Chapter 11
Standing outside of ‘La Piccola Cucina’, Draco thought he might sweat through his suit. And that would not be a good look, or smell.
He had stood in front of the mirror for the best part of an hour, trying on suits with the jackets, without the jackets, not being able to make his mind up. Should he wear a tie? Should he not? Black accessories or brown? Hair styled with gel or just brushed and loose? There were too many decisions to be made.
In the end, he went with a dark green suit trousers and jacket, wearing a crisp white shirt underneath. He left the top few buttons undone, showing off the top of his sculpted chest and his chain necklace that now held the wedding ring he never took off. He did think twice about having it on show, he didn’t want to make assumptions about what he and Hermione could be, but he also never took the chain off. To be true to himself, it stayed on. He dug out a pair of shiny brown loafers and tucked his sleeves three quarters of the way up. He left his hair brushed back, with a small strand hanging down his forehead. It was as casual as he could go.
He stood to the side of the building, one foot on the wall as he checked up and down the street for a witch with wild hair. Except, when he found her, her hair was different.
Hermione wore a strapless, structured black mini dress that cinched in at the waist and came out like the bottom of an hourglass. She had at least six-inch heels on, a thicker platform on the bottom of the shoe to let her walk easier. Not that she needed any help – she was walking up the street with confidence. Even with the size of them, she would probably only make it to his chin and no more. A black shawl covered her shoulders from the cool night that would greet them when they left the restaurant.
She was a vision.
“Hello,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t know what the dress code would be like, so I went with the usual date night attire I had.”
“You look beautiful.” As he finished the word he took a step closer to her, leaning in to slightly graze her cheek. It warmed immediately at the touch, and he smiled, watching the colour flood the apple of her cheek. He crooked his elbow – offering his arm.
“You look dashingly handsome as always.” She took his proffered arm and walked with him into the restaurant.
When having to choose a restaurant with very little time, Draco had very little choice. He had one option. Refer to Blaise. The clients he had in his accounting firm were naturally all extremely wealthy and as a result, they often took him to nice restaurants and him the same. He had a mental catalogue of the best places from London to Hong Kong as long as his arm.
“A client of mine has just expanded his business to London actually, so this is perfect timing. He runs a few all over southern France. High end clientele, elitist snobs like to eat there for the brand he has built – but the food is also amazing. She’ll love it. Take her there and I’ll ensure it’s a perfect table.”
So, he did just that.
“Good evening sir, may I take your jackets?” The host greeted.
“Thank you,” Hermione said softly, handing over her shawl.
“Thank you. Draco Malfoy, table for two.”
The host took their belongings, sending them levitating into a closet and onto hangers. “Yes, Mr Malfoy, Mr Zabini told us you would be dining here tonight. Follow me please.”
The restaurant screamed quiet luxury, the kind that spoke more through its ambiance than any ostentatious display of wealth. The lighting was low, golden, casting a glow over polished marble tables, where pristine white linens and delicate glassware waited. The clientele was exactly as expected—well-dressed and well-connected, murmuring over plates of handmade pasta and perfectly seared fillets – Blaise had been correct in every word. The restaurant wasn’t just about the food—it was an experience, a statement. A place where exclusivity wasn’t just about price, but about who you knew. And, of course, Draco Malfoy had all the right connections.
“Just here,” the host gestured. They had been assigned a booth on the middle of the left wall, allowing them to sit closer than normal in a regular restaurant. “Your waiter will be with you momentarily. And can I just say Mr Malfoy, congratulations on the win.”
Draco was overcome with an enormous sense of pride. “Oh, thank you,” he responded, smiling warmly.
“Mr Zabini had informed us you were dining here tonight; we took the liberty of putting together a small tasting menu of our most exclusive wines, and a palette of hors d’oeuvres for you both to enjoy before your main meal.”
Draco thanked the host and gestured for Hermione to sit.
“I forget you’re a big deal sometimes,” she joked.
Draco flipped his hand. “I’m really not. I think out of the two of us you’re the bigger deal. You saved wizarding Britain, no sorry let me rectify that – the wizarding world. You make up a third of the golden trio for crying out loud.”
“Gods don’t,” she groaned. “You know I hate those two words. And one third of said trio.”
“You and me both, Granger,” he huffed. “Did you look up the menu prior to coming?”
Hermione shook her head. “No. You never let me before, so I figured those rules still applied to tonight.”
“Good girl,” he said lowly. He hadn’t meant it to come out as such a sexual tone, but it had. And she was so responsive.
Their waiter introduced himself as Walker, slightly bowing to the table and being as welcoming as possible. Walker floated twelve small wine decanters – six red, six white – into the centre of the table, accompanied with two wine glasses that cleaned themselves when empty. Then six small plates with various snack foods appeared,
“Please take your time on deciding a wine, and I’ll bring a bottle over – free of charge,” he flashed a wide smile, “Of course, if none of these are to your liking I can bring you anything else you may like. Enjoy,” he said, smiling once again and turning back to the busy restaurant.
Hermione looked overwhelmed and surprised and to be honest, so was he. Blaise said he would mention a friend of his was dining but Draco didn’t expect this reception.
They both tucked in, deciding that all of the small plates were equally delicious, and the wines were all delightful – they couldn’t pick a favourite.
“I liked the second white and third red. You pick,” Draco offered.
“I also liked the second red, but the fourth white,” Hermione sighed, blowing a kiss into the air, “chef’s kiss.”
“Montrachet it is then,” Draco chuckled.
“Oh Gods, I don’t know. You pick.”
As if silently summoned, Walker began his approach to the table and began to clear it with wandless magic. “Have we come to an agreement?”
Hermione nodded but allowed Draco to pick the final one. “We’ll take a bottle of Domaine Leflaive Montrachet 2010.”
“Excellent choice sir,” Walker praised. “Do we have main courses as well?”
Hermione chose her meal, Sole Meuniè, just as Draco predicted. Whenever she dined in French cuisine, she always went for the seafood. He did not love seafood as much as her though – regrettably as it did always look very good. He ordered a good old fashioned, Filet de Bœuf Rossin, keeping the protein up of course. “Oh, one more thing. Bring a bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti as well.” He winked to Hermione.
“Yes sir, ma’am.”
“Draco!” Hermione quietly scolded.
“What? I can’t treat you?”
“You can’t spend thousands of galleons on wine!”
“Says who?” He flashed his signature smirk and that seemed to be enough to visibly melt away any annoyance on her face. She rolled her eyes and picked at the few bits of meat left from the hors d’oeuvres.
No more than twenty minutes later, their food was served piping hot. Hermione dug in – never one to shy away from a good-looking meal. Draco followed suit. His beef fell apart in his mouth, the outside of the filet seared perfectly. It was served with delicate mashed potato and various grilled vegetables. He could eat five of these and still want more.
“How is yours?” Draco asked Hermione, stopping to sip his wine.
Hermione hummed in delight. “Perfection, absolute perfection,” she replied. “How is yours?”
“The same, would you like a bit?”
She shook her head. “No, I want to have six more of these.” She shovelled more fish in her mouth, as a lady would. Draco smiled as she sipped her wine, and she couldn’t do anything but smile back.
They both finished their meal at the same time, leaning back on the booth couch to cradle their full stomachs. Hermione brought her wine glass to her mouth, sipped the remainder, and placed it back. Without a wave of either of their hands, the glass refilled the white wine of choice on its own accord.
“No! Oh Merlin, I didn’t want another,” she squealed quietly.
“Why not?” Draco questioned. “Live a little, Granger.” He winked as he teased, smiling when his own glassed refilled with the red.
She rolled her eyes but smiled and took another sip. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but hid it with another sip.
“What’s on your mind?” Draco glanced at her hand resting on the table and he had the urge to hold it, feel her warmth.
“I’ve had a great night, Draco. Truly, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more normal, and I haven’t laughed half as much as I have tonight. But I don’t know how you can stand to be in the same room as me.”
Draco furrowed his brows. “I don’t understand your meaning.”
She sighed. “I don’t want to ruin the night. We can talk about it another time,” she said quickly.
“Come on now Granger, don’t go getting shy on me.”
“Just, after everything.”
Draco swallowed his glass of wine, bracing himself. He knew it was going to come out someday, they would have to talk about it. They would have to clear the air, start again. If he was honest with himself that was the correct way to do it, but he was tempted to just ignore it and pick off from where they left off that morning. “Go on,” Draco encouraged.
Hermione spun her wine around the glass, staring down at the table. “I wouldn’t be able to just pretend that I was fine with me, if I was you. So like I said, I don’t know how you can be out to dinner with me.”
“I never wanted to leave you in the first place,” Draco stated firmly.
“I know I-I don’t know what I was thinking. I was hurting – bad – and you weren’t there."
“I was playing quidditch, you knew exactly where I was,” he said, quite bitterly.
“I know.” She nodded and looked him in the eye finally.
“I didn’t want to any of this,” he snapped. And that one he regretted.
A fire glimmered in her eyes, and Draco momentarily shit himself. “Oh please, you didn’t exactly come running after me!” She said, raspy.
Draco leaned forward, trying to keep his voice quiet. “You decided for the both of us!”
Hermione opened her mouth, but clamped it shut less than a second later. “This is not the place for this.”
Draco agreed, accidental magic outbursts could be coming. “Yes. It appears not.”
Hermione stood suddenly, grabbing her bag and walking quickly through the restaurant.
“Oh for fu—” Draco muttered to himself. He flagged down their waiter and settled the bill, leaving a generous tip for the staff. He burst through the door, looking side to side for Hermione. “Granger?”
“She was standing at the side of the restaurant, foot tapping. He took a deep breath and began walking towards her. “Let’s go through the park.”
“Why thr—”
“Walk,” he commanded. Her eyebrows flew up, but she obeyed.
They went to the park entrance and Hermione stormed ahead. She didn’t look back, but if she had her hair would have whipped her eye at the speed she was going. She stopped at a bench, her arms crossed and her foot resuming the tapping. Draco walked to her, taking a deep breath.
“You made it clear to me – to us – that you did not want me near you. I didn’t get a chance to even tell you anything. You didn’t even try and fix it, tell me what you wanted—”
“I wanted my husband Draco! I wanted you to look me in the eye and tell me I wasn’t crazy!”
“I tried that one, Hermione! You fucking left anyway!”
Something akin to guilt flashed over her face, and his heart clenched. He reminded himself that he had to do this. He had to tell her how he felt at the time and every time since.
“I was broken.” Her voice was quiet and without and edge now. “And I had just lost – or maybe I didn’t even have – our baby, the one thing we both wanted.”
“Her—”
“Don’t say I never failed you. It doesn’t help.” She turned towards the bench, finally taking a seat. Her foot still tapped away. “I needed you to tell me I wasn’t losing you too.”
“You weren’t losing me.”
Hermione looked up again, opening her mouth but deciding to close it again. Draco inclined his head forward, silently asking her to just say it.
“I was grieving, more than I probably let on, and you went off and played quidditch like nothing had happened,” she snapped.
Draco shook his head. “Like nothing had-? Do you even hear yourself? I had to leave; I had a contract!” He stood out of rage, pacing in front of her. “And do you know what? Had I stayed, you would have probably just pushed me away harder.”
Hermione was breathing heavy, her voice tight with anger. “I needed you.”
“I was there; you just didn’t want me.”
Silence fell between the two of them, a heavy, loaded silence. She blinked quickly and it looked like she was fighting an internal battle of whether to let her tears go or not. Minutes passed with them not saying anything, just sitting and repeating the words in their heads. Draco’s mind was fucked. His chest quite literally felt like it was going to explode.
“I hated myself. I hated my body for failing and I convinced myself in split seconds you had found something better, that I didn’t deserve someone like you and I sh-should just go. I needed someone to blame other than myself and it was so easy to blame you.”
Draco wanted to reach and grab her hand, let her know he understood now. But he couldn’t. “I never blamed you. Not once. I wanted to help. You wouldn’t let me, and then you left. And now—” he took a deep breath. “Now, I don’t know what you want from me.”
Hermione finally made eye contact. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
“We’ll do it together,” Draco assured her.
He finally grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. Only then did she allow her tears to fall. They fell hard.
She calmed herself a few moments later, squeezing his hand back in reassurance. “My erm, my new flat isn’t far from here. It’s just round the other size of the park.”
“A nice place?”
“It’s lovely. Would you like to see it?” Hermione asked, not confidently in the slightest.
Draco nodded. “Yes. Yes, show me.”
They walked hand in hand, laughing at things they could remember of their first date. He took a while to convince her to go to such a fancy restaurant for a first date, but she reluctantly agreed. He had been in the same situation as he was earlier that evening, trying on every suit in the wardrobe and then stressing he hadn’t picked the correct one. Hermione wore a golden dress and by the end of the evening half of it was red.
“I wouldn’t have been wearing my wine if you hadn’t pulled the tablecloth!” Hermione said between giggles.
“I did not pull the tablecloth, you’re remembering this all wrong.”
“I am not! It was all you,” she said, wiping tears again. This time at least they were from laughter. “I’m just up here.”
Hermione pointed to a sandstone building with bay windows and aged cracks. It looked beautiful from the outside, and quite spacious. She seemed happy here. He hoped just not too happy.
“I’m on the bottom floor, so I have dibs on the back garden, but I’ve hardly done anything with it. I was wanting to do some plants and herbs but if the neighbours seen me out gardening thin air I think they’d be concerned.”
Draco was confused. “What do you mean?”
“They’re all muggles. Not one magical, at least I don’t think so anyway. I don’t know if I would know to be honest, but I haven’t had the sense.”
“Ah, I see. I forget sometimes,” Draco said feeling foolish.
“Anyway, here we go.” Hermione opened the door into the apartment, kicking her heels off and hanging her bag up. There was a short corridor before she turned left into the main living area. “Make yourself at home, the place might be a riot because I’ve been trying to do some paperwork for a research proposal. I’m not really getting anywhere though,” she sighed.
Draco looked round as they entered the living room. The place was spotless, besides a few papers on the coffee table and the couch. The living room and kitchen was open plan, broken up by a kitchen island with an induction hob. Just like their own kitchen. His own kitchen. It was a tidy flat, but tidy in the sense someone lived out of necessity rather than any comfort. There were no personal photos on display. No remnants of a life before this flat. But there were subtle hints of hesitation—spaces on the bookshelf where books should have been, one cup and one plate sitting out, one pot on the hob.
“Granger, the place is fine.” He smiled. “What research proposal are you working on?”
She was busy about in the kitchen, grabbing two wine glasses and a bottle from the fridge. “I’ve erm, asked to see if I could start doing some more research things. You know, instead of just seeing patients every day. It’s ten million bits of paperwork though.”
“That sounds good. I’m sure you’ll get accepted.”
“Hopefully. Now this isn’t half as expensive as the one in the restaurant, but here you are.” Hermione handed him a glass of white wine as she sat down on the couch next to him.
Draco batted her words away, accepting the wine with thanks. He took a quick glance into the corner, where a desk and the bare bookshelves lived. “You still have loads of books a-at the house,” he said.
“Oh. Yeah, I erm, I just have mostly work-related ones there. I haven’t replaced anything,” she almost whispered.
“Right, of course.” He took a large sip of wine, needing the liquid courage for what he was about to suggest. “You know, if you ever needed any of them, you could come by anytime and grab them.”
“Thank you, I might just do that.” She smiled and Draco noticed the twinkle back in her eyes. He relaxed a little further into the couch, a small smile playing on his lips.