A/N: First, Draco spends a not-insubstantial part of this chapter making fun of crypto bros. If that's something you're into, I apologize on his behalf. Second, this chapter is kind of rough for both our main characters, so prep for that.
TW: Maternal Mortality
TW: Scars / Traumatic Injury
CW: Profane Language
Thursday was awful.
Hermione rolled out of bed forty-five minutes late because she'd forgotten to set her alarm the night before. She picked up her phone to find it was at 17% battery because the wireless charger decided to take the night off. She plugged in the phone and pulled up an unread text from Penelope. Hermione needed to meet her at work an hour early. Then there was a second text from a new number.
This is Romilda, Narcissa Malfoy's assistant.
We've scheduled your first date for Saturday.
You will meet your date at a restaurant for lunch then have a leisurely stroll through Brockwell Park.
I've sent the details to your publicist. Your date's name is Cormac McLaggen. One photographer will be posted at the restaurant and another at the park. Date begins at 11:30.
Hermione's heart dropped all the way down into her stomach. Was she truly going through with this? She Googled "Cormac McLaggen" and—oh. Narcissa Malfoy had found a damn fine man. Blond, 5'10 according to Google so more likely 5'8, created a bank for blockchain currency. Maybe this Cormac bloke would be decent enough. They'd get on well, take some nice photos, and if he was game for it, perhaps another date? And if they made it to a third … sex?
She made her way to the bathroom, unbuttoning her pyjama top as she went. As she reached for cleanser, Hermione paused, wondering what it would feel like to bare these scars in front of a man again. She shrugged the top off the right side and used her right arm to pull it off her left shoulder. Hermione tossed the top on the floor and grabbed a headband to push her hair away from her face before stepping back and turning to face the mirror full-on. This date made that a possibility in the near future.
Hermione looked at her arm and wondered how a man would see it. She turned her gaze toward the mirror and tried to see the scars with fresh eyes. From wrist to collarbone, there were slightly raised strips of skin, still too smooth and cast in a garish pinkish-purple colour. It was as if her skin had been liquified then pulled upward with a spatula like frosting on a cake. She turned to the right a bit, just enough to see her tricep in the mirror. It looked like someone had taken two chunks out of it with a melon spoon.
She leaned against the door and sighed. Nobody was going to see it for what it was: her arm. Just her arm. It still worked. Not a hundred percent. Barely fifty percent. But it worked. Hermione traced one of those raised lines with the pad of one finger. Up once, down once, up again …
Her eyes weren't fresh enough. If she ever found a man she trusted to see these scars again, there was no way to know how they would be received. Would he be disgusted? Would he treat her differently? Delicately? She couldn't know, and the not knowing had kept her from trying. Though, Hermione could certainly guess what the press would say if a photograph surfaced.
Granger's Blast Not In Past.
BBC News Star's Gnarly Scars.
The Bombing of the Shrew.
That's the one. Headline writers would flip through a thesaurus cover-to-cover to craft the optimal clickbait, but Hermione's insecurity beat them to it. Not to worry, though. She would be at BBC Breakfast soon enough and people would see there was more to Hermione Granger than foreign affairs reporting.
Hermione made to brush her teeth, only to find she was nearly out of toothpaste. She paused and prayed for just one good thing to happen today. Instead, the little things piled up. Hermione was nearly pummeled by a cyclist on her way to the coffee shop for lunch. She spilled coffee down her front on the way back. After a wardrobe change, she scrolled through as much as she could find about McLaggen. The more she read, the less she liked him. Not a promising start, but Hermione resolved to give him a fair go.
Colin picked her up at four o'clock, an hour early, received by Hermione as a welcome bit of sunshine. Silence was never really in his repertoire, but he also didn't care if Hermione responded to any part of the conversation at all. Colin dropped her off at the talent entrance to Broadcast House and Hermione made her way to the newsroom as she did every day, four days per week. She scanned the screens hovering just below the ceiling to see which stories would be covered at six, and noted which would reappear at ten.
It was controlled chaos in the best way. Hermione made her way to the television arm of the technical nucleus—the one on the foreign affairs side, of course. Cedric took care of the other half. Her producer, Ernie MacMillan, handed her the day's current talking points. Before she could even glance at them, Ernie revealed,
"Your publicist is here."
Hermione raised an eyebrow in faux surprise and asked, "Really?"
"With the Deputy CEO."
Hermione grinned. That was a surprise. It was final, then. The contracts were signed and must have been approved.
"Is it true?" asked Ernie. "You're leaving us for morning television?"
"It's true."
"Huh."
"You disapprove?"
"Obviously, but you know Cedric will be insufferable once you're gone. Your partnership is the only reason we have better ratings than Six. I'm going to have to replace you, and that bloody well ruins the next couple months of my life."
"What's done is done," replied Hermione. "Where are they?"
"Up on seven."
Hermione practically skipped to the lift, vibrating with the same excitement she had when BBC told her she had been given the co-anchor assignment on Ten. She stepped off the lift on floor seven and saw Penelope through one of the glass doors on the left. Hermione raced over, flung open the door with her right hand and half-shouted,
"Is it done?"
Penelope turned to face Hermione and didn't need to say a word. Hermione's blood turned to ice in her veins as Penelope placed her hands on her hips like she was about to lecture the Deputy CEO of the country's biggest news network. Hermione was rooted to the spot, unable to process the rapid change in emotion. She'd been so sure she was getting a new job, one that would make her happy. Finally. Happiness had eluded Hermione for so long but she landed this one nice thing. Something simple. Easy. Something that allowed her to express the warmth that was missing on News at Ten.
The Deputy CEO said something. Penelope glared at him. He kept talking. Penelope interrupted. It devolved into shouting about contractual obligations and talent level, but Hermione was too far in her own head. She only heard half of the conversation but it was more than enough. She turned on one heel and left. Every room in the goddamn building was made of glass, so she made for the only place with any sort of privacy:
The loo.
The women's toilets were on the other end of the floor, so Hermione ran as fast as she could toward the men's. She barged through the door, halfheartedly checked in the stalls, then rushed back to lock the door. Hermione pressed her forehead against it and allowed the tears to come. She pressed her left hand against her stomach, clutching at the sweater, trying to steady herself as much as she could while her entire body trembled.
They'd given her the opportunity to elevate her profile, only to take it back at the last possible moment. Hermione had no leverage, and no hope to move up at the network. Her role was to be the ballsy foreign affairs anchor on the evening news. Hermione Granger was too valuable for the field assignments they once gave her and too bitchy for morning television. It all boiled down to their one demand: just do the fucking news.
Hermione pushed herself off the door and walked to the row of sinks, hand over her mouth to quiet the noises she couldn't control. Her heart was about to fall out of her chest and shatter into a thousand pieces on the floor. Hermione pulled her phone from her purse with a shaky hand. She scrolled through her contacts, looking for someone to call. Just one person. Any person who will understand.
Angelina was at a match in China; she probably wasn't awake.
Cedric would throw a party now that he didn't have to find a new partner.
Dean would know what to say, but he only had a couple hours between school and meetings, and she didn't want to bother him.
Ginny would say, "Fuck 'em," then suggest she quit and move to ITV.
Harry would mourn the opportunity to actually watch her do the news. He wasn't able to stomach the hard-hitting stuff after what he'd been through.
Neville would probably find a plant metaphor that she wasn't in the mood for.
Ron would get that look on his face. The look that said, I respect your ambition, but I don't understand it. Then say something idiotic like, "But you love your job so isn't it a good thing you don't have to leave?"
Hermione thought back to the previous afternoon. She pulled up her texts and tapped Maybe: Draco Malfoy. Scorpius was adorable, mimicking her anchor pose. Her father joked that was how he knew she was a serious journalist: only the trustworthy anchors hold good ol' fashioned pieces of paper at the desk. She wiped the bottom of her nose with the side of her hand and pressed the call button.
She didn't believe he would pick up. With each ring, Hermione realized how ridiculous this was. She'd met him once. They'd spent less than ten minutes together, plus a few texts … Another ring. He'd already said she should stay at ten. No secret about his opinion there. Another ring. He's got billions of Pounds, he probably doesn't have time for a stupid phone call—
"Hello."
Hermione's hand stopped shaking. He answered. She put the call on speaker and croaked out,
"Malfoy?"
"Yeah, it's me."
"I—I'm sorry." God, why was her voice shaking so horribly? "I don't have anyone else to call."
There was a brief pause before he asked, "Are you safe?"
"Safe?" Hermione repeated. Then she realized, "Oh, yes, yes, I'm in Broadcasting House. Specifically the men's toilets."
"Well, men's toilets can be dangerous places. George Michael taught us that."
Hermione couldn't help but smile as she dabbed at her undereyes with the pads of her fingers. She looked down at Malfoy's name on her phone and blurted out,
"They pulled back my offer for BBC Breakfast."
Another pause before he said, "Oh."
"Apparently, once I accepted, they tried to get a big-name celebrity for my debut episode. The first one said no. Then the second, and then a third." Hermione took a shaky breath in and revealed, "After three they thought it best to stop trying."
"Did they say why?"
"Because they didn't want to spend my tenure begging guests to appear. Or, worse, wind up in a situation where I make some beloved actress break down in tears."
"Not the network," Malfoy amended, "did these big names say why they do not want to be on a show with you?"
"I don't think they had to."
"But did they?"
Hermione nodded to herself before admitting, "They're terrified of me. And that's the thing, I don't want to scare people."
"Why not?" asked Malfoy.
"It's fine sometimes. I'd like to show the public that I can be something else."
"And you need a red sofa to do it?"
Hermione shouted at the phone, "What the bloody hell do you have against BBC Breakfast?!"
"Oi, Screechy McShoutpants, I never said I had anything against that show. My son, on the other hand, is quite opinionated."
Hermione's anger softened. Malfoy just kind of did that to her, didn't he? Not hitting back with a nuanced reply, instead redirecting her anger into a corner so it had nowhere to go. She chuckled softly and braced herself against the edge of the sink. She said,
"Well, then, I suppose I have to listen, don't I? Five-year-olds are the best critics."
"Absolutely. Scorpius thinks, and I'm quoting now, that 'those ponces on BBC Breakfast are educated journalists who purposefully tone down their credentials and personalities so as not to offend the delicate sensibilities of vain celebrity guests or the general attitude of the public.'"
Hermione smiled down at the phone.
"Quite loquacious, isn't he?"
"In two languages."
"Well, please tell 'Scorpius' that I respect his opinion, and he's right. The people on that show are quite bright, and I wanted to emphasize that in the program."
"And that, Granger," Malfoy said, "is why they were never going to put you on air."
"You don't know that."
"Maybe not, but you do."
Hermione rolled her eyes and turned away from the phone. He was right, but that didn't make him less of a jerk about it. The more Hermione thought about it, the deeper she looked into herself, Hermione began to realize the only reason she said yes to the offer was because she knew the network would eventually find a way to say no. She admitted,
"I wanted to make people smile for once, instead of watching them walk off the set in tears or yelling at their agent." She cleared her throat and tried to regain her voice while pushing back her own tears. "People say things about me. Talk about me like I'm some sort of witch sent to expose their deepest secrets when all I do is ask questions. That's all I do. The Deputy CEO called me a ballsy bitch to my face. The Sun called me a shrew—"
"Hermione."
"WHAT?!" she shouted. "God, what am I supposed to do?"
"You keep being who you are." Malfoy insisted, "Nobody gives a damn about foreign policy. What's happening in the world doesn't matter much when there are struggles right here at home. And I know that sounds a bit trite coming from someone with my kind of wealth, but no amount of money could ever lessen the grief I still feel over losing my wife."
He paused for a moment, as if he'd gotten lost in that thought.
"My point is, your power comes from the fact that you make people care by putting on a goddamn show. The bastards at The Sun and The Daily Mail and wherever the fuck else will always tear you down because they wouldn't last twenty seconds in a conversation with you. You eviscerate people with words like it's an art, Hermione, and I love watching you do it."
She quipped, "Not enough to stay awake."
Malfoy laughed. That big, all-consuming laugh where he threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. Hermione had only met him once, but she remembered that laugh far more clearly than anything else about him.
"I am never going to live that down with you. But, may I be serious for a moment?"
"Please."
"As someone whose family was eviscerated by every legitimate media outlet in the country, you are why I still have faith in journalism. You brought me back to the news, Hermione Granger. Right now, all you see are the people you've pushed away. There are a hell of a lot more people like me, who see you as the saving grace. You frighten people who are used to being the most terrifying person in the room. That power doesn't belong to BBC Breakfast, Hermione, and to be honest, it doesn't belong to BBC at all. You choose where you use it. Take it to Downing Street for all the hell I care."
It was Hermione's turn to laugh. He wasn't far off.
"Thank you for saying all that."
"You're welcome."
"I think I really needed to hear that today."
"Hmm," Draco hummed softly to himself. "Which bit?"
"That my power belongs to me."
"I'm here for you any time you need a reminder."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"Answering the phone."
Draco admitted, "I find it hard to believe you didn't have anyone else to call."
"Nobody who would be able to do what you just did."
"It was nothing."
"No," Hermione insisted, "this was everything to me. Exactly what I needed to hear."
"You're welcome, then." Draco cleared his throat then said, "Be seeing you soon?"
"Yes. I'll text you sometime."
"My library is yours whenever you like."
"Now you're talking dirty."
Draco laughed, much softer, easier … His voice was relaxed when he finally said,
"Bye, Granger."
"Bye."
Hermione ended the call then looked at herself in the mirror. For as poorly as things could have gone, she looked fairly decent. Nothing the makeup department couldn't fix.
Before she could form another thought, the door to the stall furthest down swung open with such force that it bounced back almost to the point where it closed again. Hermione turned to watch as Cedric Diggory came out, arms spread wide, and rushed to wrap her up in a hug. He said,
"You're not leaving me!"
Hermione grimaced.
"I know you're not hugging me before you wash your hands."
"I wasn't using the toilet."
"Then why were you in the stall?"
"Lighting's really good in that one."
Hermione tried to put the pieces together and snickered once she understood. Only Cedric could get away with taking dick photos in the stall before broadcast. She returned the hug and confirmed,
"I'm not leaving you after all."
"Thank God, I'd die if I had to find a new partner. They'd have to buy a new wardrobe to coordinate with my ties."
Hermione squeezed him a little tighter. When she first got the spot on News at Ten, she'd shown Cedric her scars and asked for his advice in the most desperate way possible: coming to him the day before debut, sobbing, terrified of her own closet. He'd shown up at her flat, took photos of the tops and blazers he liked, hugged her, and left. The day of her debut, Cedric showed up to Broadcast House with a box of twenty-seven new ties.
Wear whatever the hell you want. We're in this together, now.
There had never been a day on air when Cedric's tie didn't match Hermione's outfit. He was the best partner she could've thought to ask for, and he never made her feel like the bitchy broadcaster everyone made her out to be. Not once. Cedric did things because they were kind. He asked,
"Are you going to tell me when you started dating Draco Malfoy?"
Hermione stepped back and asked, "You know him?"
"He's close to one of my best mates. I don't know him much at all, except what I hear from Bastien. Met him several times at parties, and when Malfoy's wife died …" Cedric shook his head. "Wrecked him. I didn't know he was dating again."
"He's not." Hermione rephrased, "We're not. I think we might be friends, though."
"Huh." Cedric shrugged. "You sounded quite chummy just now."
"We're chums."
Cedric teased, "The chummiest."
Hermione shook her head fondly and rolled her eyes. She turned toward the door, but Cedric warned,
"Be careful with that, Hermione. He's a decent man with a very bad name."
.oOo.
Friday lunch with Ginny was the best part of the week. She would text Hermione the name of a restaurant before breakfast, Hermione would show up at lunch, where Ginny already had a table. Hermione checked in at the host stand, someone asked for a selfie halfway to the table, she obliged, and watched as Ginny flipped off someone who yelled You suck, Granger! from a few tables down. Hermione plopped into the chair across from Ginny and said,
"That's a week done, for me."
"Do you want me to kick that guy's ass?" Ginny picked up her butter knife and said, "Because I will."
Hermione shook her head and insisted, "It's fine. At least I know he's watching. How's Harry?"
"Good. We've agreed I can go back to play for Arsenal at the beginning of June. I've gotta be honest, Hermione, it feels so fucking good to know I get to go back to football. Sitting out a whole season has been the worst."
"Congratulations! How'd you get Harry to agree to it?"
"I told him I wanted to play and he said, now that we've got a bit more support, he feels good enough to take care of the kids. Confident enough."
"That's amazing news."
"It really is." Ginny grinned and said, "The sex has gotten better, too. A lot better. So lunch is my treat today."
"You spoil me," teased Hermione.
Lunch went on from there. They ordered, Hermione sipped a glass of champagne and let the concerns of the past week float away. Then another. Even Ginny raised an eyebrow when Hermione ordered a third. Losing out on the job wasn't that bad of a hit, was it? Not as long as she had Ginny. And Cedric. And Harry and Ron and Dean and Angelina and the list went on and on and on. Halfway through the meal, she asked,
"What do you know about Draco Malfoy?"
"Quite a bit, actually." Ginny knocked back the remnants of her wine. "We have a mutual friend. I've met him quite a few times, but I've known three different Draco Malfoys."
"Three?"
"The Draco before Astoria, the Draco with Astoria, and the Draco after her."
"Oh." Hermione guessed, "Astoria was his wife?"
"Yes. Before her, he was an arsehole with too much money and self-confidence. Exactly the sort of bastard you'd expect someone with that sort of money to be. Don't get me wrong, he's bright as hell and funny. Malfoy's always been good for a laugh. With Astoria, he was a different person. Mature, I suppose, would be the best word. They were so happy together, sickeningly sweet, they clicked."
"Like you and Harry."
"Hell, no." Ginny laughed and said, "Harry and I aren't afraid to scream at each other. Balancing his recovery with the birth of Rose and me having to take a whole fucking year off, hell we never really agreed on what to prioritize. We fight, and we are very different people who also love each other. I want to spend my life with Harry, but it's work. We're both a lot of work. I mean," Ginny kicked Hermione playfully under the table, "I'm way cooler than he'll ever be."
"Harry would agree."
"Draco and Astoria were similar people. Their relationship always seemed peaceful, playful, and supportive. After she died, he couldn't get over it. He's still not over it, and I think it's weighing on his whole family."
"You mean his mum?"
"No, I met her once and it was awful. Malfoy's got a group of close friends that he views as his family. They were there for him when his father first went to prison and they all stuck together afterward. My friend is one of them; he's godfather to Malfoy's kid. He is also a gay man with a load of very attractive gay friends, who happens to be hosting a party next Saturday."
Hermione guessed, "You're inviting Dean?"
"Yes, I am."
"Do you think that's a good idea?"
"He's been single for well over three years, but hey, you've been single for seven. Maybe you should come, too. Have some fun, see some nice-looking men, and Blaise cooks excellent food."
Hermione revealed, "My publicist set me up on a blind date tomorrow." It wasn't technically a lie. Penelope did set these wheels in motion.
"Ugh," Ginny groaned, "I barely trust Penelope's taste in career moves. I definitely don't trust her with your love life."
"It's for photographs, mostly. Apparently the press still thinks I'm a lesbian, and Penelope is upset that I won't put out a statement otherwise. Instead, she's setting me up on a date with a good-looking man so we'll be photographed together."
"Are you going to sleep with him?"
"Ugh," Hermione grimaced, "no. I'm still not ready for that, not yet."
"Okay." Ginny shrugged it off. "Why are you asking about Malfoy, then?"
"Because I met him."
Ginny quirked an eyebrow.
"And?"
"Is it mad that I want to be his friend?" asked Hermione. "He's gorgeous and his son is delightful, but he is still very much in love with his wife. He told me himself, specifically, that his heart is unavailable."
"Oh," Ginny teased, "did you ask him out?"
"No, he offered that information of his own volition."
"Perhaps he needed to remind himself that he's not ready. Probably saw you and, for the first time, realized he still has love left to give. It's not every day he runs into someone as accomplished and fucking amazing as you are."
"I don't think so." No matter how much she wished Ginny was right, she refused to admit out loud that she was interested in Draco Malfoy. It wasn't proper to ask after a widower. In the unlikely event Draco would ever be interested, he needed to come to that realization on his own. Hermione said, "I do enjoy his company, and I like the way he talks to me. Ron never knew what to do when I got upset, especially after I got blown up. Malfoy managed to bring me back to a place where I'm not so angry."
"He wasn't always like that, was a total arsehole before he met Astoria. I think she was the first person to challenge the way he saw conflict. You could see him change in real time, almost. He started listening to people in conversation in a way he didn't before. His responses changed, too. He was more thoughtful in how he spoke. And you met Scorpius?"
"I did. Here," Hermione pulled up the photo of Scorpius watching her on the news, "Draco sent me this a couple days ago."
"Ooh, Draco, now?" Ginny teased. She looked down at the photo and smiled. "He's a great kid, in Albus's class actually."
"Down in Holland Park?"
"Yeah. Al sometimes stays with Scorpius at Blaise's house until Harry can pick him up. They're becoming good friends, and I think Al could've picked far worse."
Hermione put her phone back on the table and sighed.
"I'm quite nervous about tomorrow. We're going to a restaurant then out for a 'leisurely stroll' in Brockwell Park."
"Why be nervous?" Ginny asked. "This poor bloke is going on a date with one of the hottest, brightest, most respected women in the country. No matter who ends up on this date with you, they're not worth any more than the photographs Penelope gives to The Daily Mail."
.oOo.
The very moment Hermione stepped out of the car on Saturday, Cormac McLaggen was there. He pulled Hermione into his arms before she could even shut the door, and kissed her full-on. His lips were soft, he'd put his hands in the proper place on her waist, and wasn't so tall that he had to bend down the way Ron had. So the mechanics of the kiss were right, but everything about it felt wrong. Hermione stood there, frozen, not sure how to react. Fortunately, or otherwise, Cormac decided for them both. He stepped backward and said,
"Hermione Granger. Good to meet you."
Hermione wiped the corners of her lips and frowned. He was just as attractive as his photos made him look, but the aura around him was off-putting. Or, perhaps, the unwanted kiss was colouring that perception in all the wrong shades of grey.
"Wish I could say the same."
McLaggen surveyed Hermione from tip to toe and did not bother attempting to hide the disappointment on his face.
"So you wear the, uh," he gestured to his arms and neck, "the nun clothes even on dates then?"
The nun clothes.
Hermione snapped, "It's spring, so, yes, I am in a jumper."
"Huh. That sucks."
"If you have a problem—"
"Hermione Granger?"
She was ashamed how quickly she turned toward that voice. Draco Malfoy was walking toward her and she couldn't find the words for the relief. The discomfort evaporated as he got closer, and she could feel McLaggen's confidence begin to wane. Malfoy stopped a few paces away and spread his arms wide.
"I think you can use a hug?"
"Yeah." Hermione ran at him and hugged him around the waist. "Thank you for answering the phone."
Draco pulled Hermione in close, lifted her off the ground the slightest bit, and said, "I know you really wanted that gig."
"I did."
Malfoy put her down and stepped away just as another woman, half-a-head taller than Hermione, arrived. She introduced herself as Lavender Brown, and Hermione started doing the math.
Two women.
Two men.
Is this …
Hermione looked at Draco to ask, "What are you doing here?"
"My mother wrangled me into dating again." He glanced up at McLaggen with a very unfriendly look in his eyes before asking Hermione, "What are you doing here?"
"McLaggen is my first date from your mum."
"Good to see you've all met." Narcissa Malfoy's assistant, Romilda, appeared out of nowhere, holding a clipboard. She said, "Your table is inside."
Cormac asked, "Is this some kind of four-way—"
"It's a double-date, McLaggen," Romilda replied, the disdain written clearly across her face, "try not to think with your dick. I've snagged you a great date that you don't deserve, so make the most of it, please. Inside."
Hermione shook her head. That was how lunch began. They all ordered, made banal conversation, and Hermione was thankful that Draco had sat next to her and across from his own date instead of the other way 'round. Cormac's idea of scintillating conversation was football, this wine isn't nearly as good as what I had on my last trip to France, and more football. Lavender Brown was an environmental "activist," whose father was wealthy because he invented something Hermione didn't bother listening to her explain. Hermione poked at the remnants of her salad and kept checking her phone, hoping time would find a way to move faster.
"What do you do?"
"Sorry?" asked Draco. He'd been using every subtle move he could think of to check his watch. Tilting his wrist when he reached for his wine glass. Hand in the lap to 'adjust the napkin.' Eyes glued to his wrist as he chopped the chicken on his plate.
"What do you mean?"
"For work," repeated Lavender. "What do you do for work?"
"I run the largest real estate development business in the country, and I own a net-zero carbon concrete manufacturer. We're quickly becoming the preeminent source for sustainable concrete across the continent."
"Oh!" Lavender got a dreamy look in her eyes when she asked, "You're into climate sustainability?"
Draco scoffed, "That didn't make it into the decision calculus. Net-zero carbon is a branding opportunity for the rest of Malfoy Holdings because, as you may know, my name doesn't connote anything positive. Clean emissions means we can brand ourselves as leaders in sustainable development and then maybe people will forget about my father for twelve seconds."
Lavender's face fell. Cormac, on the other hand, ate it up.
"Fucking brilliant," he insisted.
"What is it you do, then?" Draco asked, his voice completely flat.
"I created a bank on the blockchain to help boost my cryptocurrency: McShaggen."
Draco choked back a laugh and Hermione groaned low in her throat. She had been out of the dating game for years, but this was one hell of a way to get back in. She wondered which of them would murder his mother first. Cormac continued,
"My bank, Firebolt, is one of the biggest crypto banks in the world. I help regulate the value of blockchain currency by minting a separate cryptocurrency directly tied to the value of the Pound and another directly tied to the value of the Dollar so there is consistency across international and traditional transactions."
"Mhmm." Draco hummed softly to himself. "If I understand properly, you make one cryptocurrency to provide consistency for the value of your premiere cryptocurrency because there is no true regulation of the blockchain."
Cormac grinned and nudged Lavender's arm.
"It's fuckin' great, isn't it? The wild west of fintech."
"So, again," Draco replied, "everything you create is only stable if it's tied to traditional currency."
"For now, yeah, but—"
"I think that's wonderful."
Hermione glanced over at Draco, both eyebrows raised. He said,
"Most people when they want to succeed in business, use their wits and ingenuity to create things with social utility and value. What you've done is the opposite. When you didn't succeed, you created a pretend environment with pretend money that only has value if it's tied to the traditional currency you couldn't get your hands on." He raised his glass and said, "Congratulations."
Cormac nodded and raised his own glass.
"Cheers, mate."
Oh my God. I'm on a date with an idiot.
"Cormac?" Hermione groaned, "I don't think this is going to work out."
"Okay." He shrugged. "Lavender and I have more chemistry anyway."
"Of course," replied Draco. "Because when I think of the blockchain, I immediately associate it with environmental oversight and sustainability."
Hermione couldn't hold in her laughter. She nudged him with her elbow and whispered, "Stop."
Lavender stood up and asked, "Can we take our stroll, now?"
"You go ahead," insisted Draco. "I'll wait for the bill."
"And I'm going to pretend to fight him for the bill," added Hermione, "so you should both go without us."
Cormac stood up and nodded to Draco.
"This was a good lunch. Businessman to businessman."
Draco raised his glass with a facetious grin on his face.
"Cheers, mate."
They watched their dates leave and burst into giggles the moment they were out the front door. Draco nearly spilled his wine he laughed so hard. Hermione caught her breath enough to say,
"You spent the entire meal taking the piss out of him, and he never realized it. This is one of the worst dates I've had in my life."
Draco shook his head and said, "I can't believe I drove from Wiltshire for this."
"I'm glad you're here, because I want to talk to you about something."
"Oh?"
"My friends seem to know quite a bit about you. My best friend, actually, she said something when I asked her about you—"
"You're asking around about me?"
"Only because you were so kind to me. I thought, with a little work, we could be friends."
"I see."
"My friend said she's known three versions of you: the one before your wife, the one with your wife, and the one after your wife. I wondered if you want to talk about her to someone who never knew what she was like. To tell me what she was like."
Draco conceded, "Your friend is bang-on. I fell in love with Astoria because she was a reflection of me and where I wanted my life to go. She was an opera singer; a contralto with a low, seductive voice that grabbed me the moment I first spoke with her. She was one of those people who looked good in anything, but was happiest wearing one of my jumpers while singing along to a stupid pop song on the radio. I never plan to forget those things."
"I hope no one would ask you to forget her."
"But they will." Malfoy insisted, "Everyone seems to frame love as a competition between themselves and my memory of Astoria. I carry her with me everywhere I go because our three years together taught me what happiness felt like, and she trusted me to be a good father even when I never truly believed I had the capacity for it."
He was quiet for a long while after that. The kind of quiet that Hermione didn't want to interrupt. He would continue when he felt it was right. Hermione picked up her champagne and sipped, watching the couples all around them wind down their lunches. They'd all scooted closer together, hands were held, cheeks were kissed, but Hermione didn't miss that in this moment.
Draco slumped backward in his chair and said out of nowhere, "Astoria died just a bit more than a day after Scorpius was born."
Hermione's heart sank and she had nothing more to offer than a soft, "Oh."
"She had him around nine in the evening and the doctors sent her home the following afternoon. Everything seemed fine, you know? We had all the midwives, nurses, everything Astoria asked and planned for. She was smiling, making jokes, positively normal until a few hours later when she complained about pain in her stomach. Rushed her back to hospital and I remember looking into her eyes and promising her everything would be alright." Draco swallowed thickly then revealed, "She squeezed my hand and said, 'You have to love him enough for two.'"
Hermione leaned over to give him a hug. She wasn't much for hugs on a normal day, but listening to Malfoy speak about his wife was devastating. Hermione wanted to squeeze the grief out of him. He didn't seem to mind, even hugged her back until she shifted away. He nodded to himself then said,
"She was bleeding internally and no one caught it. I would have given my entire life for hers. Astoria was the sort of person who had more to give, she brought kindness into the world. I don't do that. I was twenty-eight and suddenly a widower with a newborn child. I got home afterward in a right state, only to realize we didn't have formula for Scorpius because Astoria planned to breastfeed. Which, obviously, I couldn't compensate for. God, everything made me feel so useless. I couldn't even hold my son without bursting into tears."
"For what it's worth, your son seems like a fantastic kid."
Draco grimaced and grumbled, "Not everyone thinks so. I know I did not handle Tori's death well. Hell, I'm still not handling it with a clear pathway forward, but at least I handled it better than her family did."
Hermione felt Draco tense up a bit. He quickly balled his hands into fists before relaxing his fingers again, but he didn't say anything. She nudged his shoulder with her own and he revealed,
"In the days afterward, Scorpius was my priority. Me, my mother, everyone around me … We were focused on him. Astoria's parents asked if they could handle the funeral ceremony and, naturally, we agreed so I wouldn't need to take that time away from my son. Tori's parents told us the service would be on a Tuesday, when they actually held it on Sunday."
Hermione gasped.
"No."
"Traditionally, Malfoys are laid to rest in a crypt we have on the property. Astoria would've wanted that, I think, because she was happy to have my name. Happy to have my son. It was our family, our name, and she should have rested on the Malfoy estate. On manor grounds. Instead, her parents had her buried up in fucking Staffordshire, closer to them, under a headstone that reads Astoria Greengrass."
Hermione stared at him in disbelief. Draco continued to stare straight ahead, lost in some distant memory. Hermione understood grief, but how could someone be so vindictive? Especially toward a man who clearly loved their daughter more than life itself. Hermione asked,
"Why would they do that?"
"Because they blame Scorpius for her death."
"No." Hermione shook her head. "I don't believe that. Nobody could possibly—"
"Yeah, but they did. And they do." Draco conceded, "Her sister, Daphne, has come around. She's met Scorpius, likes him, but we don't get on. They blame me for her death almost as much; I haven't spoken to her parents in nearly six years. They could've died and I wouldn't know." He scrunched his nose and admitted, "Wouldn't care. I'd probably throw a party. I will concede, grief makes us do terrible things. But all the good things about Scorp come from his mum, and I am merely the gardener tending to the Astoria plants while pulling out the Malfoy weeds."
"You never got to properly lay your wife to rest. Everything you've said to me makes much more sense in that context." Hermione wondered, "Do you want to move on? Listening to you speak about her, that is exactly the way I would want my husband to speak about me. You saw her as a partner and are determined to carry on her legacy through your son … I admire that, but can't help feeling a bit for Lavender since she was your date."
Draco blushed.
"My mother has been trying to get me back into dating for years. She runs this matchmaking business, so obviously it's something she prioritizes. When my father died last year—"
"Oh, I'm so sorry."
"Don't be; not for me, anyway. His only redeeming quality was his unconditional love for my mother. That was how I learned to properly love another person. It was the one good thing he ever taught me, and I chucked the rest. When he died, though, my mother realized our family was a bit broken at every level. She is a widow, I am a widower, and Scorp deserves a bloody village for a family. Which I have given him in a small measure, but my mother's been very insistent on me finding another wife."
"You don't seem keen on the idea."
"I'm not."
"So you don't want to move on?" asked Hermione.
"I would like to move forward in my life, of course I would."
"Yet, you've hardly spared one look at Lavender."
"I am not interested in Miss Brown. My mother prefers to start out with people her clients don't like, to more accurately find what they do. She knew I would despise my time with Lavender, and my guess is she wanted to set Lavender up with McLaggen while making it feel like the two of them happened upon the decision themselves."
"Ah," Hermione nodded, "good to know. This is the first date I've been on in years. If Cormac was meant to be a genuine option for me, I'd rather join a convent."
Draco laughed.
"We are the unfortunate halves of a double-date, Granger. To your question about me moving on, whomever I choose to become part of my family will reflect my life the way it is now, not the way it was before I met my wife."
"You want someone to complement the parts of you that your wife loved, not someone who will compete with her ghost."
"Exactly!" Draco shouted. "That is exactly it. Bloody hell, I've never had the words for it."
"Words, I am good for." Hermione repeated, "Words, I can do. It is the mechanics of dating and the falling in love bits I have problems with."
"Is that why you've come to see my mother, then?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what is it, exactly?"
"My publicist believes me being spotted out trying to date will make me more relatable."
"Why do you need to be relatable?" he asked, sipping from his water glass.
"Because a little over a year from now I hope to be the Ambassador to the United Nations."
"Fucking hell!" Draco nearly spat out his drink. "You're what, thirty … ?"
"Four."
"So you'll be at the UN at thirty-five?"
"Thirty-fiveish."
"And you're doing this dating shit because your public image needs an upgrade."
"Penelope said it was either this or I start showing more skin." Hermione absentmindedly touched the left side of her neck. "So I chose this."
"That seems a bit …" Malfoy frowned then dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "It's not right of me to ask."
"Ask anyway."
"Do you want me to ask why you wear them?"
Do you want me to ask?
Hermione frowned. Everyone she ever met seemed to assume she was comfortable answering questions because she was known across the world for asking them. Hermione was used to dodging questions about the sleeves and the necklines, but Malfoy had been so honest about his grief that she felt it was only right to meet that vulnerability.
"I do."
"Why, then?"
"Seven years ago, I was on assignment at an embassy I'm not allowed to disclose on an assignment I'm not allowed to discuss. This was before my reputation had reached a certain level, so I still received those assignments." Hermione sighed, "I miss that. Anyway, we were outside the embassy with a truckload of security, but not quite enough. There was a moment when we all knew what was about to happen, I think, just a half-second when everything went still. We braced ourselves because what else could we do but pray for survival?"
Draco offered, "You could pray that you're wrong."
"No, in that moment you know. You feel it in your bones before it happens. I can't explain how, but you know." Hermione's mouth suddenly felt rather dry. "I don't remember the explosion itself, but I remember the pain. Something hit my lower back and that hurt like nothing I'd ever imagined. But, um, the blast came from my left side. There's a bunch of scarring all up and down my leg, my thigh, they found remnants of the fabric from my trousers in my skin … That's why I'm never in dresses, because it looks awful."
Draco didn't say anything. Hermione felt his gaze on the side of her face, but she couldn't look at him.
"The force of it broke my collar bone and tore my rotator cuff in my left shoulder. I had great doctors, but my arm didn't heal. The scars come all the way up past my shoulder onto my neck, but I can't move my arm up more than about seventy-five degrees."
"Oh."
"If you look, in every field assignment I've done since, I am always on the left side of whomever I interview. I can only hold the microphone up with my right arm. Over time I learned to compensate; it was important to me that I do everything I'd done before. I didn't want BBC to stop sending me on assignments and was terrified they'd stick me at a desk."
"Well," Draco teased, "they did."
Hermione laughed.
"Yeah, I suppose they did, but I like the desk I'm at. The arm thing is inconvenient, you know, I can only push doors open with my right side. Can't raise my hand to table height—that's why I order a salad on dates. I can't chop my own food, so I have to find something I can stab with a fork."
"You could do pasta," suggested Draco. "Sushi. Crisps."
Hermione playfully whacked his arm, and he shrugged.
"I'm broadening your horizons."
"To answer your question, I don't like the looks I get when people see my scars." Hermione winced. "The last time I went out with someone and went back to his flat, he took off my blazer, then my shirt, and that's as far as he wanted things to go."
"I don't understand."
Hermione sighed and said, "Simply put, we were going to have sex until he saw the scars on my arm and my neck. Then he wanted nothing to do with me; said they made him nauseous."
Draco was quiet for a moment, brow furrowed in confusion.
"What a prick."
"I know they look awful, I see them every day in the mirror. I lost bits of my arm! I know what it looks like, and I would rather the press write about my fashion choices than read headlines about how mucked-up my skin is. But now, when I think about dating, about being intimate with a man, my first thought is always, 'What if he doesn't see my scars the way I do?'"
"Thank you for telling me."
"After you described the pain you went through, I was confident you wouldn't be a dick about it."
"In an unrelated question," Draco said, his voice just a bit too high, "I would like the name and last known address of the bloke who made you feel as if those scars made you undesirable."
"HM Prison Berwyn. A year after our date he was convicted of wire fraud." Hermione grinned. "I felt that restored some balance to the universe."
They were quiet for awhile. The waiter came over to top up their water glasses. Hermione stabbed the last cherry tomato with her fork. Just when Hermione thought Romilda would have to come over and tell them both to go home, Draco nodded to where Lavender and Cormac were snogging outside the restaurant window.
"Do you think we'll ever have that again?"
Hermione asked, "How do you mean?"
"Being able to enjoy someone's company so carefree? Snogging someone just because you want to, without the weight of the past hanging on your shoulders?"
"Speaking for myself, the past is kind of always on my shoulder."
Draco pressed his forehead against the top of Hermione's good shoulder and groaned, "You got me with that one."
"But I think maybe for you, given time, you'll find it again."
His head popped up as he asked, "Not for yourself?"
"I'd like to try again, I think." Hermione conceded, "My marriage ended amicably so I don't have any hangups about relationships there. The struggle is finding a man who isn't intimidated by me. And makes me feel comfortable enough to take my clothes off."
"Well I'm not intimidated by you."
Hermione's heart jumped up into her throat. He couldn't possibly be implying—
"Anyway." Draco's eyes were wide, like he couldn't believe he'd said what he said. "If we were discussing the economic future of the Baltic Peninsula you'd scare the shit out of me."
Try as he might, he couldn't take those words back.
I'm not intimidated by you.
Hermione felt the air between them go still. Everything was happening around the two of them, but nothing moved between them. Draco said a week earlier that his heart was unavailable. He'd spent so long talking about Astoria on this very double-date that there was no conceivable way he meant the statement as it sounded. Hermione eventually found her voice enough to say,
"You're my friend. I don't want to frighten you."
"Yeah," Draco nodded, "right. I'm your friend who's dealing with a lot of shit right now."
"And I am your friend who is dealing with a lot of shit right now."
"So we're friends and shit."
"Friends and shit on the worst double-date," Hermione laughed. "I am grateful you are here, though. I needed you today."
Draco let out a noise like he'd been punched in the stomach. He stood up and tossed a wad of cash on the table.
"I, um, I just …"
Hermione offered, "Have to go deal with some shit?"
He nodded. He waved his hand at the pile of money and his shoulders slumped.
"Thank you for understanding what I intend to say even when I can't find the words for it." Draco opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn't come. He shook his head and eventually said, "I'll see you?"
Hermione nodded, and she expected Draco to head for the door, but he didn't. Draco kept his gaze trained on the table, not moving except to flip a key ring between his fingers. He snapped the keys into the palm of his hand and said,
"He shouldn't have kissed you."
Then Draco left.
"No," Hermione agreed once Draco was out of earshot, "he shouldn't have."
Romilda plopped down into Draco's empty seat, threw the clipboard on the table, and drank the remnants of Draco's wine in one go. She grumbled,
"Sorry to put you through that. Was there anything about McLaggen that you liked?"
"He had nice hair."
"So you like blonds."
"It appears so." Hermione looked up at the ceiling and repeated, "It appears so."