Chapter Text
Draco paces anxiously in the waiting room with his arms folded across his chest and his brows furrowed, deep in thought. He knows that people are staring, but he could care less. It’s all he can do to pass the painstaking time as he waits for Granger to emerge from her most recent appointment with the mind healer. Soon enough, he hears his name called by a nurse.
“Mr. Malfoy?” He stiffens, flinching almost imperceptibly as the address draws to his mind unfavorable memories of his father.
“That’s my father,” Draco replies, forcing a smile. The nurse mumbles a quiet, shy apology and withdraws her clipboard, scribbling a few notes. “Is Miss Granger alright?”
“Hmm? Ah, yes, she’s right on her way out, sir,” the nurse answers. “Here is Healer Seferin with her, now.” She turns to glance over her shoulder. Draco follows her gaze to see Granger walking toward him, speaking with the female Healer at her side. She gestures often with her hands, eyes wide and sparkling with that brilliant gleam they always hold. Draco smirks, unable to resist the swell of pleasure at the sight of Granger–his Granger now–as herself. When the pair finally reaches Draco, Hermione turns to him.
“Draco, you’ll never guess,” she tells him with a broad smile. He tilts his head slightly and lifts his shoulder in a shrug.
“I won’t,” he admits. “You’ve no other option but to tell me, Granger. What news?”
“I don’t need to come back. Healer Seferin has observed that we’ve sorted through the traumatic spots in my memory, you know, the ones that started the–”
He lifts a hand, nodding, and gestures for her to continue. “I know. And so?”
“Precisely that!” she exclaims, dark eyes twinkling with mirth. “We can go back to life as we knew it. I can see Ginny, Luna, and Harry. We can start again .” She rushes forward and jumps , throwing her arms around him without giving him any time to react. He stands there, stiffly, for a few moments before returning her embrace.
We can go back to life as we knew it. Her words echo in his mind and coil around his aching heart like a vice. Life as you knew it before we met in that damned hallway? Life as I knew it before you stumbled into mine? Do you honestly think I want that, Granger? What if I’m happy with life now? He swallows thickly and tries to ignore the splitting pain in his chest.
“Of course, it’s fantastic,” he remarks, though they are the furthest from the truth. He has watched his hopes fall to pieces in seconds, the blissful promise of a better future collapsing upon itself. “You’ll want to see the Weasleys then, I assume?” He asks quietly. Granger releases him and steps back. She regards him with some degree of confusion, brows knitting together, and tilts her head to the side.
“I’m not going to try again with Ronald, if that’s what you mean,” she comments. “Certainly, it would be lovely to see his family, and I could find some closure, at least. But I won’t be rekindling anything with him. It just wasn’t our time. I don’t think it ever really was.”
Draco’s heart stutters. He cannot believe the words he hears. He blinks a few times, dumbfounded before asking her for clarification.
“I’m sorry?”
“I know we agreed that this whole, er, situation–” she waves her hand vaguely between the two of them. He knows, already, what she refers to. “I know it was a temporary thing with a very…particular end. But I think, in the past year, I– we –discovered something that, well, to be honest, frankly wasn’t there before. If you know what I mean?” She arches a brow and cracks a smile. Draco finds himself nodding, slowly. He still can’t bring himself to believe the current circumstances. They seem almost too good to be true.
Nonetheless, he doesn’t deem it wise to risk ruining everything by–how was it that Granger had said? Stare at a Christmas horse in the south? He wrinkles his brow in an attempt to remember the phrase she’d taught him earlier that year. Something about looking at a horse…something with gifts. Bother it all, just don't say anything.
“Draco?” He jerks to attention, realizing belatedly that he’d remained silent for too long. “Sickle for your thoughts?”
He lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing at it anxiously. “I do know what you mean, Granger. About what you said earlier.”
“And…do you want to keep up the pretense or would you want a go at the real thing?” Her voice is small now, soft, almost inaudible. He can feel his heart hammering against his sternum and thundering in his ears. He swallows.
“I’ve never been good at putting on airs, love,” he remarks just as softly.
“Then don’t, Draco.”