Work Text:
“If I tell you that I love you tomorrow, will you say it back?”
“Yes.”
Hermione was a full believer in that looks didn't matter, and the reason was the man who had written the question on a piece of parchment that she carried.
She had fallen in love with a man she had never seen and who had first become her friend over the past ten years. It had been an accidental friendship, honestly. A rather ditzy owl had misdelivered a letter for him, and so she had attached his letter and her own message to the man, a Mr. Isaac Ringwald, to her and Ron's post owl and sent it off. Hermione had thought that would be the end of it, but to her surprise a letter had come back with their owl expressing Isaac's thanks. Out of sheer politeness, she had written back a “You're welcome” and conversation had run dry after that.
A month later another letter for Isaac had come and landed on her kitchen table. Ron had been determined to throw it out, but Hermione had saved it from destruction and, like last time, sent it off with her own note. This time she had made a joke that owls must not like going where he lived. Isaac's reply had solidified the constant communication that ensued:
“Maybe not, but yours seems just fine.”
Witty and something to make her smile if not outright laugh, Hermione had written him back. And he had done the same. They continued like this for perhaps four months, two letters each monthly, before Ron had made it known how uncomfortable he was with her conversing with a stranger. She had thought that he was exaggerating, plainly explaining to him what a pen pal was and that Isaac was just that. However, after another four months of writing, she had begun to feel a flutter in her chest that shouldn't have been there. An excitement from Isaac's letters that was inappropriate. Hermione had ended up disregarding the topic of one of his letters and said bluntly,
“I'm married. I have a daughter that's two and a son on the way.”
His reply had come later than usual, and Hermione had been expecting the worse, but received something else entirely.
“I knew the first two facts. Not about the third. Congratulations.”
The letters had stopped for a while after that. And after Hugo had been born, Hermione had gotten not only a letter, but a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
“Congratulations on your new bundle of joy. -Your friend, Isaac. ”
Ron hadn't been happy about that.
In fact, there had been many things that Isaac had done over the next three years that Ron hadn't liked. Sending Hermione birthday presents. Or any sort of present, despite the holiday. The occasional encouraging note when she was having a rough week at work. A book from off of her reading list. Ron had felt overshadowed and outdone by a man who lived behind parchment, so he had admitted in a marriage counseling session once. For the sake of her marriage, Hermione had encouraged that she and Isaac write each other less. His response had broken her more than she thought it would have.
I wish your husband’s insecurities didn’t get in the way of our friendship. But if you insist…
Hermione’s and Ron’s marriage had not gotten better. Her and Isaac’s letters had stopped after that, and although Ron now had the opportunity to shine after complaining previously that he couldn’t compete, he hadn’t done it. It had infuriated Hermione. There were arguments. They slept alone. And a year later in 2014, she and Ron separated. The following year after getting back together and separating over and over they finally divorced. It could have been no coincidence that she received a letter from Isaac a month after the news had gone public.
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you really?”
“Do you want the truth?”
Isaac’s reply had been all the truth that Hermione needed. She didn't want to say that he was the reason her marriage had ended, but he did have his part. The letters came more frequently after that. And her heart drummed faster as a consequence. They had made arrangements to see each other over the next couple of years, but something always seemed to get in the way. The reasons why were fuzzy to her now, but it didn’t matter. Hogwarts’ 20th reunion was this summer, one week after the date of the Battle of Hogwarts. And this man, this faceless man who made her feel like a giddy teenager, he would be there. And he would tell her that he loved her. And she would say that she loved him too.
Draco didn’t care about Hogwarts’ reunion. No one there would be happy to see him. He didn’t care about any of them either. There was only one person that he had gone there for, and he was a nervous wreck. What had started as an innocent note of thanks some ten years ago had spiraled into affections that ran so deep it hurt. The day he had found out Hermione’s marriage to Weasley had ended had been the happiest day of his life. Draco didn't want to say that he was the reason her marriage had failed, but he knew that he was. Weasley didn’t know how to care for her. Or how to support her. Or how to...to love her. Hermione knew this, and it took his absence from her life to come to terms with it. Now here he was, pacing Hogwarts’ courtyard by the lake where he had instructed her in a letter to meet him.
He had rehearsed in his mind a million different scenarios on how he was going to say it. Many of them, Draco realized with some embarrassment, had involved getting down on his knees. He had scrapped those ideas almost as quickly as they came. Hermione wasn’t ready to marry him. He wasn’t even sure if she was ready to see him. All of these years behind a name that wasn’t his, but with feelings that were.
When Draco heard the soft rustling of grass beneath feet, his voice hitched. He wanted to turn around, to run up to her, hold her and never let go. However, he knew the outcome of that already, and so he refrained. He wanted to wait and turn around when he was sure that she was behind him, but he knew the outcome of that too and it often resulted in physical pain. There were many end results that Draco was familiar with, each one shattering a piece of him. This moment now, was a slow cascade of disappointment, although he had sincerely hoped for better.
“No,” Hermione said softly, shaking her head once she realized who was waiting for her by the lake. “You… You can’t be Isaac.”
Draco turned around, a frown evident, as well as emotional torment. “Is it really that impossible for me to be the one behind every letter that made you feel loved?”
“You hated me.”
“And now I love you. Times change.”
“Faces don’t.”
“You fell in love with words, not a face.”
Hermione swallowed. She closed her eyes briefly, nodding to herself. Hadn’t she told herself that before? That looks didn’t matter? How hypocritical she was now, now that she knew what that face looked like. She wanted it to fit. She wanted the face of the man to fit the gentle man who loved her more than she had ever felt in her life. And she did try in this moment, but when she reopened her eyes, her trial was for nought.
“You’re right. But I can’t see past yours. I… I don’t know if I can.”
Draco watched as she turned on her heel and began heading back towards the castle. He sighed deeply, not surprised by the result of this meeting, and felt a familiar ache.
“I guess we'll try again another time,” Draco said sadly. He raised his wand as he’d done several times before, every time he and Hermione met, and every time she walked away.
“Obliviate.”
He hoped one day that she would stay.