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“I really like him,” she whispered, biting her lip as she tried to hide the small, secret smile threatening to turn into a full-blown grin. “I…I think I could love him, if I let myself.”
Bittersweet didn’t feel like enough of a word for it, this feeling of soaring joy mixed with a soul-crushing ache. She’d been talking about “him” for a few months now, sharing about how they’d bumped into each other at a muggle coffee shop, and how he was different than she thought he’d be. That he did things she didn’t know she wanted, from insisting on opening doors for her—even when she protested and lectured him about the patriarchy—to taking her dancing at clubs and restaurants on the continent. Harry was supportive, kind—the perfect “best friend who is also like my brother” that she saw him as. Gods, he’d not even demanded that he meet the bloke, lest he be intimidated by meeting Harry Potter.
She was cautious about sharing too much—not even telling him the name of the man who Harry had taken to calling “The Mysterious Future Mr. Granger” to her face, and “Mr. He Better Not Fuck Up” to himself. Every time he said the former, she’d laugh hysterically, assuring Harry that, “No, he’s definitely not the future Mr. Granger.” But then she’d get a glint in her eye, a faraway look that showed her imagining being the future Mrs. Mystery, and Harry’s heart would plummet. He couldn’t let her see, though. He could never let her know.
“Hermione,” he started, slowly, “I’m so happy for you.” He paused, trying his best to grin nonchalantly. “Does this mean I finally get to know his name? Finally get to haul him out to the shed to give him the ‘I’m Harry Potter and if I hurt you there is no one who would find the body’ talk?”
Lip biting turned to gnawing as Hermione’s smile turned to a slight frown. “You have to promise me that you won’t be angry,” she said, eyes downcast. “I know you’ve wanted to know who he is, but I just wanted to see for myself without anyone’s opinions who he is now, who we could be together and…Harry, I just don’t want you to hate me over this because I could fall in love with him so easily, but I cannot lose you. I just can’t.” Tears threatened to spill over onto her cheeks, making her honey-brown eyes glassy.
Harry took a deep breath, casting his eyes down. Why wouldn’t she want to tell him who it is? Who would cause her so much stress that she was crying about introducing them? He couldn’t for the life of him think of anyone they knew that would garner this reaction, except…but no, it couldn’t be. She could never. He looked up, searching her face, trying to reconcile what he thought might be the truth. She’d said, ‘ I just wanted to see for myself who he is now . ’ Fuck, could it be him ? No, Hermione would never. She couldn’t have forgiven him, not for hurting her like that.
“Harry, you’re not saying anything,” Hermione choked out, tears slowly beginning to track down her cheeks. “I can hear you thinking. Please, just say something.”
He took another deep breath, grabbed her hand, and said quietly, “I love you, Hermione. Please just tell me who it is.” He was prepared, he thought. He wasn’t.
She squared her shoulders, wiped her tears with the back of her other hand, and breathed out his name. “Its…it’s Draco. Draco Malfoy.”
Harry froze, breath catching in his chest. Of all the names he thought she’d say, he never would have imagined it would be that one. She was seeing, she was romantically involved with Draco Malfoy ? The boy who’d tormented her throughout her whole childhood, on whose drawing room floor she’d been tortured almost to the point of death, all while he watched, sniveling in the corner? The man who’d been a veritable recluse for the past ten years, only appearing in public when absolutely necessary? The man he’d testified for with a misplaced sense of loyalty that apparently was now coming to bite him in the arse?
He started breathing again, but it wasn’t easy. Hermione was looking at him, her eyes sparkling and grip on his hand tightening, begging him to understand. “I…Hermione, you’re going to have to give me a minute to process this.” He sagged back into his chair, wiping the hand not held in Hermione’s down his face and rubbing the back of his neck.
“Oh, Harry,” she said, “I know. I know . Believe me, I know how it seems, but…”
“Hermione,” he interrupted, “I’m fucking serious. Gimme a minute.”
Shocked into silence, she started twirling her curls around her fingers, an anxious habit Harry had noticed she’d picked up when they were on the run. He sighed, trying to figure this out in his head. He fell back on something Hermione had taught him, of course: separate your thoughts into their simplest form.
Thought 1: Hermione is dating Draco Malfoy.
Thought 2: Hermione is my best friend.
Thought 3: She said she’s falling in love with Draco Malfoy.
Thought 4: I am in love with Hermione.
Thought 5: She looks so scared.
Thought 6: I’m scared.
Thought 7: Thank Merlin Circe, Godric, fuck, even thank Salazar it’s not Ron, the bastard. No one should forgive what he did to her.
Thought 8: Hermione’s been happy for the past few months. Really fucking happy. Not content, not doing well enough, not getting by—truly, completely, happy .
Thought 9: I love her. I’m in love with her. I hate this. I hate him. Why did it have to be him? Fuck.
Harry ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up further, and Hermione reached up to try, for the millionth time, to smooth it back out. His breath hitched. They were so close to one another, close enough for him to kiss her. Gods, he wanted to. He wanted to tighten his grip around her hand, pull her into his lap, and show her how much he loved her.
He’d pull her forward, hands sliding up her thighs, coming to rest at her waist. He’d take one hand and brush her hair off her neck, then pull her flush, chest to chest, with him. He’d whisper, “Please,” and her eyes would go wide, shocked but not surprised. She’d look into his eyes, grab his face with both hands, and she would be the one to cross that final barrier, brushing her lips tentatively across his, sitting back slightly, nervously before Harry crashed his lips to hers, heart leaping from his chest into hers, where it had always belonged.
But that was never going to be them. To her, he was a brother, a best friend. He could never be more. She wanted someone else, and apparently that man was Draco sodding Malfoy.
Finally, he spoke. “Are you happy?”
She bit her lip again, that secret smile threatening to break through, “Harry, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. It’s like…it’s like…I don’t know how to describe it. Me! At a loss for words. Who’d believe it? Well, Draco would. He always makes me speechless.” She laughed lightly. “He’s…he’s my soft place to land, the one I want to firecall about every little thing, every big thing. I…,” she looked down, wringing her hands, “I’ve imagined our life together, and it’s just…even when we fight it’s like we’re still speaking the same language and we never leave each other angry. He spoils me in just the right way that doesn’t make me feel inferior or like I’m less than, but that makes me feel cherished. He’s shown me that I can still be me , even when I’m not living up to everyone else’s idea of me in their heads. I want to build a life with him. I want it all, the whole package. Even with his mother and what it would mean to someday become his…his wife. What it would mean to have children together. I…Harry, I’m falling so in love with him, and I don’t know how I could ever stop.” Tears were streaming from her eyes, a smile so bright it blinded him. He’d never seen her smile like that. Ever.
Fuck.
“I think it’s time we’re reintroduced, then, don’t you?”
--***--
She wanted them to meet at a muggle restaurant. She’d said, “It’s one of our favorite places to grab a bite. The owners are just so lovely, and they’ve wanted us to bring our friends in for so long, and you’ll be the first.” Hermione kept using those words. Our. Us. Like they were already a package deal. He was trying his best to keep an open mind, for her. He didn’t want to be the bastard that ruined her happiness, but he had to know, had to see it for himself. And frankly, he thought that the muggle restaurant was so they wouldn’t draw wands on each other, not just so he would get to meet these new people in her life.
“All right. When?” he’d said.
“Well,” she shifted back and forth as they stood in the foyer of Grimmauld Place, “I’ve taken Friday off so would you be up for lunch? Draco says I work too much so I’ve taken to setting a long weekend on my calendar every other month. It’s done wonders for my stress levels, honestly.” Stunned, he nodded.
“I don’t have plans, so yeah, alright. What time?” Having summers off as a professor really did agree with Harry most of the time, though he almost wished he had other plans to avoid the inevitable.
“Two o’clock?” Hermione offered. “I know it’s a bit later than you usually eat, but it’ll mean that Dorothy’s isn’t as busy?”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you and…you and Malfoy then.”
Hermione looked down, wringing her hands again, “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. And that you didn’t…well, that you’ve acted so maturely about all this. I was so afraid you’d yell or throw me out o-or take me to St. Mungo’s and request I be seen by Dean in the Janus Thickey Ward. I just. Oh, Harry.” She grabbed him, then, enfolding him in her arms in a patent-pending Hermione Granger hug, squeezing the life out of him.
“I trust you, Hermione. But I’ll be honest. I’m not entirely sure about all this, and I can’t help but worry about you. You’re my family, y’know?”
“I do, Harry. I love you so much.” She finally let him go. “I’m so pleased that I’ll get to owl Draco tonight with the news. I’ll see you Friday!” She waved quickly, moving toward the Floo fireplace, throwing the powder in and calling out “38 Otterstone Way!” as she stepped confidently into the flames. Just like that, she was gone.
Just like that.
--***--
What the bloody hell should he wear to re-meet his childhood nemesis who was now the boyfriend of the woman he loved? His entire wardrobe seemed to have exploded across his bedroom, with nothing seeming right. Muggle clothes would be necessary, of course, but should he wear the trousers that Hermione had forced him to buy for his first day at Hogwarts? Or should he wear the ones she helped him choose for his last day at the Ministry? Everything in his fucking wardrobe reminded him of her, and now he had to go and play nice with the man she was falling in love with who wasn’t Harry .
He grabbed a random pair of trousers and a collared shirt that he thought he might have bought on his own instead of with her, threw on a pair of brogues, and apparated before he could think about it too hard, even if it meant being early to their reservation.
When he arrived at Dorothy’s after meandering there from the apparition point, he saw that Hermione and Malfoy had beaten him there, but they hadn’t seen him yet as he approached. So, like any good former Auror, he watched.
Harry watched Malfoy smirk at her while she gestured wildly with her hands, obviously stressed as her hair almost sparked. Then, he grabbed her hands gently, bringing them to his mouth to kiss her knuckles and calm her. He saw Hermione’s face go from scrunched to blissful as she leaned her head forward, resting it on Malfoy’s chest. Malfoy’s arms encircled her, slowly stroking her back with his chin resting on top of her riotous curls. He pulled back, grabbing her face with both hands and Harry saw him say, “It will be fine, darling,” followed by just a brush of his lips on her brow.
Fuck. Malfoy was in love with her.
Well, no time like the present, I suppose , Harry thought as he stuck his hands in his pockets and strode forward, hoping he projected a bit more confidence than he felt. As he approached, he cleared his throat and said, “Hey, Hermione.”
It took her a moment to tear her gaze away from Malfoy’s, but when she did, her face was cautious. “Hi, Harry.” She looked from Harry, back to Malfoy, and back to Harry, unsure as to how to introduce two people who knew one another, but who also hated one another.
Malfoy, it seemed, had no such insecurity. “Hello, Potter,” he intoned quietly, but firmly, offering his right hand to be shaken. “I think I’ve learned to tell the right sort from the wrong sort by now. Thank you for joining us for lunch.” Harry gazed at the hand that had been offered to him when they were both eleven-year-olds, children with no concept of war, no concept really of the hatred they would bear one another. No understanding of what it meant to fight for their lives, to lose the ones that mattered most, or that life and love and loss came not in black and white, but shades of grey.
He’d almost waited too long, Malfoy’s hand flexing and Hermione’s face starting to fall. He stared for just a second longer, then, looking him straight in the eyes, Harry shook Malfoy’s hand.
--***--
Dorothy was truly a marvel, and fuck if Malfoy wasn’t one too. He joked with her, asked about her grandsons and whether she’d put their names down at Harrow or Eton, receiving the response, “You bloody aristocrats…no grandchildren of mine are going to some posh boarding school like you did when they can get just as good an education right here at the local!” punctuated by a short smack of his shoulder. Harry stared, open-mouthed, and Hermione had to kick him under the table to get him to close it. “All you have to do is ask, Dorothy and their names will be on the rolls tomorrow.” It was obviously a running joke, and Harry just couldn’t fathom it. Malfoy had a running joke with a working-class muggle about muggle boarding schools. Harry was simply flummoxed.
He couldn’t speak, so Malfoy ordered for the table, “We’ll have our usuals, and Pott--Harry will have whatever you think he needs.” Dorothy narrowed her eyes at Harry, titled her head, nodded quickly and bounced off to the kitchen, humming all the way. It took Harry a full minute to process that Malfoy had just used his first name, and when he did, all Harry could do was speak one short sentence.
“What the fuck?”
“Harry!” Hermione chastised, throwing her napkin onto her lap. “What is wrong with you? Why would you speak to him that way? I thought we’d agreed you’d be civil!”
Malfoy cleared his throat, understanding crossing his features, as he absentmindedly stroked Hermione’s hand that lay on top of the table. “Hermione, he just saw me order in a muggle restaurant and I called him by his first name. Give Potter a break, I might have caused an aneurysm.” He smirked slightly, but not unkindly. Harry was, once again, flummoxed.
“I…how…what…I don’t… explain .”
Malfoy clenched his jaw, the first sign of his own worry over what might transpire. “Where would you like me to start?”
Harry grabbed his water glass a bit more forcefully than necessary and took several large gulps, then breathed out, “Why don’t you start with how you know about muggle public schools.” Harry could tell that Hermione didn’t think that would be his first question, but Malfoy took it in stride.
“Part of my probationary sentence involved reading muggle history at Oxford. The Ministry originally wanted to send me to some other school, but my ah…it was deemed that my manner would be seen as out of place.” He looked somewhat sheepish at that, surprising Harry with the fact that he could be humble. “I took a liking to the course, but I had to have a backstory as to why I didn’t go to Eton or Harrow or any of the other public schools if I wanted to talk to my classmates. Hogwarts, of course, was not an option. They translated my N.E.W.T.s to A-levels and I pretended I was educated privately at home. Would you like to hear more, or would you like to ask what you really want to know?” Harry could see he was trying not to sneer or snark at him. He really was trying, damn him.
Harry turned away from Malfoy to his best friend. “How could you forgive him, Hermione? I just. I want to understand. You…you look so happy. But how can you be happy with someone who believed you weren’t worth the dirt beneath his shoes?”
Hermione looked at him, then at Malfoy, then down to her folded hands. “It…it didn’t happen overnight,” she said quietly. “When we first saw each other again it was like seeing a ghost. Gods, I treated Draco abominably.”
Malfoy shook his head, “I deserved it, darling.”
“You might have deserved it but I’m not the kind of person who acts that way. I don’t like who I was then. But that’s not what Harry wanted to know, is it?” She looked at Harry and his whole world narrowed. “I forgave him because he didn’t just say he’d changed, he showed me. Did I tell you we bumped into each other in a muggle coffee shop?” Harry nodded. “Well, it was while he was looking at a bunch of muggle and magical law texts! I didn’t even see him at first when I saw the books laid out over three separate tables. Merlin, I yelled at him for breaking the Statute of Secrecy and he didn’t even utter a word until he said, ‘I’m sorry, Granger. Won’t happen again.’
“And none of it has. None of it. Not a single word said against muggles or muggle-borns or anything like it. Hell’s teeth, he knows more about muggle technology than I do at this point. He had a mobile before I did! It was actions, Harry. Small things together. And those small things just kept adding up and adding up until Malfoy became Draco and became the man I…” She paused, looking at Malfoy for confirmation, as if what she was about to say wasn’t just hers to share. “The man I love.”
Harry felt like he’d taken a stunner to the chest, and he was about to reply when Dorothy swept in with their food. He had no idea what she would set in front of him, but when he saw it, he couldn’t help but think that Dorothy must have some magic because otherwise, how would she have known? How would she have known that he needed shepherd’s pie and treacle tart, his favorites, to ground him? He looked up at Hermione, a knowing look on her face, and smiled.
Gods, he loved her. Her passion and drive, her wit. Her willingness to do anything for those she loved. Even bring him to a meal with another man he once hated. Truly, Harry wasn’t sure which of them was the most uncomfortable, him or Malfoy.
“Well,” he said, resigned. “I reckon it’s time I get to know this version of Draco Malfoy rather than the one I thought I knew, then. What was it like reading at Oxford?” Hermione’s smile lit up the room and almost filled the hole in his heart. “And please, Malfoy, I can’t stand the pureblood manners. Take it down a notch, will you?”
With a smirk of his own, Harry diffused the tension that had been slowly ramping up between them all, and they passed a surprisingly pleasant meal. As they were leaving—after a rousing battle over who would pay for the meal, ending in Hermione sneaking off alone to pay it herself—Malfoy pulled Harry aside. Hermione looked at them both, but both men said, “Go on, love,” and, though horrified at their speaking in unison, Hermione said, “I’ll just pop into the ladies’ and be out in a bit.”
Malfoy waited until she was out of earshot, turned to Harry, and mouth in a thin line, jaw tensed he said plainly, “How long have you been in love with her?”
Harry froze, as if in a full body bind. “What are you playing at, Malfoy?” Harry’s face darkened as he furrowed his brow, “I love Hermione like a sister, I…”
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Potter,” he interrupted. “I know a man in love when I see him. I know a man pining when I see him, because it’s what I saw when I looked in a mirror for the first three months of Hermione teasing out friendship from me before she agreed to let me take her to dinner.” Malfoy thrust his fingers through his hair, disheveling his perfectly coiffed locks. “I can see it, please don’t deny it. But I need to know. Will you act on it? Because I swear to Merlin, Morgana, Circe, and Salazar that she won’t survive losing you, and I won’t survive losing her.” Though short, Malfoy’s speech had him out of breath, panting as if the effort of speaking those words was just too much to bear.
“Malfoy,” Harry began, not sure where he was going to go, but deciding that perhaps, for the first time, he should be honest about it all. “I don’t honestly know when. It…I just felt it happening slowly and then all at once I knew. She has never once seen me that way, though, so no. I won’t act on it. All I want is to see her happy. And gods, but she looks happy with you, you bastard.”
Malfoy sighed, hands clenching into fists and then slowly releasing over and over. “I’m going to marry her, Potter. I’m going to give her my name if she’ll take it, children if she desires them, and I will do anything to give her the ease she has earned. I need you to understand that Hermione is it for me. I cannot breathe for thinking of losing her, but the only one who could fuck this up is you. Her best friend. Her brother. So, I need to know, can I trust you not to be like Ron Weasley? Can I trust you to be in love with her from a distance?”
“She told you about Ron?”
“On our second date. He’s lucky he’s not in Britain because if I ever see him again, I will watch as Hermione eviscerates him for what he did to her. That’s not love, that’s obsession. I’ll ask you again: can I trust you to love her from a distance, to stay at love and not turn to obsession and hate?” Malfoy was pleading with Harry.
Thought 1: Malfoy loves Hermione.
Thought 2: Hermione told Malfoy about Ron. She trusts him.
Thought 3: I love her so much.
Thought 4: How can I let her go?
Thought 5: I have to.
Thought 6: She deserves this.
Thought 7: Hermione is happy.
Thought 8: Hermione is happy.
Thought 9: Hermione is happy .
“Yes, you can trust me.”
Malfoy looked him straight in the eyes, and he must have seen that Harry was telling the truth, because he sighed, and said, “Thank you, Potter.”
“I think it might be time for you to start calling me Harry.”
“And my name is Draco.”
They shook hands once more.
--***--
He walked her down the aisle. She’d asked, and he could never say no to her, not when it really mattered. He held Scorpius third, after his mother and his father, and doted on his godson. He went to cocktail parties for creature rights charities and opened Grimmauld for her when she had to get away from her mother-in-law. He shook his head at her every time she offered to set him up on a date, saying, “I’ve got all the family I need.”
Somehow, he didn’t feel lonely. Well, not always. It was bittersweet, yes, but so was most of his life. He’d reconciled himself to that.
Until, that is, he met someone who didn’t know his name. Someone who made him laugh and let him cry, and wanted a life built with him. Someone who understood that a first love is not our only love, and that you can love more than one person at a time. A person who Harry would spend the rest of his life loving without reservation and without fear.
But until then, he loved her.