Wunderbar
Hermione was still cataloguing kegs and casks when Madam Rosmerta joined her.
“Are you finding everything alright?” she asked. Hermione nodded. “I thought the cool air of the beer cellar might offer a welcome respite for your boiling blood.”
Hermione whipped round ready to protest her innocence, but Madam Rosmerta didn’t give her the chance.“Forgive me if I’m wrong, Hermione, did I not detect an undercurrent of outrage upstairs?”
“I was surprised to see Malfoy, that’s all.”
“Oh? I told you there’d be two of you tonight.”
“Yes, I just… Wait, Malfoy is the one doing community service?”
“Yes.”
“Did he… Was that… was that your idea?”
“It was Minerva’s,” Madam Rosmerta replied, “well, Professor McGonagall to you. Apparently Muggle schools tend to give back to their communities and she decided it might be a good idea for students wishing to gain experience or… rehabilitate themselves.”
“I see.” Hermione tapped her pencil on her notebook, considering.
“You don’t seem to like him very much,” Madam Rosmerta observed, raising her eyebrow with a smile and leaning back against the cellar wall.
Hermione paused. She didn’t dislike Malfoy. She just didn’t… like him? She hadn’t spent much time with him outside the classroom, she considered. Of course during the last months of the war there were times their paths had crossed. He had been a silent bystander on one of the worst nights of her life; she was screaming at his feet while his Aunt - no, she decided, don’t unpack that. As for time in the classroom, well… Potions had been ok, he wasn’t awful when he was concentrating. Try as he might to be nonchalant she could tell he had a talent for it, that it mattered to him; not even Malfoy had managed to act cool for six years. She remembered how his hair used to fall in his eyes when he bent down to stir his mixtures, observing changes on the surface as he turned the liquid clockwise, counter clockwise... And then in fifth year he’d had that habit of pushing his hair back unconsciously when he was considering something. He’d started growing it out that year, the longer hair suited him. And… Madam Rosmerta was still smiling at her. Oh Gods, had she still not replied? She felt her cheeks beginning to flush: she really must be losing the plot. “I… we’re very different,” she said quickly. “I don’t dislike him.”
“No?” Madam Rosmerta’s smile grew broader. “Does he know that?”
“Did she ask if he could work here?” Hermione asked, deciding it was best to change the subject, “McGonagall I mean.”
“I offered.” Rosmerta replied.
“You offered?” Hermione repeated, her tone a little incredulous.
“You seem surprised?”
“I mean, he did curse you only last year.”
“Do you think I’m making a mistake? That I’ve been tricked again?” Madam Rosmerta was no longer leaning nor smiling and Hermione was sorry for it. She hadn’t intended to drag up the past.
“I just… no.” Hermione took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Madam Rosmerta. The decisions you make for your business are none of mine.”
“But?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on Hermione, out with it. We can have different opinions but we can’t work together if we can’t be honest with one another.”
Hermione took a deep breath and held Madam Rosmerta’s gaze. “I’m not saying it’s a trick, I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’m just still… adjusting. I know the war is over and things are returning to normal, whatever that is. But the war took a lot from me, I… I lost a lot. And he played a part in that.” She paused, gathering her thoughts as they threatened to unravel. “I’m still reeling from returning to Hogwarts to find Malfoy is Head Prefect; sometimes it feels like there are no consequences, other times I know it’s impossible anyway, no reasonable punishment would ever be enough. I just wasn’t expecting to find him here as well it’s… a lot.” Hermione wondered if she’d been too honest, but Madam Rosmerta’s calm face was reassuring.
“I understand. At least, I think I do. It’s not easy to move on when pieces of the past are still strewn all over the present.” Madam Rosmerta paused and looked Hermione in the eye. “But don’t let those parts of you that were damaged take over, Hermione.”
She moved a step closer before continuing in a softer tone, as if sharing a confidence. “I’ve always been open-minded. It’s what made me a smart choice of victim for Mr Malfoy in the first place: no one who knows me would ever have suspected me a Dark Lord sympathizer, much less a Death Eater’s puppet. And I am determined to remain open-minded; I don’t want to become less myself just because my good nature was once used against me. And I don’t want to be around anyone who’s happy to be intolerant. I’ve turned away enough closed-minded customers in the past to be quite certain I don’t want any closed-minded bar staff.”
Madam Rosmerta let her words sink in before catching Hermione’s eye again. “I’m well aware Mr Malfoy has done some bad things. And in your mind he must be a poster boy for a war you didn’t want and are yet to fully escape. But before young Malfoy was ever a player in the game the Dark Lord was rising; don’t forget you can only make a different choice if you have more than one available. Are there no deeds or words that you turn over in your mind late at night, ashamed or fearful to remember? Nothing you’ve done that you sometimes dream of undoing?”
Hermione frowned in reply, snapshots of past moments flashing through her mind like a slide show: words spoken to Ron that she knew would have been better left unsaid; her parents’ cosy quiet when she stood behind them slowly erasing herself from their consciousness… She shook her head to quiet her memory and gave Madam Rosmerta a brief nod of understanding.
Madam Rosmerta continued, “There are a few bad people, a few with evil etched into their bones. And a few truly good ones, who will do the right thing at great personal cost. But the rest of us are much the same, in the end. We’re all doing our best to live a life we can live with.”
Hermione gave her a thin smile. “You’re very understanding. I admire it.”
“I understand that dark deeds need dark corners to thrive. That someone who is lonely can become desperate. That a child who took the Dark Mark was a child all the same. Don’t be too hard on him.”
Hermione nodded once, then looked away.
“And don’t be too hard on yourself either.” Madam Rosmerta gave Hermione’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “You’re still just crawling out of the weeds of something awful, and you’re doing better than you think. Give it time.” Madam Rosmerta gave her a smile of encouragement then turned to leave. “Come back upstairs once you’ve finished taking inventory, I’ve a few things still to tell you both.”
Hermione watched Madam Rosmerta disappear back up the stairs and took a deep breath of the cool cellar air. First Luna, now this… it seemed the Universe was determined to remind her that even when you’d been wronged it was possible to move on, to keep the faith. To leave people’s mistakes in the past, where they made them. To give people a second chance, maybe even give yourself one. To be around Malfoy without wanting to murder him. “Not best friends, not mortal enemies, just… colleagues,” she said aloud, remembering Luna’s request. She checked off the casks once more against her list before fluffing her hair, putting her shoulders back, and heading upstairs to join Draco fucking… no, she corrected herself, Draco just-my-colleague. One step at a time, she said, repeating the mantra as she climbed the stone steps that rose before her to the bar above.
=======
“Last orders are at half ten Monday through Thursday, that gives you time to get the orders out and for the punters to drink up before closing time which is at…?” Madam Rosmerta looked expectantly at Hermione and Draco.
“Eleven,” they answered in unison.
“Excellent. On Friday and Saturday nights the pub closes at?”
“Midnight.”
“Which means last orders are at?”
“Half eleven.”
“And Sundays we close early at?”
“Ten.”
“Which makes last orders on a Sunday at?”
“Half nine.”
“We open every day at?”
“Eleven.”
“And the kitchen opens for hot food at?”
“Six.”
“Full marks you two, no wonder McGonagall’s got you heading up houses.” Madam Rosmerta chuckled to herself and came round to the front of the bar. “Right Mr Malfoy, three Butterbeers please.” She sat herself down on the bar stool next to Hermione and watched as Malfoy walked behind the bar and took three clean glasses down from the shelf.
“Now, whilst I expect you both to be reliable I appreciate this is a demanding year, what with N.E.W.T.s and your Head Prefect duties. Try not to cancel at the last minute if you can help it, but remember your studies come first, else Minerva will have my hide. If you can, I’d like you both to come in two nights a week, one of which should be a Friday or Saturday when we’re busiest. Six ‘til closing both days. I’d rather you’re both in together so that once you’re settled I can take breaks and leave you to it. Occasionally I’ll need you to cover whole weekends, if there’s a party booked in or a festival on, but we’ll discuss those as and when. And I must ask you to please walk back to Hogwarts together after closing. The war might be over but there’s never any shortage of chancers and ruffians and I don’t want to worry about you getting back safe.”
“You want me to walk Granger back to Hogwarts after every shift?” Malfoy asked, passing Madam Rosmerta a pint and beginning to pour another.
“I do. Do you have any objections, Mr Malfoy? Would you prefer not to do so?” Madam Rosmerta asked.
“I’m not sure that’s necess-” Hermione began, but Malfoy was already speaking.
“I don’t have any objections. I’d prefer to.”
Hermione looked at him in confusion. Was he… teasing her? He didn’t seem to be but something was off. “You’d prefer to?” she repeated. “Why would you prefer to walk me back?”
Malfoy glanced up at her then focused again on the glass in his hand, slowly filling with beer.
“I’d worry about you getting back safely.” He grimaced briefly, as if experiencing a fleeting spasm of pain, then added, “And I’d be glad of your company.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked to Madam Rosmerta who was taking a long draft of her Butterbeer but appeared to be smiling.
“Ok,” Hermione said, not quite convinced.
“You may have heard that Hogsmeade was recently twinned with a village in Germany.” Madam Rosmerta continued. “To celebrate we’ll be having a few German-inspired festivals this year, starting with a mini Oktoberfest at the end of September. Just a heads up that I will need you both to work the weekend of the 25th: we’re expecting a lot of visitors so it’ll be all hands on deck.”
“Shouldn’t Oktoberfest be in October?” Hermione asked, looking at Draco as he passed her a Butterbeer.
“No, or rather, nein.” Draco smiled. “But I appreciate the name is confusing. I believe it was brought forward to avoid bad weather.”
“How do you know about it?” Hermione asked.
“I went.”
“Oh?”
Draco looked at Hermione but didn’t offer any additional information. Perhaps better not to ask, she decided, taking a mouthful of Butterbeer instead. Who knows what dark deeds were discussed over beer and pretzels.
“Marvellous. In that case, you two can help set up the Inn,” Madam Rosmerta said, looking pleased. “Sorry to rope you in but we’ve only a few weeks to go: and as you’ve actually been Draco, you’re our best hope of impressing, or at least not offending, our German visitors. Talk it over together and let me know what you want in terms of decorations. And what sorts of refreshments we might offer.”
Hermione opened her notebook to add a reminder.
“I’ll ask my mother if she has any suggestions,” Draco offered, leaning forward on the bar holding his own Butterbeer aloft, adding before taking a drink, “she loves entertaining.”
“Excellent.” Madam Rosmerta smiled. “Oh and you’ll need to be in costume.”
Draco snorted and made an unpleasant choking noise. “Costume?” he hissed, wincing and thumping a fist to his chest.
“Yes, costume,” Madam Rosmerta confirmed, “all the Hogsmeade traders will be wearing them to get into the spirit of it all. It was Harald’s idea,” she added, smiling at Hermione. “I’ve never worn a Dirndl before, have you?”
“No,” Hermione replied, looking over at Malfoy who was still trying to thump Butterbeer out of his windpipe. “But it sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to see Malfoy in a pair of those marvellous leather shorts,” she added, biting her lip to avoid laughing aloud but not managing to subdue her grin.
Her eyes sparkled as they met Malfoy’s, while his were narrowing with irritation and… embarrassment?
“What are they called, Draco? Do you know?” she asked, keeping her tone deliberately innocent.
Draco’s nostrils flared as he replied. “Yes. Lederhosen.”
“Excellent,” Hermione replied. “Wunderbar.” Perhaps, she thought, taking another drink of her Butterbeer and raising her glass to him, working with Malfoy would have its perks after all.