The things we didn't know. - Drarry [DracoxHarry]

Hermione had been the first to spot him. 

After everything that'd happened during the battle of Hogwarts, people were left torn. George had lost his twin, Ginny had lost Tonks, and the list only grew larger and larger as Hogwarts was being rebuilt, with new bodies being found all over the place. Despite everything, people seemed in more of a rush to forget than anything, to forget the war, the losses and the suffering, all of which was valid, almost expected after an event so detrimental. Harry, however, was left with a gnawing sense of betrayal, one that he didn't realize he had the ability to feel. Harry had known Draco was a deatheater, he'd seen the way the blond-haired prat seemed to distance himself from everyone during those days, always watching but never commenting. He'd also seen the sheer horror on his face when Harry had caught onto his ploy with Katie Bell and the cursed necklace, so then why on earth had he expected Draco to stay when Voldemort had called for his followers at his side? 

Harry hated that thought.

Maybe it'd been that brief flicker of something foreign in Draco's eyes when Harry had followed him to the bathrooms, his wand drawn despite the soft sobs that escaped the boy before him. Maybe it was the way Draco had protected Harry's identity from his own aunt, Bellatrix, even though the recognition in Draco's eyes was immediate. Those two events had given Harry even the smallest sliver of hope that Draco might stand with Hogwarts, and not against it, but his hope was shattered when Draco fell to Voldemort's side like a helpless dog. That sense of betrayal lingered in his throat like a sour taste, even when he'd killed Voldemort for good, a part of him was more focused on seeing how Draco would react. Would he run back towards Hogwarts? Would he try and hex Harry? The blond boy fulfilled none of those assumptions, and instead apparated away with his mother the moment they could break away from the crowd of deatheaters, which surrounded them.

Draco Malfoy was a coward, just like his father, who was rotting in Azkaban.

8 years later, Hermione had been running errands to grab a few ingredients for dinner. Ron had been dating Hermione for 3 years before proposing, and the couple got married around 2 years ago, a small family wedding with Harry playing the role of Ron's best man. The day was like any other, with Hermione picking out a few carrots and other bits in the nearest Safeway to their home, her hair tied up in a small bun. Families bustled around the large shop, with children pleading with their parents for all sorts of sugary rubbish, and mothers scolding their kids for causing a ruckus. It was all so different to the Scottish highlands Hermione had grown to love during her time at Hogwarts, but she'd also grown to get used to the busy atmosphere of muggle London. With practised motions, she smiled at the attendant before paying and heading to leave with a small bag of the necessities she'd gone out for. The wind was harsh and cold, practically nipping at Hermione's face the moment she set foot outside the Safeway, her brows furrowing in mild frustration. Straight ahead, was a familiar bus stop, the bus that would arrive every morning by 6AM and be running until 11PM, hosting around all sorts of people to their work. The scene had become something she'd grown used to, something she'd even stop to look at. On that particular day, she was greeted by an unusual sight. 

A glimpse of white-blond hair leaving a small shop, which seemed to be tucked right around the corner that lead up to the bus stop. It was odd seeing someone new, especially from a place so close to her own home, as Hermione was sure to recognize the people around the area, even if they weren't exactly neighbours. The man was rather tall, his frame lean even as it was draped in a simple black robe. The stranger seemed to intrigue her, almost as if she recalled seeing someone with such hair, but was unable to place from where and when. Surely she wasn't just forgetting someone, was she? Her doubts were almost knocked out of her, like a punch that rendered her breathless, the moment she managed to peak a glimpse of the unknown person's face. His eyes were distant, his face sharper with his angular features, but somehow, he seemed impossibly..soft.

Hermione could recall that face anywhere, the face of her tormentor of many years. It was Draco Malfoy, though something looked wildly different about him. He'd grown physically, but his clothes were no longer a staple of his wealth, and his hair was no long slicked back in the way it used to be back at Hogwarts. Instead, he was dressed for simplicity, his hair brushed to be tidy yet still slightly ruffled by the wind, but most of all...


Draco Malfoy was in muggle London.