She's the opposite of everything you could have imagined, because she doesn't care about the principles you've always held. So when you ask if I'll help you find a ring, remember, I'll never get used to her.
Setting: Post Hogwarts, New Years Eve
Oh well cat is out of the bag I guess - yes I am Danish!
This one shot is based off a song called Det Modsatte by Mumle. And even though I am a firm believer of Dramione getting their HEA, this just screamed to me to be a Dramione story. So here we go.
This is my second addition to the Against All Odds song-fic series of mine.
I have translated the lyrics, so put on the song and listen while reading. Enjoy!
This story is cross-posted on AO3 as well
Til nytårsaften (At New Year's Eve)
Det første møde med (The first meeting with)
Dit nye vedhæng og hendes attitude (Your new attachment and her attitude)
Hun siger dig ingenting (She means nothing to you)
Så hvorfor skal hun med? (So why is she coming along?)
Jeg hader, at hun tror, at du en dag ku' glemme mig (I hate that she thinks one day you could forget me)
Og hendes synspunkt er noget for sig selv (And her perspective is something else entirely)
Får appetit ude, og så spiser hun hjemme (Gets her appetite out, then eats at home)
Er du nu sikker på (Are you sure now)
At du ka' stole på hende? (That you can trust her?)
Men når kalenderen er fyldt, når det bli'r midnat (But when the calendar is full, when it's midnight)
The townhouse pulsed with warmth, spilling over with laughter, shimmering dresses, and the smoky scent of incense mingling with the fragrance of mulled wine. Hermione stepped inside, feeling the press of bodies and the hum of conversations barely audible over the music playing in the far corner. A spark of anticipation flickered in her chest, but it quickly soured into something colder. This wasn't just another party.
She'd come to see Draco. To see him with her.
A quiet sigh escaped her as she searched for him, each room seeming fuller than the last until she finally spotted him, his familiar frame standing out amidst the crowd, his laugh ringing warmer than the muted voices around him. He had that easy, charming smile she remembered so well, the kind that had once been hers. Her pulse quickened, both at the sight of him and at the woman on his arm, leaning against him in a way that spoke of too many shared secrets.
Draco glanced up, his eyes finding hers, and his face broke into a wide smile. For a moment, a flicker of warmth passed between them, some remnant of their past that hadn't quite faded.
"Granger!" His voice was filled with unmistakable delight, like she was a piece of home in the middle of the glittering crowd. He crossed the room quickly, pulling her into a hug, and she felt herself melt, just slightly, into the familiar scent of his cologne, of cedar and something sweet. "Happy New Year, love."
She mustered a smile, shaky but genuine, as she pulled back. "Happy New Year, Draco."
But even as she smiled, her gaze slipped over his shoulder, landing on the woman behind him—a stunning blonde with sharp eyes and an even sharper smile. She had the practised look of someone who knew exactly how to capture attention, how to stand in the right light, how to hold Draco's arm just so.
"Oh, this is Celeste Beaumant," Draco said with a fond smile, as if saying her name out loud was something of a treat. "Celeste, this is Hermione Granger."
Celeste's eyes flicked to Hermione, holding her gaze with a sort of silent assessment. Her hand extended in a perfectly manicured greeting. "Hermione," she said, a smoothness in her voice that felt like a thin veneer over steel. "I've heard a lot about you."
Hermione took her hand, feeling the coolness of her touch, the way her fingers barely brushed Hermione's palm as if trying to avoid contact. "Good things, I hope."
Celeste's smile didn't reach her eyes, and Hermione felt a twist in her chest. Draco's hand had fallen to Celeste's waist, and though it was the smallest gesture, the sight of it stung in a way she hadn't expected. There was something possessive in the woman's gaze, something territorial.
"Draco tells me you were… close," Celeste said, her voice as smooth as silk but with an edge Hermione could feel like a razor against her skin.
Hermione felt her face grow warm, a hundred words bubbling up in her throat. "Yes," she replied softly, her tone as light as she could manage. "We were."
The words tasted bitter. She wanted to add, and still are, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. For the first time, she wondered if it was true.
Hun er det rene vanvid, når I er alene (She's pure madness, when you're alone)
Den mørke sandhed, for kaos jagter hende (The dark truth, for chaos chases her)
Og starter kappestrid (And starts a rivalry)
Som du ikk' kan vinde (That you can't win)
Når det ender kaos, smil, og siger "hva' sagde jeg?" (When it ends in chaos, smile and say, "I told you so")
Conversations with Hermione's friends echoed in her mind, each word settling like stones in her chest. Celeste had become a topic among her friends, each of them bringing her fragments of rumours and warnings. They spoke of her like a storm, a force of nature that Draco seemed oblivious to. She's madness when you're alone with her, Ginny had said once, her tone laced with worry and something darker.
Harry, uncharacteristically serious, had added his own observation: The dark truth is, Hermione… chaos chases her. The words had been heavy, lingering in Hermione's thoughts long after, even though Harry's tone had softened as if not wanting to say more. Even Luna, with her dreamy, faraway gaze, had murmured a quiet warning. Celeste doesn't belong to anyone but her own whims. She's like fire, she'd said, her voice almost gentle. A fire Draco thinks he can tame.
But Ron had been the one to drive it home, with a quiet intensity that surprised her. She starts a battle no one can win, he'd said, his eyes reflecting a strange sympathy for Draco. And when it all ends in chaos, she'll be there, smiling like it was all a game.
These warnings played over in Hermione's mind now, clashing with her own feelings. Draco was stubborn, sometimes reckless, and perhaps too sure he'd come out unscathed. But she couldn't shake the thought that Celeste was exactly the kind of threat he didn't see coming, a storm gathering just beyond the horizon.
Hun er det modsatte af alt, du ku' ha' tænkt dig ( She's the opposite of everything you could have imagined)
For hun skider på principper, som du altid har haft ( Because she doesn't care about the principles you've always held)
Så når du spørger om, jeg vil hjælpe med at finde en ring ( So when you ask if I'll help you find a ring)
Så skal du huske, at jeg aldrig vænner mig til hende (Remember, I'll never get used to her)
As the evening waned, Hermione found herself on the balcony with Draco, the sounds of the party muffled by the thick glass doors behind them. Out here, the night was stark and quiet, the chill of winter settling into her bones as she leaned against the stone railing. Draco stood beside her, his breath visible in the icy air as he took a long drag on his cigarette, the smoke curling around them in faint, ghostly wisps.
"She's… interesting," Hermione said finally, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
Draco let out a low chuckle, his breath warm in the cold night. "She's one of a kind."
Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye, her heart heavy. "She is, I'll give you that." She tried to keep her voice light, almost teasing. "Not quite your type, though, is she?"
Draco shrugged, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the city lights. "I don't know. I think I need something different."
The words were like a knife, twisting in her chest. She looked away, gripping the cold stone of the railing so tightly her knuckles turned white. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, memories, regrets.
"I just hope she makes you happy," Hermione said softly, barely managing to keep the tremor out of her voice. The words felt like shards of glass on her tongue, each one a painful reminder of what they once had, what they'd lost.
Draco turned to her, his gaze softer now, touched with something almost tender. "Granger, it's been ages. Haven't you moved on from all that?"
She held his gaze, forcing herself to meet his eyes, though her heart ached. "Of course I have. I just… I just want to make sure you're with someone who appreciates you. Someone who won't hurt you."
He laughed, a low, slightly mocking sound that made her flinch. He flicked the cigarette ash into the wind. "Celeste isn't exactly the dangerous type."
Hermione looked away, bitterness creeping into her chest. "You don't know her like I do," she murmured, barely audible above the wind.
He paused, studying her with a furrowed brow. "Hermione… are you jealous?"
The question hung between them, sharp and heavy. She forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow, empty. "No, Draco. I just—"
I just can't understand why you'd choose someone so wrong for you, she wanted to say, but the words stayed lodged in her throat, a silent plea he couldn't hear.
Du ku' ha' valgt en kassedame eller hjernekirurg (You could have chosen a cashier or a brain surgeon)
Du ku' ha' valgt en dealer på det store casino (You could have chosen a dealer at the big casino)
Du ku' ha' sunget hele natten med en sangerinde (You could have sung all night with a singer)
Og alligevel valgt' du hende (And yet you chose her)
Hermione watched from the doorway as Draco and Celeste gathered their coats, preparing to leave. The party had dwindled, the lights dimming, and the remnants of laughter echoed faintly as people drifted away. Hermione's heart twisted as she watched Draco reach for Celeste's hand, his fingers lacing with hers in a gesture that was painfully familiar.
Celeste leaned into him, whispering something in his ear that made him laugh, and Hermione felt a pang of jealousy and something darker—an aching, hollow sense of loss. She wanted to call out to him, to make him see what she saw. But the words wouldn't come, trapped behind the weight of all she'd kept to herself.
Harry appeared beside her, casting a worried glance at her face. "You alright?"
She forced a smile, a small, brittle thing. "Yes. Just… strange seeing him with her, I suppose."
Harry's brow furrowed, his gaze softening. "Wasn't he asking you for advice about a ring, or something? I heard him mention it to Pansy. Guess he's serious about her."
Hermione's stomach clenched, a sick feeling washing over her. She looked away, her gaze fixed on the darkened street beyond. "Apparently."
The words tasted like ashes. She could feel the finality of it, the knowledge that Draco had chosen someone who seemed so opposite of him, someone she couldn't understand. He could have had anyone, she thought bitterly. Someone who understood him, who valued his principles. But he hadn't chosen that. He'd chosen her.
Hun er det modsatte af alt, du ku' ha' tænkt dig
Hun er det modsatte af alt, du ku' ha' tænkt dig ( She's the opposite of everything you could have imagined)
For hun skider på principper, som du altid har haft ( Because she doesn't care about the principles you've always held)
Så når du spørger om, jeg vil hjælpe med at finde en ring ( So when you ask if I'll help you find a ring)
Så skal du huske, at jeg aldrig vænner mig til hende (Remember, I'll never get used to)
Hendes humor og syge energi (Her humour and crazy energy)
Og når du tror på, at hun kunne være min gode veninde (And when you believe that she could be my good friend)
Så når du spørger om, jeg vil hjælpe med at finde en ring ( So when you ask if I'll help you find a ring)
Så skal du huske, at jeg aldrig vænner mig til hende (Remember, I'll never get used to her)
The walk home was long, the night air cold against her skin, seeping through her coat and chilling her to the bone. She walked slowly, feeling the weight of every step, the heaviness in her chest growing with each block. The city lights gleamed in the distance, casting long, lonely shadows across the empty streets.
By the time she reached her flat, she felt drained, as though she'd left some part of herself back there, on that balcony, with the words she hadn't said. She dropped her coat and walked to the window, staring out at the city, the lights a blurred haze against the dark.
Hermione poured herself a glass of wine and sank into the chair by the window, feeling the cold glass in her hands, grounding herself in the chill, in the quiet. And as the clock ticked by, she felt a strange sense of calm settle over her, mingled with the ache of things left unsaid.
Tonight felt like a farewell, a quiet goodbye to the hope she'd held onto for too long. She knew now, with a painful clarity, that he'd chosen a path she couldn't follow, a life that didn't include her. Hermione sipped her wine, letting the bittersweet warmth fill her, and for the first time, she allowed herself to let go.
It was a hollow, aching freedom, but it was freedom all the same. And as she sat there, watching the lights fade into the night, she whispered a quiet goodbye to the parts of her heart that had belonged to him, knowing she'd never quite stop caring, but that it was time to move on.
Finally , she thought, as the new year dawned over the city, it's time.
I hope you liked it!