A/N: The piece that Draco plays in this chapter is "Étude Op. 10 No. 3" by Frédéric Chopin, better known as "Tristesse" (Sadness). It is readily available on YouTube.
Chapter 8
Breaks Silently on Tower and Hall
The severity of Hermione's hangover when she awoke on Saturday morning was dire indeed. She dressed haphazardly before she hurried down the High Street to the apothecary for a headache cure, where she received an inappropriately amused look from the shopkeeper.
Finally able to think clearly, Hermione's mind drifted back to the events of the previous night and she could have screamed with embarrassment. Her memory was hazy, an alarming sign in itself, but she distinctly remember knocking back shots with Draco Malfoy, humping a complete stranger, and having to be carried to bed by someone – she assumed Fabian.
She had never behaved like such an absolute berk in her entire life. This was all Fabian's fault, as far as she was concerned. That Irish twat.
Said twat strode into her flat at around one o'clock with no apparent guilt whatsoever.
"What a top night, wasn't it love?" he asked, grinning.
"It didn't rate for me," Hermione said coldly, glaring at him through narrowed eyes.
"Really? You looked like you were having a cracking time to me."
"I'm surprised you managed to notice."
"There was a fair amount of distraction, but I distinctly remember you making the choice to drink excessively and rub up against that rather strapping thing in the tight t-shirt."
"None of that would have ever happened if you hadn't dragged me there. And in front of Malfoy! Malfoy!" she moaned.
"I think he rather enjoyed it," Fabian smirked. "Got you home all right, it seems."
"What do you mean? Surely you didn't leave me drunk and in the clutches of Draco fucking Malfoy!"
"How dramatic you are. I had a rather urgent matter to attend to, so I left you in the trustworthy and nimble hands of dear Draco."
"You are unbelievable. What urgent matter?"
"His name was Theo, if I recall. Bloody massive co-" Fabian started, only to be cut off by Hermione choking on the cup of tea she was holding.
/
Hermione did not emerge from her flat for the entire weekend. She chose to forego acting like an adult in exchange for eating ice cream and reading Bridget Jones' Diary.
This, in her opinion, was simply necessary preparation for having to see other human beings again on Monday after being an ass. Regardless of the fact that the majority of them would have no idea what she had gotten up to on Friday, she felt like they would somehow know.
The most horrible encounter would obviously be with Malfoy, which she did not think could get worse until Fabian informed her that it was he who had tucked her into bed.
Malfoy would either be laughing his head off about it all or trying to block out what he no doubt considered a thoroughly distasteful memory. Hermione had to admit that either was a valid reaction.
She was starting interviews that week and Malfoy was on her list for Monday. Hermione was mentally throttling herself for this, feeling as though putting it off was somehow an admission of defeat.
Hermione Jean Granger simply would not be scared of Draco bleeding Malfoy.
/
Bollocks.
Bollocks.
Merlin's bloody bollocks.
Why oh why had she not just put the book in her bag and waited until she got home to peruse it further? Probably because she had happened upon a rather racy bit when she was skimming through it initially and her love life wasn't exactly stimulating these days.
And so it was that Malfoy came upon her in a state of complete arousal, no way on this Earth to play it off as if it was not exactly what it looked like.
Hermione had never experienced this particular look of mingled shock, amusement, and mortification on Malfoy's face. He got over it quickly enough, only to snatch the offending romance novel from her and scan one of the pages. His eyes widened as his mouth spread into a smile of genuine mirth that almost made her forget the years of torment he had inflicted on her.
"Let me know if you need any help," he had said as he walked away. There was something dancing behind his eyes that she could not quite identify, but it was certainly something she had never seen before.
After Malfoy departed, Hermione immediately shoved the book into her bag and left the library for Fabian's office.
When she strode in, Fabian was standing at the mirror behind his desk waving his wand around his head. He was examining the effect of each new hairstyle with his typical flamboyant air.
"Darling!" Fabian exclaimed, turning around with flourish.
"A little hip for a teacher, don't you think?" Hermione asked as Fabian skimmed his fingers through the top of his fauxhawk.
"What a stick in the mud you are."
"You may reconsider that statement after I tell you what just happened."
"Gossip?! I'm starved for it! Tell me immediately."
"Draco Malfoy walked in on me reading erotic literature," she said flatly. Fabian goggled at her.
"I can't say I'm surprised, dull as your love life must be," he said after a moment. "Did he offer to give you some practical experience?" Fabian waggled his eyebrows.
"He did say to let him know if I needed any help," she blushed, covering her face with her hands.
"Then what in Merlin's name are you doing here when you could be getting properly shagged by a bloody gorgeous reformed Death Eater with a heart of gold and an arse to die for?"
"Just because I tolerate being in the same room with him doesn't mean I've forgotten that his sole mission in life was once to torment me and call me a mudblood every chance he got." Hermione replied in a frosty tone. Fabian sat down in the armchair next to her and gazed at her rather intently.
"So he was a shit," Fabian agreed. "I'm sure he wouldn't argue with you. He was raised as a Malfoy, love. I don't think we can really imagine what that means."
Hermione looked at him, turning his words over in her mind. She thought about the look on Malfoy's face as Bellatrix Lestrange repeatedly cast the Cruciatus Curse on her the night they were captured by Snatchers. She thought about his anguished shout as Crabbe had been swallowed by Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. She thought about the fact that Narcissa Malfoy had saved the entire Wizarding World by telling Lord Voldemort that Harry was dead.
But most of all she thought about Severus Snape and what would have become of him if Dumbledore had not believed that it was possible for people to change.
"You've made your point," Hermione conceded. "But it is still highly unlikely that Draco Malfoy wants to shag me."
Fabian gave her a withering look.
/
Malfoy looked bothered when he opened the door to admit her. Bothered by what exactly, she couldn't say. She noticed a large piano against the wall behind him and blinked at it in surprise. If Malfoy noticed this, he chose not to comment.
Sitting down, he stared at her expectantly.
"Yes, well, let's just get on with it" Hermione said briskly, downing half her glass of wine in one go.
"What exactly are you expecting me to contribute?" Malfoy mused, swirling his tumbler of scotch.
"Well, you were close to Professor Snape."
"Your point being?"
"That you have a unique perspective."
"If you're expecting me to tell you that the real Severus Snape was actually a warm and caring role model in private, nothing like the sour old git everyone thought he was, I'm afraid you're going to be sorely disappointed."
"Be that as it may," she replied sourly, "He is a war hero and people want to know more about him."
"You can tell them he'd be revolted to be called a war hero."
"Ha ha ha."
"You are barking up the wrong tree, Granger. What makes you think I can tell you anything you don't already know?"
"He made an Unbreakable Vow," Hermione told him quietly. "To protect you."
"On Dumbledore's orders, I'm sure."
"Why he did it doesn't really matter, does it? The telling part is that he did."
"I still don't have any revelations for you worth putting into print," Malfoy informed her flatly, standing up and beginning to pace.
"Why are you being so bloody unhelpful?" Hermione demanded.
"What do you want me say, Granger?" he snapped, collapsing onto the piano stool. "That I have no idea what to make of him, even years later? That I never could have done what he did? That I couldn't look Voldemort in the eyes, weak and stupid as I was, while Snape risked his life every second of every day?"
She had no response for this outburst. Almost unconsciously, Malfoy's fingers struck a few notes. The sound hung in the silence for what seemed like minutes, but was probably only seconds.
Hermione took another large drink of wine and said nothing. She watched the back of Malfoy's head, tilted downward as he continued to stare at the piano keys. He let out an audible sigh, positioned his hands, and began to play in earnest.
Music was not a field that Hermione's expertise extended to. But as far as she could tell, Malfoy played beautifully. His long fingers flowed through the piece as if through liquid, smooth and effortless. She could not help thinking that although it was a rather sad composition, it suited him in a way that she could not quite put into words.
At some point she had risen and moved closer to the piano. She watched the muscles in the back of Malfoy's hands extend and contract, watched the veins rise up to surface, watched his fingertips depress the keys with the lightest of touches.
Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder and Malfoy stopped playing instantly. He stood up so abruptly that she was almost knocked to the ground. She suddenly found herself pushed up again the piano, wooden edges painfully digging into her back. Her backside hit random notes as she stared up at Malfoy, towering over her with an expression she had no idea how to read.
The pale skin of his face had grown paler still and his silver eyes bored into her with the force of a physical blow. One of his hands came to rest on the wooden surface next to her face, while the other slid slowly and purposely up the back of her leg to close around the flesh of her bum.
Her eyes fluttered shut as Malfoy's face began to inch nearer. She nearly jerked in surprise when she heard his voice in her ear, his lips ghosting over her cheekbone.
"Go away, Granger."
Hermione's brain flew back into her body in a singularly unpleasant fashion. She shoved her palms into Malfoy's chest and he allowed himself to be propelled back several steps. Pushing past him, she grabbed her bag and left the room without looking back.
/
The moment she shut the door of her flat behind her, Hermione began to pull off her clothes as fast as possible. She stepped into the shower and blasted herself with scalding hot water.
She felt disgusting.
After scrubbing her skin red, Hermione collapsed onto the floor tried to feel nothing but the pressure and heat of the water coursing over her.
So many people had died. Harry's parents. Cedric Diggory. Dumbledore. Mad-Eye. Fred. Tonks. Lupin. Snape. Malfoy and his family had been a part of that. What would they think of her now? What would Harry and Ron and Ginny think? What did she think?
If she was honest, she believed that people could change. She had to think that. Men like Dumbledore and Snape had made mistakes when they were young – grave mistakes. But these faults were far overshadowed by the good that they had done. They had all been so young. The fact that she and Harry and Ron had somehow succeeded did not change how young and foolish and naïve they had been.
People can change. Malfoy can change. Malfoy has changed. Hermione has changed. Nothing in the past need influence how she felt now. And she was most certainly having some feelings.
Oh, fuck.