were disgusted. And people have tiptoed around me. And people have offered to pummel Ron for me."

"Dibs," Malfoy said, causing Hermione to lose track of her thoughts for a second at the Muggle saying that popped out of his mouth.

Distracted, she said, "Actually, I think George did it pretty well, and seemed to take quite the joy from doing it, really."

At the grunt of disappointment from Malfoy, she laughed again. "George really loves Ron, though. So does Ginny. Harry, of course." Malfoy's snort clearly expressed what he thought of those sentiments, and she continued, "I feel like in time, everyone will eventually forgive him, and go back to loving him."

"I will not," Malfoy declared unequivocally, emboldened by her acceptance of his disparaging remarks.

"I know," Hermione said, quietly. "I'm afraid sometimes that I might. But I think of your anger that night. I hear that truly frightening roaring sound you made, and I see the streak of blood across Ron's scared face from when you hexed him, and it reminds me that I was not to blame. That Ron is responsible for his own cowardice. That I deserve to be angry. That someone who never loved Ron and never loved me can see it as clear as day, and be moved to anger. I wasn't thinking it then, but over the last few weeks, when I start to get confused as to what I ought to be feeling, I remember that anger, and it makes me feel whole again."

Draco didn't know how to answer her. She assumed his anger was over injustice, and had nothing to do with feelings for her. She had no way of knowing that if it had been anyone else, he might not have batted an eye, but his fury was at the callous disregard for what Weasley didn't realize was his most precious possession: the trust and love of Hermione Granger.

She continued. "Ron wants to get back together with me." The snarling sound escaped Draco before he could think better of it.

Fortunately, she took it as a general expression of disgust, and waved him off. "No, I won't do it. But sometimes I feel pressure from the people around me to make up and play nice, so everything can go back to how it was. But I can't. I know I don't seem angry. But I am. I'm furious. I just, I can't always pull it up. So I use yours. And it gives me strength to justify moving forward and not looking back."

After this revelation, she seemed to realize how awkward it sounded. Her eyes widened a bit, and she backtracked, "I just—I kind of thought—I wanted you to know, that whatever people say about that night, I'm glad to feel like you were on my side, and no one else's. Even if, well, I mean, that might not have been exactly what you were feeling, but it mattered to me, anyway." She looked at him, then, anxiously waiting for a response, wondering if maybe she had just made herself look even more foolish.

He just stared at her, that yearning he always felt growing into something he didn't even recognize. When he finally trusted his voice to speak, he repeated her words, "Your side. And no one else's." It felt uncomfortably like a vow, so he clarified. "That's what I was feeling. That night."

And the smile bloomed on her face, tinged with relief. Draco realized that if they weren't friends before, surely they must be now. Hermione Granger seemed to need some friends, and it was surreal for him to think he might be able to count himself among them.

She stood up to go, the words that had driven her to seek him out still lingering in the air. Her hand was on the door, opening it, when Draco, unable to restrain himself, called out, "Were you going to be at the Ministry dinner tonight?"

She looked back at him and made a face, her nose scrunching up adorably. "Don't tell Kingsley but I was planning on avoiding it, actually. I can think of very little worse than pretending to play nice while everyone mutters 'Poor, Hermione!' under their breaths." She amended that statement with, "Unless, of course, it's having to sit at the same table as Ron and Lavender at the same time."

Draco had been intending on avoiding the dinner as well. Shacklebolt had threatened him with (near) bodily harm if he didn't attend, but after the last time, he didn't see how the threats could possibly be worse than the attending. So even he was surprised when he said, "I have to go, unfortunately."

Granger made a little apologetic sound, her hand still on the now-open door.

Draco was telling himself to shut his mouth, but somehow he just kept talking. "You could go with me."

Confusion showed in her eyes, and her jaw dropped a little bit at the unexpected request.

"I know better than anyone the desire to run away from bad press." He lightly alluded to his family's doings in the war, of course. "Hiding never helps." He could see her face start to get indignant at the idea that she was hiding. "Go on the offensive. You're Hermione Granger. You don't back down. You go to every Ministry function, and you own it. You wear the best dress. You eat all the food in front of you. You dance when appropriate. You're the brightest witch of the age, and he's just a Weasel, and she's just a skanky bint who wears too much lipstick to cover her own inadequacies."

At that, she smiled, looking out the doorway, and then looking back at him. "She does wear too much lipstick, doesn't she?" she conceded.

"Skanky bint," Malfoy repeated, emphasizing each word.

Granger contemplated his request, and then she clearly reached a resolution, because she took a deep breath and said, "Okay, you're right. I'll go. I'll go with you." She mumbled under her breath, "Merlin, I'm going to need a dress," as she walked out without saying goodbye.

Draco's excitement soared at her acquiescence, more than he had thought possible when the idea crossed his mind and ran out of his mouth without a filter. He tried to tamp the feelings down, reminding himself that it was just a Ministry dinner. But he could no longer concentrate on his paperwork, so he called it a day, and left to stare at his wardrobe wondering if he should make an effort to wear anything but black.