A/N: their first kiss - thank you for your patience
Thank all the gods in existence, it was finally over.
Now, don't get Hermione wrong, she loved to study and learn, but cramming two years' worth of school curricula into one got a bit trying at times. Even so, she was planning for her next educational challenge, and had already travelled to a couple of medical schools to get the layout of the land. Of course, either would be thrilled if she chose their establishment to commence her Bachelor of Medicine degree. Fortunately, she qualified for every scholarship they had going.
But right now, it was time to celebrate. Gerry's idea.
It was a small do, held in the pub, consisting of Hermione herself, Gerry, Gerry's husband Albert, a pleasant bearded chap who worked in Department of Education, whose time mostly seemed taken up with chivying recent graduates into writing slightly less anarchic policy than what they learned at their expensive universities.
Plus Draco. Of course.
Hermione tried not to let the sadness show as she realised she didn't have very many friends at all. At least, ones she could remember. Never mind, she said firmly to herself. She'll make new friends when she attends a bricks-and-mortar educational facility in person. Anyway, Gerry and Draco were very dear to her, and Gerry's husband looked like a lovely soul.
There was one attendee she wasn't so sure about, sitting sulkily across the table from her, pierced tongue searching out the last bit of beer from the bottom of the glass she was only handed a couple of minutes ago. Pale with black and teal-streaked hair tucked behind ears with multiple piercings and gauges that complimented her bridge and septum piercings, she hadn't yet said a word but her heavily made-up eyes hadn't stopped both glowering at Hermione and speculating at Draco. This was Alice, Gerry and Albert's daughter and the erstwhile loaner to Hermione of the never-used text books.
"My name is Emery," Alice snapped, glaring at her mother who was in the middle of introductions.
"Sorry, that should Emery," Gerry breezed.
"It's so disrespectful that you can't even remember my name," Emery snarled.
"You only changed it yesterday, darling."
Emery ignored that logic and lasered her glare at Hermione. "I want my study books back," she snapped.
Hermione lifted a delicate eyebrow. "Of course," she replied neutrally. "Thank you for the loan."
Emery rolled her eyes and looked around for a waiter. Except it was a pub, and the only servers were the ones who ferried food from the kitchen to the tables and cleaned up the godawful messes the animals -oops - customers left behind.
Except in this case, the publican made a brief exception for this colourful table by hurrying over with a bottle of sparkling something ensconced in an ice bucket in one hand and some fluted glasses in the other. "This is on the house - congratulations to Henri for doing so well on her exams!" He beamed at Hermione, who impressed him very much after he witnessed her calmly tear a few strips off that Tara woman.
Henri blushed bright pink, Draco noted fondly. Some sort of incomprehensible snort came from Emery. The publican set glasses in front of Hermione, Draco, Gerry and Albert, but not Emery, who glared and snapped "I want another beer, when you're not so busy." He twisted the foil off the top of the bottle, made short work of the muselet and popped the cork –
…which flew with speed into Draco's face.
The activity surrounding Draco was so intense, you could have sworn he survived near-total decapitation. Going by Draco's histrionics, you could be forgiven for thinking so. He moaned and clutched his bleeding nose while Gerry's mummy instincts kicked in and she drew him to her chest to croon words of comfort. The pub owner stammered his sorries over and over as he tried to rescue what remained of the bottle's contents without dropping the wine glasses, while simultaneously mopping up the booze that splattered the table. Albert sputtered lots of 'oh dears' and passed quantities of paper serviettes to Hermione, who was trying to fish Draco out of Gerry's décolletage so she could administer first aid.
Emery went to the bar, ordered another beer and put it on Albert's tab (not that he had one set up).
"Is by dose broken?" Draco asked Hermione in a panic as she kept his head lowered and pinched his nose.
"If it was, you wouldn't let me do this," she replied. "You're fine." She glanced down. "Your shirt, on the other hand…"
"Ah, cold water gets blood straight out," Gerry said cheerfully as Draco carried on again. "Surely this can't be your first bloody nose?"
Eventually, Emery and the pub owner returned to the table (the latter with a fresh bottle of sparkling something). Once Hermione had convinced her patient that his nose wasn't going to fall off, or worse, swell to ten times its normal size, she headed to the Ladies to wash her hands and spend a penny, absent-mindedly stuffing the bloody serviettes into the back pocket of her jeans.
Draco rose unsteadily to his feet and tottered to the Gents to assess the damage. He almost passed out. Firstly, and most importantly, his hair was a mussed-up mess that fingers and washbasin water could only fix a little. Fortunately, the water did a good job of removing the dried streaks of blood on his face, and he was relieved to see that Gerry's advice about his shirt worked. Except now his shirt had dark water splotches where blood splotches once existed.
He contorted himself under the wall dryer unit in an effort to dry out the worst of the splotches. When he dried about fifty percent of them he lost interest and opened the Gents door so he could head back to the table.
Except he was blocked by a person called Emery.
"The Ladies is further down the corridor," Draco said.
"I don't want the Ladies," she replied, staring at him through her black and teal fringe.
"Um, you're blocking my path," Draco pointed out.
"Are you single?" Emery asked. "You're single, right?"
Draco rolled his eyes and swore. "Did your mother put you up to this?" he snapped. Even though he and Hermione hadn't (yet) taken their friendship to the next level, he continued "I'm with Henri and happily so. I am not looking to replace her. I am not looking to cheat on her. In addition to the fact that I've just met you, I don't like you and there is no chance of you and I getting together in any way, shape or form. Have I made myself clear?"
No reply, just a slow blink from behind the fringe.
Draco sighed and headed back to the party.
Emery watched his arse disappear down the corridor.
Hermione appeared behind her. "You're standing outside the Mens," she pointed out. "Do you want the Ladies?"
"No," Emery snarled.
Hermione rolled her eyes and headed back to the table, except Emery didn't watch her arse as she went.
However, she decided to make more room in her bladder for more beer and went to the Ladies anyway.
The party at the pub was Gerry's idea.
The train was Draco's idea.
Because there was something Draco was keen to have Hermione experience: a ride on a steam train to the seaside town of Hastings. Hermione caught the Hogwarts Express a number of times in her school days. Would riding a similar train help bring back some memories? Draco hoped so. Dumbledore and Slytherin recently sent him a letter, politely enquiring about his progress with restoring Hermione's memories, and impolitely threatening him with a swift return to the Afterlife and a kick up the arse if he didn't get a move on.
It wasn't difficult to figure out which wizard wrote which parts of the letter.
He briefly entertained fanciful ideas of taking a steam train up to Scotland where she could gaze upon Hogwarts from a suitable distance, but for all he knew the wizarding world was still at war, and he shuddered to think what would happen if someone from school or the community saw them together and said "Oi, Hermione!" (Or 'Granger.') What the hell are you doing with that bastard of a war criminal?"
No. Hastings, on the whole, was a lot safer. And Hermione must be sick of Rochester by now.
On the train, Draco watched Hermione explore the interior up and down, finding delight and items of interest with almost everything. She wore a mid-sleeve cinched summer dress that swirled around her ankles and covered her scars. She brought along a wide-brimmed floppy hat that she hoped would be useful at the seaside, and her hooped earrings glinted when she turned her head. She looked vivacious and beautiful, and Draco knew that he wasn't the only bloke on the train to think so.
At last, she plopped into the seat next to him. "Let's play I Spy!" she gushed.
I Spy was not a game played in Pureblood circles. "How does that go?" he asked.
Hermione gave him a strange look, but said "One player sees something outside, and says "I spy with my little eye something beginning with…" and you say the first letter of the thing you're looking at. The other player tries to guess what it is."
"Henri, the outside is whizzing by at roughly forty miles per hour! The 'thing' in question that player A spied could be miles away before they've finished saying "I spy with my little eye!""
Her eyes twinkled. "We'll just have to be fast." Then she added "And we can include things inside the train. But you have to be able to see them. That's the rule."
Draco cheated, of course. He enjoyed watching Hermione get worked up and explain, again, how he had to use proper nouns and not adjectives. For example, he might think the young man in the Rolling Stones T-shirt sitting with his parents was a 'P for plonker' because he kept looking at Hermione, but the proper name was 'T for teenager.'
"What about Y for Youth?" Draco countered.
She sighed. 'Just pick less controversial things, okay?"
Eventually, the train came to a stop and everyone descended, keen to commence their seaside stay, however long it lasted.
Draco and Hermione spent a spent a lovely day exploring the town's vast history, but also sampled the more modern attractions Hastings possessed, including a gallery and mini golf (Hermione, quickly deducing that geometry was the trick to success, easily beat her frustrated companion). Draco demanded a re-match, but their stomachs growled in protest, so instead they visited the nearest chippie and headed to the beach to chow down.
Nestled in a pocket of the beach, they sat down with their fish and chips and feasted in the sun. Hermione's hat did, in fact, come in handy.
"Do you still practice your magic?" Draco asked.
"Of course!" Hermione smiled. "It's fun."
"Show me."
Startled, Hermione looked around to see if anyone was within viewing distance, then separated out a chip from the golden pile. "Wingardium leviosa!" she intoned, and the chip sailed right into her open mouth.
Draco whistled. "That's quite impressive, Ms Miller."
She giggled. "What about you?"
No, not at all, Draco reflected. He'd gotten used to Muggle living. His father would be spinning in his mausoleum, if he were dead. And presuming Voldemort hadn't appropriated it for himself, like everything else at Malfoy Manor.
"Nah, I admit I've been pretty slack," he confessed.
"Well, you should," Hermione lectured. "Then we can have competitions!"
Draco laughed. Always with the competitions. That was the Granger he used to know. And used to hate.
Draco took a big swallow of his water and approached the dreaded topic. "How does it feel, knowing that you had a completely different – I presume – life before you were attacked, but you can't recall it?"
Hermione looked out to the sea. "It's frustrating, mostly," she admitted. "It's ridiculous knowing that all the answers to my questions are locked up inside my head, but my head refuses to do what I want it to. Sometimes I feel sad, and lost. I don't know who I am or where I belong. In that case, the best thing to do is make my own life. My future. And try not to worry." She grimaced. The last part was very hard.
Draco touched her hand gently. "It must be hell," he said. "I'm sorry."
Hermione smiled. "Well, at least in this life I met you. It's unlikely we ever met in my other life."
Draco shoved a piece of fish into his mouth and kept silent.
"You don't talk about your parents much," Hermione observed.
Draco swatted an encroaching insect away. "Not much to tell, really. I had a mother, and I may still have a father. I don't stay in touch with him."
Sensing bad blood with his old man, she asked "What's he like? If you don't mind me asking."
Draco, searching for his sunglasses and putting them on, murmured "You tell me, you've met him."
"I don't remember, remember? And anyway, why are you so sure I've met him?"
His colour draining, he busied himself selecting some chips while frantically thinking of something that might dislodge the foot he'd jammed into his mouth.
"Sorry, I misspoke," he said lamely. "He was a successful businessman that had his fingers stuck in many pies and tended to be quoted in the papers. So it's possible you might have seen him in the newspaper or TV. Until he bet on the wrong horse and fucked up." (Simon was a keen follower of the gee-gees.)
"Oh." Hermione took a swig of her water and selected some chips. "What was he like as a dad? Same caveat applies."
Draco shrugged. "He wasn't paternal. When I was born, he expected a miniature version of himself from the get-go and got angry when I didn't or couldn't do what he wanted. My mother tried to shield me from the worst of it, but when she died, the gloves really came off."
Hermione bit her lip. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Even though I became as poor as a church mouse when I ran away, this is the happiest I've ever been. It might sound horrible, but I will never go back, and I don't care if he's alive or dead."
Hermione patted his hand and said thoughtfully "I never thought that my parents might be abusive. If they are, it would be for the best if I can't remember them."
They sat in silence, surrounded by the sound of the sea.
"I spy with my little eye," Draco said, looking out at the glistening water, "something beginning with L."
Hermione followed his gaze. "Liner?" she guessed.
He squinted. "I can't see one." He leaned closer to her.
"Yeah, me neither." She frowned, still searching. "Light?"
"Nope." A little closer.
"This is really hard!" she complained, then sighed: "All right, what is it then?" as she turned to face him.
They were very close. Very, very close.
"Lips," he said simply. "Your lips."
A fetching blush spread over her cheekbones.
"Can I?" he asked, unsure.
She nodded, casting her eyes down.
His kiss was gentle, chaste and short. But it was full on feeling. And salt and vinegar. As he drew away, she looked up at his face, gratified that he sported a similar blush across his cheekbones, too.
It was her time.
She somewhat clumsily pressed her lips to his, having no idea if this was her first kiss or not. It was definitely her first kiss in this life.
He opened to her, drawing her close. And there they sat, surrounded by a brace of seagulls who were after the remains of their food. They engaged in kiss after increasingly breathless kiss, until they were interrupted by an outraged shout from a young child:
"Ew, Mum, those people are KISSING!"
Blushing, they pulled apart, and spent a pleasant time competing with each other to see who could toss a chip crust to a seagull that would catch it on the full.
Draco won. Quidditch skills coming in for something, at last. And the seagulls were very co-operative.
Back on the train ride home, Hermione leaned into Draco's shoulder and, finding that it was comfortable, let her eyes drift shut. Draco put an arm around her and kept his smugness to a minimum, noting that the stares at Hermione had reduced in number.
When a train employee trundled through their carriage calling "Something off the trolley, dears?" Hermione's eyes opened and she sat up.
"Did you want something from the trolley?" Draco asked, watching it head past.
"No, it's just… I think I had a memory."
Good news indeed! "That's great!" Draco enthused. "Can you tell me what it was?"
Hermione stared at her hands. "I think I've been on a steam train before, where there was a lady with a sweet trolley. I was never allowed any, because my parents were dentists" – She clapped her eyes over her mouth and stared at him. "My parents were dentists!"
This was a major breakthrough, Draco knew. He hugged her. "Well done! That's a huge development!"
Except Hermione wasn't so sure. "Without knowing their surnames, or where in England we lived, I'm still stuck." Then she looked hopeful. "But maybe more memories will come through now."
They will, Draco thought. One way or another.
And then it will be time for him to go.