What Hermione needed was a book. She was Hermione Granger after all.
As she stood in the Atrium, waiting for the line to move slowly towards the Floo as witches and wizards came and went, the periwinkle and rose gold ring on her finger sparkled innocently at her. A delicate braid converged to hold the stone, the only decoration to the otherwise simple band.
She had said yes when he asked. Of course she had. He was Draco Malfoy, and he was perfect. He came like a whirlwind and swept her expectations out the door by completely blowing her away.
If she was being honest, she hated how easily she fell in love with him.
The only current negative of her life was her new hobby. Potioneering. Draco loved it, and naturally, she grew to love it too. Now, there was this nagging question in the back of her mind and for the life of her, she couldn't quite remember the answer. But she remembered what the cover of the book that contained a possible answer looked like. Blue, with ornate bronze decorations and lettering across the front.
On her lunch hour, she would usually go to the little cafe in muggle London because their eclairs were wonderful. And with days like hers in the office, she needed a pick-me-up that wasn't coffee. Draco would join her if he wasn't off on some Auror business or the other, which never allowed him to have normal working hours and rarely allowed them to spend an hour at work together.
She'd have to forgo those little delights to settle her mind's uneasiness. She planned instead to eat at The Leaky Cauldron after going to Flourish and Blotts – her best bet for her unanswered question. Draco was busy today anyway, so she was only truly missing out on the eclair.
Hermione stepped into the Floo with one thought; what was that one ingredient to improve Amortentia, and would it possibly work to the same effect for her experiment?
People stared after her as she strode down the cobblestoned Diagon Alley. Staring wasn't odd, it happened often. So she ignored it. But soon she saw that there was a crowd of people concentrated outside Flourish and Blotts. Annoyance prickled her skin. Just her luck, she chose an event day.
Weighing her options – that being annoyance until she returned to try again, or annoyance with the sheer amount of people and accompanying staring eyes – she chose the latter. Her peace of mind was worth it, and her developing potion was waiting patiently, simmering at home.
Hermione pushed her way through the crowd and tried to make her way towards the potions aisle. Flourish and Blotts wasn't exactly known for being organised, but Hermione came to know the layout.
There was the small problem of people.
"Sorry," she muttered and kept muttering as she pushed against bodies and stepped on toes. "Sorry, excuse me, sorry, can I just– thanks."
Until she was clear of arms and legs, feet and heads, and was left staring at the wall of books that was too close for her to find what she needed, she did the only thing she could do; sigh.
Trying anyway – because she was not a quitter – and failing miserably because there was simply no room to turn, to stretch, to extend an elbow. Nothing. Finally, turning to see if there was anyone she could ask about when the event would be over, so at least she could return after work, or maybe order the book, she paused.
Draco's face was plastered on a large poster hanging from the second tier of books. His face - smirking, handsome as ever, all silver eyes and silver hair, pale skin and pink lips - peered at everyone with the superior aura Draco never quite shed.
Hermione looked at his large face as the floor tilted under her feet. She leaned against the bookshelf for stability. The words splashed across the bottom blurred slightly as she tried to regain control.
"Draco?" Her mouth formed the name and it felt like a word without meaning. She pushed past everyone– again. Trying to get to a higher area to see what she needed to see, to confirm what she already knew.
Because under his smug, shit-eating face, were the words "How to Catch the Golden Witch".
She gave up her attempts to get to the staircase and clambered onto some stacked books, not caring that she would never have done that before.
And there he was. Just as he was pictured, but in the flesh.
Hermione went still. Frozen by emotions that otherwise would have exploded out of her and left pages and pieces of books in her wake. First came understanding – that he was a published author, and that he was doing a signing – that he was the event. Second came denial – that she was the Golden Witch. Third came nausea, because she had said yes. Fourth came rage. Absolute fury that made the people around her shrink away because the magic that poured from her made even her uncomfortable. Like crawling animals in her flesh.
Silver eyes looked up at the small commotion. Draco froze.
"Granger." She could read his lips. Everyone turned to look at where he was gazing.
She turned, and thanks to her inexplicable effusion of magic, people parted around her. She got to the front door when she felt Draco's long fingers grab for her as she made her way out of Flourish and Blotts and into the still stale, but fresher, crisper air of Diagon Alley.
Hermione yanked her sleeve from his grip and strode out into the stream of people. They parted when they saw her expression– as if she was a manticore bearing down the street.
But he found her. He always found her.
Crying wasn't an option. Not here. Screaming at him was.
"What," she spat at him. It wasn't a question. It was a demand.
People ogled at her, startled; then recognition flooded their faces. Hermione didn't care. Nothing mattered at that moment.
"Granger, let me explain." Draco was pink from the book store, the bustling bodies within it, and running after her. Someone knocked into his shoulder. He grunted, never letting his eyes leave her. Like he knew he would lose her if he blinked.
He grabbed her hands and pulled her to a side alley where people weren't brushing past them and between them. It smelled like sulphur. Piss; the matted scent of rats that reminded Hermione of her pet Hamster's cage if she ever refused to clean it when she was six. Full of shit and waste, but bore something cute with the potential to be an absolute menace.
"I'm listening." She was careful not to touch anything, including him. She took measured steps backwards to widen the space between them.
Draco started a sentence, choked, and started again. But incoherent syllables were all she got.
"That's what I thought." Hermione jabbed his chest with her finger. She would punch him if people weren't still staring. She could already see the bloody headlines and she was not about to make his book reach number one of the bestseller's list because they were having a public lovers' spat – ex-lovers' spat.
"It started off as a..." Draco swiped his hand across his face, "But, now you're my-"
"I'm your what? Golden Goose?" She meant to say Golden Witch, but she hated it. She hated that even more than Golden Girl, and Golden Goose reminded her of a fairy tale and made her feel less dirty right this second. All she wanted to do was go home, boil her skin off, and obliviate herself to the point of no return. With alcohol.
It hurt. She was a million pieces frozen in place, about to fall apart in the heat of the situation. It hurt.
"No!" Draco looked horrified, then mollified, then embarrassed all in quick succession. "I don't-"
"Draco." Hermione glared to silence him. "You lied about why you wanted to date me, fucked me, asked me to marry you, then wrote a book about it."
Bile rose in her throat and threatened to spill from her. She aimed at his chest, stepping forward slightly to intimidate him, and to ensure any vomit she expelled would land squarely on his chest.
"I didn't expect you-" he blustered, pink in the ears, eyes dark, eyebrows expressing an emotion she was familiar with. Remorse? Fear?
"To say yes?" Hermione interjected incredulously. "Surprise!" She expanded her arms like people did whenever there was a stupid surprise birthday party, and the lights flicked on revealing their closest friends and family members to the horrified birthday person. "I'm in love with you!"
Draco's expression went soft, hopeful. She could have laughed. He looked like a child. She hated him.
Disbelief rose with the bile in her oesophagus.
"Oh, no," Hermione chastised him with a laugh as she shook her hands in a futile barrier between them so he wouldn't step closer. She flipped her hand between them. "This is over."
"Hermione, please," Draco pleaded. He looked sad too. She might have believed him. She wanted to believe him. Because there had to be an explanation.
She loved him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.
She loved herself enough to know her worth, though.
"I suggest you go back to your book signing, Mr Author," Hermione smiled warmly at him. If she didn't, he would be hexed into unconsciousness. And he'd deserve it too.
But that would make him a success. And make her the bitter fiancée who couldn't handle a little bit of fame.
The irony of it all was that she was the reason anyone knew who Draco Malfoy was outside of his Death Eater father's shadow.
She was Hermione Granger.
She refused to hide.
She dug her wand from her pocket and pointed it at his chest. Draco's eyes widened in horror.
Twisting on the spot, she left Diagon Alley.