rememberinggranger
Remembering Granger
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Hermione followed the flick of his hand down the darkened corridor as he left his thought open ended. When her eyes returned to him, her brow was furrowed in confusion, trying to make sense of his explanation. Her head was on a swivel then, looking at the path from where he came, to him, and back to his supposed destination. If this story was true, why then was Malfoy pressed against the doorway to the library?
The snark in his excuse didn’t go unnoticed. There he is, she thought. The Draco Malfoy she’d grown up with standing presently before her. She rolled her eyes and returned her wand from where it came, holding a pointed grimace on her face.
Admittedly, she was a little hurt. If this story was truth and he was just passing by, he didn’t think to stop in and say hello? Didn’t want to maybe? Ask if she was comfortable or needing anything? Hell, ask if she’d spoken with Harry and Ron. True he’d warned her that he wouldn’t interfere but…
Hermione buried these feelings as quickly as they manifested. Her and Malfoy were hardly friends. They had shared a single intimate moment together. It didn’t mean that their relationship was irrevocably changed.
Right?
Clearing her throat, Hermione presented a polite smile.
“Of course I didn’t forget.” She said, her tone even and pleasant.
“I was on the hunt for Keys. I’m nervous to touch any of the books after…” her voice trailed off as the image of Malfoy’s transparent shirt -soaking and clinging to his skin- flashed in her memory. Her eyes flicked to his chest before returning to his eyes, “…yesterday.” She caught herself, her heart quickening again in her chest.
“She’d gone before I managed to ask for help. I can’t imagine you’d be too busy to lend a me a hand. I’m sure it will only take a moment and then you can be off to…”
She flicked her hand down the corridor mimicking Malfoy’s gesture, a sly grin curing as she did so.
I Saw Rise in the Heat
Morning clarity is a funny thing. The start to a new day beckons a decision. One can choose to carry over their previous day. Bring the memories and emotions with them. A continuation. Or, view the new day as a fresh start. Make the conscious decision to forget and wipe the slate clean. Begin anew.
Hermione was desperate for the latter.
Newly risen sunlight beamed into the room through sheer drapes that were stained from wear and time. Specks of dust danced around the morning rays only appearing when shone in the light. The smell of a homely musk filled the room from the wooden furniture and untouched linen in neat piles. Lingering decorations that Percy left behind shared space with the few belongings Hermione brought into the Burrow. On the bedside table sat a framed unmoving photo of her parents on opposite sides, a sizable gap awkwardly settling between them.
A gap where Hermione once stood before she erased herself from their narrative, and with it, her image from the photo.
Faint clattering and Weasley voices seeped into the room. Paired with the scent of sausage and egg, Hermione knew she’d slept in a little later than she intended. She could hear the residence of the burrow hurriedly flitting about, readying themselves for their own respective days.
Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, fingernails clawing into the mattress below as she tried to suppress the yesterday that lingered.
Today was a new day. She planned to march into that Manor with her head held high, exuding confidence. Malfoy promised not to interfere and she firmly believed it was for the best. She’ll deliver the news that Ron and Harry would like to speak with him and finish her research.
It was a simple plan. A plan she can follow through on.
Except for the fact that every time she closed her eyes, yesterday's events flooded back into her subconscious against her will. Hermione’s perception of Draco Malfoy was eroding. His reputation was diminishing before her, replaced with this new version of Malfoy she’d only just met. The discovery of his softness and how gentle he could be. How much pain he’s endured. The things he was forced to do for the sake of his loved ones. His willingness to keep them safe. To keep her safe.
The shared touch. Both of them, branded. Their silent truce.
It was all too confusing for Hermione to unpack. So she decided not to. Once she was through with the library, this wouldn’t be an issue any longer. He will cease to take up space in her waking thoughts. She will never have to see Draco Malfoy in this capacity, so intimately, ever again. That was a promise.
Hermione stood up, ready to start her day with a new found conviction. She took a few steps on the cold hardwood floor and threw open the doors to the wardrobe. Deciding what to wear came easier today. There wasn’t a need for business attire as Malfoy knew now that she wasn’t there on behalf of the Ministry. She chose a well loved pair of blue jeans and a crimson cashmere jumper. If she was going to be hunched over books for the better half of her day, she’d rather be comfortable and warm.
One glance in the mirror and she realized she had neglected her now frizzing lion's mane that framed her face, puffs and spirals wildly splayed in each direction. The spell-gone-wrong was not kind to her curls. She made the quick decision to deal with it later and twister her locks into a tight bun in the back of her head, a few pieces falling out and framing her face as she did so. Glancing to her small makeup bag, she decided against reaching in. There was no one at the Manor she was trying to impress.
Especially not Draco Malfoy.
With her hand on the bedroom’s doorknob, she exhaled deeply, readying herself for the questions and concerns of her day's agenda, mustering the courage to open the door and walk through.
When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she was nearly taken down by Ginny who was rushing and donning her Harpies uniform.
“Sorry! I’m late!” The blur of Ginny announced, as she made for the exit, the sound of the front door slamming in her wake.
Hermione looked up toward Ginny’s room and watched as Harry Potter sauntered through the doorway buttoning his shirt. A small giggle bubbled up as Harry stopped in his tracks, eyes wide knowing full well he’d been caught.
“You’re not supposed to be in her room, Harry.” Hermione sang playfully, poking fun. Letting herself joke with her friend if only for a moment.
“What Molly doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Harry countered in a hushed tone, returning Hermione’s amusement.
Hermione pretended to zip her mouth shut and toss the key over her shoulder as they met at the bottom of the stairs, both falling into a hardy laugh.
“Please tell me you’ve changed your mind.” The air of amusement shifted into seriousness. Hermione dropped her smile.
“I haven’t. I’m going alone.”
Hermione didn’t let him say another word. She rushed over to the table, grabbed a slice of toast from the breakfast scraps left behind, slipped into her shoes, and out the front door she went.
Harry’s footsteps were heavy trailing behind her, desperately trying to get a word in before she left. Hermione was keen on ignoring him.
“If you’re not back by dinner, I will not hesitate to come get you, Hermione!” Harry screamed in her direction, but it reached deaf ears.
She took a few steps away from the threshold and vanished from sight, only to reappear among the tall hedges of Malfoy Manor.
As she approached the ominous entrance, a pang of anxiety took hold. She remained strong in her demeanor, not letting her intrusive thoughts sway her. After brushing toast crumbs from her jumper, she knocked on the door and waited to be let inside once more.
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The walk to the library wasn’t nearly as overwhelming or long as the day prior. As Keys led her down the halls, she watched as the portraits gave smug glances and rolled their eyes as she passed. Hermione avoided eye contact, listening to her footsteps on the marble tile as a distraction, grateful when they approached the double doors of the library.
Keys clicked the door open and passed through, Hermione trailing close after. The room illuminated as they walked in, revealing the dark color pallet wall to wall bookshelves holding vast amounts of information Hermione was itching to dive into.
A sense of belonging washed over her as she passed through the doorway. All over again, she was in awe of the sheer greatness of this library. She took a long inhale, closed her eyes, and welcomed in the scent of inked parchment bound by leather. The scent all too familiar to Hermione Granger. This is where she belonged. Among the books. Surrounded by knowledge she doesn’t yet possess. How powerful she felt knowing that this library was filled with information she has yet to hold knowledge of or understand. She itched to pry them open and spend the rest of her life reading their contents.
As she opened her eyes, she noticed something was missing, though. She’d only been in this room once before and surely didn’t have the layout and decor memorized. Still, she felt a sense of emptiness.
Hermione peered around the room trying to figure out what was missing.
Malfoy.
He hadn’t bothered to greet her. Had she expected him to? Malfoy mentioned he wouldn’t bother her if she returned, but she thought he’d at least say hello. Make sure she’s settled in okay. Pull books for her that were safe to open and read.
Admittedly, Malfoy’s absence was bothering her. But she didn’t have time to understand why. Nor did she need him.
Thankfully, she has Keys!
Hermione turned back around with a polite smile and realized that Keys had already gone. How long ago, she wasn’t sure.
Suddenly, she felt small, the vastness of the library engulfing her. She didn’t dare touch a book without guidance after what happened the day prior.
“Keys?” Her voice evaporated into the room, hoping the house-elf would reappear. She didn’t.
Hermione was unsure how to proceed. Hermione was afraid to move, the books looming around her, turning from friend to foe. Maybe if she went looking for Keys?
She couldn’t very well stand here and do nothing.
The quick decision to leave the library go on a quick search for the house-elf was made before she was able to talk herself out of it. She made her way for the door and when she passed through, a figure stood just on the other side.
Hermione screamed and reflexively pulled out her wand, pressing it to the figures throat. In a panic, she willed her eyes to make sense of the figure. As the image became clearer, she realized it was Draco none other than Draco Malfoy.
“Bloody hell, Malfoy.” Hermione exclaimed, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. “I was seconds away from petrifying you. What are you doing?”
I Saw Rise in the Heat
Morning clarity is a funny thing. The start to a new day beckons a decision. One can choose to carry over their previous day. Bring the memories and emotions with them. A continuation. Or, view the new day as a fresh start. Make the conscious decision to forget and wipe the slate clean. Begin anew.
Hermione was desperate for the latter.
Newly risen sunlight beamed into the room through sheer drapes that were stained from wear and time. Specks of dust danced around the morning rays only appearing when shone in the light. The smell of a homely musk filled the room from the wooden furniture and untouched linen in neat piles. Lingering decorations that Percy left behind shared space with the few belongings Hermione brought into the Burrow. On the bedside table sat a framed unmoving photo of her parents on opposite sides, a sizable gap awkwardly settling between them.
A gap where Hermione once stood before she erased herself from their narrative, and with it, her image from the photo.
Faint clattering and Weasley voices seeped into the room. Paired with the scent of sausage and egg, Hermione knew she’d slept in a little later than she intended. She could hear the residence of the burrow hurriedly flitting about, readying themselves for their own respective days.
Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, fingernails clawing into the mattress below as she tried to suppress the yesterday that lingered.
Today was a new day. She planned to march into that Manor with her head held high, exuding confidence. Malfoy promised not to interfere and she firmly believed it was for the best. She’ll deliver the news that Ron and Harry would like to speak with him and finish her research.
It was a simple plan. A plan she can follow through on.
Except for the fact that every time she closed her eyes, yesterday's events flooded back into her subconscious against her will. Hermione’s perception of Draco Malfoy was eroding. His reputation was diminishing before her, replaced with this new version of Malfoy she’d only just met. The discovery of his softness and how gentle he could be. How much pain he’s endured. The things he was forced to do for the sake of his loved ones. His willingness to keep them safe. To keep her safe.
The shared touch. Both of them, branded. Their silent truce.
It was all too confusing for Hermione to unpack. So she decided not to. Once she was through with the library, this wouldn’t be an issue any longer. He will cease to take up space in her waking thoughts. She will never have to see Draco Malfoy in this capacity, so intimately, ever again. That was a promise.
Hermione stood up, ready to start her day with a new found conviction. She took a few steps on the cold hardwood floor and threw open the doors to the wardrobe. Deciding what to wear came easier today. There wasn’t a need for business attire as Malfoy knew now that she wasn’t there on behalf of the Ministry. She chose a well loved pair of blue jeans and a crimson cashmere jumper. If she was going to be hunched over books for the better half of her day, she’d rather be comfortable and warm.
One glance in the mirror and she realized she had neglected her now frizzing lion's mane that framed her face, puffs and spirals wildly splayed in each direction. The spell-gone-wrong was not kind to her curls. She made the quick decision to deal with it later and twister her locks into a tight bun in the back of her head, a few pieces falling out and framing her face as she did so. Glancing to her small makeup bag, she decided against reaching in. There was no one at the Manor she was trying to impress.
Especially not Draco Malfoy.
With her hand on the bedroom’s doorknob, she exhaled deeply, readying herself for the questions and concerns of her day's agenda, mustering the courage to open the door and walk through.
When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she was nearly taken down by Ginny who was rushing and donning her Harpies uniform.
“Sorry! I’m late!” The blur of Ginny announced, as she made for the exit, the sound of the front door slamming in her wake.
Hermione looked up toward Ginny’s room and watched as Harry Potter sauntered through the doorway buttoning his shirt. A small giggle bubbled up as Harry stopped in his tracks, eyes wide knowing full well he’d been caught.
“You’re not supposed to be in her room, Harry.” Hermione sang playfully, poking fun. Letting herself joke with her friend if only for a moment.
“What Molly doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Harry countered in a hushed tone, returning Hermione’s amusement.
Hermione pretended to zip her mouth shut and toss the key over her shoulder as they met at the bottom of the stairs, both falling into a hardy laugh.
“Please tell me you’ve changed your mind.” The air of amusement shifted into seriousness. Hermione dropped her smile.
“I haven’t. I’m going alone.”
Hermione didn’t let him say another word. She rushed over to the table, grabbed a slice of toast from the breakfast scraps left behind, slipped into her shoes, and out the front door she went.
Harry’s footsteps were heavy trailing behind her, desperately trying to get a word in before she left. Hermione was keen on ignoring him.
“If you’re not back by dinner, I will not hesitate to come get you, Hermione!” Harry screamed in her direction, but it reached deaf ears.
She took a few steps away from the threshold and vanished from sight, only to reappear among the tall hedges of Malfoy Manor.
As she approached the ominous entrance, a pang of anxiety took hold. She remained strong in her demeanor, not letting her intrusive thoughts sway her. After brushing toast crumbs from her jumper, she knocked on the door and waited to be let inside once more.
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Entry for @dramioneartbook from December ‘22.
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of course i fell in love with him. he is sopping wet and miserable
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(bangs fist on table) i want him sweaty, whimpering, overstimulated, moaning, sniffling, twitching, squirming, whining, gasping, bucking his hips, drooling, begging (swipes papers onto the floor)
NOW
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I Saw Rise in the Heat
Morning clarity is a funny thing. The start to a new day beckons a decision. One can choose to carry over their previous day. Bring the memories and emotions with them. A continuation. Or, view the new day as a fresh start. Make the conscious decision to forget and wipe the slate clean. Begin anew.
Hermione was desperate for the latter.
Newly risen sunlight beamed into the room through sheer drapes that were stained from wear and time. Specks of dust danced around the morning rays only appearing when shone in the light. The smell of a homely musk filled the room from the wooden furniture and untouched linen in neat piles. Lingering decorations that Percy left behind shared space with the few belongings Hermione brought into the Burrow. On the bedside table sat a framed unmoving photo of her parents on opposite sides, a sizable gap awkwardly settling between them.
A gap where Hermione once stood before she erased herself from their narrative, and with it, her image from the photo.
Faint clattering and Weasley voices seeped into the room. Paired with the scent of sausage and egg, Hermione knew she’d slept in a little later than she intended. She could hear the residence of the burrow hurriedly flitting about, readying themselves for their own respective days.
Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, fingernails clawing into the mattress below as she tried to suppress the yesterday that lingered.
Today was a new day. She planned to march into that Manor with her head held high, exuding confidence. Malfoy promised not to interfere and she firmly believed it was for the best. She’ll deliver the news that Ron and Harry would like to speak with him and finish her research.
It was a simple plan. A plan she can follow through on.
Except for the fact that every time she closed her eyes, yesterday's events flooded back into her subconscious against her will. Hermione’s perception of Draco Malfoy was eroding. His reputation was diminishing before her, replaced with this new version of Malfoy she’d only just met. The discovery of his softness and how gentle he could be. How much pain he’s endured. The things he was forced to do for the sake of his loved ones. His willingness to keep them safe. To keep her safe.
The shared touch. Both of them, branded. Their silent truce.
It was all too confusing for Hermione to unpack. So she decided not to. Once she was through with the library, this wouldn’t be an issue any longer. He will cease to take up space in her waking thoughts. She will never have to see Draco Malfoy in this capacity, so intimately, ever again. That was a promise.
Hermione stood up, ready to start her day with a new found conviction. She took a few steps on the cold hardwood floor and threw open the doors to the wardrobe. Deciding what to wear came easier today. There wasn’t a need for business attire as Malfoy knew now that she wasn’t there on behalf of the Ministry. She chose a well loved pair of blue jeans and a crimson cashmere jumper. If she was going to be hunched over books for the better half of her day, she’d rather be comfortable and warm.
One glance in the mirror and she realized she had neglected her now frizzing lion's mane that framed her face, puffs and spirals wildly splayed in each direction. The spell-gone-wrong was not kind to her curls. She made the quick decision to deal with it later and twister her locks into a tight bun in the back of her head, a few pieces falling out and framing her face as she did so. Glancing to her small makeup bag, she decided against reaching in. There was no one at the Manor she was trying to impress.
Especially not Draco Malfoy.
With her hand on the bedroom’s doorknob, she exhaled deeply, readying herself for the questions and concerns of her day's agenda, mustering the courage to open the door and walk through.
When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she was nearly taken down by Ginny who was rushing and donning her Harpies uniform.
“Sorry! I’m late!” The blur of Ginny announced, as she made for the exit, the sound of the front door slamming in her wake.
Hermione looked up toward Ginny’s room and watched as Harry Potter sauntered through the doorway buttoning his shirt. A small giggle bubbled up as Harry stopped in his tracks, eyes wide knowing full well he’d been caught.
“You’re not supposed to be in her room, Harry.” Hermione sang playfully, poking fun. Letting herself joke with her friend if only for a moment.
“What Molly doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Harry countered in a hushed tone, returning Hermione’s amusement.
Hermione pretended to zip her mouth shut and toss the key over her shoulder as they met at the bottom of the stairs, both falling into a hardy laugh.
“Please tell me you’ve changed your mind.” The air of amusement shifted into seriousness. Hermione dropped her smile.
“I haven’t. I’m going alone.”
Hermione didn’t let him say another word. She rushed over to the table, grabbed a slice of toast from the breakfast scraps left behind, slipped into her shoes, and out the front door she went.
Harry’s footsteps were heavy trailing behind her, desperately trying to get a word in before she left. Hermione was keen on ignoring him.
“If you’re not back by dinner, I will not hesitate to come get you, Hermione!” Harry screamed in her direction, but it reached deaf ears.
She took a few steps away from the threshold and vanished from sight, only to reappear among the tall hedges of Malfoy Manor.
As she approached the ominous entrance, a pang of anxiety took hold. She remained strong in her demeanor, not letting her intrusive thoughts sway her. After brushing toast crumbs from her jumper, she knocked on the door and waited to be let inside once more.
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*Draco sighs*
Hermione: What ails you, my little unemployed freeloader?
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Her Monster
It was a quiet and calm evening in the Weasley Burrow. A crackling fire illuminated the dimly lit living room as a warm comfortability settled between the residents who were left awake. The lingering scent of dinner meshed with the scent of woodsmoke as the used dishes clinked together in the kitchen, washing themselves. Though cluttered, the Burrow was inviting and cozy. Something that Hermione grew to love. To need, even.
Molly Wasley lounged on the well loved sofa, Hermione sitting below her on the floor. Hermione’s outstretched hands lay palm up on Molly’s lap as she dripped Dittany on the angry reddened blisters. She barely winced at the pain as the liquified plant healed her fully, restoring her fingertips back to the state they were in before she visited the Manor.
Hermione was exhausted and fatigue was threatening to take her hostage. She embraced the motherly touch that Molly provided and was almost lulled to sleep by it. In her tired state she didn’t notice Ron brooding in the archway leading to the living space and watching over her. Making sure she was okay after the day's events.
“There you go, dear. Good as new.” Molly said with a gentle smile, twisting the dropper back onto the vial.
“Thank you.” Her voice came out broken and sleepy. Molly cupped Hermione’s cheek and she leaned into the touch.
“Now, I’m off to bed. Tell Harry I say hello when he arrives.”
With that, Molly stood up and started toward her bedroom to retire for the night. Hermione immediately missed the warmth from Molly and wished she could have stayed like that until her embrace washed away the memories of the afternoon she’d spent in the Manor. It was a silly thought. No such thing would happen, even with the most nurturing of embraces.
Hermione hoisted herself up on the couch, her eyes getting heavier by the second. She rubbed her fingers together, reassuring herself that they’ve been restored. Ron slumped into a chair across from her and as he did the familiar tension that started about a month ago took up the empty space in the room.
Hermione hardly noticed this time, though. Her mind kept drifting back to him.
I’m not a monster.
Better.
He could make me hurt.
It was already too late for me.
His words desperate for her to understand. His eyes reflected the loneliness he wanted to escape. His hands… touching her. Hermione allowing it.
Ejected from her thoughts, Harry Potter bursted through the front door. The scene was so jarring that it made Hermione jump. He slammed the door shut behind him and walked straight to Ron.
“Did you know?” Harry asked, an accusatory finger jabbing in Ron’s direction.
Ron gulped hard and craned his neck backward.
“Yeah.”
“You knew? You knew and you didn’t tell me?”
“He didn’t tell you because I asked him not to!” Hermione chimed in.
Harry turned his heel to face Hermione and just as he was about to speak, she stopped him, holding her hand up.
“Please, just sit down and let me explain.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and took his pace beside Hermione.
“Everything I've found, everything I’ve researched, all my time spent trying to solve this puzzle, I have come to the same conclusion. A memory charm is irreversible. I cannot…” Hermione paused for a moment, trying to hold back the inevitable tears. “I refuse to believe that this is the end. I will not accept that nothing can be done.”
Hermione turned her gaze downward toward the carpet beneath her feet as she went on.
“I was told that the Malfoy Library has an impressive collection of Dark Arts books. It’s my last hope, Harry. I had to see if I could find anything that might lead me in the right direction. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d stop me, or worse, demand to come with me. I needed to do this on my own.”
“So, what then? Did you find a solution?” Harry asked, his voice calmer now.
Hermione hesitated.
“She got her fingers burnt to a bloody crisp is what she did.” Ron chimed in.
“What?” Anger returning in Harry’s voice.
“It was my fault and I’m fine.” Hermione raised her hands to show her newly healed fingertips.
“I didn’t ask you to come here tonight to chastise me. I need to discuss something with the both of you.” Hermione looked between both Ron and Harry.
“Malfoy-” She stopped short and closed her eyes, realizing now that she hadn’t fully decided whether this was a good idea. It was too late now. “Malfoy shared his perspective on everything that happened last year. He explained how he was forced to become a Death Eater. He’s facing life in Azkaban and he asked me to speak to you two about your testimonies. That I might sway them in his favor.”
All three of them sat in silence for a long moment while Hermione's plea hung in the air.
“Are you mental? Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft on Malfoy.” Ron said, aghast and… jealous?
“I’m only adhering to his request.”
Harry rubbed his hands together, turning his attention to the crackling wood in the fireplace. Hermione could practically see his thoughts moving a mile a minute as his face went through a journey of emotions. She was patient, waiting for him to form an opinion. Eventually he turned back to look at her.
“We can’t be sure where his loyalties lie, Hermione.” Was all Harry said.
“I know.”
“I want to speak to him.” Harry announced.
“What?” Ron breathed in disbelief.
“If he wants to explain, I’ll hear him out.”
“Hold on. This is Draco Malfoy we’re talking about, yeah? The same Draco Malfoy who tortured us in school and stood on Voldemort's side in the end?” Ron looked desperately between them, trying to make sense of the situation. “You’re mad if you think I’ll change my testimony in his favor.”
“You don’t have to. I may not. But, no harm can come from an afternoon tea at Malfoy Manor.”
“You hear yourself, right?”
“Ronald, please.” Hermione breathed.
Ron signed and made eye contact with Hermione for the first time all evening. Hermione held his gaze, her heart skipping, remembering how she used to melt into a puddle when he looked at her like this. It used to feel like they were the only two people in the room. She noticed how it didn’t feel like that anymore.
“Fine.” Ron relented. “I’ll have tea with Malfoy. But I won’t be happy about it.”
Hermione tried to hide the small smile that formed. They’d both just agreed to give Draco a chance and she felt giddy. There was something unexplainable that made her truly believe Draco was ready to start over. His explanation replayed over and over as she drifted to sleep that night. In the morning she’d head back to the Manor. In the morning she’d get to see him again.
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𝘪 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘫𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘰𝘩 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘫𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦
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She listened to every word intently. Keeping steady eye contact whenever he’d allow. She furrowed her brow as he stumbled and backtracked, paused, gathered his thoughts. This story wasn’t practiced. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if this was the first he’s spoken it out loud.
She raised her eyebrows as a tear fell down his cheek. After he wiped it away, she reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.
“I would have done it.” She reassured him. “I would have done the same thing to keep my friends and family safe.” Her eyes serious, switching back and forth between both his grey orbs.
Hermione took her hand back and placed it in her neatly on her lap.
“But Malfoy… how, after everything you’ve done. How can anyone trust you with a second chance? You were a monster. What you are now I do not know but you were a monster to me.” She put a flat hand on her chest, remembering the first time she was called a mudblood, his nasty voice ringing in her ears.
“It’s a hard thing to believe you’re ready to be… better. As you put it.”
So It Begins
Draco Malfoy's troubles were never-ending.
While it was true that the trial that had consumed his life for the past — was it truly almost a year? — was finally coming to a close, it was not over yet. His parents had fled Britain to their estate near Bordeaux after their own trials, leaving Draco to manage things at their Wiltshire manor with only an agency house-elf, Keys, for company. He was getting nowhere with the press nor with the Ministry; neither would lift a finger to help him with the dismal public opinion of the Malfoy family. If anything, they were keen to make things harder for him. Last and worst of all, he was quite alone. His school friends had all but abandoned him, and most everyone else he'd known since birth was either dead or locked up in Azkaban.
Draco wasn't used to being alone. Lonely, yes. Of course, lonely. But alone? He had always had his parents at home or his friends at school. Someone. Always someone. Sometimes so many someones that he wanted to scream and fly so far away that no one would ever find him. But as he sat in the morning room of Malfoy Manor drinking tea and pretending to read the same sentence in the Daily Prophet for the fourth time, he could not help but face the fact that he was well and truly on his own.
Except for Keys, but she hardly counted.
It would be one thing if he was in London, in Diagon Alley where he could get out into the bustle of the street. That would be something. But he was stuck in Wiltshire until the conclusion of the trial next Thursday. If all went well, he would get his wand back. He would get his life back. If it didn't go to plan... Well, at least he would know. There would be an end to it. It was the not knowing that was so hard.
The not knowing and the being alone. Draco didn't know which was worse.
He tried reading the same sentence in the Prophet again and failed. His nerves were too frayed. He threw the newspaper aside, then watched a picture of precious Potter and his little posse of Aurors striding in and out of view from the front page. The headline made Draco want to rip the paper in half.
HARRY POTTER BRINGS LESTRANGE TO JUSTICE
Draco's only surviving uncle, Rodolphus Lestrange, had just been sentenced to life in Azkaban. It was a hell of a time for the Ministry to be asking anything of Draco, but he couldn't afford to say no. He was willing to do anything to reconcile his public relations nightmare, even letting a mudblood into the house. And not just any mudblood. The mudblood.
His hand shook as he sipped his tea. It was stone cold. He hardly cared.
Apparently the great Hermione Granger required the use of the Malfoy library. That's what the letter had said. What reason she could possibly have for making such a demand was beyond him, especially since she would most certainly have the whole of the Hogwarts library as well as the Ministry's records at her disposal. Why should she need access to the largest collection of books on the Dark Arts in the country?
Draco told himself not to feel curious about it. There was nothing to be done except to allow it. After all, how could he say no to the Ministry's request on her behalf when they held his liberty by a single thread? It didn't matter why she was coming. It only mattered that today was the day.
Hermione Granger in his home again. Hermione Granger touching his family's things.
Draco stood up. "Keys," he said, and immediately a floppy-eared house-elf with a button nose and a tea towel toga appeared before him.
"Sir called for Keys?"
"I'll be in the garden. Find me when she gets here."
The house-elf bowed as Draco moved past her. He couldn't do much to blow off steam, but he could train, and that's exactly what he would do until the mudblood was at his door.
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She said too much. She touched for too long. While her face shown prim and proper, her heart was untamable. Draco doesn’t care about her. He wants his freedom and nothing more. Back to business. Be agreeable. Stay pleasant. No more mistakes.
Remember why you’re here.
When he sat, she couldn’t make eye contact. He had become magnetizing. She wanted… No. She wanted to look through this library. She wanted her parents back. She wanted nothing else.
But, she couldn’t help herself as she watched Draco’s hands navigate the tray. She was entranced as he poured tea into both cups. Then to the sugar. Then the milk. The gentleness. The memory of his touch. His fingers slipping through the handle of the cup as he picked it up and let it rest there.
Was she drooling?
Wait, did he ask a question?
Hermione let out a breath, flustered, returning back to reality. What had he asked just before?
Bollocks.
She plopped one more lump of sugar into her tea trying to stall, searching through her memory. She took a sip, her hands shaking. The porcelain clicking on the saucer below it.
“I have a sweet tooth.” She said with a smile, still agonizing, trying to recall his question.
He asked to… explain! That’s right.
“Please.” Hermione agreed tipping her glass to him. “I’d love an explanation.”
So It Begins
Draco Malfoy's troubles were never-ending.
While it was true that the trial that had consumed his life for the past — was it truly almost a year? — was finally coming to a close, it was not over yet. His parents had fled Britain to their estate near Bordeaux after their own trials, leaving Draco to manage things at their Wiltshire manor with only an agency house-elf, Keys, for company. He was getting nowhere with the press nor with the Ministry; neither would lift a finger to help him with the dismal public opinion of the Malfoy family. If anything, they were keen to make things harder for him. Last and worst of all, he was quite alone. His school friends had all but abandoned him, and most everyone else he'd known since birth was either dead or locked up in Azkaban.
Draco wasn't used to being alone. Lonely, yes. Of course, lonely. But alone? He had always had his parents at home or his friends at school. Someone. Always someone. Sometimes so many someones that he wanted to scream and fly so far away that no one would ever find him. But as he sat in the morning room of Malfoy Manor drinking tea and pretending to read the same sentence in the Daily Prophet for the fourth time, he could not help but face the fact that he was well and truly on his own.
Except for Keys, but she hardly counted.
It would be one thing if he was in London, in Diagon Alley where he could get out into the bustle of the street. That would be something. But he was stuck in Wiltshire until the conclusion of the trial next Thursday. If all went well, he would get his wand back. He would get his life back. If it didn't go to plan... Well, at least he would know. There would be an end to it. It was the not knowing that was so hard.
The not knowing and the being alone. Draco didn't know which was worse.
He tried reading the same sentence in the Prophet again and failed. His nerves were too frayed. He threw the newspaper aside, then watched a picture of precious Potter and his little posse of Aurors striding in and out of view from the front page. The headline made Draco want to rip the paper in half.
HARRY POTTER BRINGS LESTRANGE TO JUSTICE
Draco's only surviving uncle, Rodolphus Lestrange, had just been sentenced to life in Azkaban. It was a hell of a time for the Ministry to be asking anything of Draco, but he couldn't afford to say no. He was willing to do anything to reconcile his public relations nightmare, even letting a mudblood into the house. And not just any mudblood. The mudblood.
His hand shook as he sipped his tea. It was stone cold. He hardly cared.
Apparently the great Hermione Granger required the use of the Malfoy library. That's what the letter had said. What reason she could possibly have for making such a demand was beyond him, especially since she would most certainly have the whole of the Hogwarts library as well as the Ministry's records at her disposal. Why should she need access to the largest collection of books on the Dark Arts in the country?
Draco told himself not to feel curious about it. There was nothing to be done except to allow it. After all, how could he say no to the Ministry's request on her behalf when they held his liberty by a single thread? It didn't matter why she was coming. It only mattered that today was the day.
Hermione Granger in his home again. Hermione Granger touching his family's things.
Draco stood up. "Keys," he said, and immediately a floppy-eared house-elf with a button nose and a tea towel toga appeared before him.
"Sir called for Keys?"
"I'll be in the garden. Find me when she gets here."
The house-elf bowed as Draco moved past her. He couldn't do much to blow off steam, but he could train, and that's exactly what he would do until the mudblood was at his door.
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and he would risk it all, to turn this moment into eternity✨
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The knot that entangled her heart tightened at his touch. Without even a glance he removed the mark from sight as if he couldn’t bare to look at it. His agony engulfed them and almost suffocated Hermione. These emotions were real. He was being honest. Hermione’s heart bled out.
Instead of shying away from her touch, he embraced it. Whatever walls she’d built were crumbling down as she watched him turn her hands over to examine the burns, the only evidence left of her little accident. Concern was genuinely displayed on his face. Concern. For a mudblood.
Something was different now. He was different. Her thoughts raced trying to accept that Malfoy didn’t want to become a Death Eater. That’s all he’d ever been to her. An evil that she tried to fight for years. Until the end of it all. Now he stood inches away from her, their hands intertwined in each others. Both of them broken, bruised, and branded.
Hermione recoiled her hands from his, immediately missing his touch in its absence. She shimmied off her blazer and placed it nicely on the arm of the closest chair. Carefully, she unbuttoned the silk at her wrist and rolled the arm of her blouse up neatly. The paused for a moment before turning her forearm over and displaying her scar. Her own brand.
She grabbed Draco’s hand and placed it gently on top of the letters. Part of her hoped that seeing her scar would hurt him. That it a would make him feel ashamed and uncomfortable. He knows where it came from. He was there, after all.
“I understand. More than you know. Being back here in your manor is agonizing. I can’t get that day out of my mind. Laying on the cold floor in excruciating pain. Being tortured and branded by…” He knew. “I am different. I’m not the same brilliant bookworm you grew up with. I am broken now.”
She expected tears to be paired with these words, but all she felt was emptiness. Exhaustion falling over her. Her chest hollow.
Just then, Keys popped back into the room with a cacophony of porcelain clanking. With a gasp, Hermione side stepped away from him, letting his hand drop. Her heart started racing as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.
Was she doing something wrong?
Hermione cleared her throat, unrolled her sleeve, and walked over to where the tea tray was placed. She gave a curt thank you to Keys. Her walls rebuilding.
“Admittedly, I’m unsure if helping you is a wise decision.” She announced, finding herself for the first time since being in the manor. Her normal level-headed politeness returning to her.
“However, you’ve caught me in an extremely weakened state and I’ll do anything to figure out how to get my parents back, blackmail or not.” She sat down across from the tea tray and cast her gaze up at Malfoy. “I will speak to the boys on your behalf but I cannot promise anything. You are… not their favorite person. As you well know.”
So It Begins
Draco Malfoy's troubles were never-ending.
While it was true that the trial that had consumed his life for the past — was it truly almost a year? — was finally coming to a close, it was not over yet. His parents had fled Britain to their estate near Bordeaux after their own trials, leaving Draco to manage things at their Wiltshire manor with only an agency house-elf, Keys, for company. He was getting nowhere with the press nor with the Ministry; neither would lift a finger to help him with the dismal public opinion of the Malfoy family. If anything, they were keen to make things harder for him. Last and worst of all, he was quite alone. His school friends had all but abandoned him, and most everyone else he'd known since birth was either dead or locked up in Azkaban.
Draco wasn't used to being alone. Lonely, yes. Of course, lonely. But alone? He had always had his parents at home or his friends at school. Someone. Always someone. Sometimes so many someones that he wanted to scream and fly so far away that no one would ever find him. But as he sat in the morning room of Malfoy Manor drinking tea and pretending to read the same sentence in the Daily Prophet for the fourth time, he could not help but face the fact that he was well and truly on his own.
Except for Keys, but she hardly counted.
It would be one thing if he was in London, in Diagon Alley where he could get out into the bustle of the street. That would be something. But he was stuck in Wiltshire until the conclusion of the trial next Thursday. If all went well, he would get his wand back. He would get his life back. If it didn't go to plan... Well, at least he would know. There would be an end to it. It was the not knowing that was so hard.
The not knowing and the being alone. Draco didn't know which was worse.
He tried reading the same sentence in the Prophet again and failed. His nerves were too frayed. He threw the newspaper aside, then watched a picture of precious Potter and his little posse of Aurors striding in and out of view from the front page. The headline made Draco want to rip the paper in half.
HARRY POTTER BRINGS LESTRANGE TO JUSTICE
Draco's only surviving uncle, Rodolphus Lestrange, had just been sentenced to life in Azkaban. It was a hell of a time for the Ministry to be asking anything of Draco, but he couldn't afford to say no. He was willing to do anything to reconcile his public relations nightmare, even letting a mudblood into the house. And not just any mudblood. The mudblood.
His hand shook as he sipped his tea. It was stone cold. He hardly cared.
Apparently the great Hermione Granger required the use of the Malfoy library. That's what the letter had said. What reason she could possibly have for making such a demand was beyond him, especially since she would most certainly have the whole of the Hogwarts library as well as the Ministry's records at her disposal. Why should she need access to the largest collection of books on the Dark Arts in the country?
Draco told himself not to feel curious about it. There was nothing to be done except to allow it. After all, how could he say no to the Ministry's request on her behalf when they held his liberty by a single thread? It didn't matter why she was coming. It only mattered that today was the day.
Hermione Granger in his home again. Hermione Granger touching his family's things.
Draco stood up. "Keys," he said, and immediately a floppy-eared house-elf with a button nose and a tea towel toga appeared before him.
"Sir called for Keys?"
"I'll be in the garden. Find me when she gets here."
The house-elf bowed as Draco moved past her. He couldn't do much to blow off steam, but he could train, and that's exactly what he would do until the mudblood was at his door.
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