We Were Gold

Some people, after everything, deserve to have an easy go of it. When they’ve sacrificed their youth, watched friends and family die, and, slightly less importantly, always played second fiddle to those closest to them, they’ve earned the right to a simple, happy life.

I’ve earned my life. I might not have sat the exams required for the auror program, but I faced Voldemort and his Death Eaters. I may have been gifted a lifetime season membership to the Chudley Cannons, but Fred is dead, Bill still stays locked in his cottage at the full moon, and I had to watch Hagrid carry Harry’s body out of the Forbidden Forest. Thank Merlin he wasn’t really dead, but at the time, that was my best mate and all hope gone.

Above all, I’ve earned the love of the most incredible witch to walk the face of the Earth. Sure, I didn’t take her to the Yule Ball, and there was that awkward period with Lavender, may she rest in peace, but when it mattered most, when it really counted, I was there. And I’ll always be there.

Hermione and I make sense. Not just because we’ve been best mates since we were 11, but because we truly understand one another. We have a bond that no one can come close to understanding. Do I wish that she was handier in the kitchen than she is? Of course, but Mum is only a Floo away, and Harry’s turned into a decent cook. There are always extra seats at his and Ginny’s table at Grimmauld. Would I love to set a wedding date in stone, instead of putting it off due to deadlines and Wizengamot hearings? A bit, but I’m terrified at the thought of Mum in the trenches of wedding planning again. When it was Harry and Ginny’s turn, it was safer not to make eye contact or speak louder than a whisper in her presence unless it was nuptial-related.

Happy. Easy. Deserved.

* * *  

Hermione set down a tea and Danish in front of me as she took her seat on my right. I always get our seats (closest to the door at the back of the room) since she does the tea run before our weekly Monday briefings. If she had it her way, we’d be front and centre, like we’re still at Hogwarts. She had her brown pastry bag and takeaway cup filled with who knows what. She drinks coffee, has for years, some fancy espresso and milk combination that I wouldn’t be caught dead ordering, even on her behalf. Harry stood next to Head Auror Robards at the front of the conference room, clutching his tea so tightly I’m surprised the cup hadn’t split.

I snorted. “He’s going to be covered in Earl Gray if he doesn’t loosen up.”

Hermione shushed me. “It’s his first briefing as Deputy Head Auror. He’s just a little nervous. He doesn’t want anyone to think he’s jumped the queue for the job.”

Hermione isn’t like me. Even after everything she suffered through during the war, more than most since she’s muggleborn, she still feels the need to prove that she deserves every scrap she’s given. She finished her seventh year and accepted the Head Girl role graciously. She sat every exam and earned Os in all of the N.E.W.T.s required to join the barristers at the DMLE. Kinglsey offered to accept her into the aurors with Harry, Neville and me, but she says she’s seen enough violence for one lifetime. She’s only just started earning more than a house elf, and she’s been working herself to the bone for the last three years.

I rolled my eyes. “He did jump the queue, when he killed You-Know-Who.”

She shushed me again and whispered, “He’s worked hard for this, and you know it.”

Robards cleared his throat, thankfully saving me from yet another lecture about how I don’t fully apply myself to my job. He nodded to Harry who thankfully, set his tea down as he stepped up to the podium.

“Good morning, everyone. A couple of matters of housekeeping before our week begins. Congratulations are in order for Berrycloth and Nev-ahem-Longbottom, for finally catching the unicorn traffickers they’ve been tracking for ages. Escaped without any goring as well, well done lads. Also, to Barrister Granger for her work to get the arsonist who’s been targeting muggleborn-owned businesses back into Azkaban.” His eyes flicked up from the podium briefly to for Hermione. Maybe we should have been at the front for this one. “Finally, for the first time in three years we have a junior auror joining the ranks. He has passed every exam with flying colours, on his first attempt,” he glanced at Dawlish before continuing. “He has proven himself incredibly capable with counter curses, poisons, and dealing with Dark Artifacts.

Harry paused to wipe his glasses on his shirt, a tic he couldn’t shake even after Hermione placed her unbeatable Impervius on them. He was nervous for some reasons; I hadn’t known there was anyone in training at all. I looked around the room, but no one else seemed surprised to hear that we were getting another team member. Hermione’s smile had gotten bigger.

“Of course I’m talking about Draco Malfoy.”

Time stopped. The last time I had heard that name was when Harry and I visited Hermione for a Hogsmeade trip while she was finishing up at Hogwarts. Since they’d been Heads together, every story started with “Draco this,” or “Draco that,” until I snapped, and told her in no uncertain terms that although I had spoken at his trial, I wanted nothing to do with him for the rest of my days. I'd earned that right. As cruel as he’d been to Hermione, he was my schoolyard bully too. He rubbed his wealth in my face every opportunity, and hurled abuse whenever he could.

Harry had shot me a look over his Butterbeer as Hermione had stuttered out an apology for not being more considerate of my feelings. I ignored him, even though I could feel his eyes on the side of my head for the rest of the, admittedly, dampened visit.

As we waved Hermione off through the gate, he started. “Look, mate, he’s apologized to you, to me, he got on bended knee for Hermi- “

“He apologized; I didn’t accept it. You two did. Your prerogative, but I don’t want to hear about him,” I cut him off fiercely. “You’re my best mate, Harry, and she’s the love of my life, but on this, we’re never going to see eye-to-eye.”

Harry nodded, and although I could tell that he didn’t want to, he dropped it. He and Hermione had never mentioned that name again. Until today.

There was scattered applause throughout the room as Robards opened the door to the adjoining conference room on his left.

“How could Harry have kept this from us?” I hissed to Hermione.

She stopped her overly enthusiastic clapping and blinked at me. “Kept what from us?”

“He would have been in training since you both graduated. Harry hasn’t mentioned this once in three years.” I kept my voice steady, but internally I was furious.

She tilted her head slightly, eerily reminiscent of Crookshanks when was studying birds through the window. “Ron, the entire DMLE has been aware since Robards accepted his application. I have personally reviewed his file twice to ensure the legality of hiring a former Death Eater. Since his charges were dropped, with the help of our testimony, might I add, there was no issue. He passed all the psychological evaluations, and willingly submitted to questioning under Veritaserum at least three times. Harry has been sparring with him the duelling rooms twice a week since he was granted clearance to use them.”

My heart stopped. My best friend and my fiancée had kept something from me. Something massive. Intentionally. I could feel my ears turning red and my breathing grow ragged. I saw her glance up at Harry and shake her head slightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked in a softer voice than I would have thought possible in my anger.

She blinked again. “Ronald, you told Harry and I that you would never speak to us again if we ever mentioned his name in front of you. You told us that you would take Charlie up on his offer to stay in Romania at the sanctuary.” She shrugged. “So, we didn’t. He’s grown up, Ronald. We all have. You are literally on the same team now. You need to move past this, before it festers.”

She was right. Of course she was right. I needed to pull my head in. I was a professional, in a life-and-death role. She and Harry had managed to move past this years ago. Bloody Hell, she managed to share a dormitory with him right after the War. I nodded, and she squeezed my hand, barely containing an enormous grin.

When I turned back towards the front, I realised that Malfoy had already introduced himself, and was now sandwiched between Robards and Harry. As Harry ran through reminders about taking case files home (I rarely do it, and it’s only when Hermione gets it into her head that “we never spend any time together anymore”), I spared Malfoy a glance. He certainly didn’t look like the scrawny kid who’d before the Wizengamot as I testified in his favour. He looked to be nearly as tall as me, and he’d filled in with what looked like pure muscle. I earned my lot in life, but his had been handed to him on a silver platter, even now, with a Dark Mark on his left arm.

Hermione stood up the second Harry finished speaking and, grabbing my hand, raced to the front of the room. A few senior aurors were shaking hands with Malfoy, but as they left, I saw Harry patting him on the back. Jealousy roared through my veins. This was more than just a sparring partnership. They were friends. Harry had kept this from me, and it stung.

Sensing my glare, Harry looked up as we approached. He accepted a hug and kiss from Hermione as congratulations for successfully completing his briefing without spewing. He turned to me grinning.

“Thought I was going to piss myself up there,” he chuckled.

I let a smile flash across my face, then cleared my throat to address the erumpent in the room. Malfoy beat me to it.

“Weasley, how have you been?” He extended his hand. There was a thick, silver signet ring on his fourth finger. Posh boy.

I took it briefly, before sliding my other arm around Hermione’s waist and pulling her into my side. “Things have been great,” I smirked, relishing the opportunity to flaunt Britain’s Golden Girl with my ring on her finger. Finally, something of mine that he could never top. “And you?”

His eyes flickered to Hermione for a second before he returned his gaze to me. “Happy to have finally finished training. I don’t know the last time I saw the sun.”

Smug pleasure flooded through me. After the war, Harry, Neville, and I had been ushered into the auror program without having to bother with the official training. Having fought on the right side of the War (and winning) was enough.

“I don’t know if you have plans to celebrate, but Ginny is meeting us at the Leaky for a drink after work. You should join us,” Hermione offered, with seemingly sincere enthusiasm.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Exactly how I like to celebrate, as a fifth wheel.”

“Excellent, we’ll see you there,” Harry replied. “Now that that’s settled, I’ll take you to Marjorie to get your badge and desk sorted.” He gestured at my hold on Hermione. “Try to keep the public displays to a minimum in the workplace, yeah?”

She sniffed and disentangled herself. “Of course, Harry. I’ll see you later Ronald, Draco.” She nodded to us all and left for the legal department.

Harry and Malfoy made their way to the administration office, and I was left standing there alone feeling, for the first time in long time, undeservedly unhappy.

* * * 

I felt like I was back in school again, constantly looking over my shoulder for Malfoy. The cases I was working on lay forgotten on my desk as I leaned back in my chair listening to snippets of conversation in the bullpen, ears perked for any discontent among the ranks. No one else seemed to view his appointment as anything worth mentioning. All the chatter was either work-related or a discussion of plans for the upcoming Bank Holiday weekend.

I don’t like to be a liar. I told Hermione that I would move past school grudges, and I intend to. Any lingering resentments will only lead to more complications in my simple, happy life. I’m certainly not going to let that ferret-faced prick be the reason for any arguments between us.

I just don’t see how this is fair. He’s vile in school, hurling insults and blood supremacy vitriol at us, but still made it on to the Slytherin quidditch team years before I could even get my foot in the door at Gryffindor. He had the nicest broom, until Sirius sent Harry’s Firebolt, and received luxury sweet packages weekly from Narcissa Dearest. He got a leg over on Parkinson years before I even had a sniff at Lavender. Then, he gets the Dark Mark, poisons me, tries to kill Dumbledore, lets Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and walks away scot-free. He gets made Head Boy for some bullshit reason Hermione tried to play off as “unity” and then what? Turns up as a qualified auror. Not to mention he’s a lot less pointy faced now. I just women are throwing themselves all over him. The reparations after the war hadn’t even made a dent in the Black and Malfoy coffers, and even with my Order of Merlin, First Class money, I would never be close to that type of wealth.

But I’ll try. For Hermione, I’ll try. She sees the good in everyone, and I maybe I should try it. Plus, if Harry is already onside, I'll be getting it from him and Ginny too, and I can’t be arsed about the nagging.

Harry popped into my cubicle. “Sorry about the surprise, mate. I know how you feel about it, but I swear on my wand that he’s changed.”

I nodded. “I reckon you could’ve tried to bring it up. I’m an adult.”

Harry grimaced. “It crossed my mind. But after everything,” he waved his hand vaguely, “I didn’t want to risk setting you back.”

I frowned. “Setting me back? What are you talking about? Is he taking my position?”

Harry threw up a quick Muffliato. “I know you finally got to a good place with the mind healer after the war and everything, but Hermione told me about the nightmares. She says they’re less frequent, but I didn’t want anything to spiral.”

Internally I groaned. I had stopped seeing the mind healer Hermione had found for us all after one session. I was, and continue to be, just fine. But she had told Harry about my nightmares. The ones where we’re in Malfoy Manor, listening to her be tortured, listening to Bellatrix carve that word into her arm. The ones where I wake up in tears, shaking, because the woman I love is dying and I can’t do anything to stop it. My most intimate, terrifying memories of the war, and of course she’s blabbed about them to Harry.

“Right, well since you two bloody gossips think that you know best- “

“Hey, that’s enough! She loves you. I love you. We worry. Don’t think I don’t see you looking at my scar anytime I get a headache. I thought if you saw that he’s proven himself to have changed, that it would be, I dunno, easier, somehow, to accept it.”

He was right, of course. It did help that the two people that I trust most in this world were vouching for him. I just can’t see how, in any universe, me and Malfoy could get along. But if they could it; if they could look past his smarmy, gitty, awful past, I could too.

I stood up, nearly dislodging Harry from his perch on my desk. “I get it. It was probably for the best. Too late now to do anything but get used to him. Lunch?” I asked, now desperate to talk about anything but Malfoy.

Harry nodded, also clearly eager for the subject change. As we headed to the ministry cafeteria, I spotted a blonde head bent over a desk on the opposite side of the bullpen. As much as it rankled to admit, Malfoy did see capable. Dedicated, even, as he sat alone at his desk in an otherwise empty room. Wanker.

As the day wound down, I realised that ignoring all thoughts of Malfoy had allowed me to be productive. I’d finished all my paperwork (even some overdue reports that Robards had been hounding me about) and had begun the groundwork for the next case I’d been assigned. Almost like a normal day. Almost, because my best mate and fiancée were chatting at the entrance to Malfoy’s cubicle instead of mine, waiting for him to set his quill down. I sighed and pushed up from my desk. Friendly, I reminded myself. Moving on from Hogwarts.

I joined them, greeting Hermione with a kiss on the cheek and entwining our fingers. I felt more grounded with the contact. I can do this.

Malfoy looked up as I approached, a smirk on his face as he stood up. My earlier guess was correct; there wasn’t a unicorn hair in difference in our height. Naturally, the pompous git wore a muggle suit, and shrugged the jacket back on over his shoulder holster. His arms bulged obnoxiously, proving just how muscular he had become.

I glanced down at myself. I was no longer long and lean, like I had been in school. Between Mum and Harry’s cooking, and takeaways when it was just Hermione and me, I had more than regained the weight I’d lost while we were on the run. Hermione did some exotic muggle exercise in the spare room of our flat, using a machine with cables and rollers that I couldn’t begin to understand. She enjoyed it, and I enjoyed watching her stretch and sweat in the skintight leggings and tiny shirts she wore while doing it. She assured me that that was what muggle women wore; I couldn’t care less, as long as she kept it up. Ginny, as a professional quidditch player, was in the best shape of her life, and had taken on the role of “personal trainer” for Harry. Allegedly, that involved turning the attic of Grimmauld into a muggle Jim-nayseum. I tried my best to avoid thinking about my best mate and baby sister doing anything physical. I’d stopped playing rec league quidditch with Harry last year. I used my Saturday afternoons to catch up with George and lend a hand at the shop. Since Hermione’s starting salary had been a pittance, I hadn’t been volunteering. Of course she didn’t complain at all, acting like it was totally normal for a war heroine to scrape knuts together to get by, she constantly reminded me that she wanted to earn any and all promotions and not rest on her laurels. What was the point of everything that we went through if there was nothing to show for it? Sure, muggleborns were no longer openly discriminated against, and Wizarding Britain was safer than before the war, but to be lumped with all those people who had contributed nothing at all to the war efforts was absurd.

“Shall we?” Hermione asked, smiling up at Malfoy.

He nodded and gestured for us to lead the way. I felt Hermione let go of my hand as we made it to the lift. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and pull her in tight, but I knew she’d resist, no matter how much more comfortable it would make me.

“So, Malfoy, how was your first day?” Harry asked as we stepped out into the atrium to floo to the Leaky Cauldron.

“I could certainly use a drink,” I heard him reply as I stepped into the flames.

The Leaky, unsurprisingly, was quiet for a Monday evening. We greeted Tom with a wave as we headed to a booth in the corner that Ginny had claimed. She looked up, doing a double take when she saw Malfoy. I’ll admit, I was looking forward to hearing her thoughts on our additional guest; she’s never been one to stand on manners.

She hugged me and Hermione, and kissed Harry with what I felt was far too much enthusiasm for someone who hadn’t recently returned from an overseas deployment. When they broke apart for air, she turned to Malfoy.

“Ferret,” she chirped, eyebrows at her hairline.

Instead of gasping in horror as I’d expected her to, Hermione rolled her eyes and took a seat. Malfoy, to his credit, didn’t look fazed in the slightest.

“Madame Potter,” he drawled in his poshest accent as he performed a deep, formal bow.

As the others laughed, I was struck again by their familiarity. This wasn’t their first time getting drinks together. This was simply the first time I had been invited. I tried to slow the thoughts racing through my head that sounded alarmingly like what Riddle’s locket had hissed at me all those years ago.

I forced a laugh, slightly too loud for the quiet pub, and Hermione glanced up. I could the concern in her eyes, the worry that I wouldn’t be able to handle this and would instead make a scene. I swallowed, taking a deep breath. I can do this, I repeated to myself until I almost believed it.

As I took my seat next to Hermione, with Harry and Ginny opposite us, Malfoy spoke again, taking the drinks order.

“Potters One and Two, butterbeer I presume? Granger, a glass of that elf-wine?” The three of them nodded. “Sorry, Weasley, I’m not sure what your preferred poison is.” He looked at me expectantly.

I was tempted to order a glass of the most expensive cocktail at the bar, just to dump it on the floor. “I’ll take a butterbeer as well. Please,” I tacked on with an elbow to the ribs from Hermione. He nodded and turned to make his way to the bar. “Since when do you drink elf-made wine?” I asked her, trying and failing to keep the accusation out of my tone. She had never touched anything of the sort as far as I knew.

She flushed. “Draco found an ethical winemaker a couple of years ago. He convinced Tom to stock it, so…” she trailed off. “The elves who make it are paid and have holidays.” She sniffed, as if that settled it.

“That’s what we brought to your engagement party, you twat,” Ginny chimed in. “Hermione said it was a decent drop.”

I vaguely remembered Hermione opening an expensive looking bottle of wine after her first successfully argued Wizengamot case. She had wanted to share it with me to celebrate, she’d said.

“That’s right. You know I can’t stand wine, so I couldn’t tell you,” I replied as Malfoy returned with our drinks. “Thanks,” I grunted as I grabbed my pint.

Harry cleared his throat. “A toast, to Malfoy, for successfully being the only auror to survive training in the last five years, present company included.”

We all raised our glasses in a cheers, Malfoy nodding in thanks and surprisingly, slightly pink across the cheeks. Who knew he had any humility in him?

“Thanks for that, Potter,” he said as he took a sip of what looked like firewhiskey. Far too old to be in my price range I would imagine, and served neat, just like Daddy Lucius would have taught him.

“So, Ginny, tell me about your upcoming season,” Hermione prompted.

I knew she couldn’t care less about quidditch, let alone an entire season preview, but she knew it was a safe middle ground, something that the rest of us could talk about with civility. She’s brilliant, that witch of mine. I also knew that this was solely for my benefit as it became more and more apparent that the others at the table were more than just old schoolmates. They were friends, with stories and jokes, and a history I wasn’t a part of. She was letting me warm up to this friendship in the easiest way she could.

Ninety minutes later, with the promise of Thai takeaway, Hermione stood and gathered her tiny, beaded bag. She claimed that she still carried it for sentimental reasons, as well as the illegal undectable extension charm on it. I told her that any designer would kill to supply her with a handbag, and Harry and I would turn the other way while she charmed it. Harry and Ginny stood as well, Ginny nuzzling into Harry’s chest in a way that suggested they were not going to be dining when they got home. Malfoy shook Harry’s hand and kissed both girls on the cheek before turning to me, hand extended once again.

I took it and gave him a small smile. “You’re not entirely bad, Malfoy.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. It was the best I was going to manage for the time being. With the way Hermione sighed in relief behind me, she knew it as well.

He smirked. “Such a glowing review, ta ever so, Weasley.”

I wrapped my arms around Hermione’s waist as I’d wanted to all evening and led us to the apparition point. I closed my eyes and spun us, picturing our cosy flat, before we disappeared with a crack.

* * * 

When we landed back in our living room, Hermione leaned up to kiss me. I deepened it, before reluctantly breaking away when her stomach rumbled.

“Hungry, hmm?” I asked with a grin.

She nodded. “I got so wrapped up in my briefs that I forgot to eat lunch.”

I let go of her as I drifted to our bedroom to change out of my work clothes. “You should have come with me and Harry. Cottage pie today, your favourite,” I called out as I changed into the Cannons pyjamas Mum got me for Christmas last year.

“I don’t eat cottage pie, as you well know,” she replied from our ensuite. She stepped out in only her underwear (nothing sexy, Merlin forbid she wear lace at work), but fuck if she isn’t the hottest woman I’ve ever seen. She grabbed her pyjamas and set her wand on the nightstand. She pointedly stepped over the pile of my clothes on the floor as she returned to the bathroom. “Can you call for Thai? I’ll have the pad see ew with chicken.”

The only problem with living with a muggleborn is her lingering muggle habits. She insisted on a muggle neighbourhood, so although our fireplace is connected to the Floo network, everything else had to be done without magic. Cleaning spells had been strictly forbidden, even though no one could see what we were doing in our own flat. Hermione had nearly taken my head off when she caught me Scourgify-ing Crookshanks’ litterbox once.

“You know I don’t know how to use that felly-tone thing, Hermione. Can you order me that thing I like? I can never remember the name,” I replied over the sound of the shower. I heard a grunt of acknowledgement.

I put my clothes in the hamper (all I need is a simple reminder, sometimes she gets so bent out of shape if I leave one thing out) and stretched out on our bed. Hopefully she wasn’t doing what she called a full body shower tonight; it takes her ages to “properly” clean her hair, and I was starting to get peckish.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, the door to our flat was closing, and I could hear Hermione setting the wards for the night. Cleaning spells were a no-no, but the thousand-and-one protections she put up overnight were fine. Make it make sense.

I yawned and made my way to the kitchen where she was at the table, pulling plastic containers out of a bag. She handed me mine, along with a plastic fork.

“Thanks, babe, smells delicious.” I pressed a kiss to her temple. I could smell her conditioner; who knows how long I’d been asleep for.

“It’s Massaman curry,” she replied shortly. She took a bite of noodles from her container and looked up at me. “Ron, you know I hate cottage pie, right?”

I snorted. “Mum makes it especially for you. She knows it’s your favourite.”

“Did you tell her that, Ron?” She was getting exasperated now, and over cottage pie of all things.

“Of course I did. Ages ago. Your mum used to make it, so I thought it’d be nice for you to have it occasionally. Obviously, I’ve done something wrong.” I stabbed a chunk of meat in my curry. “I’ll tell her you hate it. No big deal.”

She slammed her hand down on the table. “I told you that it was the dinner my mum made the night that I sent them to Australia. I haven’t been able to look at it since. I have told you this, Ronald.”

A cold trickle of guilt slipped down my spine. I must not have been paying attention when she had told me. The furious look on her face told me that she had reached the same conclusion.

“Hermione,” I started.

“I’m going to bed,” she cut me off before storming off to our bedroom, leaving me sitting there amongst the wreckage of our Thai takeaway.

A few hours later, I gingerly made my way to the bedroom, only stepping on one of Crookshanks' squeaky mice. I had been sitting on our sofa as I drank a butterbeer or four, thinking about how stupid I felt. Stupid for hurting Hermione, even unintentionally. Stupid for allowing her to go to bed upset instead of trying to talk through her anger. But most of all, stupid for thinking that stupid Draco Malfoy and his stupid pointy face were something that I could just move past and accept.

The longer I’d sat and thought about it, the more I realised that I didn’t want to get to know the man that he had become. I was content to brush shoulders with him at work, in a strictly co-working manner, but I wasn’t going to be getting anymore after work drinks with him. I don’t want to know how handsome, rich, intelligent Draco Malfoy had changed for the better. Not when he had been such a cruel child. Not after years of treating me like I was scum.

Hermione didn’t get it. She didn’t have any family, not anymore. She saw the good in everyone, desperate as she was to connect with everyone. She felt so guilty about what she had done to her parents that she was willing to overlook even Malfoy’s past behaviour. I don’t have that limitation. I have family. I don’t regret anything that I did during the war. The second I left Harry and Hermione alone in that tent, I wanted to return, but I more than made up for it when I used the Deluminator to get back. I’ve earned the right to hold his past against him, and I will.

As I settled into bed, the walls only spinning slightly, I could hear Hermione sniffling into her pillow quietly. I thought about rolling towards her, tucking her back into my chest, and apologising. Trying to soothe the hurt that I had caused. She probably didn’t want me to, considering she hadn’t acknowledged my presence in our bed. Instead, I rolled to face the wall, quickly falling into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When my wand alarm woke me the following morning, I was alone. Hermione’s side was cold, meaning she had been gone for a while. I glanced at my nightstand. No hangover potion to be seen. She must still be upset, since she usually leaves one when she knows I’ve had a few. I don’t even know where she keeps them, if I’m honest.

I showered, replaying our conversation from last night repeatedly in my mind. If she had told me about cottage pie, it would have been right after the war, when I was still struggling to deal with all the traumas. How could I possibly be expected to remember her feelings about one meal when my brother and ex-girlfriend had both died? Of course, I couldn’t say that to Hermione. She’d simply remind me that she remembers everything I’ve ever told her. I’d bring flowers and apologise.

I got dressed with slightly more care than usual after seeing Malfoy in a suit yesterday; I couldn’t have him showing me up in every aspect. Instead of flooing directly to the Ministry, I apparated to a kiosk in Diagon Alley where I’d picked up flowers for Hermione before. I didn’t want anything too big; the least amount of attention that I could draw to our fight, the better. I chose a bouquet of yellow roses; nice, but nothing showy.

When I landed in the ministry atrium, I stopped by the café run by house elves (paid, of course) to get my tried-and-true hangover cure a strong Yorkshire tea and a bacon sandwich. I even picked up a drink for Hermione: breakfast tea with a splash of milk and three sugars.

I nodded in greeting to those I recognised as I took the lift the DMLE bullpen. Hopefully it was early enough that I could apologise without too much of an audience.

Of course, luck is never on my side in these situations, and as soon as I stepped out of the lift, I was greeted by an unsmiling Harry.

“What the fuck did you do?” he hissed accusingly, taking note of the bouquet in my hand.

I rolled my eyes. “What makes you think I’ve done something? Maybe I just saw these and thought of her,” I gestured with the flowers.

He fell into step with me on my way to her office in the legal department. “I’m sure. No reason her eyes would be red and puffy then. Looks like she’s been crying all night.”

I groaned internally. She was naturally stunning, and rarely wore makeup, meaning she didn’t often think to use a glamour for her appearance. Of course, today of all days, Harry had decided to be observant.

“I forgot that she doesn’t like cottage pie, okay?” I muttered as we passed Malfoy’s cubicle.

His head popped up as we walked past, a single blonde eyebrow raising when he saw the roses. “Potter, Weasley,” he greeted before turning back to his desk.

Harry returned the greeting with a chipper “Malfoy”, while I simply nodded.

“She cried all night because you gave her cottage pie?” he asked incredulously.

I stopped and faced him. “Look, mate, I know you care about Hermione, and I appreciate that, but this one is between us. I don’t interrogate you whenever Ginny gets upset.”

“You don’t, but Hermione does. And she does the same to Ginny when the situation is reversed.”

I rolled my eyes. “Alright, Harry. I’m off to apologise anyway, so everything will be fine.

He nodded. “See that it is. And find a hangover potion. I’m saying that as your superior, not your best mate.”

I mock saluted when he walked away, before continuing to Hermione’s office. The door was open, but I knocked to announce my presence before I entered.

“Harry, I already said-“ She started, without looking up from her file.

“Not Harry,” I replied, shooting her a sheepish grin when her eyes met mine. She raised an eyebrow, which I took as my sign to continue. “I’m sorry that I forgot how you feel about cottage pie. I know how much thinking about your parents upsets you, and I apologise for bringing those feelings up.”

She tilted her head and glanced at the flowers in my hand.

“These are for you, for your desk. I’m sorry babe. And a tea for you. How you like, milk and three sugars,” I smiled offering them both, knowing that I’d successfully patched things up.

She conjured a vase for the roses but didn’t reach for the tea. I could see a matching cup already on her desk.

“Of course, you already got yourself one, should’ve know,” I grinned, knowing her caffeine intake was second to none.

“Actually, Draco dropped off a flat white for me when he got in.

I immediately felt my face drop. “Oh, Draco did, did he?” I sneered.

She sighed. “Thank you for the flowers. You can keep the tea. I don’t take sugar. Still.”

Her eyes flicked back to her file, and I took the dismissal for what it was. I snatched the tea off her desk and turned on my heel.

“Close the door on your way out,” she called distractedly.

It took every fibre of my being, but I resisted the urge to slam the door as hard as I could. As I faced the bullpen in front her now closed door, I saw Harry shake his head as he made his way into his new Deputy Head Auror office.

I was only ninety minutes into my day, and I could already tell that my hangover was going to be the high point.