Quills
Hermione thought about Malfoy the whole way home. She thought about him that night, as she pulled out her new diary by the single candle she had lit by her bedside, taking her time again to look through every aspect of the book, filling in her personal details, making a few early plans on a study schedule that could be amended once her official timetable had been given to her.
He had added her initials without asking what they were, the HJG discreetly in the right-hand corner of the cover.
“I’d give you a choice between silver or gold, but I feel like with this colour you really need gold,” he’d said, a little more confident, a little more keen to be snide, a little more himself as she paid.
“I think you’re right,” she said, quite liking how much of a relief this return to normal was. She’d watched his hands as he applied the stamp and prodded the gold into place with the tip of his wand. New wand, given that Harry had won his old one. This was lighter, a warmer coloured wood.
“Cherry,” he said, without looking up at her. “It’s a lot softer. Better for charms.”
“It’s lovely,” she said.
He’d handed her the diary, wrapped in a few sheets of tissue paper, and she’d tucked it away.
The next day she woke up still thinking about him. What time did his shift start? Had no one else realised who he was? Where was he living? The Manor was being decommissioned by the Ministry, his father was in prison. The fact he’d escaped from a similar fate had been tabloid fodder for months. Though she was happy he wasn’t incarcerated, she was personally also a little mystified as to how he had managed it. She had no idea where Narcissa was, or what she thought about her son working in a shop. His bad dye job made her think she wasn’t around.
She went in at 11. She still hadn’t found the vials she was looking for, and had plenty more things to buy before Hogwarts started again in September. There really hadn’t been enough time - not to heal, not to plan, not to prepare herself adequately for her studies after a year out of education. She purchased an ice cream despite the bad weather, and added a shot of coffee as she lingered in the corner table, a very minor non-disturb spell cloaked around her in order to avoid any lingering eyes. And then she went.
The shop was the same as the day before, the fire on, a few candles lit thanks to the dim interior. She shook off the gloom gladly, and smiled almost apologetically as Malfoy regarded her with surprise.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello. Is there an issue with the diary?”
“Oh,” she blinked. “Oh, no not at all. Thank you. I actually -” she put on a smile. “I actually was looking for some new quills.”
“Quills?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated, then seemed to come to terms with something internally.
“They’re upstairs, Miss,” he waited.
“Granger,” she said. “It’s Miss Granger. But you can - you can call me Hermione.”
“Okay, Hermione. I’m,” another hair’s breadth of a pause, “I mean you can call me Will, if you like. Do you want to go up first?”
“Sure,” she exhaled. She exhaled again when she reached the bottom of the staircase, and he was behind her again.
“We stock quills, some more instruments, ink pots, looseleaf parchment up there,” he filled in. “A few board games, some divination equipment - tarot cards, for instance. The layout is the same as down here.”
Hermione realised, as she took the first creaking step, that she liked Will.
He was right. The upstairs was the same layout, slightly darker than below given the slanting eaves. The quills were stacked in the middle, more than she had ever seen, all in pots of various types laid out next to each other, arranged in size and then colour order thanks to their differing feathers.
“Well,” she said, when her breathing had evened out. “What do you suggest?”
William had more opinions on quills than planners, and she liked most of them, which was another pleasant surprise. She also liked the way that he said her name, which he did more often than he needed to, in a careful almost-baritone, as though he was testing it out with great sincerity.
“Do you prefer a filed nib or a flat one?”
“Oh, I didn’t know you could get filed. What are those like?”
“They’re a specialty of the store.” He cleared his throat. “They give a more similar effect to a ball-point pen, if you are familiar with muggle implements.” He said the words ‘ball-point’ distinctly, pronouncing every syllable with care. Hermione indicated that she was.
“You can try whatever you like out,” he said, pushing a blank pad of parchment towards her. “If you like a filed look, then we have various thicknesses. The 0.3 is a particular favourite for everyday, though if you’re looking for something to annotate or draw with, then I’d recommend a thinner one -”
This went on for a while. Draco handed her various quills to try, pointing out various factors. Not once did the downstairs bell chime, and she was relieved that no one else entered to see here there, but also that she didn’t have to share him with anyone else.
“All our quills are collected sustainably,” he was saying, “though we do have a specific range where the quills are gathered when they fall out naturally, as opposed to harvesting from the animals on semi-regular intervals. These are a little more haphazard in terms of size and colour, though the animals are generally happier. This owl one, for instance, is a really beautiful example. You have the black-flecked feather which is quite distinctive, and it has a narrow flat tip nib which I find is quite easy to write with, if you prefer that over the filed style.”
“Do you have any charmed quills?”
He wrinkled his nose.
“No. Potent Paper and Poison Pen Stationery Shoppe only specialises in un-charmed quills. The charmed ones are generally considered in stationery circles a little -” he hesitated, and she hid her smile at his snobbishness. “Well, they’re just a little juvenile. We don’t generally attract a clientele who are looking to cheat on exams.”
“I expect not,” she said, now actually smiling. He was, too. Well, almost. The tips of his mouth were curved up and she realised she liked that about him, too.
Hermione wasn’t sure which one she preferred. The two of them went through nearly every quill on display, she not quite being ready to leave, he being happy to stay by her side, talking her through them. They both took turns scribbling on the parchment, so that by the end of her trip the whole thing was covered in half-written sentences.
‘Hello’
‘Hello’
‘How are you’
‘Good, you?’
‘Also good.’
‘Good. I like this quill.’
‘Me, too.’
‘I think I like a finer nib.’
‘I think they’re more flexible.’
‘Yes, you’re probably right.’
‘You have nice handwriting.’
‘Thank you :) so do you’
‘What’s that?’
‘The smiley?’
‘Is that what they’re called?’
‘Yes! :) :( :’) :’(‘
‘They’re good. And what’s that?’
‘Ha - it’s an ‘S’’
‘If you say so, Hermione.’
‘All the boys used to draw them at primary school.’
‘Weird.’
‘They’re silly. I’ll show you.’
And then pages of drawing that stupid superman S that Hermione had not drawn since she was ten, and then careful discussion purely about the quills, and then even more careful selection of three; the owl-feather one, a bright white goose feather quill, and a jet black, shorter ravens feather quill that Hermione felt was speedy.
He wrapped them in tissue paper again, hesitating before drawing something out from underneath the counter.
“This is my favourite,” he said, placing a beautiful red feather quill in the bag also. “No charge.”
Hermione floated home.