Hogwarts After Hours

The smell of sizzling bacon should have been a blessing. Instead, it was an attack on her poor senses.

Hermione groaned, burying her face into the crook of her arm as a fresh wave of nausea rolled through her. The Burrow’s kitchen was too warm, too loud, and far too bright for someone who had made exceptionally poor life choices the night before.

"You look like death warmed over," Ron’s voice cut through the morning chatter, entirely too cheerful for her liking.

"Good morning to you too, Ronald," Hermione grumbled, peeking up from where she had been resting her forehead against the kitchen table.

Molly bustled past, setting a steaming cup of tea in front of her with the kind of force that suggested she, too, was unimpressed with Hermione’s current state. "Honestly, dear, how much did you drink?"

Hermione lifted her head just enough to take a careful sip of tea. "Not that much."

"She was out with Malfoy," Ginny announced, plopping into the chair beside her and shooting her a knowing look.

Silence.

Then—

Ron choked on his coffee. "I’m sorry—who were you out drinking with?"

"Malfoy," Harry repeated, deadpan, as he cut up James’s pancakes. He didn’t even look up. "You know. Draco Malfoy? Pointy prat, bleached ferret, your sworn childhood nemesis?"

"Yes, Harry, thank you," Hermione said flatly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Ron looked appalled. "Why in Merlin’s name would you voluntarily spend time with that git?"

"Because he’s a professor at Hogwarts now, Ronald," she said slowly, as if explaining something to a particularly dull second year. "We work together. And he actually helped me grade essays last night before forcing me to get a drink."

"Oh, right," Ginny snorted. "Because Draco Malfoy can force you to do anything."

Hermione scowled. "Well, you try saying no when he’s got that stupid smirk and keeps calling me Granger in that obnoxiously smug voice—"

Ginny waggled her eyebrows. "That sounded dangerously close to a compliment."

"It was not—"

"Sounds like a compliment," Harry interjected.

"Absolutely a compliment," Neville added as he slipped into his chair, having arrived only moments earlier.

"It was an observation!" Hermione snapped, throwing her hands in the air.

Baby Rosemary let out a tiny wail from where Susan was rocking her in the corner.

"Great, ‘Mione, now you’ve gone and upset the baby," Ron grumbled, taking his daughter from Susan and cradling her against his chest.

"I like Malfoy," Neville said suddenly, ignoring Ron’s grumbling. "I mean, don’t get me wrong, the whole ‘tortured brooding’ thing gets old, but he’s a damn good Potions Master."

Hermione shot Neville a grateful look. "Thank you!"

"Doesn't mean you should go drinking with him," Ron muttered.

Hermione groaned, letting her head drop back onto the table. "I hate all of you."

"Love you too, 'Mione," Ginny grinned, stealing a piece of toast off her plate.

Molly Weasley chose that moment to swoop in, setting a heaping plate of eggs and sausages in front of Hermione with a look that dared her not to eat it.

"You need something in your stomach, dear," she said firmly, tucking a loose curl behind Hermione’s ear like she had done since she was sixteen. "And drink more tea. You’ll feel better."

Hermione groaned but obediently picked up her fork, poking at the eggs half-heartedly. Across the table, Neville was buttering a roll, watching her with barely concealed amusement.

"Right," Ron said, still eyeing Hermione as if she’d grown a second head. "So are we just ignoring the fact that Hermione has somehow become drinking buddies with Malfoy?"

"Yes," Hermione said.

"No," Ginny said at the same time.

Harry, who had been remarkably quiet throughout the conversation, finally set his fork down and sighed. "Look, as much as I would love to hear about Hermione’s blossoming friendship with Malfoy—"

"It’s not blossoming," Hermione grumbled halfheartedly.

Harry ignored her. "—can we please talk about something else before Ron’s head explodes?"

Ginny hummed. "Alright. How’s everyone holding up at Hogwarts?"

A welcome topic shift.

Hermione sighed, finally taking a bite of toast. "Exhausted. N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s are next week, my second years are determined to give Seamus Finnigan a run for his money when it comes to explosions, and I spent three hours yesterday making sure no one died in a practical exam."

Neville winced. "Was it the fourth years?" Clearly he had experienced the same mischievous bunch of students.

"Of course it was the fourth years," Hermione grumbled. "Why do they always insist on testing their limits right before exam season?"

Neville leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "My third years spent all week charming their Venomous Tentacula to bite each other instead of them. So, you know. Progress."

Harry snorted into his tea.

Ron, who had been watching the exchange with a half-smirk, suddenly narrowed his eyes. "Wait a minute. You teach at Hogwarts too, Neville. And I know you and Malfoy work together. So why aren’t you getting dragged out for drinks with them?"

Neville raised a brow. "Because I have self-preservation instincts?"

Ginny cackled.

"Traitor," Hermione muttered.

Neville grinned. "In my defense, I do have a drink with Malfoy every now and then. That man goes through firewhiskey like it’s pumpkin juice, and then he insists on playing ridiculous drinking games that somehow result in him winning every time."

"He cheats," Hermione said immediately.

"Obviously," Neville agreed.

Ron still looked deeply unimpressed, but before he could launch back into his interrogation, little James threw a piece of pancake at Harry’s head, effectively shifting all attention back to the toddlers.

Hermione let out a slow breath of relief, sipping her tea.

Unfortunately, Ginny noticed. Ginny, who never let anything go.

She leaned in, voice pitched low so only Hermione could hear. "So... are you into Malfoy, or are we still pretending you hate him?"

Hermione nearly knocked over her tea.

"Ginny!"

Ginny grinned. "Just saying. You spend a lot of time together. And you blush when his name comes up."

"I do not—"

"Malfoy kissed you, didn’t he?"

Hermione froze.

Ginny’s entire face lit up. "OH MY GOD, HE DID!"

"Shut up!" Hermione hissed, eyes darting around the table to make sure no one had overheard.

Ginny wiggled her brows. "Was it good?"

"It was on the cheek!"

"A start."

"I hate you."

"You love me," Ginny smirked, popping a bite of eggs into her mouth.

Hermione groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

Breakfast at the Burrow was going to be the death of her.

***

The afternoon sun stretched lazily across the Burrow’s backyard, warming the grassy expanse where James Potter zoomed through the air on his tiny toy broomstick, shrieking with delight. Arthur Weasley sprinted after him with all the enthusiasm of a man fifty years younger, while George half-heartedly jogged behind, arms outstretched as if he actually expected to catch the little menace.

“He’s got way too much of you in him, Harry,” Ron commented, watching James steer towards the small hill to pick up speed before pulling left at the last second and giggling loudly as Uncle George slipped in the grass chasing after him. “That’s not normal toddler behavior.”

“Excuse you,” Ginny snorted, adjusting a fussy Albus in her arms. “He’s got me in him. You lot just don’t appreciate raw talent.”

Harry chuckled from beside her, but Hermione could hardly contribute to the conversation—her head was still pounding from last night’s whiskey-fueled choices. Instead, she gently adjusted the tiny, warm weight on her chest, brushing her fingers over baby Rosemary’s soft tufts of ginger hair as the newborn dozed against her.

Ginny turned her attention back to George, who had abandoned all pretense of trying to catch James and was now hunched over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

“So, what exactly have you been up to in the shop this time?” Ginny asked, smirking. “Because Mum said she came in last week and left with green eyebrows.”

George straightened up, looking far too pleased with himself. “Ah, yes. The Mood Brow prototype.”

“The what?” Susan asked from beside her husband, amused.

George grinned. “You know, like a mood ring, but for eyebrows. Changes color based on your emotional state. Mum got a bit shirty when hers turned ‘Irritated Fuchsia’ within ten seconds of walking in.”

Neville wheezed. “Mate, you’re actually trying to get yourself killed.”

“That’s not even the best one,” George said proudly. “We’re also launching our new ‘Flirting Fizz’ line—charms that subtly boost your natural attractiveness. Heightens pheromones, gives you a nice glow, even makes your voice sound a bit more alluring.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “So, an instant shag potion, then?”

“Well, we don’t market it that way,” George grinned.

Ginny laughed. “I still haven’t forgiven you for that product that made Harry sound like Barry White for two hours.”

“It was disturbing,” Ron groaned, dramatically rubbing at his ears.

Harry smirked but didn’t comment, instead reaching for his tea. Hermione finally turned to him, taking in the tired shadows beneath his eyes. “You look exhausted, Harry,” she said softly.

He exhaled, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “Yeah, well, between being Head Auror and keeping up with these two—” He gestured toward James, who was now attempting an unauthorized barrel roll while Arthur yelled, “JAMES, NO!” “—I feel like I’m burning the candle at both ends.”

Ginny, bless her, smirked. “Having a bombshell of a wife doesn’t help, does it?”

Harry’s tired expression melted into something much softer as he turned to Ginny, who waggled her brows and sent him a wink.

“You’re not wrong,” Harry murmured.

Ron groaned loudly. “Disgusting,” he declared, making exaggerated gagging noises while Susan patted his arm in fake sympathy.

Meanwhile, Neville and Susan had become utterly lost in conversation about the state of Hogwarts’ greenhouses.

“I swear, the Flutterby bushes have doubled in size,” Neville was saying. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That’s what happens when you actually know what you’re doing,” Susan replied, smiling happily. “Professor Sprout would be proud.”

Hermione smiled, letting the conversation wash over her as she leaned her head against Harry’s shoulder. It was moments like these—soft, easy, real—that made her appreciate the friendships she had built. Harry wasn’t just her best friend; he was her brother in every way but blood.

After a beat of silence, Harry shifted slightly. “So,” he murmured, voice quiet enough that only she could hear, “is there really nothing to tell me about Malfoy?”

Hermione sighed. “Harry.”

“What?” he said innocently. “Look, I don’t think he’s a bad person. Just had a shite upbringing.”

She tilted her head up to look at him, surprised at his maturity.

He shrugged. “I mean… I had a shite upbringing because of the Dursleys. If I hadn’t met Ron, if I hadn’t had all of this—” he gestured toward the Burrow, the family bustling around them “—I could have turned out just like him.”

Hermione cuddled a little closer to him, heart aching with quiet affection. “That could never happen.”

Harry smiled at her but didn’t argue.

She exhaled. “But… I have been seeing Malfoy differently since we started working together.” She hesitated, fiddling with the fabric of Rosemary’s blanket. “At first, it felt just like school—competing to be the best, all the snide remarks—but it was different this time. Less… volatile. More childish.”

Harry listened carefully, his green eyes thoughtful.

“One night,” Hermione continued, “we were out with Pansy, Theo, and Neville… and Malfoy actually apologized to me.”

Harry’s brows lifted. “Malfoy apologized?”

She nodded. “He said he regretted not intervening during the war. That it haunts him every night that he didn’t stop his aunt from—” she swallowed thickly, “—from torturing me.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, none of them liked talking about the night at Malfoy Manor. It had taken Hermione years to get past the nightmares.

“I told him I never needed an apology,” Hermione murmured. “I don’t blame him for Bellatrix’s actions. But I do blame him for being a childhood bully.”

Harry let out a slow breath. “And?”

“He apologized for that too,” she admitted. “He told me he repeated the things he was raised to believe… but that he hated how I contradicted everything he thought he knew about Muggleborns.”

Harry gave her a knowing smile. “I’m really glad to hear that he’s grown up.”

Hermione glanced down at the tiny, sleeping face of Rosemary, her fingers brushing against the baby’s soft cheek. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she said, “I think we all have.”

Harry watched her carefully before tilting his head. “Have you ever thought about having a family?”

Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

“If you wanted kids one day,” Harry continued, “have you thought about it?”

She hesitated before sighing. “Yes. But… it’s never been the right person. Or the right time.”

Harry held her gaze for a long moment. Then, voice quieter, he said, “If you do find the right person… you know I’ll accept it, right? No matter who it is.” His expression softened. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Hermione felt warmth spread through her chest. And yet, as he said those words, a pair of icy grey eyes flickered through her mind.

She quickly waved off the thought, shrugging as casually as possible. “Not that it matters right now. I’m not looking.”

But before Harry could respond, Rosemary stirred against her chest, her tiny face scrunching up before letting out a fussy little cry.

Saved by the baby.

Hermione smiled softly as she adjusted the newborn in her arms, gently rocking her as the conversation shifted back to lighter topics.

But even as the afternoon rolled on, she couldn’t quite shake the ghost of a thought.

Because if she ever found the right person…

Wouldn’t it be funny if it turned out to be Draco bloody Malfoy?