A Conveniently Placed Pot Plant
The wind was howling. Or maybe it wasn’t, and that was just what the inside of her head sounded like. Hermione’s breath came in gasps as she stumbled towards the doorstep. The dress was ruined, the bodice stiff and suffocating. It had felt like that all day, though, the torn hem was the only recent development. Her ribs ached from how tightly it was laced, but she couldn’t loosen it. She could barely think.
She’d run. She’d run.
The church bells were still ringing somewhere behind her, celebrating a wedding that wasn’t happening. Were they ringing? Or was that just in her head, too?
A sob caught in her throat but she swallowed it down. She had no right to cry, not when she’d been the one to leave. Not when she’d been the one to shatter Anthony’s world.
Her hand lifted to knock but stopped inches from the door. What if she should have just gone through with it? What if this was a mistake? In her thoughtless moments, when all she knew was that she needed to go, why was it him that she’d run to?
Her throat was so tight it burned, but she wasn’t sure what she would say anyway, even if she could get the words out. Her reflection in the dark green paint of the front door startled her somewhat. She looked like a ghost, with her tangled curls and makeup-streaked face. The lopsided veil hung limply, looking as defeated as she felt.
And then, before she could change her mind - before she could turn and disappear - she hammered on the door.
“Alright, I’m coming, wait a- Granger?” Malfoy froze in the doorway, his frown quickly shifting into something sharper, something concerned. He took in her disheveled state - the gown, the torn fabric, the way her chest heaved like she’d been running for her life. “Is that a costume?” He asked, but his usual sarcasm wasn’t there.
She lifted the skirt, looking down at it like she hadn’t seen it before. Like it wasn’t even hers. She supposed it wasn’t, in reality.
“No.” Her voice cracked. He took her in, his gaze flickering to her trembling hands and the redness around her eyes.
“So you were…” He trailed off as he scanned her up and down again. “Granger, did you get married?” He asked quietly.
“I didn’t. I sort of… Ran?” She replied, wincing as she spoke. He ran a hand through his hair, and she suddenly realised he was in grey joggers and a black t-shirt. Despite everything, she smiled, probably looking slightly insane as she did so. It always amused her when she saw him casually dressed. It just didn’t make sense, like wearing your socks over your shoes - technically possible, but all wrong.
There was a long pause, before he sighed loudly, running a hand through his already messy hair.
“Fuck me. Right. Come in.” He muttered. “Do you want a drink?” He stepped aside and ushered her in, snorting lightly as the shredded trails of fabric followed her, hanging on by a thread to the ruined skirt.
“Is there wine in this house?” She asked. He slapped a hand over his chest and feigned offence.
“What sort of plebeian do you take me for? Did you want white or red? Sparkling? Was there a specific vintage you had in mind? Perhaps a region that you had a fancy for?” He smirked and she rolled her eyes.
“As long as it’s made of grapes and gets me drunk, I’m really not fussy.”
He sniffed. “After all these years, I really thought I’d managed to refine your palate somewhat.” He shook his head and went into his kitchen, pulling down two glasses from the cupboard. “I shall present to you the cheapest swill I have, if that’s the attitude you’re taking.” She laughed, leaning against the marble island. He poured her a glass of white - one of her favourites, she noted absently - and looked at her intently. “Are you alright?” He asked.
She took the glass, fingers tight around the stem as the warmth of the alcohol spread through her. She wasn’t sure if it was the drink or the sudden sense of relief, but she let out a long breath.
“Godric no.” She replied, not able to stop herself downing half the glass. It helped, as did Malfoy’s presence, but not quite enough. Not enough to stop her feeling so adrift.
“Do you want to talk about, er. This…?” He gestured to her dress, and she sighed, hopping up onto one of his bar stools as best she could, considering all the layers between her and the seat.
“Anthony suggested we elope, just the two of us. I agreed and we got as far as the altar before I realised that was a stupid, ridiculous idea. This dress belonged to his sister, he sort of insisted that I wear it. He’d done his vows, I was saying mine, and I had this out of body experience where I was watching myself talking and realised it was all so very wrong. I apparated on the spot and this was the first place I thought of.” She said, her tone detached and matter-of-fact. She finished the rest of her wine, and Malfoy gave her his glass, which she drank a fair amount of too. “I don’t love him. I’m not sure I ever did, actually. That probably isn’t very fair of me, is it?”
He shrugged. “If it’s the truth then I’m not sure fairness is especially relevant. It’s your life, Granger. You do what you want with it.”
“Are you annoyed with me?” She asked. He blinked.
“Why would I be annoyed with you?”
“Because I didn’t invite you to my wedding. I didn’t invite anyone. Didn’t even tell my parents.”
He smiled, glancing down for a moment. “No, I’m not annoyed with you. If eloping with Goldstein was what you wanted, then I would have been happy for you. As it is, I completely agree that it was a horrible idea and I’m so incredibly glad that you abandoned the prat because he isn’t good enough for you and won’t ever be.”
“You always tell me the truth.” She observed, speaking over the rim of her glass. He nodded.
“I do.”
She snorted. “I didn’t get to say that part earlier.”
“And I thank Merlin for that.” He muttered, pouring them both more wine and actually taking a sip of his. “Have you got to give that thing back? Is it a Goldstein heirloom?” He asked. She looked down at her dress and shrugged.
“I certainly don’t want it.”
“You’re done with him?” He asked, and she nodded. She was very much done with Anthony Goldstein.
“I should have been done with him a long time ago.” She admitted, feeling the tightness in her chest return. “He wanted more. I thought I did too, thought I could handle it, but then… It felt like too much, too fast. I panicked, I couldn’t-” She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I couldn’t make myself go through with it.”
Malfoy smiled sadly at her, before a quick tilt of his head beckoned her to follow him.
“Come on. I’ll help you escape the clutches of that monstrosity. You’ve got those muggle tight things you left here after Theo’s birthday that you can change into.”
“They’re called leggings, Malfoy.” She smiled, following him upstairs. She’d always liked his house. It was nicely decorated - none of the typical hallmarks of a bachelor pad were present. The man actually owned cushions and soft furnishings, for one.
In his room, as Malfoy worked at the corset’s laces, Hermione felt an unexpected sense of calm. It wasn’t that she’d never been helped out of a dress before, but it felt different with him. There was no judgment, no expectations. Just the quiet presence of someone who, despite everything, seemed to understand her. She almost wanted to say something, but the words caught in her throat.
“Thank you.” She managed to whisper, staring into the middle distance.
“You can ask me for anything, you know that.” He said softly. “I’ve got a garment bag you can send this back in.”
“You think a few cleaning charms will sort the staining?” She asked, turning around and holding the front of the dress up with her hands so she didn’t flash him.
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t bother cleaning it. Fix the rips maybe, but if it stains, that’s hardly your problem. You’d be doing future Goldstein brides a favour, honestly.”
“It’s really horrible, isn’t it?” She grinned, the tension she’d felt earlier blowing away on the breeze, and he laughed.
“I cannot believe you agreed to wear this. It’s the exact opposite of what I would imagine you’d choose. There’s way too much going on.” He gestured to the sequins embroidered across the bust, trailing floral swirls down towards the huge tulle skirt. Hermione idly wondered why Malfoy had imagined her wedding dress in the first place, never mind apparently knowing her taste in gowns, because she’d always pictured something far more classic and simple too. Anthony, in contrast, had said that the dress suited her well. She realised she was comparing the two men and needed to stop. Malfoy was her friend, nothing more. It was fairly ridiculous that they’d even managed that, considering their history.
***
Eighth Year
“Oh.” Malfoy said as he stepped through the portrait into the shared head’s dorm. Hermione looked up from the book she was reading with a raised eyebrow. “I, er- I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.” He said awkwardly, and she almost wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Instead, she shrugged.
“I’m Head Girl. Where else would I be?” She asked cooly. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, coming to sit down on the sofa opposite her.
“Granger, if we’re doing this, you might as well be serious with me.” He said. “I won’t spend the year pretending like nothing’s happened.”
She considered his face for a moment. “Do you honestly think I’d be here if I didn’t want to be? If I thought I wasn’t safe? Do you think that you’d have been allowed back into the castle, allowed into this room, if I hadn’t already agreed to it?” It was her turn to scoff then. “Nobody’s pretending, Malfoy.” It was, perhaps, a little harsh of her to speak so plainly, but they’d never been friends and she wasn’t ever intending to be.
His eyes flickered between her and the door, something defensive taking over his face. “Ah, so that’s why you’re here. You’re going to hold my hand on my path to redemption. One Order of Merlin wasn’t enough?” He sneered, voice thick with sarcasm. There was something underneath it, though. A vulnerability he wasn’t quite ready to face, perhaps.
She huffed out a short laugh. “I won’t be holding anything of yours. You don’t have my pity, you got what you deserved. And if you think you’re important enough to warrant the Ministry giving me another honour for simply being in your presence, then it’s a wonder you managed to get in through the door with a head so large.”
He looked at her for a moment, before nodding once and standing up. “I’ll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine.” He said.
“It’s a deal.” She replied, flipping open her book again. She smirked as he slammed his bedroom door, feeling she’d won whatever that had been. 1-0 to Hermione. Game on, Malfoy.
***
The moment Hermione stepped inside Malfoy Manor, she felt it - the weight of the past pressing against her ribs. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to react to this place the way her friends did, as though it were just another grand estate. For them, it had been normal. Boring, even. Just another venue for childhood gatherings and opulent galas. For her, it had once been a place of terror.
And yet, it wasn’t the same place anymore. Not with her friends laughing in the distance. Not with the newfound warmth in Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes.
Hermione had only quite recently begun to visit under more positive circumstances, and assumed that was why nobody seemed surprised at her tendency to gape about wildly. As she stood in the newly renovated ballroom for the first time, she couldn’t help it when her mouth fell open. It baffled her that they didn’t even find the ceiling special, seeing as it was charmed to display the night sky and was quite the feat of complex magic.
“We want something unique for the Christmas ball this year. Something that hasn’t been done before.” Pansy was explaining to the group as they were led around the floor.
“We were thinking of making it a benefit, you see. For the muggleborn fund.” Narcissa added. Hermione whirled on her.
“You’d do that?” She asked. Pansy sighed heavily, as if Hermione’s surprise irritated her, and Narcissa took Hermione’s hands in hers. This was a woman who, against all odds, had changed. A woman who was now holding Hermione’s hands with a grip that felt real, steady, deliberate.
“My dear, of course we would. You have become so incredibly important to me and my family over these last few years. None of us were as welcoming to you and those like you as we should have been, and so now we have the opportunity, we would like to make amends by raising some money to support such a worthy cause. The work the fund does is vital and we’d like to ensure that they are able to continue.” She said with a soft smile.
The fund had been born from the frustration of knowing just how unfair the system had been for so many before her. The gap in knowledge between Muggleborns and their magical peers had always been there, invisible yet cruelly obvious.
Prior to starting Hogwarts, these young children now had the opportunity to study basic spells at a magical summer school, helping to close the knowledge and skills gap between them and their pureblooded or half blooded peers. Hermione had worked tirelessly, giving other muggleborn children a fighting chance, but it had never really felt like enough. Perhaps one day, though, it could be enough if a woman like Narcissa Malfoy, who had once been such a staunch and prolific purist, had changed and grown enough to now want to support the project in a very public way. It taught her, above all else, to hope.
“What did you have in mind, Pans?” Blaise asked. Narcissa squeezed Hermione’s hands once before returning to Pansy.
“Man auction?” Theo suggested with a smirk. Pansy shot him a flat stare.
“Can you be serious for four seconds?”
“It's not like your balls are ever dull. Nobody is complaining that they’re bored. Do you need a gimmick?” Malfoy asked, flipping disinterestedly through a stack of coloured cloth samples he’d found on one of the tables. His mother snatched them out of his hand and he smiled innocently at her.
“I suppose I wanted something fun,” Pansy admitted, twirling her wand between her fingers. “Something to go with the charity.”
“Lemonade stand? They’re always in the muggle movies Mi’s shown us.” Blaise offered, and Hermione smiled at his enthusiasm.
“You’re not making decent money on a stand like that.” Malfoy said dryly.
“He’s right.” Hermione agreed, before biting her lip and mulling over an idea. Would they hate it? Maybe. Would it be hilarious? Absolutely. “We could still make something to sell…” She began, her voice light. “Like a calendar?” She was met with confused faces. “You have calendars in the wizarding world, don’t look at me like I’ve grown a second head.”
Malfoy’s face scrunched. “A calendar?”
“A risqué one.” Hermione clarified. “For charity.”
“A what?” His voice went flat as Theo leaned forward with a slow, wolfish grin.
“You know.” Theo said. “One of those calendars where people pose shirtless. Tastefully. Artfully.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Nakedly.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“I love it, let’s do it.” Pansy declared.
“Absolutely not.” Malfoy said immediately.
“Oh, come on.” Blaise grinned. “For the children, Malfoy.”
“I refuse-”
“You’re doing it.” Narcissa cut in smoothly.
He gaped at her. “Mother.”
Narcissa smirked. “Draco, darling, I changed your nappies. I hardly think a little bare skin is going to scandalise me.”
Hermione and the others burst into laughter as Malfoy turned a truly spectacular shade of mortified red.
“How much bare skin are we talking about here? I’m not getting my dick out.” Blaise said after a moment, backtracking somewhat.
“It’s not porn! It’s supposed to be…suggestive. There’s a conveniently placed pot plant or something. If you just take your shirt off, that’s more than enough.” Hermione replied, feeling oddly defensive over his implication that the muggle concept was some kind of seedy filth.
“Embarrassed, mate?” Theo teased, and Blaise flipped him off.
“Boys, please.” Narcissa chastised them. “I think it sounds like a wonderful idea. It’s certainly unique.” Malfoy was still grimacing at his mother’s support of the idea, and Hermione snickered at him. Narcissa did too when she noticed his face. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, my darling.” She smirked.
“Good gods, Mother.” He replied, burying his burning face in his hands.
“They can be themed, as well.” Hermione said, knowing that would peak fashion-conscious Pansy’s interest. “Usually cliched, like Halloween for October, but it works.”
Pansy hummed thoughtfully. “I like this.” She began to pace, running over ideas in her head.
“I’ll do it but I want January.” Theo interrupted, and they all frowned at him. “What? I think people deserve to have the dreary start to the year brightened up by my lovely face. If they get to see anything else then that’s just a bonus.” He waggled his eyebrows again, and Malfoy sighed loudly.
“I want September.” He relented, already sounding tired of the idea.
“Done. Blaise? Any preference?” Pansy asked, and Blaise made a show of mulling it over.
“June.” He replied.
“Excellent.” Pansy grinned, cat-like and calculating in a way that had Hermione worried. She glanced at Malfoy and found he was pulling a similarly concerned face. It would be enough to take her mind off the guilt she still felt over Anthony, she supposed.