One headline on the front page of The Daily Prophet was all it took to sour Hermione Granger's mood.
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August 15, 2000
WAR HEROINE SET TO RETURN TO HOGWARTS: EDUCATION, OR TROUBLE WITHIN THE TRIO?
By Rita Skeeter
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"Does that rotten, deplorable little insect have nothing better to do with her time? Honestly!"
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The paper came down on the bookstore's front counter with enough force to make some of her morning coffee spill from its mug. The outraged witch in question yanked a few paper towels out from under the counter and proceeded to forcefully wipe away the evidence of her mini temper tantrum.
It didn't matter what Hermione said or did, her life would always wind up being front page news. For better or worse. These days, the one thing she despised more than reporters was that insipid waste of ink and paper known as the bloody Prophet.
She had already sacrificed and endured enough for the archaic, bigoted, ungrateful society they lived in. Couldn't a girl simply run a small bookstore and acquire her N.E.W.T.s without a publicity circus? The rather sizeable pile of mail underneath the counter that arrived shortly before the paper mocked her.
No. Of course not. If that pile was anything like the others, chances were that at least fifty percent of those letters were hate mail. Even now, her muggle-born status and friendship with the boys (mainly Harry) earned her a shocking amount of disdain.
She tried not to let those letters get to her. Honestly, she didn't. However, the slur carved into her arm still being aimed at her by complete strangers still tore her up inside. What had so many precious lives like those of Lupin, Tonks, Dobby, and Fred been cut short for if it didn't change anything?
The realization that blood prejudice had not died with Voldemort was a solemn truth that she wasn't sure she would ever be able to properly cope with. A violent rage swelled inside her with devastating force during moments like these. Those letters, proof that the toxic concept they fought against still lived, made her question whether all that death and destruction had been in vain, and she hated it.
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An amused voice cut through her inner turmoil. "You'd think the beetle would have learned her lesson by now."
Hermione shot an annoyed glare at the pretty redheaded menace leaning against her counter. "Clearly not," she grumbled.
Ginny's eyes sparkled with mischief over her cup of tea.
"Ginny," Hermione lightly scolded, dragging out the last syllable of the youngest Weasley's name. It might have been more effective if a small smile hadn't crept across her face.
"Do you want me to pay our favorite trash reporter a visit? I haven't gotten to hex anyone in a while."
Hermione brought her steaming coffee cup to her lips in a poor effort to hide her amusement.
The redhead leaned farther across the counter until the women were nearly nose to nose. A wide, devilish grin accompanied the thoughts of chaos playing around on her face when she practically cooed, "Come on. A few dozen bats flying out of an old beetle's nose would be brilliant and you know it."
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That was how the pair was found when the little bell on the shop door jingled. Their gazes followed the sound. Hermione set down her mug in utter shock, jaw dropped, but no words would form on her lips. In no lifetime would she have ever expected himto set foot in her store.
That bloody ferret looked so much better now than he did at his trial last January.
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When Hermione was asked to testify, she hesitated. It was true that anyone else in her position would have cheered at the sight of their bully, their tormentor, the personification of their trauma facing life behind bars. The man admittedly didn't have much of anything going for him.
Draco Malfoy was a known blood purist with a toxic attitude and a foul demeanor with more money than sense. It would have been easy to write him off. The problem was that Draco Malfoy did perform actions that aided them in the war.
First, it was him that slipped a ripped-out page corner into her hand during second year, one with a single hastily written word: Basilisk. Without that, Ginny might still be in the Chamber of Secrets.
The man also warned them of the assault to come at the quidditch World Cup. At least, in the best way one possibly could with Lucius Malfoy standing right there. Looking back on it, when he was a twelve-year-old boy hollering, "You'll be next, mudbloods," that might very well have been a warning then, too.
But that was pure speculation. And maybe a little wishful thinking.
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There were a few other little things here and there, and, no, they didn't amount to much. But, at the end of the day, Malfoy simply was not a monster. The true monsters were already dead.
Her memories alone had the potential to drown out the few acts of bravery he'd been able to overcome his cowardly nature for. It wasn't until a sickly and frail Draco Malfoy entered the courtroom in chains that Hermione's decision had been made.
The personification of pride literally swayed under the weight of his chains. His cheekbones looked as if they might pierce his flesh, jutting out beneath skin so pale that he could pass for a corpse. His arms and legs were so scarily thin that if he were to lift his shirt, she knew she would be able to count his ribs. When he turned to face the courtroom, purple bruising and dark circles ringed his eye sockets.
The damning sound of shackles echoed in the courtroom. Nobody but her so much as flinched.
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When the barristers began their "line questioning," it had been impossible to tell if Malfoy's own attorney was even on his side. Kingsley himself had to step in just so the actual crime the trial was being held for would be examined.
The one thing that stuck out in her mind above all the rest was what came after her own testimony. Kingsley's tired voice boomed over the crowd. "Does the accused have anything to add before we deliberate?"
Malfoy straightened as best he could before saying clearly, "No."
The crowd immediately buzzed. Kingsley had to hammer his gavel with a loud, "SILENCE!" Once the murmurs quieted, he shot a withering look at the defendant. "Are you certain?"
She swore those dead, lifeless eyes fell directly on her then. Malfoy's voice cracked from disuse when he muttered, "I'm sorry."
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The Malfoy that stood before her now had come leaps and bounds since then.
He now had a healthy glow about him. His platinum blond locks had clearly seen a salon. It had been cut short and found its shine again. Malfoy's features weren't quite so pointy anymore, either. Rather, they were now sharper and more defined. Sophisticated, even, although Hermione would never admit that out loud.
If there was anything good about Malfoy getting all his clothes tailor-made, it would be that it was easy to tell he had gained weight since his release. His body had filled out and regained most of its muscle. She would dare to say that he was nearly back in top quidditch form.
The defeated slouch and sluggish steps from the year before had completely disappeared. He held himself tall with easy confidence again. Although, this confidence came with a pleasantly notable lack of arrogance.
Another secret that would go with her to the grave: Hermione Granger was genuinely glad to see Draco Malfoy looking somewhat like himself again.
That didn't mean that she wasn't thoroughly flabbergasted to see him standing in her place of business. Didn't he have other places to be? For instance, literally any other shop in the world? Ginny looked every bit as shocked as Hermione felt. She, too, stared at the man who once made sure his father heard about everything with a dropped jaw, bulging eyes, and brows nearly into her hairline.
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What Hermione should have been prepared for was Malfoy sensing that he was being stared at. His head turned directly over to the counter, where the two witches were admittedly gawking like a pair of idiots. It was the first time the Brightest Witch of their Age could recall being unprepared for anything.
Hermione hated the way she instantly noted that the dark circles under his eyes had lightened, though had not disappeared. She hated how she noticed that the molten silver she remembered had not returned, either. She vividly recalled them looking alive, albeit filled with hate and disgust.
They still looked dead.
Was it the war that took the life out of him, or was it his sentencing? Better yet, why should she care? Draco Malfoy was absolutely none of her business. Though she didn't doubt that he wanted to be a better person, all she was truthfully willing to do anymore was support his efforts to turn his life around from a very, veryfar distance.
His contributions to the topics of her nightmares simply couldn't be overlooked.
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Malfoy relaxed into a casual stance, if that were possible, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. The corner of his mouth pulled up into an amused smirk as he strolled toward the counter, where Hermione and Ginny instantly drew up straight. "Malfoy?" Ginny loudly blurted. "What are you doing here?"
"Shopping, Weaslette," the blond replied, though both women noted that his tone lacked its trademark malice. Ginny blinked rapidly for a moment as his gaze lazily moved to the brunette behind the counter. "It figures that I would find you in a book shop, Granger."
It took Hermione longer than she would have liked to process the fact that the words carried no hostility. If anything, his words sounded... conversational?
"I can't say it isn't unlike you to be in one either, Malfoy, although I am surprised to find you here instead of Flourish and Blotts."
Something strange that Hermione couldn't quite pinpoint flickered across his face before it vanished. "Was being civil just then as painful as it looked?"
"Malfoy, if you came in here just to be a pra—" Ginny started, but Hermione was quicker.
"Dreadfully," she deadpanned, "Though not as awful as it had to have been for you to walk in here without that hideous sneer on your face."
Then the impossible happened. Malfoy snorted. With actual amusement. "Don't hurt yourself. If you try any harder to fight who you are, you might burst a blood vessel."
"Why you smarmy little…" Before either of them could blink, Ginny's wand was pressed against Malfoy's throat.
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To everyone's surprise, the wizard still appeared completely relaxed. When his gaze locked with hers, she could almost hear his pompous voice in her head, saying, Your move, Granger.
Hermione groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Gin, put the wand down before Aurors start beating down the door. It's not worth it."
Malfoy smugly straightened his coat. "I think I have the right to talk to your manager now, Granger."
Hermione shook her head and took a deep breath. After taking a moment or two to both calm herself and let Ginny fume, she put her hands on the counter and levelled with the blond before her. "You do, but you won't get to. Not today. So, given that you're still here, what is it that you needed that you couldn't possibly acquire from any other purveyor of literature in Diagon? Or in England, for that matter?"
She didn't miss the way Ginny's head kept turning between herself and the man in front of her with carefully suppressed irritation. Or the way that overgrown rodent's gaze followed the newspaper she shoved under the counter. His jaw tightened.
Malfoy's gaze was suddenly pulled toward the window, where a dark-haired beauty had appeared. Even looking around with a panicked expression on her perfect face, she was painfully ethereal with her flawless skin and unconsciously graceful movements. Hermione was certain that she had to be at least part veela.
Something changed when he turned his attention back to her. "Nothing," he muttered. Hermione found herself studying him when he turned and walked back the way he came. "I think I'll be going somewhere without a pest problem."
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Ginny reached for her wand again, ready to finish what she started.
Hermione instantly reached for Ginny's arm. "No!"
The bell above the door jingled once more right before they both heard, "And with less hair."
All thoughts of restraint evaporated. Hermione grabbed her own wand from its holster the second before the door closed. She thought about stomping outside to hex him herself, only to be stopped by Ginny's red-faced shaking of her head.
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Fuming, when Hermione spotted the couple outside her window, she screeched, "DAMN THAT FOUL, LOATHSOME, EVIL LITTLE COCKROACH!"
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Both women missed Draco's unbridled laughter as he guided Astoria Greengrass in the direction of Flourish and Blott's.