Chapter 2
Weeks had passed since the gala, and Hermione had buried herself in her work. Meetings, proposals, and legal reforms kept her occupied, but every so often, she found herself thinking about Draco Malfoy. She wondered if he would ever take her up on her offer to visit the Ministry, but as time went on, she convinced herself that their conversation that night had been nothing more than a fleeting moment of civility.
That was, until today.
Hermione had just stepped out of a conference room, a stack of parchments clutched to her chest, when she nearly collided with someone in the corridor.
“Granger,” came the familiar drawl.
She looked up, startled to find Draco Malfoy standing in front of her, dressed in a sharp black robe, his platinum hair neatly styled. His expression was composed, but there was something in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or maybe even amusement.
“Malfoy,” she said, blinking. “What are you doing here?”
“I had business with the Department of International Magical Trade,” he explained, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “Didn’t expect to run into you, though.”
Hermione smiled, regaining her composure. “Well, since you’re here… would you like to join me for tea? My office isn’t far.”
Draco hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Why not? I could use a break from the Ministry’s bureaucracy.”
She led him through the hallways to her office, pushing open the door to reveal a cozy but professional space filled with towering bookshelves, neatly stacked papers, and a few framed photographs—one of her with Harry and Ron, another of her parents before the war. A steaming teapot and two cups sat on the side table, as if waiting for them.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Hermione said as she gestured to the chair across from her desk. With a flick of her wand, the teapot poured them both a cup.
Draco took a seat, accepting the tea with a quiet “Thank you.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, both sipping their tea as they adjusted to the unexpected intimacy of the moment.
“I have to say,” Draco finally broke the silence, setting his cup down, “your office is exactly what I imagined—books everywhere, an air of relentless productivity.”
Hermione smirked. “And what did you expect? A room full of Quidditch posters and gossip magazines?”
Draco chuckled. “No, but maybe something a little less… organized. You always did have an obsessive need for structure.”
“Some things never change,” she admitted with a playful shrug.
There was a pause, and then Draco leaned back slightly, his gaze thoughtful. “By the way, Astoria and I received the flowers and the gift for Scorpius. That was… unexpected.”
“I just wanted to thank you both properly,” Hermione said, studying his face. “Your donation made a real impact, and it was the least I could do.”
Draco nodded, his fingers tracing the rim of his teacup. “Scorpius adored the little broomstick, by the way. He carries it around like it’s his most prized possession.” His lips quirked in amusement. “He keeps telling me he’s going to be the next star Seeker. A Potter-Malfoy Quidditch rivalry, imagine that.”
Hermione laughed at the thought. “Ginny would be thrilled. She keeps hoping one of her children will take up professional Quidditch, but James and Albus seem more interested in pranks than sports.”
Draco shook his head. “I suppose we all end up seeing bits of ourselves in our children. It’s… unnerving sometimes.”
Hermione softened. “It’s also a second chance, don’t you think? To raise them in a better world, to teach them the things we didn’t get to learn until much later.”
Draco considered her words, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. “Maybe you’re right.”
Another silence stretched between them, but this time, it was comfortable.
As Hermione refilled her tea, she realized something—this was the longest, most natural conversation they had ever had. It wasn’t burdened by the weight of their past or the expectations of who they used to be. It was just two people talking, sharing, connecting.
And perhaps, just perhaps, it was the beginning of something neither of them had anticipated.
Draco set his teacup down, watching Hermione with an expression that was somewhere between curiosity and caution. His fingers traced idle patterns against the armrest of his chair before he finally spoke.
"I hope you don’t mind me asking, but… what about you, Granger? What’s your life like these days? Aside from changing the world one law at a time."
Hermione smiled at his attempt at casual conversation. "Not as exciting as you might think. Work keeps me busy. The house-elf rights initiatives, various charity efforts, Ministry obligations—it’s a full schedule."
Draco nodded, but she could tell there was more on his mind. She wasn’t surprised when he carefully steered the conversation in a different direction.
"And Weasley?" he asked, his voice neutral. "You two were together after the war, weren’t you?"
Hermione exhaled softly, setting her own cup down. "Yes, we were. For a while, actually." She hesitated, then met Draco’s gaze. "But it didn’t work out."
Draco arched a brow, intrigued but careful not to seem too interested. "I can’t say I expected you to last forever, but I figured you’d at least get a few years in."
Hermione let out a small laugh. "Oh, we did. We tried. But we were… different. The war bonded us in ways we didn’t understand at the time. And when life finally settled, we realized that maybe we weren’t meant to be."
Draco studied her, waiting for her to continue.
"Ron is a wonderful person," Hermione said sincerely. "But we clashed in ways that couldn’t be ignored. He needed someone who could be fully present, emotionally and otherwise. And I—I was consumed by work, by my need to fix things, to change things. We fought, we tried again, but eventually, we realized we’d be happier apart."
Draco tilted his head slightly. "And is he?"
"Happier?" Hermione smiled. "Yes, he is. He’s in a relationship now. Has been for a while."
Draco smirked. "Let me guess—another Gryffindor?"
Hermione chuckled. "No, actually. He’s with someone from outside of Hogwarts, a witch named Olivia. She owns a small bakery in Diagon Alley. She’s kind, patient, and she understands him in ways I never could. They fit."
Draco hummed in understanding, his gaze lingering on her face as if assessing whether she truly meant it. "And you?" he asked after a beat. "Did you ever find someone that fit?"
Hermione hesitated. It was an innocent enough question, but the way he asked it made her stomach tighten.
"I suppose I haven’t made much time for that," she admitted, offering a small shrug. "Between work and everything else, romance just… never seemed like a priority."
Draco didn’t respond right away, but she saw the way his lips pressed together, as if he were holding something back.
"Well," he finally said, his voice quieter than before, "not everyone is lucky enough to find what they need the first time."
For a moment, they just looked at each other. The air between them felt heavier than before—charged with something unspoken, something uncertain.
Hermione cleared her throat, forcing a smile. "Anyway, enough about me. What about you? How’s life outside the Ministry?"
Draco exhaled, as if realizing she was redirecting the conversation. "It’s... fine," he said vaguely, his fingers tapping against the chair’s armrest. "Astoria and I have settled into a routine. Scorpius keeps us busy. Business is steady."
Hermione waited, but he didn’t elaborate. She sensed there was more beneath the surface, but she wouldn’t push.
"Routine isn’t always a bad thing," she said instead.
Draco’s lips twitched, but the smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes. "No. I suppose it isn’t."
A silence fell between them, stretching just long enough to feel significant. Hermione wasn’t sure what was happening between them, but she knew this conversation had shifted something.
And for the first time in years, she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it.
A few days had passed since Draco’s visit to Hermione’s office, but the conversation still lingered in her mind. It wasn’t just the words they had exchanged—it was the way he had looked at her, the way his presence had stirred something within her that she hadn’t expected.
Seeking a distraction, or perhaps clarity, Hermione invited Ginny for lunch at a small café tucked away in a quiet corner of Diagon Alley. The two women often made time for these little meet-ups, though their schedules were equally demanding.
When Hermione arrived, Ginny was already there, waving her over from a table by the window.
“You’re late,” Ginny teased, smirking as Hermione slid into the seat across from her.
“Barely,” Hermione countered, setting her bag down. “I had to finish reviewing a proposal before I left.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Hermione, do you ever stop working?”
Hermione smiled. “Not if I can help it.”
A waitress arrived, taking their orders—Ginny opting for a hearty sandwich and pumpkin juice while Hermione chose a simple salad and tea. Once the waitress left, Ginny leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.
“So? What’s new?” she asked. “And don’t say work. I want something interesting.”
Hermione hesitated for half a second before saying, “Draco Malfoy stopped by my office the other day.”
Ginny blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “Malfoy? At the Ministry? Why?”
“He had business with the Department of International Magical Trade,” Hermione explained. “But we ran into each other in the corridor, and I invited him in for tea.”
Ginny’s brows shot up. “You invited him in for tea?”
Hermione sighed. “It wasn’t a big deal. We just talked.”
Ginny’s smirk suggested she thought otherwise. “About what?”
Hermione hesitated again before answering, “About life, mostly. He asked about me, about Ron… I told him things just didn’t work out, and Ron’s happy now.”
Ginny studied her for a moment, then took a slow sip of her pumpkin juice. “And how did Malfoy react to that?”
Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. He was… interested. But not in a gossipy way. More like he was trying to understand.”
Ginny didn’t say anything at first. She just kept looking at Hermione, like she was piecing something together. Then, she finally spoke, “And how did you feel about talking to him?”
Hermione opened her mouth to answer immediately, but no words came out. Because, truthfully, she wasn’t sure.
“It was… easy,” she admitted after a moment. “Easier than I thought it would be. We weren’t arguing, or throwing insults, or dealing with old grudges. It was just… a conversation.”
Ginny tapped her fingers against the table thoughtfully. “You do realize this is Draco Malfoy we’re talking about, right? The same one who made our lives miserable at Hogwarts?”
Hermione sighed. “I know. But things change, Ginny. People change.”
Ginny sat back in her chair, folding her arms. “Alright. Fine. I’ll admit, I was surprised when he and Astoria donated to your cause. And I won’t deny that he seems… different now. But I have to ask—why does this feel like more than just casual conversation to you?”
Hermione’s stomach flipped. “It doesn’t.”
Ginny arched a skeptical brow. “Mmhmm.”
Hermione picked up her tea, taking a careful sip to avoid answering too quickly.
Ginny smirked. “Look, I’m not saying you fancy him, but if you did, I’d have to admit I’m very interested in where this might go.”
Hermione nearly choked on her tea. “Ginny!”
Ginny laughed. “What? I’m just saying! You and Malfoy, sitting in your office, drinking tea, having deep conversations? Sounds suspiciously like the start of something.”
Hermione shook her head, though her cheeks felt oddly warm. “It’s nothing like that. We’re just two adults who have moved past our differences. That’s all.”
Ginny hummed, unconvinced. “If you say so.”
The conversation shifted after that, but Hermione couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Ginny’s words had planted something in her mind—something she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge yet.
A few days later, Hermione found herself wandering into Flourish & Blotts' Book Café, a cozy little spot tucked into a corner of Diagon Alley. It was one of her favorite places to escape when she needed a break from work but didn’t quite want to go home. The scent of parchment, ink, and freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and the soft murmur of customers discussing literature created the perfect atmosphere.
She was browsing through the latest selection of magical law books when she turned the corner of a shelf—and promptly collided with someone.
A familiar someone.
“Well, well,” Draco Malfoy drawled, steadying himself as he glanced down at her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were following me, Granger.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile. “Funny, I was about to say the same about you.”
Draco smirked, tucking a book under his arm. “We keep bumping into each other. Coincidence? Or fate?”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for someone who believes in fate, Malfoy.”
He gave a half-shrug. “I don’t, usually. But I also don’t make a habit of running into former school rivals at book cafés. So, maybe the universe is trying to tell us something.”
Hermione laughed softly. “And what would that be?”
“That you have impeccable taste in bookshops, obviously.” He glanced at the book she was holding. “Though I’d wager your reading preferences are as dreadfully dense as ever.”
She scoffed. “For your information, this is a fascinating analysis of magical contracts and their ethical implications.”
Draco made a face. “Merlin, you really haven’t changed, have you?”
“And what are you reading?” Hermione countered, peering at the book under his arm. “Let me guess—something dark and brooding? Or perhaps a memoir of some arrogant pure-blood wizard?”
Draco smirked and turned the book so she could see the title: A History of Cursed Objects in the Wizarding World.
Hermione blinked. “Huh. I have to admit, that actually sounds interesting.”
“Glad to know I haven’t completely lost your respect,” he said dryly.
She shook her head in amusement. “Are you in a hurry, or do you have time to sit for a bit?”
Draco glanced toward the café section, where a few empty tables sat near the windows, bathed in warm afternoon light. “I suppose I can spare some time.”
They made their way to a corner table, settling in with their respective books and drinks—Hermione with her herbal tea, Draco with his black coffee. For a while, they read in comfortable silence, the only sounds between them the occasional clinking of cups and the flipping of pages.
After a few minutes, Draco spoke. “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but… I think I missed this.”
Hermione glanced up from her book. “Missed what?”
He gestured vaguely between them. “The debates. The intellectual challenges. Hogwarts may have been a nightmare in many ways, but at least I had someone to argue with who wasn’t an idiot.”
Hermione chuckled. “Is that your way of saying you enjoy my company?”
Draco smirked over the rim of his coffee cup. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Granger.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Alright, tell me—what’s the most interesting cursed object you’ve read about so far?”
Draco leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “There’s this one artifact called the Veilkeeper’s Locket. Supposedly, it allows the wearer to hear whispers from the other side of the Veil.”
Hermione’s brows furrowed. “The Veil? As in the one in the Department of Mysteries?”
“The very same,” he confirmed. “No one knows if it actually works or if it’s just cursed to drive people mad, but either way, it’s fascinating.”
Hermione shook her head. “That sounds horrifying.”
Draco smirked. “Not all of us are content reading about contract law, Granger.”
They fell into an easy rhythm after that, discussing books, history, and magical theories with the kind of energy they hadn’t shared since their school days. There was no tension, no expectations—just two minds engaging in something they both loved.
Eventually, Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. “I should probably head back. I have a report to finish before tomorrow.”
Draco leaned back in his chair, watching her. “Of course you do.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “This was… nice.”
Draco inclined his head slightly. “It was.”
As she gathered her things and prepared to leave, she felt Draco’s gaze on her, and for a brief moment, she wondered if this really was just coincidence—or if something else was pulling them together.
Either way, she knew one thing for certain:
She didn’t mind bumping into Draco Malfoy. Not at all.
Draco Malfoy sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his sharp gray eyes scanning the latest financial reports spread before him. Malfoy International Potions Trade had become a global powerhouse, supplying high-quality potions to wizarding communities across Europe, America, and even select regions of Asia. His name, once synonymous with war and blood purity, was now linked to wealth, influence, and innovation.
Despite the heavy workload, Draco had built a reputation as one of the most successful businessmen in the wizarding world. Some said he was the richest wizard in Britain—though he neither confirmed nor denied the claim.
A knock at his office door pulled him from his thoughts.
“Come in,” he called, setting aside the parchment.
The door swung open, and in strolled Theodore Nott, dressed in dark green robes, his healer’s badge pinned neatly to his chest. Unlike Draco, who had pursued business, Theo had made a name for himself in the medical field, specializing in magical neurology. His expertise in treating spell damage had earned him immense respect—and an impressive fortune.
“Still brooding over numbers, I see,” Theo said, smirking as he dropped into the chair across from Draco’s desk.
Draco smirked back. “Some of us work for a living, Nott. Not all of us get to play hero at St. Mungo’s.”
Theo chuckled. “It’s exhausting, actually. Saving lives, fixing minds—hard work, mate.” He leaned back. “Speaking of hard work, how’s the empire?”
Draco sighed, rubbing his temple. “Flourishing. Though the French are a nightmare to negotiate with.”
Theo snorted. “Tell me about it. I did a healer’s exchange in Paris last year—stubborn bastards.” He glanced at Draco’s desk and raised a brow. “So, what’s new? Aside from you making another ten million galleons this week.”
Draco hesitated for a moment before saying, “I’ve been involved in a few charity efforts lately.”
Theo arched a skeptical brow. “Charity? You?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t look so shocked.”
Theo smirked. “You’ll have to forgive me if I find it difficult to picture the same Draco Malfoy who once refused to donate a sickle to class fundraisers now suddenly caring about charity.”
Draco exhaled. “It’s different. It’s not just throwing money at some meaningless cause. This one actually matters.”
Theo studied him for a moment. “Alright, I’ll bite—what’s the cause?”
“House-elf rights,” Draco said simply.
Theo’s expression shifted from amused to intrigued. “House-elves? That’s… unexpected.”
Draco shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “It’s Hermione Granger’s initiative. She’s been pushing for better treatment and wages for years. And frankly, after everything we grew up believing, I figured it was time to put my money somewhere that actually meant something.”
Theo’s smirk returned. “Ah. Granger. Now it makes sense.”
Draco frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Theo chuckled, shaking his head. “You tell me, Draco. How exactly did you get involved in Granger’s charity work?”
Draco sighed. “I attended a Ministry gala a few weeks ago. She was hosting. Gave a speech about the impact of the war, the rights of house-elves… it was compelling.” He paused, then admitted, “Astoria and I made a sizable donation.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “Generous of you. And have you seen her since?”
Draco hesitated for a fraction of a second too long.
Theo caught it immediately. “Ah. You have.”
Draco sighed. “We’ve bumped into each other a few times.”
Theo smirked. “Bumped into? What, like accidental meetings? Fate? Destiny?”
Draco scowled. “Don’t start.”
Theo leaned forward, clearly entertained. “Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, now funding Granger’s charity, sharing tea with her at the Ministry, and coincidentally bumping into her in Diagon Alley? Come on, mate.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s nothing. We talk. We’re… civil.”
Theo’s smirk deepened. “Civil. Right.”
Draco exhaled, looking at his friend. “Look, I don’t know what it is. But it’s easy to talk to her. We don’t pretend anymore, we don’t dance around old grudges. It’s just… real.”
Theo’s teasing expression softened slightly. “That’s rare.”
Draco nodded, staring at the glass of firewhisky on his desk but not picking it up. “Yeah. It is.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Theo smirked again. “So, when’s the wedding?”
Draco groaned. “Get out of my office, Nott.”
Theo laughed but didn’t push further. And for the first time in a long time, Draco allowed himself to wonder—just for a fleeting second—what it would feel like if Theo’s joke wasn’t entirely absurd.