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The sound of drizzling rain pounds at the metal roof of the bus when Hermione steps on. She’s taken this trip countless times though never this late at night and it all feels wrong. The vinyl seats don't even smell the same at this hour. Perhaps it has something to do with the handful of other Oxford students who reek of alcohol with their hushed giggles and inebriated storytelling.
It wasn’t worth it, Hermione thinks to herself bitterly as she finds a window seat and pulls a book out from her bag. At least the trip from Oxford to London is always a good time to squeeze in extra studying.
But her regular schedule was ruined now all because Paul, the cute boy from her chemistry lab, invited her out for drinks, and she thought maybe he’d finally noticed her. Hermione spent so many hours in his presence admiring him when he couldn’t see her, his focus on the eyepiece of a microscope or on his carefully arranged notes. He reminded her of a crush she’d had on a classmate years ago. Paul was more distracted but at least he seemed kinder.
Then she arrived at the pub where he wanted to meet and had to pretend she wasn’t devastated when everyone from their lab class was there for pub trivia night. And Paul didn’t even say a word to her apart from a lukewarm greeting.
She studies a chart listing ionic compounds in medicine and her eyelids start to feel heavy when the bus slows to a stop and someone takes the aisle seat next to her. It’s a girl with a dark pixie cut. Hermione can hear the sound of a dreamy, repetitive piano playing through the girl’s large headphones and it does little to help Hermione’s growing fatigue.
Potassium Iodide. Antiseptic and disinfectant. Given orally to prevent radiation sickness.
Magnesium Sulfate. Used to treat…eclampsia. Eclampsia during pregnancy…elevated blood pressure can lead to convulsions.
Magnesium Hydroxide…
A cute boy is measuring ingredients for his chemistry lab. Hermione watches as his hair falls in his eyes, wondering how the strands would feel between her fingers.
He’s cutting now. The boy is cutting something for class. His hair is different—lighter. But he’s still exceptionally handsome. Perhaps more so. She can see that he notices her from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t acknowledge her. When he’s finished with his work, he approaches the professor, who replies shortly in a bored tone.
The boy meets her gaze for a fraction of a second before he turns to leave the room. In his absence, the stone walls of the classroom feel even colder.
The bus hits a bump and Hermione is jolted awake. Her head is leaning on the frigid, rain-streaked window of the bus, she lets out a shiver before sitting up again.
Hermione rubs her temple. She can remember dreaming about something that excited her, but she can’t fully recall what it was. The edges of it feel blurry, like she was peering in through a dirty window.
The girl with the headphones is no longer next to her and Hermione glances at the empty seat. She’s hit with a short sense of melancholy. She’s shared this commute with so many strangers that she’s never seen before or since.
Then her gaze travels across the aisle as though something there was calling for her attention. And perhaps it was. Because her brown eyes meet a pair of grey ones watching her.
There’s no denying that she knows him. He carries all the sharp features of the boy she knew at Hogwarts but even through the familiarity, there’s something decidedly different about him. Maybe it’s in the way he holds her stare. He doesn't look away and she holds her breath.
It crosses her mind that she’s still dreaming. She must be. Because what would Draco Malfoy be doing on a bus full of muggles? That idea eases her racing thoughts. In a dream, she’s allowed to ask him. Maybe he’ll even answer her.
His expression doesn’t change as she returns her chemistry book to her bag and carries it with her to the empty seat beside him. This only further confirms her theory. She’s still dreaming. The real Malfoy always reacted to her presence.
“Next stop. Marble Arch.”
For the first time since she spotted him, Hermione looks away from the specter of Malfoy. Behind him, she can see the orange glow of streetlights illuminating unfamiliar streets and confirming what the voice announced. She’d missed her stop. But maybe it doesn’t matter. None of this is real after all.
“Is that your stop?” comes his voice. It sounds so much like the real thing. But it’s missing the disdain he always used when addressing her. Instead, he sounds curious.
Hermione wasn’t expecting that he’d be the first one to speak. It feels good, even if it’s not real. She shakes her head in response and he relaxes further into his seat.
“Were you visiting Oxford?” Hermione asks.
He doesn’t respond right away and it strikes Hermione as odd. Why would her subconscious not want that question answered?
“I was,” he replies after a while.
“Are you thinking of enrolling?” Hermione presses.
“I’m already enrolled.”
“Why would Draco Malfoy enroll in a muggle university?”
A strange look crosses over his features, like he’s taking her face in for the first time. “Why are you talking like that?”
“Like what?”
“Saying my full name like I’m some sort of myth. And saying muggle like it tastes sour in your mouth.”
His words hit Hermione like a blow to her chest. “I was just imitating you.”
“That’s not—“ Malfoy pauses and clears his throat, visibly choosing his next words carefully. When he speaks again, it’s with deliberate steadiness. “I want to distance myself from my past mistakes. I thought enrolling in a muggle university would be one way to do that.”
Hermione is stunned at this revelation, though she’s not sure what her subconscious is trying to tell her. Should she hold on to the misguided crush she’d had on a boy who didn’t deserve her attention? Maybe he could change? Or maybe she should see that this is an absurd conversation that could never happen in reality.
“But there are plenty of other universities,” he says after her silence has stretched on for too long. “I only just enrolled, I’m sure I could transfer before the next semester begins if my presence would make you uncomfortable.”
What? Even her imagination should know better than to conjure an image of Malfoy that was concerned about her comfort. It was too unrealistic.
So Hermione does the only thing that makes sense to her at that moment. She curls her right hand into a fist and directs it at Malfoy’s nose.
The moment feels so much like it did in third year. But this time when blood spurts from his nose and his eyes widen in shock, it doesn’t feel satisfying.
“Granger, what the fuck—“
Malfoy reaches for a handkerchief in his pocket to put pressure on his nose. He doesn’t make any move to grab his wand. He wouldn’t be concerning himself with the statute of secrecy if this wasn’t real and—
Abruptly, Hermione’s senses are assaulted with the very real phenomena all around her.
Her knuckles aching from the contact of bone on actual bone.
The rainfall hammering against the roof and windows.
Malfoy’s blood-soaked hands and handkerchief.
The handful of people who are seated nearby, staring at her in confusion.
Then their attention shifts to Malfoy when they conclude he must have done something to deserve a jab to his nose.
“I—it’s an inside joke. We’re old friends,” Hermione assures them with a weak smile.
When she turns back to Malfoy, he glares at her momentarily before biting out, “Yeah, we’re the best of mates. Not to worry.”
Their silent ride lasts only for a few more minutes before Malfoy’s pushing past her to get off at the next stop. Hermione follows after him.
She’s miles away from her flat, following an antagonist from her school days as he trots to god knows where, and she doesn’t even have an umbrella. But the feeling of guilt won’t let her stop her pursuit even as his long legs carry him away from her at a pace she can’t hope to match.
“Malfoy!” she calls out. “Malfoy, I’m sorry!”
Finally, he halts. He’s standing beneath a streetlight, his bright hair illuminating his entire silhouette. When she finally reaches him, he turns to her and says, “Stop. There’s no need for you to apologize to me—ever.”
“But that’s not—”
“It’s true. For years, I counted myself lucky that I’ve only been victim to your right hook once. But I knew I would have deserved more and—here you are, always ready to deliver judgment when I need it.”
“No, Malfoy. You didn’t deserve that,” Hermione insists.
“It’s alright. I understand. I can assure you that I didn’t know you were attending Oxford. Now that I know, I’ll just transfer, it’s not a—”
“No!” Her frantic protest seems to have finally gotten his attention, he makes no move to continue with his monologue. “You do deserve an apology. Just because you were vile in school doesn’t mean I can just punch you with no provocation now. It was wrong of me, there’s no excuse.”
His face screws up in frustration, but Hermione continues on before he can utter whatever self-deprecating words are on the tip of his tongue.
“That said, you shouldn’t let me stop you from attending Oxford. I can promise that I don’t plan on assaulting you again.” After a moment, she adds, “unless you do something to deserve it.”
At this, he smiles softly. It’s small at first, just a quirk of his lips. But seconds later, he’s grinning. “Hermione Granger is begging me to attend school with her. I must be dreaming.”
Hermione scoffs before she can help it, but then the sense of guilt floods back in. “Please let me heal your nose.”
His grin fades away and his eyes look dazed. Hermione has to look away from them in shame.
“It’s the least I can do. I did something wrong and I’d like to remedy it,” she says before pulling him into a dark alleyway away from muggle eyes. “Episkey!”
His nose makes an awful sound as it twists into place but when it does, she realizes that she can hear his breathing is more steady now. There’s still blood staining half of his face and Hermione wonders whether she should clean that up too.
“Thanks,” he says in a low whisper, still staring at her in disbelief.
“I should—I’ll leave you be. But I hope I see you around,” Hermione says, feeling her voice rasp against the words she feels embarrassed to say.
Hope. Any kind of hope regarding Draco Malfoy seems like a guarantee for disappointment but maybe it can be different this time. After all, in just this brief interaction, everything already was.
His eyes dance across her face before he nods and turns on the spot, apparating away.
Alone at last, Hermione lets out a shaky breath. She’s too far from her flat to walk but near enough to apparate. But that idea doesn’t feel right. If she just appeared back home, she’d be sat on her couch all night replaying this interaction. No, she’d have to walk the long miles home. It felt so much more satisfactory to expend energy while her mind was whirring.
And so, when the window to her flat was finally in view, Hermione’s hair was soaked, laying flat against her head. Her coat was drenched and her toes were uncomfortably cold and wet in her socks. But her mind was at ease.