Chapter Text
“I can’t believe how thoughtless—”
"Thoughtless?"
“Yes! It was thoughtless and your priorities as an Auror are bollocks!”
A laugh. “Really, Granger, I’d take that criticism in stride if only you were an Auror yourself and understood even a speck of what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t have to be one to know that you don’t just suspend a Muggle mid-air!”
Draco really felt like laughing and screaming his head off at the same time at the unfair description of what he had just done. Of course when she put it that way it sounded fucking ridiculous. He didn’t suspend a Muggle mid-air , he saved that Muggle from effectively becoming a human papier-mache across the concrete, by stopping the fall mid-air.
But he took a deep breath and sighed instead, lowering his tone. “Look, I really don’t know what you’re expecting me to do here—”
“You were supposed to stop her first before she jumped off the building!”
“And let the wizard who Imperius-ed her get away?”
“Right, of course catching criminals is more important for your Auror career than saving Muggles, Malfoy, what promotion are you getting this time?”
“Are you fucking serious? That’s what you think of me?”
She stilled. Maybe she realised that that was a bit too far. Maybe she just didn’t have the guts to defend what she had just said. Draco wouldn’t know at this point.
“Still,” she said instead, “do you know how traumatised she is going to be? To have woken up from an Imperius, suspended mid-air?”
“I don’t know what the big deal is, Granger, a simple Memory Charm and she’s all good to go! You, of all people, would know, wouldn’t you?”
Fuck.
Draco could feel the moment his words hit her and shattered her fiery intent to continue the tirade. Her eyes grew large, as if disbelieving that Draco would pull that on her, and her words shook as she spoke.
“Fuck you, Malfoy.” Then she turned around and left.
Draco hated himself for saying that. He knew how bad she felt about Obliviating her parents during the War. He had been there when she cried for days, once she found out for certain that the Charm was irreversible.
The argument earlier was more heated than usual, but Draco should’ve known better than to rise to the bait and hurt her—as that had been the dynamic of their interaction that past year. He should’ve gotten used to it by now and controlled himself better.
“That really was uncalled for,” a calm voice from behind him said, apparently having listened to most, if not the entirety, of their conversation.
He sighed and turned around. “I know, Potter—” he raised his hand to push his hair back, frustrated. “I didn’t mean it. I just—” he closed his eyes, frowning. “It’s impossible to talk to her without hurting each other now. Why did you assign her to this case?”
“She’s the only Healer capable of dealing with Muggles who was available. This isn’t my choice, Malfoy. I don’t want to hurt you as much as I don’t want to hurt her.”
Draco would never admit this to him out loud, but he was quite grateful that Harry didn’t seem to be taking any sides after Draco and Hermione’s less than amicable break-up. Expectedly, he wass always there to comfort Hermione, but he defied Draco’s expectations when his demeanour at work didn't change. Still professional, and somewhat friendly—like what they’d grown to be over the course of a few months.
Harry lightly patted him on the shoulder, resolved not to say anything more about their fight. Draco decided the same.
“I’ll get going. I’ll submit a short report later, but the gist of it is the guy ran away after being Disarmed while I had to stop the Muggle from falling. I saw his face though, and it’s a different guy we were following last week. It’s a new suspect, with the same operation. Most likely from the same group.”
Harry nodded. “Thanks, Malfoy. I’ll check the reports once you’re done. Go home and rest, you’re done for the day.”
Once at his flat, having showered and sitting slumped on his couch, Draco was planning to trace back the progress on the case he made today. But his mind couldn’t help but wander to the fight he had with Hermione.
It didn’t used to be this way. At least not after the War.
He had swallowed his pride and gone to the awarding of her Order of Merlin, and resolutely marched to her at the end of the ceremony.
“Granger, can I talk to you for a moment?”
She’d looked confused and seemingly surprised that he was there at all, but agreed. She walked with him to the very end of the room, far from attention. “Yes, of course, Malfoy. What is it?”
“I—” he had practised this moment countless times and yet, he blanked when he had to talk to her. “I wanted to apologise for—”
He needed a while to say it. Not because he was too prideful to admit he was wrong. But because he was so ashamed of what he had done, and didn’t think he deserved forgiveness. Didn’t even know if he deserved the right to ask for it. But he thought it must be the right thing to do.
She looked like she was patient enough to wait for him to gather his thoughts.
“I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done.” He settled with that instead. “I’m sorry for calling you a M— a slur for the better part of seven years. I’m sorry for helping them— helping him during the War. I’m sorry for not doing anything that day, at the Manor.”
He later learned that she had been dying to cut him off and tell him that it was okay. That she understood he didn’t have much choice. That she wanted to forget about the War and start anew as soon as possible. But she didn’t, because she realised he needed the apology more for himself than for her.
“I’m sorry for not helping you in the Battle of Hogwarts,” he continued. “I’m sorry that I was a coward. I’m really, really sorry for everything, Granger.”
He later asked her what had made her brave enough to take his hand in hers, and she said at that moment, she just felt compelled to do so and forgot that he might have hated any form of physical contact with her. But at that moment, Draco was just too surprised—and relieved—to think about anything else when she slowly took his hand and smiled. It’s okay , she had told him. The apology means a lot to me, thank you.
The apology did not give Draco as much closure as he thought it would. He still hated himself for what he’d done.
Rationally, he knew she meant what she’d said, that she had forgiven him. But he couldn’t stop the ache, the urge of wanting to feel that forgiveness. To be able to say for certain that yes, Hermione had forgiven him. He wanted to feel it from the way she treated him, from the words they exchanged with each other, from the moments they spent together.
So when they both chose to attend Hogwarts for their Eighth Year, Draco had tried everyday to be her friend. He had asked her if he could sit next to her during Potions, the first day. And then Arithmancy. And then Ancient Runes. Eventually, she sat beside him on all the other lessons they were taking without him asking.
They worked well together. Really well, in fact. Hermione seemed to be aware that Draco’s grades had never been far behind her, at least up until Sixth Year. She treated him like an equal, had productive discussions, even those outside of the N.E.W.T.s materials, and initiated partnering up for group projects.
But Draco still didn’t feel the forgiveness. He felt pitied. Like she knew that without her, no other person would want to sit beside him, to work together with him. Like she recognised that when he was not sitting with her, the others would give him weird looks, not even bothered to hide their stares.
It was not enough.
So he tried to befriend her outside of classes. He started sitting on the same table with her in the library, determined to not talk about anything lesson-related. They talked about Hogwarts: A History, because that’s the book she was reading when he first joined her. He offered her to see his first edition of Hogwarts: A History, and she was so elated, she offered to introduce him to her favourite Muggle fiction.
If she was surprised at his attempt at friendship, she never showed it. She simply went along with it, as if they’d always been friends.
She shared with him the secret passageway leading to a hidden alcove, where she went to get some time alone, away from the rest of Hogwarts, who all suddenly became very keen to discuss her heroism every time of the day. He didn’t join her there for some time, thinking that if she wanted a break from all those people, then she must have wanted a break from him too.
But he was wrong. Why don’t you ever come to my alcove, she had asked him once. I’m allowed to come? He had asked, puzzled.
She laughed. If you weren’t allowed to, I wouldn’t have told you about the place. You want me to come? He had asked again, still baffled by the recent knowledge. She smiled this time. Very much so.
He started spending all the time that he wasn’t in class in her alcove. Sometimes with her, at first. Sometimes became all the time, gradually.
He asked her about submarines and marine biologists and all the Muggle inventions he had read about in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, and her eyes sparkled when she explained everything. When he argued that Jules Verne must’ve come across Wizarding Regions (“Granger, he literally wrote that he explored Atlantis and was attacked by giant squids.”) which meant his work was a sham (“This is an autobiography of his adventure and he labelled it as fiction!”), Hermione playfully hit him and said, You’re not welcome in our alcove anymore. Our, she had said. And Draco had thought, maybe this was what forgiveness felt like.
Draco decided that forgiveness is addicting.
More addicting than the bottles of firewhiskey he had resorted to before getting to know her, more addicting than the adrenaline he feels when he’s up playing Quidditch.
And he couldn’t have enough.
He asked her to come with him to Hogsmeade during Christmas, since they both were not going back home.
Tucked into the nook of the Three Broomsticks, she had cried into the crook of his neck when she told him why she was not coming home for Christmas, having Obliviated her parents. She cried even harder, when Draco wrapped his arm around her—their first real hug—and said that he’s here now, and they’ll look for Specialised Mind Healers together.
She had hugged him tight, when he downplayed why he didn’t want to return home. It’s nothing like what you’re going through, I’m just a coward, he had said. She shook her head, looked him in the eye and said, cowards don’t ask for forgiveness. No, cowards take forgiveness and use it as a drug, he wanted to say but didn’t.
She kissed him that night, and it was so easy. Being with her was so easy.
They spent the rest of their school year studying for N.E.W.T.s together. Reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland together (“She’s definitely a Muggle who followed an Animagus, Granger, this work is also a sham.”) . Explored the Hogwarts’ Library collection together. And it was so easy.
They never discussed what they were, never had to make a grand announcement to the rest of Hogwarts (“I like you, Draco, who cares what other people say?”). Everyone just started noticing that they’re together, and too afraid of Hermione to say anything about it. And it was so easy.
They graduated from Hogwarts. He applied to be an Auror at the DMLE and she applied to be a Healer at St. Mungo’s, and it was difficult earning Harry’s trust—it was even more difficult earning the DMLE’s trust to be made an Auror, but being with her was still so easy.
It became difficult one drunken night, when she had asked him a question.
“Draco?”
“Hm?”
“You know I love you, right?”
He had been drinking, celebrating Christmas and their one year together. He knew, for she had said it several times before, starting months before. So he nodded, smiled, and kissed her.
She pulled away.
“You— you never said it back,” she said quietly, not looking at him.
“I—” he felt defensive, but hesitated when he asked himself. Does he love her? He does, doesn’t he?
Is it love?
He’d been swimming, drowning in her forgiveness.
Her forgiveness pulled him out of his misery and became his saving grace.
He felt her forgiveness in the form of Muggle books, and Hogsmeade dates, and kisses, and it was addicting. And it was easy.
Is it love?
Hermione did not appreciate the hesitation.
“You don’t—do you?” Her face morphed to horror.
“Of course I do,” Draco replied, but at this point he already sounded doubtful of himself. The definitive phrase didn't have much conviction to it.
“You don’t,” Hermione said resolutely this time, and stood. “What is it then, you’re just—used to having me around? Or is this some kind of a—a ploy? To redeem yourself?”
He must have looked very clearly surprised at her last accusation. He couldn’t remember if it was really because he agreed with her, or just the fear that it might be true. Nevertheless, Hermione was not one to miss the change in his facial expression.
“I can’t believe this,” she said. “I hoped that I was just rambling, but that was— is true? We’ve been together for a YEAR, Draco, and you’ve been using me to feel better about yourself? Like I’m your key to a second chance at life? Former Death Eater going out with the Golden Girl will give you a place in society, right?” He could see the tears starting to stream down her face.
He might not be thinking clearly. He didn’t even have his feelings figured out. He was very obviously drunk. But he was hurt by the accusation she threw at him, and he retaliated.
“Please, Hermione, you can stop acting like I’m the only fucked up person to get out of the War. Are you saying you are with me for more than just charity? You, and your Gryffindor complex, who are you kidding—you don’t love me, you PITY me!”
He heard a resounding ringing in his ear, and a sting on his cheek. He didn’t realise she’d slapped him.
“We’re done, Draco. Don’t talk to me.” She gathered her things from his flat and left. He didn’t go after her.
The next day, Harry came by and picked up her things and told Draco that she had said not to bother going to her flat. Draco figured she was staying with Harry and Ginny in the Grimmauld Place for a while. He reached for Harry's shoulder before he left and said, I never meant to hurt her, Potter.
I know, he had replied.
That Christmas (before it turned awry) must have been the last civilised conversation they had. Their attempt at attending functions and galas for the sake of professionalism and their friends had always started with faux indifference, turning into passive aggressiveness at best, and huge arguments at worst.
Draco had forgotten what her forgiveness felt like. But worst of all, he had come to realise, he had forgotten what her love felt like. And he missed it.