More Than A Memory

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, leaning against the doorframe of the brewing room that Malfoy had shut himself in all day. 

“Fine.” He replied, not turning around from the bench. 

"Did Pucey really get under your skin this badly?"

He sighed heavily, turning around and folding his arms. His sleeves were rolled up again, she noted idly.

“He’s just an arsehole. Always has been. You can do better.”

Hermione snorted. “You think I was interested in him? He’s not the first arrogant prick to flirt with me, you know.” She tilted her head. “It’s almost cute that you think I’d fall for a six-pack and a smirk.” He didn’t smile.

"I know you wouldn't." He said, quietly. Seriously. The shift in tone surprised her.

“He’s objectively attractive, but his personality drags him right back down again. He’s like, I don’t know, a rotting apple.” She shrugged. “I didn’t realise you all knew him.” 

“We were closer because he was on the quidditch team, so we were in a lot of the same places at the same times. He sort of hung around our year instead of his own. I always assumed it was because he thought the younger girls would be easier prey.” Malfoy explained, and Hermione grimaced. He nodded. “Exactly. Admittedly, I don’t know what he’s like now, but people never change that dramatically.” 

She tilted her head. “You’re saying you didn’t?” 

“I’m still arrogant, aren’t I? Spoiled, moody, pompous, etc etc.” He replied, somewhat bitterly. 

“A foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach?” She suggested, and he smiled despite himself, looking down at his shoes. 

“I know I overreacted, but I will never trust him around you or Pans. I was worried.” He replied quietly, and she ventured further into the room. 

“I suppose I can’t really hold that against you, but we’re more than capable of looking after ourselves. I don’t see a muscled chest and suddenly lose all cognitive function.” She smiled, and he looked back up at her. 

“I don’t know. Have you seen Pans talking to Longbottom? She’s like a different person.” 

“That’s because Neville isn’t a rotting apple. He’s a good apple. You can afford to let your guard down around him.” She replied. “You’re a good apple too, you know.” 

“Granger, that metaphor is getting away from you.” He smiled, and she chuckled. 

“It’s not my best, I’ll admit.” 

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know you can look after yourself. Salazar knows you’re not afraid to punch someone if they’re being a prat, never mind all the spells you’ve got in your giant brain, but these days…” He exhaled sharply. "These days, I just feel like you shouldn’t have to." Hermione stilled. He kept going, voice quieter now. "Not when I’m around."

“Will you defend my honour, Malfoy?” She asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. She was deflecting and she knew it, but she didn’t really know what else to say. 

Malfoy huffed. “You know what I mean. You’ve got me. That’s all I’m saying.” 

She smiled, untangling his arms and wrapping them around herself. His chin came to rest on her head, as it had done a thousand times before.

“I appreciate it.” She said. He hummed. 

“Pucey dated Astoria. After the war. Before she- Before.” He said after a moment. She pulled back and looked up at him. His voice had gone flat, unreadable, but his fingers twitched slightly where they rested against the bench, like he was resisting the urge to clench them into fists.

Hermione looked up at him, studying his face carefully.

“Because he liked her-" She said slowly. "Or because he knew it would piss you off?” His jaw flexed.

“Both.” He admitted after a moment. “He definitely liked her, but I think the link to me made it a bit sweeter. Dumped her out of nowhere when he got bored, broke her heart. Looked like he enjoyed the damage he did.” He sneered, and Hermione shook her head, huffing out an annoyed breath. “I kind of forgot about the history we had, I haven’t thought about him in years. He disappeared completely during the war. Ran to his father’s estate in Poland.” 

“Wish I’d had a Polish estate to go and hide in.” She muttered, and he smirked. 

“If you’d done that, Granger, everything would have gone to shit and you know it. I thank Merlin every day that you did not have a Polish estate.” 

“I could have gotten really good at quidditch if I’d had all that time to practise instead of running after Harry.” She smiled, and he huffed out a laugh. “You’re ok, though? I didn’t know Pucey being here would drag up memories of Astoria, I’m sorry.” 

“That’s not your fault, don’t apologise. Pans was right earlier, he will help to sell the calendar and that’s what’s important. I came to terms with what happened between Astoria and I a long time ago. A very wise witch with a lot of hair talked some sense into me.” He smiled, and she shot him a flat look. 

“You could have just told us all of this instead of throwing a tantrum.” 

“Because I have a strong history of always being open and honest about my feelings.” He raised an eyebrow. 

“You do with me.” She shot back, and he faltered. 

“He just…makes me feel like I failed her. Because I called things off, she was vulnerable and he took advantage.” 

“Astoria knew her own mind. She didn’t want to marry you either. You aren’t responsible for whatever happened to her afterwards, especially not Pucey’s actions.” 

“I could have kept a closer eye. I promised I wouldn’t abandon her.” He said. She shook her head. 

“You didn’t abandon her, Malfoy.” Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think you even know how to abandon people.” His brows furrowed slightly, but she kept going. “You check in on Blaise after every date he goes on. You refuse to let Pansy walk home alone if it’s after dark. You’ve been there for Theo since you were kids, even if he drives you mad." She paused. "You let me into your study.” His grip on the table tightened slightly, and she knew she’d hit something true. “You don’t abandon people, Malfoy.” She said it like a fact, unwavering. “And you didn’t abandon her. You gave her the chance to make happy memories in the time she had left. Pucey was her choice. That’s not on you.” 

“One day, I’ll be mentally stable again and you can stop talking me down.” He said after a moment, and she smiled. 

“If that happens, what on earth would we have left to talk about?” She said, and he chuckled before pulling her into another hug. 

***

Eighth Year 

“Malfoy?” Hermione asked gently, seeing the blonde man hunched on one of the sofas, gripping a thick looking letter in shaking hands. 

“Granger.” He replied distractedly, before tossing the parchment onto the coffee table and slumping back against the cushions. She decided to head to the library, giving him space, but he started to talk before she could leave. “I don’t think I ever got to be a child.” 

She frowned, perching on the edge of the sofa opposite him. “How so?” She sort of knew the answer, but the man very rarely spoke about his feelings. If he was inclined to chat, she’d encourage it. 

“Before I left for our second year here, my father sat me down and told me that he was in the middle of securing a marriage contract for when I turned 18. That he was ‘in talks’ with several prominent families, and one day, I’d have to sire an heir and secure the line. That it was my duty to the family.” He sneered, and Hermione blinked. It sounded incredibly archaic to her. Like something from a fairy tale, with princes and princesses and betrothals. 

“Surely it hasn’t still gone ahead? Things have changed since we were twelve.” She said, and he scoffed. 

“It very much has still gone ahead. Perhaps you’d like to peruse the napkin samples my mother sent over.” He tossed the letter at her and she peered inside the envelope to see several squares of white fabric. She looked up at him incredulously. 

“You have a fiancee then?” 

“Astoria Greengrass. She’s a couple of years younger than us, you might have seen her around. Slytherin. Obviously.” 

“And she wants this?” 

He shrugged. “Not particularly, but we don’t really have an option. It’s not like we can just refuse to marry, not when it’s so important.” 

“Of course you can refuse!” Hermione exclaimed, and he frowned at her. “I might not understand pureblood customs or the concept of having a fortune to secure, but they can’t force you to marry someone you don’t want to. Surely your happiness is more important to your parents than what happens to their money. To your mother, at the very least.” She, and the wizarding world, was more than aware of the lengths Narcissa Malfoy had been willing to go to for her son. Hermione just couldn’t picture her forcing him to do anything he didn’t want to, not anymore. “Do you even like Astoria Greengrass?” 

He shrugged again. “She’s fine. Pretty enough. Likes Granians.” 

She barked out an incredulous laugh. “Is that it? You’re essentially indifferent about her, Malfoy.” 

“The contract was finalised just before I turned 14. I’ve known she was going to be my wife for years. We both agreed that we weren't going to rush into getting to know each other, not before we absolutely had to. The idea was to not waste our last years of freedom, but then the war happened and I stopped thinking about anything else altogether.” 

“Merlin.” She muttered, shaking her head and fiddling with the envelope she was yet to put down. 

They sat in silence then. Malfoy was staring up at the ceiling, visibly mulling over her words. She wondered if his pureblood friends had simply begrudgingly accepted his situation as he had. If nobody had actually questioned any of it before now. If nobody had pointed out how utterly ridiculous the idea was. 

“You really think my mother would let me out of this?” He asked.

Hermione tossed the envelope of samples back in his direction. “I don’t know. I don’t know her well. I just think that all of this honour and duty nonsense must feel trivial after spending years fighting to survive." He stared at her. Just stared. "They forced you down a path once already." She continued. "It doesn’t strike me as fair to make you do it again.”

His fingers tightened around the envelope. “Nobody’s ever-” He cut himself off, jaw tensing.

“Ever what?” She prompted.

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Nobody’s ever told me I could say no before.”

She frowned. “Malfoy…” 

“I just-” He cut himself off again, avoiding her gaze.

“As long as you have children at some point in your life, the Malfoy-Black line will be fine. What’s the rush, exactly?” She asked.

“There aren’t really scores of women queueing up to be with me, Granger.” He replied snidely. 

“Not right now, no. I’ve gotten to know you, and so I know that you’re sorry for what you’ve done, but society as a whole doesn’t know that yet. In a few years, when you pursue whatever it is you want to pursue, when you spend time righting your wrongs, I daresay the galleons and your whole thing-“ She waved a vague hand up and down, gesturing to his torso. “-will attract you somebody at least half decent.” 

He finally looked at her and smirked. “My whole thing?” He raised an eyebrow. She held his gaze. 

“You are aware that you are a conventionally attractive person, Malfoy. I’m trying not to inflate your massive ego more than necessary.” She replied coolly, and he snorted. 

“With compliments like that, I’m surprised you aren’t beating away blokes with a stick.” 

“How do you know I’m not?” She asked with a smile, and he laughed again. He then grew more serious, sliding the envelope about on the coffee table with his finger. 

“I don’t want to marry Astoria.” He said quietly, watching the paper and not her. 

“Then don’t.” She replied simply. “You’re an adult. One with the ability to make choices and decisions. Go and talk to Astoria about this, ask her what she wants to do. It’s not right that she gets locked into a relationship like this before she even turns 18.” 

“Ok. I can do that.” He nodded. “What if they still make us do it?” He looked up at her. 

“I really cannot see your mother being content to force you after you’ve voiced your concerns. Your father might not agree, but we both know who is really in charge in your household.”

He snorted. “That’s fair.” A moment passed, and then he waved his hand, a silent spell setting the envelope and the samples within ablaze. “I think my mother would like you. If she got to know you properly.” He said, looking at the flames. Hermione pulled her wand, and floated the burning pile into the fireplace before it took the coffee table up with it. 

“Mm, I don’t know. It’s my terrible influence that has you questioning your familial responsibilities. I assume those napkins were horribly expensive.” 

“Undoubtedly. They were all pretty much the same though, so I don’t know what I was supposed to be choosing between anyway.” 

She gasped sarcastically. “You were yet to appreciate the subtle nuanced differences between eggshell and ivory?” 

He smiled. “Yes, I think she’ll like you very much.”