AN: I finally expanded the interchapter into an actual full-length chapter. Sorry it took so long, writer's block, you know.
. . .
"There aren't many poster children for cool angst. Everyone thinks it's cool if you're the bad girl."
- Fiona Apple
. . .
Hermione sighed heavily, throwing herself facedown on her bed, arms and legs spreadeagled. All was wrong with the world, seemingly. Her job was still crushingly boring, she was still feeling vaguely regretful over her breakup with Ron, and she now suspected that the Weasleys were avoiding her. It had been two weeks since the glass-shattering incident at Parvati's party (followed by the brief sojourn at Malfoy Manor), and Hermione was none-too-popular with the Wizarding community. Most people who hadn't actually been present had heard about it anyway. Some sided with her, thinking that Malfoy shouldn't have insulted her like that, but most seemed to think that Hermione ought to have been better at controlling her magic.
So, life was currently as bad as it had gotten since the end of the war. She was jaded, unpopular, and alone. Less than a year ago, she had been a cautiously optimistic young witch emerging from grief and ready to tackle the Wizarding world head-on. What had happened?
It was clearly time for some hard-core life analysis, one problem at a time.
First problem: Dissatisfaction with job.
Cause: Boring job.
Solution: Promotion.
Obstacle: Thanks to Draco, she had turned down an undeserved promotion, leading the Ministry to think that she was unambitious and/or Muggle-hating. Another promotion offer was probably not in her immediate future.
Second problem: Loneliness after breakup.
Cause: Normal human emotions.
Solution: Socialize more. Get back in touch with the Weasleys, make more friends, etc.
Obstacle: Thanks to Draco, the Wizarding world now thought that she was an emotionally unstable mage with anger issues who couldn't have a slightly heated discussion without using unconscious magic to smash something.
Third Problem: General dissatisfaction with self.
Cause: Probably Draco. In fact, almost certainly Draco. He had been the Estella to her Pip, building up her dreams of power, offering her a taste of the glittering world of high society, then psychologically abusing her by revealing that it had all been a ploy for personal gain. After that, he couldn't just leave her in peace, but insisted on being alternately snarky and gallant. (With an awkward, Slytherinish sort of gallantry. It was quite adorkable, actually . . . No! She needed to focus on the problem at hand.) Then there was this whole business with the subdermal crystal shard . . . What was that about? Was it yet another manifestation of his psychopathy, or a meaningful statement of some kind?
"If you think I wasn't experiencing all seven levels of hell whilst you were being tortured, then you're fully insane . . ."
Oh, dear Merlin. Her heart would have to be metal not to flutter at that.
Why did he have to be so . . .
Hermione's nimble brain almost short-circuited trying to think of one all-encompassing adjective for Draco Malfoy. Inscrutable? Interesting? Infuriating? Insidious?
Ineffable.
Clearly, a conversation avec Ginny was necessary to help sort out her . . . whatever this was. Hermione sat up rather reluctantly and reached for a quill and parchment. She would post it at work the next day, borrowing one of the Ministry owls. Really, not having her own owl could be such a hassle at times.
As though summoned by telekinetic energy, a tapping came at the window. Hermione looked up sharply. It was a rather ruffled-looking grey owl, one that she didn't recognize. She opened the window with an impatient snap. It hopped onto the windowsill and held out a little violet-ribboned scroll.
My dear Miss Granger:
Hello, dear! It must be a bit of a surprise to hear from your old Potions master after all this time, but I've been very busy - and from what I hear, so have you!
In the tradition of my time with the Slug Club (ah, how nostalgic!), I'm having a little Christmas party this year. Nothing too crowded, just a little gathering for a few of my old favorites. December 22, at my new place in Pimlico. I've hired that new Greek band, Euridice's Harp, to provide entertainment, and Blue Dragon is catering. I do so hope you'll come!
Sincerely,
Your favorite professor,
Horace Slughorn
Ps. If you do manage to make it to my little party, I will be able to introduce you to Rubens Winikus, the famous potioneer.
Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Ah, Slughorn. Grandiose beneficiary and unashamed brown-noser in equal proportions. Her winter was becoming a never-ceasing round of parties and social events . . . Another Malfoy-caused phenomenon, she had to suspect. Whether she liked it or not, he had really gotten her on the radar. Now she was indebted to him, again! Oh, awful thought.
Well, she wouldn't screw this one up. This could be her chance to redeem herself from the incident at Parvati's party! Hermione began planning the evening in her head. She would be charming, witty, and, of course, très élégante. Perhaps she ought to purchase a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion . . .
Wait a moment! Was she becoming one of those shameless social-climbers without realizing it?!
Honestly, her life used to be so much easier before all of these parties and promotions . . . Well, obviously, there had been the war, and that was . . . awful. But afterwards, there had been a brief equilibrium period of a few years, when everything had seemed pretty damn near perfect. She had her then-exciting new job at the ministry. She and Ron had been "going steady". Her parents were home from Australia, their memories flawlessly restored. She had a close circle of really good friends - Harry, Luna, Ginny, Neville, and, obviously, Ron. Now, everyone seemed to be drifting away, and her job was a dull chore. Was this what life was truly like? After a brief, blossoming period of bliss, life was becoming lonely, and more that a bit bland. Maybe she should just resign herself to her fate and, as Ron would say, "get on with it". . . Stop trying for a promotion . . . Save her hopes and dreams for another day . . . Get a house in the suburbs . . . Start wearing uber-conservative skirts and pulling her hair back in unnecessarily severe buns . . . Marry some tweedy, slightly balding youngish wizard from the Department of Magical Equipment Control . . . Have some kids that were near-identical genetic replicas of herself and name them all "Hugo" or something . . .Wait, wait, she was getting ahead of herself.
Hermione gave a rather humorless chuckle. No, not she, Hermione Granger. At the ripe old age of twenty-two, she wasn't ready to resign herself to a pattern-cut bourgeois lifestyle. Maybe there was a bit of Slytherin in her after all, because she was finally ready to give this whole "ambition" thing a try.
. . .
"Well, you've certainly been pensive lately."
Ginny raised an eyebrow at Hermione, managing to look gently dubious despite the fact that she was holding a water-gushing hose and her pants were streaked with dirt.
The two witches were in the Potters' winter-bared garden. A thin crust of snow crackled underfoot. Harry had had to dash into work on some sort of urgent last-minute essential thing, leaving them some alone time. Privately, Hermione was a little relieved; there were simply some things (rather a lot of things, actually) that she simply couldn't discuss with Harry. He was excellent, but he just wouldn't understand.
Of course, Ginny too was having a hard time grasping whatever it was that Hermione was trying to tell her. It was all a bit abstract and random.
"Please, try to understand," pleaded Hermione, "it's a bit of a life crisis."
"So you said, but I still don't see exactly how." She shot another shrewd look in her friend's direction, then proceeded to shower the leafless lilac tree with a gush of water. "Is anything wrong? I mean, something concrete. Wait, are you sad about Ron?"
Hermione considered this for a moment, running a hand through her wildly wavy hair. "No, I don't think so. I mean, yes, I was. Actually, I think I was more regretful than sad, you know? Like, I regret that we weren't able to maintain a good relationship, and this will probably make things awkward for a while, but I know it was for the best. Our personalities were never suited to each other, and let's just face it, Ron and I had no chemistry. Well, we did at first, but honestly I think at least part of it came from the nonstop adrenaline rush of the war plus everything that we'd shared together."
"That's how it was with me and Harry, I think," said Ginny, absently near-drowning a frozen azalea. "Only we do have great chemistry and compatible personalities, so everything worked out really well."
"Exactly," said Hermione, relieved that someone understood her at last.
"So, Ron's not the problem." Ginny turned off the hose. "What's causing all this angst, Hermione?" She smiled good-naturedly to show that she was half-joking.
"To be perfectly honest. . ." Hermione trailed off, biting her lip nervously. "Wait, why did you use a hose instead of just Augamenti?"
"International Statute of Secrecy, obviously."
"But Godric's Hollow is a Wizarding community."
"Yeah, but it still has a mostly-Muggle population. Our next-door neighbors, the Flannigans and the Gujarats, are as nonmagical as as Harry's aunt . . . Well, maybe not that nonmagical, but still. We have to be cautious. Imagine if Mrs. Flannigan was looking out of her upstairs window and saw me shooting a jet of water out of a stick! She might be a little suspicious, no?"
"Oh, I see."
Ginny discreetly wiped her slightly muddy hands on her jeans. "Let's go inside, I'm freezing. Plus, I want to hear what you were about to say before you changed the subject!"
Hermione smiled in exasperation. She sometimes didn't know whether Ginny's sharp memory was more a blessing or an annoyance.
. . .
Draco tried to fight down the nervousness that rose like acrid bile in his throat. His fingers tightened absently around the scroll in his hand, creasing it.
Hermione,
Would you like to get coffee with me?
- Draco Malfoy
It was a simple note, devoid of embellishment or euphemism. He had considered each word carefully - using her given name, not specifying a time or place for coffee, using a hyphen in place of "signed" or "sincerely." For once, he lacked an ulterior motive. So why were his internal organs trying themselves in knots?
Reluctantly, Draco reached for his wand - a new wand procured from some French wandmaker after the war - and ignited the tip so it glowed with a tiny flame. This he used to light the green sealing wax candle on his desk. The wax dripped onto the scroll, forming a little bottle-green puddle. Draco removed the ring from the fourth finger of his right hand and pressed it into the rapidly-cooling wax. When he removed it, the ornate "M" of the Malfoy crest was imprinted into the seal. Sliding the ring onto his finger, Draco whistled a high, clear note through his teeth. Within seconds, Isolde the owl landed on the desk.
"Take this to Hermione Granger in London," commanded Draco, tying the scroll to her claw with a short length of twine. Isolde blinked at him with her coin-like yellow eyes. She seemed to be waiting for something. Draco sighed, feeling ridiculous. "Oh, alright. Please?"
Isolde hooted condescendingly and took off, soaring out the open window. Draco watched the ghostlike silhouette vanish into the sunset, feeling an overpowering sense of trepidation. He analyzed the new feeling thoroughly. It seemed that he was experiencing some anxiety about asking Hermione out, indicating that he had feelings for her. This was good, because it meant that Draco wasn't a sociopath after all. This was also rather bad, because Hermione was quite possibly the young woman least likely to go out with him. Besides which, they had been schoolyard enemies. Did he have some sort of complex, wherein he only fancied unattainable girls who probably hated him?
Hmm. It seemed unlikely, but he ought to remain open to the possibility.
. . .
Hermione looked Ginny in the eye and took a deep breath.
"I think I might like Malfoy."
They stared at one another in complete silence for a few seconds. Ginny cleared her throat.
"Er. So, when you say 'like,' you mean . . . 'Maybe he's not such a bad bloke after all' like, or 'I want to marry him and have his Malfoy babies' like?"
Hermione giggled, semi-hysterically. "Somewhere in between, I think."
"Don't take this the wrong way, but . . . why?"
"I don't know." Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "Empirically, I know he's a bastard, but he can also be quite charming at times. Attractive." Under Ginny's brown-eyed inscrutable scrutiny, she became defensive. "Look, I don't want to ride off into the sunset and have his half-albino children, okay? I just think Draco's attractive and someone that I might hypothetically consider maybe dating in the distant, hypothetical future. Is that so wrong?!"
"Okay, okay, Calm down." Ginny raised her hands in mock self-defense. "Just try to realize how weird this sounds to me. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy." She placed heavy emphasis on the names, as if trying to explain an aphorism to a foreigner.
Hermione harrumphed irritably. "Really, I though I could trust you of all people to be mature about this."
"I am being mature! If anything, I feel vindicated."
"Vindicated? Why?" Hermione demanded, nonplussed.
Ginny smirked. "For all the times I mentioned to Harry that you and Malfoy would make a cute couple."
"Ginevra!" shrieked Hermione. "That is the exact opposite of mature!"
"So, what do you want me to say?" Ginny arranged her expression into one of exaggerated seriousness, steepling her fingertips and furrowing her forehead. "Hmm. This all sounds most logical, most logical indeed. You probably ought to analyze everything he's ever said to you, in great detail, to get the most accurate measure of your relationship status. When is the last time - "
"Point conceded!" laughed Hermione. "You win. Sorry for being ridiculous. I just . . ."
"Don't know what to do, yeah. You're in love and it feels like you're drowning."
"I am not in love."
"Yes, keep telling yourself that."
. . .
Draco went through the motions.
Wake up, shower. Dress. Black tea. Look over investment charts. Get bored. Wander around the manor. Be careful not to strut. Practice violin. Glare venomously at random inanimate objects. Consult briefly with Dotty about management of manor. Eat something, at Dotty's insistence. Write letter to mother. Remember that Isolde is out, so the letter cannot be posted. Wander around some more. Glare venomously at violin.
Something about the routine today was different. What was it?
Ah. He was waiting for Hermione's response to his invitation.
Interesting. He hadn't been obsessing over it; the invitation had only crossed his mind once or twice after he had sent it. His routine hadn't altered at all. It was the simple desire to reach out to another person, the small dedication of his will to another's potential happiness - that was what felt different. It was unselfish human contact, and Draco enjoyed it.
Perhaps he might be healing.
. . .
Hermione had just returned to her flat, arms laden with grocery bags, when an owl tapped at the window. She deposited the bags in the kitchenette, then went to let the owl in. It was Draco's owl.
"Isolde, isn't it?" Hermione mused absently, stroking the downy feathers on the bird's head. It/she hooted in what seemed to be confirmation and extended the scroll tied to her claw.
. . .
Draco was just finishing the first chapter of 1984 when Isolde landed on the arm of his chair.
"Hello, what's this?"
With faintly trembling fingers, he unrolled the scroll.
Draco,
I'd like that. 4 p.m. this Saturday, the place were we got coffee last time?
- Hermione Granger
A wave of relief washed over Draco. He had not been rejected.
The place where we got coffee last time . . . that required some thought to remember. They had gone on their Muggle London tour - it seemed like ages ago - and gotten coffee at that place. The one that was near her flat. Mildly pleased with himself for remembering, Draco penned a short conclusion to their equally short correspondence.
Yes. À plus tard!
Isolde flew obligingly off again. Draco felt slightly guilty. He would have to give her an owl treat later to make up for the constant travel.
He still wasn't completely sure why he had asked Hermione out. In his mind, there had always coexisted two separate Hermiones: the know-it-all who always had a snappy retort, and the inaccessible Gryffindor princess that he might be in love with. It was entirely possible that neither of these described the real Hermione, or perhaps she was a combination of the two. Either way, Draco surprised himself by wanting to find out. In relationships before, it had always been a girl fitting some sort of idealistic mold. Pansy was the great adolescent romance, the school sweetheart. Verity was the exotic one, the rebel, the unexpected girlfriend to shock his family and friends. Astoria was the perfect Mrs. Malfoy, a worthy queen to rule over the manor at his side. Of course, if Draco was honest with himself, Pansy had been a friend-turned-girlfriend-by-default, Verity had been a quick rebound in the post-war euphoria, and Astoria was simply incompatible.
Hermione was different. For the first time in ages, Draco was genuinely interested in getting to know someone else. He wanted to know what music she listened to, what she read for fun, what her hopes and dreams were. He was ready to fall in love, if he wasn't already in love. Really, who could tell?