The following Tuesday at work, Hermione does something she knows she'll probably regret: she arranges a happy hour after work at the Leaky Cauldron. With Harry, Ginny, and Ron. And Erik.
And Theodore Nott.
She prepares Theo beforehand – an owled note effusive with please, please, please and they'll like you, I promise. She even provides him with a few talking points and Gryffindor etiquette tips, just to be safe.
Harry, Ginny, and Ron, however? They don't have a clue. Hermione has learned that this approach works best with this bunch. Forethought and planning were always more her strengths; but for her childhood best friends, blind improvisation is usually the right course. Still, she feels a small stab of guilt when the two redheads and Harry enter the bar that night, joking and smiling and totally unaware of what awaits them.
Her tactic proves risky for a second when Ron, catching a glimpse of Theo beside her at the table, turns on one heel to leave. Thankfully, Harry clasps a hand on Ron's shoulder, forces him back around, and marches him toward Hermione while glaring at her from behind Ron's back.
She rises to kiss all three of them on the cheek, whispering, "I'll explain" into Ginny's ear and "Be nice" into Ron's and Harry's. Thus warned, the three new arrivals settle with apprehensive frowns into the free seats at the table.
Harry, of course, is the first to break the tense silence. "Erik. Good to see you."
"You, too, mate. Glad you guys could make it out tonight. I honestly wondered if you'd be able to break away, after that nastiness in Knockturn Alley this afternoon."
"Yeah," Harry says, subtly raising an eyebrow toward Hermione at the implication that Erik knew more about this get-together than him. "It was rough going there for a while. Got it all sorted out in the end, though. Mostly thanks to Ron here."
"What happened?" Hermione asks and then takes a sip of her wine in an effort to appear blasé. Judging by Ron's ongoing glower, it doesn't work. Ron opens his mouth to speak but Ginny, bless her, cuts him off excitedly.
"Their Auror squad found a case of cursed bludgers moving through one of the Knockturn black markets. Can you believe it? Apparently, a dealer was trying to get them past inspections in time for the World Cup."
"In favor of us, or the Yanks?" Theo asks.
Ginny accesses him coolly before answering. "The Yanks, apparently."
"Well, then it's a damned good thing Potter and Weasley stopped them, isn't it?"
The table is silent for a moment, before everyone breaks into tentative laughter. The sound punctures some of the tension in the air and Hermione feels her shoulders relax a fraction.
"It wasn't just the two of us today," Ron explains. He leans into the table to grab a pint from the round Theo bought beforehand. "Harry and me, we're still in training for another year. Maybe two, in my case."
"That's not what I heard," Erik says with a conspiratorial wink. "Word in the Undersecretary's Office is that some exceptions might be made in the Auror Department soon. For both of you."
"Oh, do tell." Ginny scoots her stool closer to Erik's and the two duck heads to trade Ministry rumours. Hermione smiles faintly, thinking of what Draco said that past weekend: Erik was a good choice for Theo. Then she resolves to stop thinking of Draco Malfoy, full stop.
The resolution works, for the most part. But an hour into what has become unexpectedly easy conversation, Theo has to go and bring up the PTSD Pastry Tour.
"So, Hermione, how's the progress with Draco?" Theo asks her offhandedly, not seeing the way Ron's eyes bulge from his skull. "Making any headway?"
"Erm…it's going well, I think." She takes another drink and hopes against all hope that someone brings up another topic, fast.
But no such luck.
"Malfoy?" Ron croaks. He looks back and forth between Hermione and Theo, his mouth hanging open a few centimetres. "What's Hermione got to do with that bugger?"
"It's just part of my project, Ron," she says hastily. "The baking thing, remember? Speaking of which, I've been checking into your ideas for the ganache smoothie, and I think we might be able to make it work. With the right cold agents, of course. I've actually got some notes in my bag, if you want to see them?"
She starts rummaging in her beaded handbag that, regrettably, also has a tin of apple macarons in it. When she sets them on the table in search of her smoothie-notes, Ron snatches up the tin, opens it, and takes a big whiff.
"Blimey," he says, as his eyes roll back in his head. "These smell like heaven. When did you make these?"
Hermione's mouth falls open, empty of a good answer. Desperate for some kind of assistance, she scans the table. Erik's no help – he merely takes an amused sip of his pint. Harry and Ginny just exchanged worried glances. It's Theo, Merlin love him, who comes to her rescue.
"Oh," Theo says with an artfully careless shrug. "That's all me, mate. I'm a big macaron obsessive, didn't Hermione tell you? I've been commissioning different flavors from her for a few weeks now. These are some of her best, I think."
"Damn right, they are," Ron agrees, shoving one of the biscuits into his mouth without permission. He moans happily through a chew and gives her one of those adoring yet perplexed stares she's always liked. "Hermione, love, I think you may have really found your…what's it called? Your niche? I mean, I knew you were a talented witch, but I honestly can't believe you made these all by yourself."
"I can't believe it either," Erik snickers, before Theo elbows him lightly in the ribs. Thankfully, the subject of baking – and, obliquely, Draco – goes by the wayside, and the rest of the evening is far less fraught. Theo, Ron, and Ginny fall into an animated discussion about the World Cup; Harry and Erik talk Ministry politics, arguing good-naturedly about several of Harry's rivals for future Head of the Auror Office.
As she follows each conversation, and weaves in and out wherever necessary, Hermione feels a distinct sense of peace. If one set of her friends likes another, then her life suddenly seems a lot less complicated. That is, if she doesn't factor a certain, sarcastic blond into the equation. Which she's not going to do. Nope, nope, nope.
Finally, far later than she originally anticipated, everyone decides to call it a night. With a quick kiss to Theo's cheek, Erik leaves to Floo home from the Leaky's fireplace. Ron, Harry, and Ginny move to go as well, until Ginny grabs her purse and sinks back into her chair.
"I just want to hang for a bit, yeah?" she says to Harry, brushing his cheek with the back of her hand. "Hermione and I have bridesmaid business to discuss."
Her reference to the wedding is apparently enough excuse for Harry and Ron to escape in a flurry of quick goodbyes and Apparitions. Within seconds, it's only Ginny, Hermione, and Theo left at the table.
Hermione thinks that Theo will leave, too, so Ginny can pull out the orange binder Molly made to keep the wedding details organized. But the infamous binder doesn't appear. Instead, Ginny motions for Theo to keep his seat, throws a quick glance around the pub, and signals the bartender for another round of drinks. Ginny frowns suspiciously at Hermione and Theo, but she doesn't speak until the drinks have been delivered and Hermione has taken a bracing gulp of wine.
"Okay, Granger," Ginny drawls, inadvertently making Hermione think of someone else. "Spill it. Harry's told me about the current subject of your project, but I know he left out details, being Harry and all. I've been watching you and Nott here exchange sly little glances all night. So spill it."
An uncomfortable silence descends, until Theo blurts out:
"Hermione likes Draco!"
"I do not!" Hermione shrieks. But she knows, after the echo of her protest fades, that the damage is done. The thought is out there now, for everyone at the table – including herself – to ponder.
Ginny flips her long red braid, props her chin onto one palm, and assesses the table sagely. "Interesting," she says. "And not all that shocking, given what I saw tonight. But the real question remains: what kind of 'like' are we talking about here?"
"Exactly!"' Theo exclaims. He leans toward Ginny and ignores the outraged "O" into which Hermione's mouth has just fallen. "That question has been bugging Erik and me for the last three weeks."
Hermione has a sudden memory of her fourteen-year-old self, sitting on her bed in the Gryffindor girls' dormitory with a pillow pressed to her face, shaking her head vigorously at Parvati Patil.
Out with it, Hermione. Do you like Ron, or do you like like him?
This current conversation feels a bit like that.
"Three weeks," Ginny marvels, folding her arms onto the tabletop and giving Hermione an appraising once-over. "Three whole weeks, huh?"
"I'm not hiding anything," Hermione squeaks. And then she cringes at exactly how unconvincing that sounds. She sucks down another long drink – one that Ginny and Theo apparently have no problem allowing – and takes another stab at it.
"I'm really not hiding anything from you two, I swear. I'm doing just what I set out to do, which is contact survivors of the War and help them work through what's haunting them. I know dessert is a strange way to go about it, but it helped me. And it seems to help other people, too. Including Dra—Malfoy."
Ginny is kind enough not to note Hermione's slip of tongue. Instead, the younger witch reaches out to clasp one of Hermione's listless, outstretched hands. After a moment's hesitation, Theo does the same with her other hand. He nods at Ginny in solidarity, and then says something to Hermione that she doesn't expect. Not at all.
"Hermione, no one is more grateful about what you've decided to do than I am. Trust me." He throws a pointed look to the back of the Leaky, toward the fireplace where Erik Floo'd home. "But I think Red here and I are both thinking the same thing."
"Which is…?"
"That you need to be careful. Especially when it comes to Draco Malfoy."
Hermione feels her shoulders tighten. "What exactly do you mean by 'careful,' Theo?"
He exchanges another fretful glance with Ginny and then sighs. "What I mean is that Draco and I are friends. But he's not my closest mate, and I'm not his."
"Really?"
Somehow this startles Hermione, given how often she and Draco talk warmly about Theodore Nott. Theo, however, just nods.
"Really. I care about the bloke, very much, but he's kind of a closed book these days. When we were kids, it was different. Everyone in Slytherin used to joke that he was the human equivalent of one of his family's ridiculous white peacocks: all strut but no substance. You could learn everything about that boy if you sat through one of his boasts long enough. But then the War came, and we all know how spectacularly wrong things went for Draco after that. Dumbledore, that horrible Lestrange woman, Crabbe. Hell, even Draco's own mum, what with her saving Potter's life and all. Draco had everything he ever believed in thrown back in his face like rubbish, and it's made him a touch…well, fragile isn't quite the right word. But it's close."
Hermione shakes her head. "Theo, if this speech is your attempt to convince me that you don't know Draco very well, then you might be failing. You seem to know him awfully well indeed."
Theo sighs. "Ah, but that's my point. That's exactly my point. One can only get to know this 'new' Draco so well. He drinks, and he says snarky things, and he shows up very, very occasionally to our reunions. But mostly he stares at the wall and thinks about himself. Or oblivion. Or angst. Or whatever it is fallen anti-heroes think about."
"Then how do you know he's still the selfish, arrogant prick he was in school?" Ginny gives Hermione's hand an inadvertent squeeze. "How do you know he hasn't changed, just like the rest of us did after the War?"
Theo makes a small noise of appreciation.
"Another interesting point, Red. I don't. Not really. All I really know is that Draco doesn't let anyone 'in' anymore. Not long enough for any of us to figure out who he is now. Sure, we all have the occasional drink – me, him, Blaise, Pansy. Sometimes those Greengrass girls. And I know Draco takes Greg and Millie out once a month to some swanky restaurant in Diagon Alley. But I mostly think Draco does that because he knows all of the Goyle family's assets were seized after the War. Greg and Millie are poor as church mice now. Aside from that stuff, it's just Draco, the Manor, and those nutter parents of his. Circling the drain, alone forever. Or at least until his parents find him some suitably dry, pureblood mate."
Hermione considers what Theo's just said – how well it does or doesn't dovetail with what she's recently learned about Draco.
Many of the things Theo's revealed do fit what she knows: the drinking; the closed-off demeanor; the mix of angry isolation and a desperate need for company. And yet there's something missing between the Draco she's getting to know and the one that Theo has just described.
There's the man who bemoans Harry's childhood victories over him but can also admit his own failings in the form of a dozen burnt biscuits. There's the aristocratic boy who preens and snarls when cornered but pulls down the collar of his jumper to reveal what must have been the most physically painful day of his life. There's the man who has, on more than one occasion, referred to the worst day of her life with regret, shame, and an unmistakable note of longing that it hadn't happened at all.
Then there's the man who didn't put a drop of Ogden's into his tea last weekend.
"Draco's…complex. I do rather like that about him."
Hermione concludes this aloud before she has fully organized her thoughts, and long before she's weighed their consequences. A furious pink floods her cheeks and, for some reason, she feels the need to cover up the error by staring boldly at her companions. As though she's challenging them to contradict her.
Theo, of course, offers her a sympathetic swipe of his thumb over her knuckle. "I know you do, Hermione. Otherwise you wouldn't be helping him."
It's Ginny, however, who does the unexpected. The younger witch releases Hermione's hand, stands to move in closer, and wraps her friend in a tight hug. Then she whispers, into Hermione's ear but loud enough for Theo to hear:
"And that is one of the many reasons I love you, my lion-hearted friend."
That Friday evening, the night before her next trip to Malfoy Manor, Hermione decides to take a different approach to her little project.
Originally, she'd planned to gather supplies for another treat that Draco might like: chocolate treacle pudding, which she remembers him shoveling into his childish mouth with aplomb, every Halloween at Hogwarts. But Theo's words keep flitting around her brain. So Hermione skips her usual trip to the bakery specialty shop, in favor of the exotic foods greengrocer a few blocks from her flat.
It's there, in the brightly lit produce aisle, that she finds what she's seeking. She plucks a mesh bag from a pile, lifts it to her nose, and takes a deep whiff. The sweet, tart scent of citrus causes her eyelids to flutter shut and her lips to curve up slightly.
These are perfect, she thinks. The perfect test to see what Draco Malfoy makes of one of her happy memories.