Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“You always say that.”

“And you always make me do the opposite.”

“Sooner or later you’ll get tired of saying it.”

“Or you’ll get tired of asking me.”

Ginny Weasley shot her a sidelong glance - one of those she had inherited from her mother that left no room for further complaints - while she quickly adjusted the hem of Hermione’s golden dress. The fabric shimmered under the moonlight as they walked along the path leading to the entrance of their former school.

Hermione proceeded cautiously behind her friend’s determined stride, more focused on surviving her heels than enjoying the stroll along the avenue decorated for the Gala. Ginny handled her shoes with ease, while Hermione simply hoped she didn’t look even more awkward than she already felt. Every step was a small prayer to the gods.

The dress Ginny had chosen for her far exceeded every expectation - and every limit of her comfort zone. It clung to her body like a second skin, wrapping her in a solid and surprisingly heavy structure, weighed down by countless hand-sewn crystals that caught the light with every movement.

Ginny had sworn it would be light, delicate, comfortable. That it would enhance her without constraining her. Hermione hadn’t believed her for even a second - and she hadn’t changed her mind now, as she tried to breathe normally without feeling trapped inside a golden sculpture.

She didn’t even dare imagine where Ginny had managed to find such a dress. It had to cost more than her London apartment - maybe more than two. She knew that sometimes designers offered spectacular creations to well-known figures for visibility, but this… this bordered on indecency. It was far too flashy and far too distant from the Hermione she knew.

Reflected in the tall illuminated windows of Hogwarts, she barely recognized herself.

Every movement sparked golden reflections, making her shine as if she were threaded with her own private constellation. The hem brushed the floor, opening slightly at the back into a slit that allowed her some freedom in her uncertain steps, while the invisible zipper along her back preserved the illusion of a dress born on her body rather than simply worn.

“If I fall, just know I’ll curse you for life” she muttered.

Ginny laughed without turning around. “This gala is important. Luna foresaw great encounters.”

Hermione sighed, clutching her small bag in her hands. Ahead of them, the doors of the Great Hall opened, letting out music, voices, and memories.

“Are you trying to get me married again, Ginny?”

“Again? You’ll be twenty-two in a week!”

The music immediately grew louder as soon as they crossed the threshold of the Great Hall, bringing back countless memories. To the side of the door, part of the collapsed wall was still there, with a commemorative plaque.

For a moment, Hermione felt as though everything had stopped, returning to those days—but it was reductive to think only of the war. That entrance had accompanied her through the best years of her life and had watched her grow as she learned every single secret of the new magical world she had had the honor to belong to.

The Great Hall had never been so beautiful, with the warm light of floating candles illuminating the entire room, while the tables had been arranged in a circle to create small groups. The enchanted ceiling was studded with golden stars, almost echoing Hermione’s dress.

It was nothing like the last times she had left it—it seemed so alive, so full of life. This was probably truly one of the most important Galas after the war, organized to the fullest potential of the Ministry.

The two girls had barely taken a few steps when a familiar voice reached them.

“Hey.” Harry Potter was waiting near one of the pillars. He was wearing an elegant dark suit that reflected his position as an Auror. “You’re late” he said.

“She complains with every breath, it took me more than forty minutes to dress her” Ginny replied without hesitation.

“Our children take less effort.”

“Exactly” Ginny commented. “And she walks like she’s on a minefield.”

Hermione huffed. “Try wearing twelve centimeters of betrayal under your feet.”

Harry laughed, then looked at her more closely. “Wow.”

“Don’t say anything” she quickly shook her head, turning toward the hall.

“I was going to say you look amazing.”

“Worse. You’ll convince Ginny to do it again.”

Ginny smiled smugly. “I dressed her.”

“That was obvious” Harry commented.

Ginny gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Have you already been ambushed?”

“Three commemorative speeches, two toasts, and an elderly witch who asked if I’m ready for a third child.”

Hermione burst out laughing. “And you?”

“I smiled and ran.”

“That was wise.”

Hermione turned back to look at the hall, hoping that sooner or later a waiter would approach with a glass of champagne.

“Admit it” Ginny said. “It’s better than Ministry cafeterias.”

“That’s not saying much” Hermione replied.

“Hey, look who’s there.” Following Harry’s gaze, Hermione stiffened slightly.

Ron was talking with some former classmates, next to Lavender Brown. She wore a soft lilac dress, her blonde hair gathered in gentle waves. When she turned, she spotted them immediately, almost as if it had been planned. Ron and Lavender had been married for two and a half years, and she had a gentle swell to her belly for at least three months.

“Oh!” Lavender exclaimed, dragging Ron toward them. “Hi!”

“Hi” Ginny replied calmly.

Ron smiled, slightly awkward. “Hermione.”

“Ron.” For a moment, the silence was louder than any orchestra. Then she turned toward him. “Congratulations,” Hermione said sincerely. “The Prophet won’t stop talking about it.”

Ron nodded. “Thanks.”

“We wanted to hide it for a few more months, but…” Lavender laughed in her usual irritating way, placing a hand on her belly.

“Lavender, you look radiant.”

“Oh, thank you!” she trilled. “And you- are you pregnant?”

Ginny burst out laughing. “No.”

“Oh.”

Hermione suppressed a smile. Harry had accidentally admitted a few months earlier that his dream was to have three children, and since then everyone kept asking Ginny if she was pregnant. Constantly.

Ron and Lavender drifted into conversation with the other couple, leaving Hermione slightly aside as she lost herself in observing the beauty of the Great Hall. Only when Harry touched her arm did she return to the present.

“Everything okay?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “Really.”

And it was true - she hadn’t cared about Ron’s life for a long time now. Hermione had always had a different mindset compared to her peers; the desire to have a husband had never been a necessity for her. She had always chosen to focus on other things in her future, like university or her career. She had never made concrete plans, never cut out magazine clippings to build a vision of her future wedding, never imagined dresses, a church, or a beach. She didn’t even have a particular season or month that appealed to her.

“We’re sitting together” Harry informed her.

Hermione nodded, pushing the thought out of her mind. “What time are we eating? Everything looks delicious” she asked tiredly, practically begging for a chair. Almost ready to conjure one.

Before Harry could answer, Luna approached the group. “Hermione.”

Luna hugged her without warning. “Hi, Luna.”

“You’re surrounded by golden light. It’s an excellent omen.”

“It’s because of the dress” Hermione pointed out dryly.

“The two things are not mutually exclusive.”

Beside her appeared Rolf Scamander; the Prophet had talked about their union for months - two brilliant and peculiar minds. “Good evening.” Their wedding had taken place in a northern forest, following ancient magical rites, and it had been beautiful.

“Hi, Rolf” Ginny said. “We didn’t see you earlier- were you hiding again?”

They were also known for… hiding for cuddles.

“We were observing the ceiling. The stars are moving in an interesting sequence.”

“They always do.”

“But not always in the right way.”

Hermione shook her head with a smile. “You’re perfect together.”

“I know” Luna replied serenely.

A little further away, a deep laugh caught their attention.

Neville Longbottom was animatedly talking with Seamus and Dean. When he turned, Hermione barely recognized him for a moment. Even though she had seen him several times after the war, she was struck by how much taller he was, with broad shoulders and a confident posture. His short hair framed a face that had lost every trace of shyness - he was truly a handsome man.

“Neville?” she exclaimed.

He turned. “Hermione!” He pulled her into a warm hug.

Ginny observed him critically, lightly touching his bicep. “What do you even do every day?”

“Fields and greenhouses” he replied. “Carnivorous plants are great training.”

“Noted” Hermione commented softly.

Ginny turned to her husband. “Harry, why don’t you work in a greenhouse?!” she asked, somewhat annoyed, even though Harry Potter was an Auror and head of his department - his physique didn’t match Neville’s. Harry was slightly shorter and leaner.

“Are you still single?” Luna asked, appearing behind him.

Neville blushed slightly. “Technically, yes.”

“Perfect” she concluded. “I’ll inform the universe.”

Hermione laughed, ignoring for a few minutes the cameras that kept capturing their every breath.

“Anyway…” Ginny said, looking around the Great Hall again. “We have to admit- it’s all… incredible.”

“That’s an understatement” Hermione agreed. “I’ve never seen Hogwarts like this. Not even during the Yule Ball. I didn’t think it would be this significant this time.”

“I’d say it’s also much less traumatic” Neville added.

“And with more champagne” Harry commented, accepting another glass from a passing waiter.

Hermione did the same, taking a generous sip. “What are we celebrating, exactly?”

“The rebirth of the magical world, obviously. The economy is booming, we’re about to win the World Cup…”

“…people are happy” Neville added with a shrug.

Hermione scanned the crowd again, realizing it was true. Around her there were only happy couples, children running freely, and a magnificent hall as the backdrop.

“Whoever organized all this—” Ginny continued “—deserves a statue.”

Harry gave a small smile, looking at them one by one. “Actually… you all know him.”

Hermione frowned slightly. “The Ministry?”

“No.”

“McGonagall?”

“No.”

“Then who?” Neville insisted.

Harry took a calm sip. “Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione frowned, not remembering hearing that name since he had been released a year earlier.

“What?” Ginny blurted.

Neville laughed lightly. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all” Harry clarified.

“Malfoy?” Neville repeated, incredulous. “That Malfoy?”

“The very one,” Harry nodded. “He founded an event planning company. Very exclusive—pure-blood level. He mainly handles institutional galas, diplomatic receptions, and official celebrations. This is his first public contract for the British Ministry; he mostly worked in France.”

“I thought he ran off to France to hide, not to get even richer.”

Harry set down his now-empty glass. “Honestly, I thought so too. Then he showed up at the Ministry… two weeks ago, I think. Still a bastard, but he shook my hand this time!” he added ironically. “Concept, design, setup, guest management, magical security, various enchantments.” Harry shrugged. “All his work.”

Ginny burst out laughing. “I can’t believe it. Malfoy organizing parties.”

“Neither can I” Harry admitted. “But apparently, he’s damn good at it.”

“It’s… perfect. I hate to admit it, but it is” Neville murmured. “So Malfoy is good at something.”

“Don’t say it too loudly!” Ginny teased. “You might summon him.”

“I’d rather not” Neville laughed. “Do you remember how ridiculous he was with his superiority?”

“Too late.”

Hermione lifted her gaze sharply, following Harry’s.

Draco Malfoy was crossing the hall.

He wore a pure white suit with minimal, essential gold accents—so precise that Hermione was sure it was also his own design. His face was completely more mature, having lost the sharpness of boyhood and become that of a man. He was tall—very tall—and his platinum blond hair was swept back without a trace of gel, short at the sides, with a few strands falling over his still icy eyes.

He walked beside several high-ranking Ministry officials, likely explaining his vision for the Gala, how the project had been conceived, or how he intended to invest future funds in the wizarding world. He seemed made for that role.

He was perfectly at ease.

Hermione said nothing. Years earlier, Draco Malfoy had been a broken boy, burdened with guilt, unable to raise his head throughout his trial. Now, before her, stood a different man—one who faintly resembled his father’s version, but calmer, less angry.

“He’s taken over many of his family’s businesses; his wealth is embarrassing for us mere mortals,” Harry explained in a lower voice. “But… he didn’t insult me.”

“Redeemed?” Ginny asked.

“Probably” Harry replied. “But still a bastard.”

Hermione followed his movement as he stopped to speak with McGonagall, who nodded visibly pleased.

“What do you say, shall we eat?” Neville proposed.

❦ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ✦ ✧ ☾ ○ ☽ ✧ ✦ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ❦

Dinner was dragging on far longer than expected. Hermione had lost track of how many glasses of champagne she’d had just to endure pointless toasts, endless photographs, and forced laughter.

She felt the need to escape, and under the pretense of going to the bathroom, she left the hall. The cold night air hit her full force, but she didn’t mind the shiver it caused—she needed silence and fresh air.

She walked for a few seconds toward the Black Lake, avoiding all the secluded couples, then stopped beneath a tree and leaned against the trunk to slip off her heels, stretching her legs with a barely restrained groan.

“Never again” she murmured. “Never again.”

She sighed, enjoying the feeling of grass beneath her feet, then smiled and started walking again toward the lake. It too was illuminated by candles, creating a breathtaking view. She didn’t have time to reflect on much before another shadow formed on the water in front of her.

“Hermione Granger.”

The brunette turned sharply, finding him right beside her.

“Draco Malfoy.”

He was looking at the lake, but a faint smile betrayed him. “Introductions we’ve already made, haven’t we?”

Hermione let her heels fall to the ground. “Just a few years ago.” She followed his gaze toward the lake, where candlelight trembled across the dark surface of the water. He remained at her side in silence for what felt like endless minutes. “You’re the one behind all this?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t like compliments” he replied curtly.

“It wasn’t one.” Hermione fought the urge to stamp her foot against the ground.

He turned for a moment, a faint smile on his lips, then looked back at the lake. He almost seemed pleased to have irritated her, just like when they were children.

Silence slipped between them again- along with the cold. The shivers on Hermione’s bare arms could no longer be hidden, and she considered going back inside, but something kept her there beside that man. Perhaps simple curiosity.

“I didn’t know you had come back to England” Hermione said.

“I hadn’t.”

“Until tonight.”

“Until it became necessary.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “And now? Will you stay?”

Draco turned slightly. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“On how much you care to know.”

She stiffened slightly. “I don’t care at all!”

“Then I don’t see why I should answer you.”

“I had heard you’d changed, but I’m pleased to see you’re still the same idiot,” she said.

“And I’m pleased to see you’re still dismissive of basic conversational manners.”

Hermione parted her lips, shocked. “Me? You started it!”

“Even when your interlocutor doesn’t please you, you should always be polite,” he said, as if delivering a lesson in etiquette.

“Oh, of course. Do you want me to polish your shoes, Malfoy?” She turned toward him and found him already facing her, that stupid smile on his lips and his hands in his pockets.

“No, of course not. A dress like that shouldn’t-”

“Be worn by me?!” she interrupted, stepping forward.

“-be ruined,” he finished, clearly pleased with himself for irritating her. “Pansy would never allow it, you know?”

“Pansy?” she asked, trying to keep up with what was starting to feel like a ridiculous conversation.

“Pansy Parkinson.”

Hermione searched her memory for a moment, then the girl’s face came back to her. She tried to recall where she had heard her name recently—nowhere. What had happened to Pansy Parkinson?

Then she lowered her gaze to his hands, searching for a ring. Had they disappeared together? They had been engaged, right? Yes, of course… But his fingers were hidden.

“What does Pansy Parkinson have to do with anything?”

He frowned briefly, confused. “Who sent you the dress?”

“Ginny” she replied, obviously, glancing at her dress shimmering under the moonlight. “Why?”

“Curious.” He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d wear something like that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you find it inappropriate?”

“No, it’s very beautiful.” He seemed sincere- and for that very reason, she didn’t believe him.

“But?” she pressed. “I feel like there’s a ‘but.’”

“There isn’t. It suits you.”

Was that a compliment?

Hermione looked him up and down. “But?”

She thought she’d go mad when she heard him laugh softly. “No ‘but.’”

“You’re insufferable” she declared.

“I always have been” he replied immediately.

“Congratulations. Maturity has made you even more arrogant” she said simply, summoning her heels back into her hands, ready to go back.

“Where are you going?”

“To the Gala” she replied, obviously, walking away.

“Why?”

“Because I liked the atmosphere.”

He walked beside her toward the garden. “Was that a compliment for me?”

“I wouldn’t compliment you even if I were paid.”

“Of course, you’d never bend for a few coins.”

Hermione turned, irritated. “No, never! Your money won’t buy anything of mine!”

Her finger pressed against his chest. Draco lowered his gaze to it, then looked back at her. “Then tell me a way to buy part of your forgiveness.” His eyes were empty, and the sentence sounded like it had been spoken by a machine without a soul.

“There isn’t one” she replied quickly, eager to oppose him at any cost. “Some debts can’t be repaid.”

“Everything has a price” he insinuated.

“Not me.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “And I’m the arrogant one?”

“No. I’m just consistent with myself.”

“Just tell me what you want.”

She stepped back, confused. “You can’t buy me.”

“It’s not a purchase. It’s repaying a debt. I’m free because you testified.”

“Harry did too.”

He shook his head. “His words didn’t save my ass. Not even a little.”

“I don’t want anything,” she said. “If anything, make something up.”

“Why not tell me directly? I would’ve gone for a house, but maybe you’d be happy with a library?” he said with a faint laugh.

“Telling you would save you time.”

“Or I avoid doing the wrong thing” he replied sharply.

She huffed. “You’ve never had a problem doing that.”

For a moment, something crossed Draco’s face. “And that’s why I don’t allow myself mistakes anymore.”

Hermione fell silent, caught off guard. Then she shook her head. “You’re always very good at twisting things.”

“Teach me better, Miss Hermione Granger. The great star of our class, the best student of the century,” he said, looking at her with enough intensity to set the Forbidden Forest on fire. “How much more do I have to praise you to convince you to let me repay this debt?”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond… and stopped.

Why was she still there?

“You’re an idiot” she finally said.

“Already been said.”

“You make me want to punch you.”

“Well.” A hint of a smile. “You already did.”

Hermione smiled back, remembering. “It was a good punch.”

“You broke my nose.”

She smiled wider, pleased with herself. “You could repay the debt by letting me punch you in the face again.”

“No, my handsome face is off-limits.”

“Egotistical.”

“Are you implying I’m ugly?”

“You’re not my type” she shook her head. He laughed but said nothing. Then Hermione, without adding anything else, turned and started walking again, reflecting on the conversation that had just taken place. It was madness… Draco Malfoy…

He wanted to ask her for forgiveness in his own way, wanted to give her something in return for everything she had endured in the past. But he had nothing she wanted. She would never accept money from that man, or a house… for Merlin’s sake, a house!

He wanted to buy her a house… it sounded exactly like something Malfoy would do.

Then she stopped.

Actually, there was something he could do.

Yes… something…

She turned back toward him—he was a step behind her.

“My parents got their memories back” she said. It was no longer a secret since Rita had written about it in the Daily Prophet right after the war. Draco watched her without commenting; he seemed to know what she was talking about. “They’ve decided to remarry, to renew their vows” she continued. “Something Muggles do after a number of years of marriage—they’re at their twenty-fifth.”

“Fascinating” he commented neutrally. “Should I offer my congratulations?”

Hermione stared at him. “No. I want you to organize it.”

Silence fell between them.

Draco blinked slowly. “No.”

“I’m not finished.”

“You don’t need to be” he said coldly. “I don’t organize weddings.”

“You organize events” Hermione pointed out. “You organize galas, diplomatic receptions, historical celebrations.”

“And state funerals, if necessary” he replied. “But not weddings.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re sentimental events.”

“And?”

“And I don’t work with feelings.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Strange. You seem to be thriving in them tonight.”

“This is propaganda for my family—we’re redeemed and good at what we do,” he replied logically.

“You’re insufferable.”

“We’ve already established that.”

“I want a wedding, Malfoy. Nothing more, nothing less. Beautiful flowers, beautiful lights, and nothing else.”

“I don’t work with emotions. Weddings are fake and false” he said finally.

“Do you really believe that?”

“A collection of promises no one can guarantee,” he said plainly. “No one loves forever. No one loses their mind over their woman.”

“Oh, I see. You cling to the idea that love doesn’t exist to make your arranged marriage easier and avoid contradictions in your mental program—”

Draco looked her up and down. “You’re becoming intrusive.”

“And you’re becoming pathetic.”

A flash crossed Draco’s eyes. “Excuse me?” he hissed.

“You hide behind cynicism because it’s easier than admitting you’re afraid. You use this awful façade of a cold, indifferent man instead of admitting that, like all of us, you’re made of flesh, bones, and feelings.”

“I’m not afraid of anything anymore” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“Lie” she said. “And lies shouldn’t be told.”

Draco remained still, and for a moment Hermione thought she had gone too far, crossed an invisible line—that he would curse her.

Then he laughed.

“You’ve always been dangerous, Granger” he murmured.

“I know which buttons to press.”

Draco clenched his jaw, shaking his head. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I see that you’re afraid of failing again,” she said softly. “And that’s why you control everything—even other people’s feelings. But a marriage isn’t a failure by default just because that’s all you’ve known.” She paused. “It’s their choice.”

“And why should I be responsible for it?” he hissed.

Hermione stepped closer. “Because I saved your life.” Draco stared at her. “And not with just any testimony,” she added. “With my reputation. With my name. And you’re free, organizing events and swimming in money—you probably shower in champagne. You owe me.”

“I didn’t ask you to help me.”

“No,” she nodded. “But now you’re asking me how to repay me.”

Draco looked away toward the lake. “If I accept,” he said slowly, “I’ll do it my way.”

“That’s fine.”

“It will be elegant and understated.”

Hermione smiled slightly. “Perfect.”

Draco turned to her. “And after that, our account is closed.”

“It was never open.”

He studied her for a few seconds. “You’re irritating.”

“I’ve been told.”

“And incredibly persuasive.”

Hermione shrugged. “I study a lot.”

Draco sighed softly. “I’ll organize your parents’ wedding” he finally said. She felt something loosen in her chest. “But-” he added immediately “if a single thing goes wrong, it’s your fault.”

Hermione tilted her head. “I accept the risk.”

Draco took a step back. “Then get ready.”

“For what?”

“To work with me.”

Hermione stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t allow a project like this to be contaminated by improvisation,” he said coldly. “I want you involved in every phase.”

“I have a job!”

“So do I” he replied. “And yet here I am.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the castle.

“Malfoy?” she called. He turned slightly. “Did I mention it’s going to be a Muggle wedding?”