Chapter Text
After the tumult of war, Hermione took special joy in the concept of simple.
Everybody—and she really meant everybody—had expected her to dutifully and enthusiastically follow after the boys into an action-filled and fast-paced lifestyle, and then they all had the audacity to be appalled when she’d refused.
Don’t you like the action? they’d asked, looking at her like she was one egg short of a dragon’s clutch. Wouldn’t you like to always be together?
No, she liked fuzzy socks. She liked to keep fresh flowers on her coffee table. She liked to go to the park across the street from her townhouse and take long walks in the sunshine. She liked having a mug of wine and curling up next to Crookshanks on her sofa to watch movies. She liked waking up in the morning with a reasonable degree of certainty that her head would still be attached to her neck in the afternoon, whereas a dangerous, chaotic career as an Auror couldn’t fully guarantee it.
She loved the boys, but she needed quiet; time for sunshine and walks, wine and socks, movies and reading .
And it was only natural that that life-long passion translated into her career.
So, she opened a bookshop in Diagon Alley instead.
Buying it outright using the purse from her Order of Merlin and the substantial nest egg that the sale of her parents’ dental practice had left, Hermione had set up shop in a prime corner building on the main thoroughfare of Diagon Alley. It was three stories with high ceilings to accommodate thousands of square feet of towering bookshelves, and forty-foot walls of windows on two sides let in loads of bright sunshine. Gringotts was also visible from her west one, and every time she looked up and caught a glimpse of the shiny new domed skylight that had been replaced after the breakout, she had a good chuckle. It might have even been a cheeky selling point for her.
In an interesting twist of fate, Flourish and Blotts' had—fortunately for her—also downsized after the war, which let her business…well, flourish.
Business was very good, if she did say so herself. More than, even.
Apart from her financial success, though, she really did love her job. She liked being surrounded with books all day long, of course, and setting her own hours suited her just fine, but what she truly loved most was seeing the little children: with their tiny excited faces and their big eyes filled with wonder and eagerness for learning. Every time she helped one of them navigate the stacks, it felt like she was healing a younger inner-Hermione.
She was pretty happy.
But, in a secret part of her heart, she was also still a teensy bit lonely.
She didn’t regularly wallow in self-pity or anything, but every once in a while, a tiny part of her longed for someone to share her life with.
Okay, you’re getting mopey, she thought to herself. Time to call it a day, I think.
The sun was setting as she locked up and flipped over the cheery “We’ll Be Open Again Tomorrow!” sign that Ginny had gifted her when she opened the shop. Once she was satisfied that the security wards had clicked back into place, Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder and started to make her way back down Diagon toward the public apparition point.
The compact foeglass in her purse chirped too late.
So…getting mugged had been spectacularly unpleasant.
Only a few buildings down from her bookshop, she had been swung roughly around and hauled into a dark side-alley. Her war-time instincts were woefully rusty and by the time she was ready to react, the perpetrator had promptly slugged her Muggle-style, shaken her tote down for the stray sickles in the bottom, and taken off.
Unfortunately, it had already been too dark to see their face. She assumed they were just some common thug that had slunk over from Knockturn looking for trouble. Luckily for her, she always carried her money in a disillusioned wristlet inside her sleeve, but even she had to admit that the big bag had been a bit of a target.
He’d left Hermione to blink the stars out of her vision and stumble resignedly to the apparition point to apparate not straight home as she had planned, but to Harry’s, to file an incident report.
After his gentle interrogation about what happened, Harry traitorously marched her straight to St. Mungo’s whereupon arriving she was informed that she had a broken orbital and handed a frosty glass of Skelegro. Glaring painfully at a sheepish Harry, she choked it down and finally went home.
A few days later, she could finally admit to herself that she was grudgingly grateful for both her spared life and that the horrific bone regrowth potion had been administered in time to prevent any lasting damage to her facial structure. However, she was still left with a magnificent shiner, which sort of put a dent in her largely face-to-face business. Glamour charms did the trick in a pinch, but she had to duck into a row of shelves every now and then to reapply it and take a nip of pain potion. It was just such an awful hassle.
I’ve gotten too comfortable. I don’t care that it’s been four years, I never should have let my guard down so egregiously. I wish DA was still a thing, she thought wistfully, shooting a small, painful smile at the little girl at the register when she thanked Hermione for her purchase.
The shop bell rang as a few more groups of patrons came and went. It was a busy business day, which wasn’t by any means a bad thing, of course, but the congestion was wearing her out faster than usual today.
For a few blessed minutes there was a brief lull, so Hermione turned around so none of the browsing customers could see her face before she leaned heavily against her counter and let her shoulders drop.
“Excuse me…?”
Hermione jumped and turned around. It was Malfoy.
He was waiting at the counter with a politely expectant expression on his face, with a selection of books in the crook of one arm. He was a semi-regular customer, and she’d see him around Wizarding London every once in a while, but other than that they didn’t interact very often. However, Draco always seemed like he was actively making an effort to be a good citizen, and Hermione believed that most people were capable of change, so she had zero issue with his presence. She would even cautiously label him as a friendly acquaintance at this point in their lives.
“Erm, sorry. Hi, Malfoy.” She tried to give him an amiable smile but such actions still hurt, so it probably came across as more of a grimace at the sight of him. It would be difficult to explain, so she prayed that he didn’t confront her and mentally apologized, promising herself to slip him her Friends and Family discount as penance.
Thankfully, he gracefully ignored her probably-terrible face. “I apologize that I interrupted your break, but it seems I don’t have the correct amount for my purchase today. Could I possibly trouble you for change for a galleon? If that isn’t your policy, then it’s no trouble, and I can pop down to Gringotts real quick—”
His flustered rambling struck Hermione as simultaneously charming and sad. Was he always having to explain himself to people?
“Calm down, Malfoy,” she stopped him. “Of course, it’s no trouble. How many of which coins do you need?”
He reflexively broke out into a tiny, relieved smile, and it positively transformed his face. “Really? Okay, great. Twelve sickles, seventeen knuts, please.”
The smile had been small, but Hermione found that it had temporarily taken her breath away. She idly wondered where the intimidating, cold, arrogant Malfoy went. He was still plenty intimidating, naturally—she estimated that he had to be at least six and a half feet tall, now. And he still certainly seemed to hold most people at arm’s length. But the arrogance had mellowed down to self-assuredness.
He grew up, she decided. But another thought whispered, I’ve never seen him smile at anyone before, though.
“Sure,” she agreed belatedly, her face pinkening once she realized he was starting to look slightly concerned. “No problem.”
Draco’s face relaxed. “Thank you, Granger.”
A little more comfortable now, she decided that she felt brave enough to attempt small talk.
“So,” she began slyly, sliding on a faux-shocked expression as she started to count out the correct amount, “the great Draco Malfoy doesn’t carry small coins, huh?”
Draco’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he realized that she was daring to joke around with him, before his face settled into a wry smirk and he shrugged shyly. “I usually don’t, no. But I also didn’t want to short you because of a fault of my own.”
“That’s considerate of you, Malfoy,” she smiled again, steadfastly ignoring the pain. “In future, though, if that ever happens again, I can just open up a running tab for you.”
“Noted,” he grinned. “Thanks.”
“Give me a moment to bag these up for you, okay?”
“Sure.”
Hermione turned around to retrieve a paper bag, slipped them in, and spun back around cheerfully. “Here you are, Mal…” She trailed off at the look on his face. “Um, Malfoy? Is everything alright?”
His expression was stricken—ashen with an odd, cold fury. “Who did that to you, Granger?”
“What?” she asked, baffled—before realizing.
Her bloody glamour had worn off before she turned back around.
“Shite,” she muttered, her hand flying up to her face, then hissing in pain because it was still tender. “Ouch…”
“Granger,” he said tightly again. “Who did that to your face?”
“It’s nothing—” she began.
“Don’t even try that,” he warned. “Is your boyfriend hurting you?”
“What? Oh, no—no.” Waving her wand around her face, her bruise hopefully glimmered away. “Don’t worry—I got mugged the other night.”
Draco looked incredulous.
“Don’t worry, you got mugged?” he repeated slowly.
“On my way home from work,” she nodded. “Got dragged into the alley by Magical Menagerie.”
He frowned seriously. “Were they apprehended?”
“'Apprehended,’” she mumbled to herself, amused. Pedant that she was, that was a tad too pretentious even for her. “No. I suspect it was an opportunistic one-off, if anything. And whoever it was, was lucky I blacked out long enough to not be able to identify them.”
He stiffened.
“They hit you so hard that you were unconscious?”
Hermione bit her lip. Maybe it would be better if she weren’t so specific. “More like saw stars, really. I’m alright, honest. Just superficial now, mostly.”
“Clearly not, if it still hurts to the touch,” he scoffed. His breathing was slightly faster, like his temper was just barely in check.
What was with him? Why did he even care?
“I’m fine, Malfoy,” she insisted firmly, admittedly perturbed at his strange behavior. “Thank you for your concern, regardless.”
He looked apoplectic at her dismissal of the topic and gritted his teeth. She winced automatically.
Just as she was about to chide him about the importance of treating his teeth gently, though, she was startled by his face, just like he had been at hers.
“Malfoy, what’s wrong with your eyes?”
This seemed to throw him enough to temporarily forget about her mugging, even when he was clearly gearing up to keep arguing.
“What?”
“Your eyes—they’re…They’ve turned black,” she whispered.
Now, given they had all lived in the same castle for six years straight, they encountered each other often enough to at least know their fellow years’ middle names and eye colors. And Hermione knew for a bloody fact that his eyes were gray. Malfoy gray. It was even in Wizarding genealogy books that it had never deviated, all the way down the patriarchal line. On top of that, she had noticed—today—how the bright wall of windows made them seem lighter.
However, now, only minutes after her absentminded observation, Draco’s eyes were the furthest thing from pale gray. It only affected his irises, but they were now a jet black from edge to edge, a stark contrast to the white sclera that still remained. They were so dark, in fact, they seemed actually to absorb light. She couldn’t even delineate where his pupils ended and began.
Hermione watched in bewilderment as a single instant of undiluted panic flashed across his face before it went completely blank.
“Have they?” Draco asked evenly, sounding only mildly curious—almost too casual.
“Yeah,” Hermione said slowly, before beginning to question herself. Had they turned black? Was it a trick of the light? She went to check again but was frustrated to find that he was now looking down.
“It’s probably all the natural light in here,” he dismissed. “My eyes are sensitive, my pupils probably just expanded.”
Hermione felt herself relax slightly. That made sense. It was honestly the first thing that did, in this entire weird encounter.
“Right. Er—well, here you go…” Hermione passed him his shopping bag.
He nodded, short and cool, still not looking up, like he had suddenly remembered she wasn’t worth his energy after all. His hesitant warmth was gone.
“Thank you, Granger. Good day.”
With that, he swept out of the bookstore, leaving Hermione with the vague sensation of whiplash.
It wasn’t until she got home that she realized that Malfoy had lied.
Pupils contract at bright light, not dilate.