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Shameless, the wizarding community is. They never knew her, knew them. Hidden behind salacious rumors something grew they would never understand.
That’s OK, Hermione Granger-Malfoy thought, sixty years later, I had a marvelous time ruining everything.
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No one truly knows how they met again, right, because how would Hermione Granger, formerly Weasley, meet and get courted by one of the most notorious pureblooded bachelors left in the wizarding world?
Draco Malfoy stood tall and handsome and bounced back in a way that would have been remarkably impossible if it wasn’t so typical of the rich. The wizarding world is nothing but predictable. Months after the war the Malfoys walked tall in Diagon Alley, dripped in wealth and elegance, looking as if they’d never had hollowed cheeks and torture in their stately Wiltshire Manor.
At the middle was the only son, the tallest of the three. The one whose pureblood manners served him well. His confidence was coveted. His handsomeness worn like a cloak; Draco Malfoy was the type of man who’d open the door for the poorest of the Wizarding world and the genuine kindness in his eyes would not be mistaken.
He quickly rose to be the envy of his peers. He was coveted as the most eligible bachelor and remained that way even after his betrothed, Astoria Greengrass, passed because of a blood curse weeks before their winter nuptials were supposed to happen.
He remained that way, of course, until Hermione Granger, formerly Weasley.
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Hermione Granger married Ron Weasley right out of Hogwarts, just months after Harry Potter married Ginny Weasley.
It was over in 18 months.
No one knows what happened, not really, except one day she wore a ring and then one day she did not.
Hermione Granger, formerly Weasley, walked taller after their divorce, most would say. Her style changed. Her confidence grew.
One third of the Golden Trio emerged as the talk of the Wizarding World, perhaps because she smiled more. Perhaps because she wore taller heels. Perhaps – just perhaps – because she was out of the shadows, for once. But like most patriarchal societies with one foot firmly stuck in the past, she often elicited murmurs. Head turns. A sense of disapproval and disappointment with every word she said, every opinion she had the nerve to speak up about.
Once a swot, always a swot.
Ever since Weasley dumped her, she’s been loud.
Who did she think she was?
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But yes, no one really knows how they met – well, met again --- because we all know how they met and their history. But one day – one day, Draco Malfoy – cool, aloof, handsome - impeccably dressed in a three piece suit and dragonhide boots, was walking arm in arm with Hermione Granger. And weeks later, they sported matching rings.
The gossip spilled through the World like an oil spill; not a person untouched by the news. Sooner even, the opinions set forth; because what else did everyone have to do but talk?
And Hermione Granger – now Granger-Malfoy – was the talk of the crowds again. The murmur was now a low roar.
“How,” they’d say, as eyes would watch the couple sit outside the newest café in a tiny little hamlet outside Hogsmeade, “Did a muggleborn get the attention of one of the most rich, pureblooded bachelors in the Wizarding World?”
From the windows in which they’d stare, they’d watch Draco lean over and kiss Hermione’s cheek. She’d beam back at him with a sincere grin. Then she’d laugh, laugh louder than any pureblooded girl would have allowed herself. She’d sit with her elbows on the table. She often bit her nails in front of polite company.
“There goes the last great pureblooded dynasty,” some would say, because unfortunately, some of the dumbest ignorance still existed.
The young Malfoy union flourished. The papers were rarely caught without their photos on the cover pages. The absence of a monster trying to take down the Wizarding community left a void open for a hungry public. They wanted to see what this unlikely pairing would bring to their quiet lives.
The opinions grew; the reluctance to accept Hermione into the fancy pureblood set was a constant reminder that she was not one of them.
It didn’t stop their bond from growing though. They were rarely away from one another’s side. Their stars shone. They were front and center. The elder Malfoys faded into the background; although they always stood with pride and appeared when it was deemed necessary, silently approving of their son’s choice – much to the public’s shock.
Hermione and Draco bought a home; a manor of their own; in the hamlet of Sandgate. Quaint, set on the coast; Hermione and Draco Malfoy were the kind of neighbors no one wanted. With them came gossip and gauche balls and fundraisers. The Potters and the Weasleys were regular guests. The old blood that lived in the town didn’t like the attention. Draco was never the draw of their ire, though, of course – it was his beautiful, strange choice for a wife who the criticisms were directed to.
Of course, they didn’t care. Why would they?
“Let’s call it Holiday House,” someone overheard Hermione say to Draco one day as the odd couple walked hand in hand on the beach. Everyone knew by the next day.
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It was that way until Draco Malfoy died at 43 of a weak heart.
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It didn’t take long for the gossip to melt and mold into a different kind of entity, the kind that looked at Hermione Granger-Malfoy like she’d personally killed their Prince. Holiday House, which had previously been their summer home, became Hermione’s primary residence after Draco’s death.
She’d show up at the market in town in gaudy fake earrings. In tacky hats that were as wide as her shoulders. In strappy sandals that did not befit the season. Her lipstick was too bright for polite society. She bought a little vintage muggle car and rode it with the top down; music too loud.
She didn’t seem to mourn. She had lavish parties with impolite society. She donated millions of Malfoy galleons to causes that made the purebloods shudder. She invested in muggle art.
She was spotted dancing on the bluffs at sunset; sitting at the beach at midnight.
Hermione Granger Malfoy never remarried and the spotlight never really gave up on her, even if it dimmed after years of burning bright.
She died at 103 and was buried on the Holiday House grounds beside her late husband.
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The Wizarding World would never understand Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger’s coupling. In the end, they didn’t need to. It was never important to either of them for the world at large to understand them.
While Hermione was the talk of the town; the face of the destruction of one of the last of the Sacred 28, she was everything Draco Malfoy ever needed.
To the world, Draco was handsome, confident and ready to take on the world post-Voldemort.
To himself, to his family – Draco was lonely. He felt trapped. He was depressed and lost and sure he was going to drown after the death of Astoria.
So when he bumped into Hermione Granger in the coat room of a Ministry gala just weeks after she’d split with Ron Weasley, Draco was ready for something to change. He was sure he would simply cease to exist if something didn’t change.
That first meeting was chance; they’d both been trying to hide from their responsibilities. Draco remembered Hermione’s smile that night; her chagrin at being caught buried behind a swath of overpriced coats quietly nursing a glass of merlot. He remembered the sound of her laugh when he made a self-deprecating joke; the dim light of the room around them catching the jewels in her earrings and setting off sparkly bits across his tuxedo.
The second meeting was on purpose, because Draco planned it meticulously. He wanted nothing but to see that smile again, so he made it his life’s mission.
And that’s how it began.
Draco Malfoy never thought he truly deserved Hermione Granger. She was marvelous. She was self-deprecating. She lacked confidence but also never let anyone catch her with her head down. She was quick to defend those she loved but also quick to forgive those who didn’t truly deserve it. She met Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy again in her finest dress but with her Mudblood scar displayed without a glamour. She shook their hands and met their eyes and after the awkward – but polite – dinner, she kissed Draco in the drawing room of the Manor like it’d never been a place of her nightmares.
To the Wizarding World, Hermione Granger was a wrecking ball; to Draco Malfoy – she was the World.
They tried for children, but it wasn’t meant to be.
Instead, they bought Holiday House for themselves. To celebrate their loved ones and to enjoy their late thirties and beyond. They loved hosting. They were insatiable for one another and for their friends. They gleefully posted every silly headline about them on the refrigerator. Narcissa hated it, Lucius secretly loved it.
They spoiled their nieces and nephews; hosted first birthdays and fifth birthdays and so on and on and on. They sponsored muggle born children for Hogwarts admission and hosted muggle parents during summer orientations before first years’ entered school to help with transition.
They danced on the bluffs at sunset and sat on the beach at night, hand in hand.
Draco was diagnosed with his heart condition at 42. The healers told him he wasn’t long for the world. They held one another for hours afterward. Then – they decided to make the best of it. They hid Draco’s secret from anyone that wasn’t in their close circle and they lived. They lived as hard as they could until they couldn’t anymore. Draco took his last breath with Hermione tucked at his side in silence. In the end, she’d promised him she’d keep going. That she wouldn’t let anything crush her; wouldn’t let the world they lived in spoil what they had.
And so she did.
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At 103, just a week before she died peacefully in the same bed she’d once said goodbye to Draco in, Hermione stood in the hamlet’s market with a bottle of cheap wine. The town had changed significantly since her youth, and a lot of that was because of her – because of both of them. But it was still old money at it’s core, and she still elicited stares and whispers.
“How are you, Mrs. Malfoy?” The young clerk asked, as she handed over way more galleons than needed for such a cheap bottle. As she waved away his attempts at change, she cracked a grin.
“As always, hun, I’m having a marvelous time.”
It was the last time anyone saw Hermione Granger-Malfoy. To history she changed everything. To Draco Malfoy - she was simply the axis to which his world revolved from the moment they met again.