October Birds
Chapter 1: Blank
It was supposed to be a fresh start, several years after that hellish, brutal war. A new page to turn where she could uncharacteristically––and finally––let go of the life she had been expected to live as the wizarding society's Golden Girl.
She would never forget the face of Minister Shacklebolt himself in his private office when she quietly handed in her resignation as the Head of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
"And where would you go?" he eventually asked, thick eyebrows still raised in utter bewilderment, and eyes still reading and rereading the parchment she had prepared the night before.
"Somewhere," she shrugged, smiling slightly as she kept her hands clasped tightly behind her back. "Been saving up for quite a while. I've secured a house––quite a ways from here, actually. And with a little help from Gina from Muggle Relations, I already have a simple job waiting for me. You should grant her that promotion she's been itching for."
The Minister's dark eyes looked up to meet hers. "And you'll be…on your own?"
On your own. The words reverberated in her mind for a few seconds after that. She had lost her true family long ago––memory charms had always been irreversible, after all––and her two companions in the trio had moved on with their own separate lives, seemingly far better than she ever did. The grand wedding of the new Mr. and Mrs. Potter was still being mentioned in the pages of the Daily Prophet even more than a year after the event. And, naturally, she and Ron practically never spoke anymore outside the occasional family gatherings Mrs. Weasley would still kindly invite her to.
She realized she'd been on her own for quite a while now.
"I'll be alright," she assured the Minister regardless.
She had also made sure that no fuss was to be made over her departure. In fact, apart from the discreet letters she had sent out to Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley the night before her train schedule, she only made an appearance to one friend she was most genuinely distraught about leaving behind.
George Weasley had never gotten over the war, just as she never did. And for more than enough reason, of course. It was a major part of how the two became close the past several years. Too close, at one point, as their strange post-battle relationship actually started out as a sad friends-with-benefits situation. Secretly, of course, as while what was left of the friendship between her and Ron was strained at best, she wasn't about to completely destroy it by admitting she had completely gotten over him by shamelessly humping his own equally-depressed brother.
But their complicated beginning had eventually eased into something simple as this, where she found herself comfortably leaning against the man's shoulder in his living room couch, with his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders as he rubbed her upper arm reassuringly.
"You could still run away with me," she offered half-heartedly, despite already knowing his answer.
George chuckled sadly, if that was possible, kissing her temple as he did. "You know I can't. I can never leave the shop behind. This was both our dreams––the last one we ever had together."
She stared at the dancing flames of the lit fireplace for a while, mindlessly stroking the hand he kept on her arm. "You're not angry with me?"
"Why would I be?"
"Because––" She pursed her lip for a moment. "I mean, who else is going to come by thrice a week to bring you your favorite cottage pie?"
George's soft, brown eyes turned wistful. "Yeah. Well, I am going to miss that. Miss you."
Her stomach sunk a bit after hearing his words.
"But if things were different, I would go with you." He smiled again at this point. "That's how it's always been between us, hasn't it, Hermione? If you had never dated my brother, if it was ever possible for me to be whole again after he's gone…"
That was surprising, to say the least. After all, they never really brought up the unspoken history between them after it had passed. But this was closure, after all. "I know," she sighed softly.
"You deserve much better," he continued. "And I could always tell how much you want a fresh start from all of this. I'm optimistic this could be good for you."
Hermione's lips curved up to a grateful smile. "I'll write you everyday. And visit at least once every couple of months. You're not losing me, George."
For a split-second, his expression betrayed his anxiety about the situation and his eyes turned glassy with almost-tears. "You promise?" he asked quietly.
"I promise," she said ardently as he finally pulled her in for a tight embrace.
And the next day, she went to the train station and finally left the only place she had ever called home alone.
She had planned for it to be a long trip, completely Muggle-style. After the comfortable train ride to London and a cab to Heathrow, she still had three hours to spare for her scheduled flight. It felt strangely cathartic to go completely wandless and immerse herself in the Muggle crowds, that she decided she could happily pretend she was just one of them for the rest of her life. The new Hermione Granger. A blank page with no history and nothing but potential.
She continued to ponder about the possibilities as she waited patiently on one of the metal lounges near her assigned terminal.
Would the new Hermione still be Gryffindor brave, just as the Sorting Hat had predicted her to be since the tender age of eleven? Perhaps not. After all, running away from expectations and responsibilities without even having the balls to come clean and say goodbye to her closest friends––apart from one––was already showing her newfound cowardice.
Would she still have the insatiable thirst for knowledge and truth, just as she'd always had ever since the day she had received her Hogwarts letter? Once upon a time, she had found purpose and fulfillment in learning something new and fascinating every single day she was in the wizarding world. And she had always been the brains of the Golden Trio, after all. But…She supposed after the war, she realized she had seen more than enough.
Then how about her heart, then? You've always worn your heart in your sleeve, Harry had told her solemnly before, when she had finally disclosed how her long-winded and yet still short-lived relationship with Ron ended. Would she still be that same Hermione who prioritized the people she cared about over herself?
Her heart immediately twisted in her chest as she recalled the desperate way George had embraced her just the night before. Outside of her usual circle of friends, she cared about him more than most, and yet she still left him behind.
So just who was she becoming?
Hermione's body had gone autopilot after that and she found herself settled in her window seat in the plane as her mind continued to go a million miles an hour, still struggling to find the answer to her own question. She had always wanted a fresh start and to be free from the darkness she had been running from, ever since the tipping point on that day at the manor––And yet, she was only wondering for the first time if this new start was actually going to make her a better person than she ever was.
Brave, curious, and kind. Those were her good qualities, weren't they? Just what kind of person would she be if she let these parts of her go?
She had succumbed into a deep sleep midway through her five-hour flight, still unable to find an answer. But that was…fine. She would figure it out, as she always did.
Hermione had always adored the beach as a child. That was why she had decided that she would settle for nothing else but a quaint place to settle down as close as she could to the shoreline for her migration. Gina had pulled some strings with her connections at MACUSA found just the place for her in a small town near Rockport, Massachusetts.
Her receiver at the airport was a talkative middle-aged American named Johnny––of course, Hermione had thought during their short introduction––and was also her assigned liaison in the new country. He had been the one to discreetly Apparate them as well to the small town that was to be her home.
And it was…beautiful. It was definitely quieter and less crowded than her home in Wizarding London. And most of all, the air smelled subtly but still distinctly of the sea.
"I thought you'd enjoy a little walk before we reach your new home," Johnny cheerfully explained, pulling both her suitcases along with him as he led them down the grassy path. Hermione kept a peaceful smile as she walked, her gaze fixed on the docks nearby.
"Is this a fully Muggle town?" she asked conversationally several minutes into their stroll.
"Mugg––Oh, you mean no-maj," Johnny said, chuckling softly. "Sorry, still getting used to the Brit lingo. Well, there's a reason it was relatively easy for Gina to send you out here. It's not the first time we've received magical recluses from your region who want a retreat."
Recluses? "I see. Anyone I know?"
For the first time since she'd met him, Johnny's expression darkened slightly. He looked––strangely wary. "Probably not," he eventually replied. "We're almost there."
And Hermione was eventually distracted by the sight of the two-story cottage at the end of the street. Her new home. It was situated on top of a small hill and overlooked a generous portion of the sea. There was also a small garden next to the house, with plots that were generally empty except for one gorgeous, tall, red maple tree.
Johnny seemed to notice her fixated gaze on the bright red-and-orange leaves of the tree, and decided to say, "I guess it's meant to be you came in autumn, just in time for the foliage. It's your house greeting you home."
"Home," she repeated, stepping forward to caress one of the new leaves. "It's perfect."
She soon followed him into the house. It was cozy and already well-decorated. Johnny pulled out his wand to water the several indoor plants set on the small round dining table, along the windowsills, and in the living room. Hermione decided to help him out, and used her own wand to bring her suitcases up with her on the staircase with ease. She explored the two bedrooms at the second story and eventually unpacked her belongings in the master's.
"Ms. Granger?" Johnny eventually called out for her from the kitchen, just as she had closed her newly-filled closet.
Hermione bounded down the stairs and met him by the granite counter. "Heading out already? I wanted to make you tea at the very least for all your help today."
"Real kind of you," he chuckled. "But I really do have to get going. Before I do, though, I'll need to give you this to look over."
She raised a brow as he slowly pulled out a binder from his coat––impossible to have been kept there without some form of reducio, she guessed––and set it on the counter. "This…is your new life now. No-maj ID's, papers for your new job, a cellphone, your credit card and bank account details––everything is in there. I suggest you go through it as soon as possible and let me know if you have any concerns or need anything else."
New life… Hermione let her fingers trace the edge of the binder as her mind reeled for a few long seconds. "I see. Thank you, Johnny. For everything."
"My number's in there, too," he added with a wide smile. "Feel free to call anytime. I'll come around soon, Ms. Granger."
"Goodbye," she waved politely, and Johnny Disapparated from her kitchen soon after she did.
She was alone for the first time in a new place, so far away from everyone she knew. But––that was okay. She was more than okay.
Hermione decided to fix herself up that tea, taking her sweet time learning where everything was in her new kitchen. As soon as she had a chamomile in hand, she decided to pick up the thick binder and sat herself down on the brown couch, finally flipping through the plastic pages and discover just who the new Hermione Granger was to be.
"How was she?"
Johnny fidgeted with the corners of his coat as he stood awkwardly across the sleek, dark table of his employer in the wide office space. While the man had never really said a cross word to him, his young employer's reputation from Great Britain's wizarding world preceded him. Hell, even his surname preceded him. And Johnny still wasn't used to it.
He'd never get used to these strange, brooding Brits, he supposed.
"She's settled in well, Mr. Malfoy," he decided to say. "She clearly liked the town you chose for her. The cottage, too."
"Good," the man sighed, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes.
Johnny decided it wouldn't hurt to pry a little. "Just curious, sir. Ever since your…exile and absorption to MACUSA's Magic Relations office, you've never really paid such close attention to migration requests. And you've chosen to keep Ms. Granger so near to your own home, and even her job––"
"What of it?" Draco drawled, his eyelids fluttering open and his strange grey orbs coldly scrutinizing the man across from him.
"Just curious," Johnny repeated, raising his hands slightly as if in surrender.
A long pause. Draco didn't even blink once. "So am I," he eventually said tersely.
Johnny pursed his lips for a moment. "She was interested to know if there were any major wizards or witches in the area that she knew about."
The platinum blond's gaze turned colder, if that was even possible. "And what did you say?"
"Denied it, of course."
"Hmm." Draco's brows furrowed for a moment. "That's good. She doesn't need to know. At least not yet."
"And why's that?"
"For Salazar's––You ask too many questions, old man," he sighed, leaning forward on his desk to rub his temple impatiently. After a while, though, he decided to softly disclose, "If she finds out I'm here…Look, I just don't want her to leave."
Johnny's eyes widened immediately.
"I don't even know why she's agreed to stay here," Draco continued, his tone strangely faraway as if he was speaking to himself. "Her life was already perfect back home, as far as I know. The bloody Golden Girl won the war. Won everything, while I…Well, I must've missed something, if she willingly left all that behind to be all by herself in this strange place. Just as I am exiled to be."
"I see," Johnny said solemnly, nodding once. "But why are you so afraid she'd leave if she finds out you're here? If anything, maybe she'd be grateful you helped her out."
"You don't know her very well," Draco said grimly. "She's always been very clear about how what she thinks of me, and I of her. At least back then, since we were eleven. And especially after my role in the war––"
He suddenly shut his eyes tightly, and his lips quivered from a dark memory.
"I understand," Johnny said slowly, even though he definitely didn't. "So no reunions coming up anytime soon. Got it."
"You can go," Draco finally said, rotating his seat to face away from him, just as he always did whenever he dismissed his subordinates.
After a Disapparating pop, Draco was eventually alone. Just as he always had been, ever since the result of that Wizengamot trial post-war.
This is a kindness, one of the members had declared. You and your mother are granted indeterminate exile from Great Britain's wizarding world. The order can only be considered to be rescinded if a suitable witness can attest to your good behaviors. This…is a much kinder punishment, compared to the Kiss your father has been decreed to receive.
He recalled chuckling darkly and loudly at that in the middle of the courtroom, much to the bewilderment––and even rage––of the trial witnesses and visitors. He also recalled his own mother apologizing for his own reaction, going as far as to saying that her son was emotionally unstable from the traumatizing events he had gone through during the war.
Perhaps he had been, at the time. But all Draco could remember was feeling a sweet release. And he had no plans whatsoever to have his exile rescinded. He was finally free from this world, from the utter horrors he had been raised to be an unwitting contributor to. He had been on the side of the losing team, yes, but in the end, he had won his freedom.
That was what he had felt at the time, of course. But the world always found a way to collect its debts.
Draco sucked in a deep breath as he reached out to the lowest drawer of his desk. He hesitated for a few seconds longer before picking up the picture frame he kept there. Of…her.
Narcissa Malfoy had always been devoted to her family, after all. He had stupidly overlooked that fact back then. He had failed to see the signs of just how broken she would eventually become, since permanently losing her husband––the only love of her life, no matter how twisted it was. Draco had failed to prepare for the possibility that he would lose her, too.
He had rarely visited her in St. Jouge's since her mind had gone a couple of years ago. And ever since he put her in that hospital, he'd kept all pictures of her tucked away…out of guilt.
By Merlin, he had a lot of that. Too much of it, even.
Draco could only manage to stare at his mother's unsmiling, disappointed face in the moving picture for a few seconds before shoving the frame back in the drawer and shutting it closed roughly.
It was time to head home anyway.
Draco stood up from his desk and swiftly picked up his work satchel as he walked out of his private corner office. In the past years of his exile, he had eventually grown to ignore the still-incessant gawking from the wizards and witches of MACUSA whenever he came around. He didn't even feel the need to glare back anymore.
That particular night was new, though, because one of the witches he vaguely recognized to be from Wizarding Resources––Lisa, he was sure––practically bolted to join him on the enchanted elevator as it headed to the ground floor.
"Hey, Mr. Malfoy," the petite, short-haired brunette greeted almost too cheerfully. "Heading out early?"
He nodded awkwardly.
"Minnie's having a party tomorrow night for her birthday," his co-worker continued. "Everyone from our two divisions are invited. Are you coming?"
What the… "No," he said simply, reeling in his incredulousness.
That seemed to disappoint her. "Oh. How about another time, then?"
This time, Draco couldn't help but raise a brow questioningly.
"Look, Draco––can I call you Draco? I'll just go out and say it while I still have the balls. I…am asking you out."
Oh. Yes, this was very new. He slowly realized that the reason for the still-incessant gawking wasn't only due to his name and his reputation anymore. That was an interesting development, albeit still unwelcome. "I will have to decline. Respectfully."
Lisa was frowning deeply now, her cheeks flushing with mild humiliation. "I see. It was worth a shot, I guess."
Gods, this elevator was too slow to be enchanted.
"But you aren't married or anything, are you?" the girl decided to ask curiously. "We've always wondered. You're always…alone, and we never catch a glimpse of you outside work hours."
"It's not for me," he said in a monotone, just as the world finally granted him release from the tedious conversation and the elevator doors opened to the main lobby. He beelined straight for the doors without even bothering to say goodbye, and there he Apparated as soon as the headquarters borders allowed him to.
And he was home.
It wasn't Malfoy Manor, but it certainly came close. The Wizengamot had added not seizing their assets for what they were worth as part of their kindness, and Draco had decided to spare no expense in securing the only gated three-story colonial in the small seaside town.
Before he could let himself in the gate, however, he couldn't help but turn his gaze to the east, towards a small speck of the cottage several hundred meters away from his own grand home. For some reason, his heart beat loudly in his chest as he realized that she was just right over there, so far away from home, just as he was.
The Golden Girl.
Ever since her name had been brought up to him as part of his duties for managing migration requests, it was like he had been splashed with ice-cold water to the face. And his curiosity just couldn't be sated at all. He…instinctively wanted to keep her as close to him as he could.
Was it loneliness? He technically was never alone, especially at work. He was constantly surrounded––albeit unwillingly––with the American wizards and witches. But perhaps because of all that history and animosity and that war…
She was the only one in the country who had grown up with him, after all. The only one who came the closest in fully understanding him. And he knew she hated him––the only one who did for all the right reasons.
Yet he wanted to keep her close regardless.
Draco eventually pulled himself away and briskly walked towards the entrance of his large but empty home. And there, he wasted no time in stripping his clothes and falling into his king-sized bed, crawling under the sheets until the quilt covered him from head to toe.
Almost as soon as he slipped into unconsciousness, he began to dream, which was a rare feat nowadays. Draco had hypothesized he had seen enough nightmares in his life that his brain refused to torture itself more in his sleep, too. But this one…wasn't a nightmare at all.
Because he saw her now, replaying the memory of the first time Draco Malfoy ever saw Hermione Granger as anything more than a filthy Mudblood. The first time he ever even considered her as a girl, a pretty one, even, during that fateful––or cursed?––night more than a decade ago in the Yule Ball. His subconscious imagination eventually took over until the memory morphed into something truly…absurd.
And when he awoke several hours later in cold sweat and a familiar tingling in his belly from that strange dream, he knew he was too far gone. And in deep, deep trouble.
A/N: Went as Draco for Halloween for work and this story came to me. I'm a little nervous as this is my first HP fic. Hope you enjoyed this first glimpse.
