Better Ridiculous Than Boring (Drabbles)

It had taken Hermione an embarrassingly long time to decide whether to drop off Malfoy’s bag or not. She would deny it until her dying day, but the man intimidated her. Not because of their past or his dark mark or any ideals of prejudice she may have been holding onto, but because he was just so damn capable. In representing himself in his own case, and destroying the Ministry solicitor so completely that they had never worked again, Malfoy had stumbled across a career. His freedom was partly won thanks to the letter of recommendation that she’d written on his behalf, explaining that, whilst he was a bully on the wrong side of the war, she firmly did not believe his actions deserved Azkaban, but it was mostly because of his own efforts.

Hermione had supposed it was because of her endorsement that he’d felt comfortable asking her to give up the empty office in the DRCMC for him, as he had nowhere to work in his own department, and she’d said yes easily. She later found out that one of the more vindictive women that worked for Kingsley had told him to ask Hermione upon the assumption that she’d rip his head off and it would serve as wonderful Ministry gossip for a good few weeks. She was pleased that she’d taken Malfoy’s uncharacteristically meek and polite manner for what it was - a man working to make amends. Being on the same floor meant that she’d seen him fighting his cases and had the opportunity to see the man in his element. Her caution as to his intentions eventually melted away, and they became politely amicable colleagues. Then she ruined everything because she was careless enough to start to find him attractive, and began to curse the day she ever offered him use of the office. 

He’d left in a hurry earlier that day, and, in his haste, had left his briefcase behind. Seeing as Hermione knew he would want to get certain cases sorted out before he returned to work on Monday morning, he would need it. It would be helpful for her to drop it off, that would be a reasonable thing for her to do. It wouldn’t be creepy or make him think she was weird. He’d thank her, and then she’d be on her way. She went about her usual Friday routine, letting her parents know she’d be a little late for dinner due to her unscheduled briefcase-dropping-off mission, and called out his floo address after fussing over the outfit she’d changed into for longer than she’d ever admit to anyone. 

“Malfoy? It’s Granger.” She called as she stepped out into his living room. “I’m sorry to turn up like this and disturb you, but you left your briefcase in your office so I thought I’d just-“ Wandering into his kitchen, she immediately cut herself off. There, covered in flour and with panic in eyes, was Draco Malfoy. “What are you doing?” She asked before she could stop the words from leaving her mouth. She glanced around the carnage briefly. Every surface was littered with plates and bowls of what somebody more generous than her might describe as food, surrounded by an ungodly amount of mess. 

“I…um. It’s Scorp’s birthday.” He replied, and she blinked. “It’s the first one since the divorce and I didn’t really realise how much the elves did before I freed them.” He added on, to serve as explanation for the destruction of his kitchen. His relationship with Astoria Greengrass had been an odd one (his words, rather than hers). They’d gotten together because of an archaic marriage contract, and had done their duty faithfully, having a son after an appropriate amount of time for people of their standing. The countless number of times Astoria cheated on Malfoy was slightly less appropriate, and eventually, he had enough. He’d told Hermione that he was the first Malfoy to divorce in longer than he cared to work out, but he didn’t want his son to grow up thinking the dynamic of his family was normal. He wanted Scorpius to know what he deserved, and so he left. Astoria had put up no fight, had no demands. He suspected she was relieved, if anything. Hermione felt it was all quite sad. 

“Oh. I would have gotten him a card if you’d said.” She replied, still slightly stunned by his appearance. “What is it that you’re trying to make?” She peered into the bowl from across the kitchen island. 

“Cake.” He replied. She snorted, again before she could stop herself. 

“Sorry, that was rude. I’ll just, er, leave you to it.” She placed the briefcase down on one of the cleaner kitchen stools and began to back out of the room. 

“Granger, wait.” He rounded the island, dusting his hands off on his apron. “Thank you for bringing this. I know you have dinner with your parents on Fridays, so you didn’t need to make them wait just for this.” 

She blinked. “How do you know that?” 

“Because you told me? And I listened and then remembered that information?” He frowned at her.

She hummed in surprise. “How novel.” She said with a smile. “Regardless, my parents won’t mind, they’re not precious about that sort of thing.” 

“I still appreciate it.” Malfoy said. “Anyway, I’ll let you go. I’ve got to contend with this lot before people start arriving later.” He glanced back at his kitchen, expression grim. 

“Well, what if I-” She started.

“You don’t need to help, Granger. Particularly not on a Friday.” He smiled. “Go and see your parents. I’ll be fine.” 

She huffed at being interrupted and Malfoy chuckled. “I’ll owl over a card.” She insisted, and he nodded, essentially herding her towards the floo. 

“See you on Monday.” He said, and she rolled her eyes. 

“If you make it out of that mess before then, sure.” She shot back with a smirk, tossing down the powder and swirling away before he could reply. 

Hermione and her mother were very much cut from the same cloth. She was just as observant, just as inquisitive, just as driven. All of that was the reason that Hermione was not remotely surprised when, as she stepped from the floo, her mother immediately noticed the stray flour dusting the edge of her skirt. 

“Your colleague was baking something?” Helen asked, looking at Hermione from her place on the sofa. 

“It’s his son’s birthday, he was attempting a cake.” Hermione said, dusting the soot from her shoulders. “He apologised for making you wait for me.” 

She immediately waved her off. “He needn’t have worried, your father’s still pottering in your garden anyway. You know how he is.” Hermione smiled and glanced out of the window to see John Granger on his knees, weeding her small vegetable patch. “You said ‘attempting’, was he not having much success?” 

She looked back at her mother and chuckled. “Absolutely not, no. I’m pretty confident in the assumption that he’s never made a cake before. It’s Scorpius’ first birthday since Malfoy got divorced, so I think he’s adjusting to being more independent in that sense.” 

“Oh, well is there anything we can do to help? From all that you’ve told us about his son, he sounds like a lovely little boy.” Helen stood up, glancing into Hermione’s kitchen briefly, clearly mentally going over the food she’d seen in there. 

“I did offer, but he ushered me out. I think he was embarrassed about it, honestly.” Hermione said. 

“Bless them! No, we should see if there’s anything we can do. It’s been ages since I got to do a child’s party, I always loved doing yours.” Her mother insisted, disappearing fully into the kitchen. “How many guests do you think he’s invited?” She called, as Hermione laughed incredulously, shaking her head. 

“I haven’t a clue, Mum, but he said he was fine. We don’t need to intrude on them.” She ventured into the kitchen herself, seeing Helen emptying her fridge into a bag. 

“That letter he wrote us was terribly personal, more so than he needed to be with total strangers. He strikes me as a kind young man, even if he’s too proud to admit when he needs help. I’d like to do this for him, if he’ll let me.” She replied, not turning around. “I can’t stand the thought that his son’s first birthday without that awful woman hanging around won’t live up to expectations because he’s too stubborn to admit that he’s out of his depth.” 

“Are we going somewhere?” Hermione’s father asked, appearing from the garden and heading to the sink to wash his hands. “Or are you out and out robbing our daughter now, love?” He smirked over his shoulder at Hermione. 

“No, you prat. It’s her colleague’s son’s birthday and he’s struggling with the food prep on his own. I thought we could help.” 

“Oh! Scorpius, yes? You should have said, we would have sent a card.” John said, drying his hands on a tea towel. 

“I didn’t know either, Dad.” Hermione replied. “And we can’t just go barging into Malfoy’s house.” 

“Tell him I coerced you then.” Helen closed the fridge. “I can see in your face that you want to go too.” She smiled knowingly, and Hermione sighed, feeling the tiny amount of resolve she’d had melting away into nothing. 

“Fine, come on then.” She huffed, gesturing for them to follow her to the floo, distantly hoping that Malfoy wouldn’t think she was insane. 

“Scorp, please.” Hermione heard Malfoy’s defeated tone as she stepped from the floo, and Helen smiled, somewhat smugly, as she was proven right. 

“Just wait here. Scorpius hasn’t met muggles before and I don’t want to scare him if he’s already upset.” She said softly, and her parents both nodded. Her mother looked like she was ready to go into battle, whilst her father was already staring excitedly out the window at Malfoy’s garden, far larger than her own. She rolled her eyes as she followed the sounds of Scorp’s cries, wondering what had him so upset. 

She’d met the little boy a few times, with Malfoy bringing him to work on the days that he had nobody else to watch him. It remained a mystery to Hermione how such an angelic child had been the product of his parents, but as she’d gotten to know Malfoy better, she’d realised his nature wasn’t as left field as she’d initially thought. 

Stepping back into the kitchen, she saw a burnt cake covered in blue icing turned upside down on the floor, the splatters suggesting it had fallen from the island with some speed. Scorpius was crying, looking at his cake despondently as Malfoy crouched in front of him, rubbing comforting hands up and down his arms. 

“Hey.” Hermione whispered, and Malfoy startled slightly, looking up with a frown. 

“Granger?”

“Mia, my cake splatted.” Scorpius whined, and she smiled, joining the two blondes on the floor. 

“I know, Scorp, but you don’t need to be upset. We’ll just make another one, ok?” 

“We?” Malfoy muttered, and she nodded. 

“My parents are in your living room. Insisted on coming to help.” 

“Seriously?” He blanched, and she chuckled lightly. 

“My mother was coming with or without me, I think. She’s even more stubborn than I am.” 

Malfoy nearly fell over with how quickly he stood, ruffling Scorp’s hair as he disappeared through the door. Hermione smiled as she watched him go, before picking up the little boy and placing him down on the island counter. 

“What sort of cake would you like, Scorp?” She asked. “Did you want the same as that one?” She pointed to the mess, and he shrugged. 

“Daddy said that was the only cake he knew how to make.” 

“Well I know about lots of cakes, so you can have anything you like.” She smiled, and his face lit up. 

“Can it be green? With dinosaurs on?” He asked hopefully, and she nodded, wiping blue icing out of his pale hair. 

“Absolutely. Any other requests? We can make it any flavour you’d like, too.” 

“I can have chocolate?” He breathed, and she laughed. 

“Of course you can. It can even be two layers.” She grinned. “Shall we get rid of the smushed one now?” Scorp nodded, and she continued to smile as she vanished the blue mess with her wand, surveying the kitchen for more ingredients. Having not known what he was doing, Malfoy seemed to have bought enough to make a hundred cakes, and she snorted softly. 

“Your father is weeding my flower beds.” Malfoy appeared behind her, looking vaguely bemused. 

“He does that. Can’t help himself.” She replied. “Scorpius has requested a chocolate dinosaur-themed cake with green icing. Would you like to help?” She smirked up at him. 

“Granger, you don’t need to-” 

“I think we’re slightly past that at this point, no?” 

He dragged a hand over his face and she suddenly noticed how tired he looked. 

“Your mother has gone to the shops for supplies already, so yes, I suppose we are.” He admitted. “Thank you for coming back. I’m sorry for disrupting your plans.” 

Hermione shrugged. “It’s not important, Malfoy, I’m happy to help. I haven’t seen you look that panicked in years.” 

“Baking is so much harder than it looks.” He admitted, and she laughed at his broken expression. 

“Consider this your crash course then. Observe, Draco Malfoy.” She gestured to the island as she placed a clean bowl on the counter. “This is how you make a cake.” 

“I really don’t deserve you.” He mumbled as he vanished the last of the failed icing from Scorp’s hands. She tossed a smile over her shoulder as butterflies erupted in her stomach.

“Guess we’ll see.” She replied. 

“Thank you, Granger.” Pansy Parkinson sidled up to her a while later, as the party was winding down. “He’s been in a right state about today, but he kept refusing help. You were what he really needed, a gryffindor who wouldn’t take no for an answer.” 

“Was more my mother than me in all honesty, Parkinson, but I’m glad I was here. Scorp is the loveliest child, I really don’t mind helping out.” Hermione replied, looking over at the two Malfoys talking to her mother, Nott, and Zabini. Hermione’s father had been monopolised by Narcissa Malfoy all evening, ever since she’d realised it was him that had tidied up the garden they were all standing in. She hadn’t really decided how she felt about them being such obvious kindred spirits quite yet. 

“It’s been endlessly entertaining watching him wrestle with his feelings for you, you know, but I suppose it’s nice that he has the opportunity to do something about it now.” Parkinson said after a moment, in a tone far too nonchalant for such a revelation. 

“His what?” Hermione whirled on her, but was met with a classically slytherin secret smile. 

 “Cake was lovely, Granger. See you around.” She said, before slinking off inside. 

“What did she say to you?” Malfoy was suddenly in front of her, looking down at her with wide eyes. Hermione blinked. 

“Um.”

“Because she’s been threatening all day to tell you and I know we’re only colleagues and I don’t want to overstep and make you feel uncomfortable or anything, so I wasn’t going to tell you. Did she make you uncomfortable? I’m really sorry, Granger, that is the absolute last thing I wanted and-” 

“Wait, it’s true?” She interrupted him. “I can’t believe you breed nifflers, Malfoy, that’s barbaric!” She exclaimed. 

“I breed…Right, yes.” He coughed and she stifled her smile. “They’re very well looked after and-” He looked at her. “You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?” 

“Oh, most of the time, yes.” She grinned. 

“You’re the worst, Granger.” 

“And yet I hear that you like me all the same.” Her grin became a smirk, and he scoffed, fighting his own smile. 

“Slight understatement, but I suppose we can work on it.”

“How much time have we wasted, exactly?” She asked. 

“Well how long have you…” He waved a vague hand, and she shrugged. 

“Couple of years.” 

“Years?!” He barked. “For fuck’s sake, Granger.” 

“Can we graduate to first names yet?” She asked, and his indignation melted away into a fond smile, one she hoped she’d see much more often. 

“Hermione.” He said quietly, and she willed her knees not to buckle. 

“Draco.” She responded, seeing something flicker across his face. 

“Save the bedroom eyes for later, this is still a kid’s party!” Nott hollered across the garden, and they sprang apart. 

“Knew it.” Hermione’s mother beamed. “John, I told you!” She ran across to her husband, and Hermione sighed. 

“They’re going to be insufferable about this.” 

“Somehow, I think I might be alright with that.” Draco replied as John picked up Scorp and swung him around, the boy laughing joyously. 

“Alright then, Parkinson is going to be insufferable about this.” She corrected, and Draco turned to her and grimaced. 

“Merlin, we’ll never know peace again.” He said dramatically, and Hermione started to laugh. “No, really, she can be so smug when she’s right about things, Hermione.” Hermione only continued to laugh, collapsing her head to Draco’s upper arm. “This isn’t good!” Draco insisted, as she melted into a puddle of giggles. “Granger!”