On a long, dark road, two fairies are flying.
Well—to be more specific, the shorter one of the two silhouettes is jumping vehemently, the translucent fabric fairy wings velcroed onto the back of her glittery green dress flapping up and down with the movements, while her taller counterpart follows behind, her pink wings stationary.
"Come on, Hermione! Fly!"
The tall fairy—who is in fact not a real fairy, of course, but just a normal eighteen-year-old girl dressed as one—exhales. "Nina, you can fly for both of us."
"No!" The little girl ahead of Hermione pauses her jumping (which are meant to imitate the action of flying, Hermione deduced a while ago) to turn back and puts her hands on her hips, her small stature amplified by the stance and the wide wings of her costume as she gives her babysitter a sassy glare. "Fairies don't walk. They fly! Have you never watched Tinker Bell?"
Hermione lets the words of the blabbering little girl wash over her, gazing at the large, looming mansions on either side of the empty road that she and Nina are walking along.
Of all things she could be doing on Halloween, she supposes that babysitting isn't exactly the worst option that comes to mind. She doesn't necessarily mind it—while Nina, whose parents are out of town for the day, is a little too overeager and talkative at times, Hermione is fond of the eight-year-old girl, who's been a regular client of her parents' dentistry for years. Plus, she doesn't have many opportunities to frequent the higher-bracket areas of London, and going trick-or-treating with Nina in the little girl's wealthy neighborhood is technically a rare experience.
It isn't like she had anything better to do, anyway—her own parents are at some local dentist event in the city, and she can make some spare pocket change before meeting Harry and Ron at the Burrow later in the night. If she'd stayed home like she originally planned, she'd probably be stuck in her room all night, working on her college applications for hours.
Hermione watches as Nina bounds towards a mansion to the left of the street that's completely devoid of lights and somehow looks especially ominous in the darkness of night. The tall, stone manor is at least three times as large as Hermione's own home and is surrounded by a black gate and a sprawling lawn.
It looks empty, like if one were to knock on the door, a ghost would answer instead of a person, and Hermione can't help but frown cautiously as Nina approaches the looming gate of the mansion.
"Are you sure you want to try this house?" she asks doubtingly, eyeing the dark windows of the mansion. "It doesn't look like anyone's home."
"Oh, c'mon, Hermione!" Nina pushes at the iron-clad gate with the confidence only eight-year-old girls have, and there's a loud creak as it slowly sweeps open. "See? Let's just try knocking!" The younger girl starts eagerly treading down the path leading towards the front of the mansion before Hermione can respond, the bright fairy costume on her small form extremely displaced against the dark, muted environment around them.
Hermione can only sigh before hesitantly stepping past the gate to catch up.
It feels like the stone pathway leading up to the door of the house takes forever to walk through, and by the time Hermione and Nina reach the porch, Nina is practically vibrating with excitement to potentially receive another haul of candy, while Hermione is ready to go home.
"Remember, Nina," Hermione says, looking down at Nina with what she hopes is an expression of enthusiasm as the little girl reaches up to ring the doorbell. "My parents will buy your Halloween candy off of you!"
Nina stares at Hermione with a look of deep consideration on her small face. "How much was it again?"
"A dollar a pound," Hermione recites just as the door in front of them cracks open slightly. "If you donate your candy, you get money, and your teeth won't rot!"
"That's not very fun of you," comes a sudden, drawling voice, and Hermione whirls around.
The young man standing in the doorway in front of her is so pale that someone could tell her that he'd sucked away all the brightness from the atmosphere around him and she would believe it. Smooth, pale skin stretches over carved cheekbones and a high, aristocratic nose, matching the rest of his sculpted features. His light blonde hair, which is gelled back in a slicked hairstyle, is falling forward in strands, brushing against his forehead and barely obscuring his sharp, piercing gray eyes as he leans down to look at Hermione.
It all extends downwards to a tall, lean body draped in a collared black cloak, matching fake vampire teeth glinting sharply in his mouth. Long, slender fingers emerge from beneath the cloak, one pale hand holding the door open and the other grasping a large bag of various candies.
"Excuse me?" Hermione asks slowly, keeping her eyes warily trained on him, because she isn't sure if she'd just heard this random stranger admonish her for trying to instill healthy beliefs into a eight-year-old little girl.
"I said," the stranger repeats, infuriatingly emphasizing the word said, "that's not very fun of you."
Hermione's jaw drops open indignantly. "Hold on—are you condemning me for trying to protect her teeth?"
The stranger shrugs casually, smirking as she continues to glower at him. "It's Halloween. Let the girl eat her candy." Then, in an even more shocking move, his gaze drops down to Nina, and his stare loses its sharpness as he smiles. "Hey, Nina."
"Hi, Draco! Trick-or-treat!"
"You got it." Draco reaches into the candy bag in his hand and drops an extra large handful into Nina's bucket, a smug look on his face as he straightens to look at a befuddled Hermione again.
"Awesome! Thanks!"
Recovered enough to utter a limited amount of words, Hermione stares at Nina. "You know him?"
The little girl shrugs, already chewing on a bar of chocolate. "Sure. This is Draco. My parents know his parents."
Ah, right—she'd forgotten that this is Nina's neighborhood in the first place.
"Hm," says Hermione innocently. "Well, Draco here seems to be unable to mind his own business and thinks of himself as some kind of Halloween saint."
Draco's smirk only widens. He leans against the doorframe, tall stature towering over Hermione as he arches an eyebrow down at her. "Nina, your little butler here doesn't seem to possess an ounce of fun in her body."
They exchange stares over an unbothered-looking Nina, Hermione shooting Draco a charged glare and him smiling innocently back.
"Come on, Nina," Hermione mutters frostily, forcing herself to drop her gaze and place a hand on Nina's shoulder. "Let's go."
"Ah—an extra piece just for you before you leave," interjects Draco, dropping a large Twix bar into Nina's bucket to the delight of the little girl before Hermione can react. His eyes glint humorously as Hermione casts him a venomous glare, quickly steering Nina back onto the path they came from.
"Bye, Draco!" Nina calls over her shoulder, waving her small hand at the rapidly-shrinking silhouette of the blonde behind them.
"Make sure you eat all the candy!" comes his voice from behind them. In response, Hermione only speeds up faster, gritting her teeth.
"What a rude boy," she huffs under her breath, pushing the iron-clad gates open with a bang.
—
A month later, Hermione has all but forgotten about said rude boy—until, that is, he walks into her parent's dentistry one Thursday afternoon.
From where she sits to the left of the receptionist, Melly, at the front desk, focused on working on her Oxford application as she waits to answer the next phone call that comes through for the dentistry, she hears the bell above the lobby door ring, signaling that someone has just entered the establishment.
Heavy footsteps echo against the tile flooring, and a moment later, a low voice says, "Appointment for Malfoy" to Melly.
It's a little drawling and familiar, just enough to stir something Hermione's memory. She frowns for a fraction of a second before glancing up from her laptop, and her eyes immediately meet piercing gray ones.
"You!" she cries, pointing at Draco, who's somehow standing in front of the front desk in her parents' dentistry, ignoring the startled looks of the other people in the lobby at her sudden, loud voice.
"You!" he reciprocates, glaring at her in suspicion and crossing his arms across his chest defensively. "What are you doing here?"
"I should be asking you!"
"Are you stalking me?" he demands.
"Wha—this is my parents' dentistry, you dolt!" Hermione can't help but grin gleefully at the look of uncertainty that graces his features at those words. "I help out after school sometimes."
He opens his mouth to retort, but right at that moment, a short, middle-aged woman with wild brown curls and etched smile lines on her face appears by the doorway next to the front desk, a clipboard in her hand.
"Draco Malfoy!" she calls.
Malfoy gave Hermione one last glare before turning to the woman and dipping his head. "That's me. It's nice to meet you," he said, shaking her hand evenly.
"Wonderful to meet you, Draco!" the woman exclaims warmly. "I'm Doctor Granger. We're always glad to welcome new clients." Her gaze shifts onto Hermione, who's still standing behind Malfoy. "Ah—I see you've met my daughter! Hermione's also eighteen—perhaps you two can be friends!"
"Perhaps," echoes Hermione exuberantly, while Malfoy only mutters something unintelligible under his breath.
As Hermione's mum leads him into the treatment room, Hermione trails after them, and she can't help but grin brightly at the multiple glares Malfoy shoots over his shoulder at her. She shrugs happily at him, as if to say: You know you can't say anything to me.
Malfoy's body is comically too long to fit fully in his dental chair, and when it's time for Hermione's mum to adjust the chair height to begin her examination, the scene of Malfoy's upper body being lowered slowly is mildly hilarious. That paired with the sight of Malfoy donning too-small sunglasses onto his disgruntled face causes Hermione to snort loudly from where she stands by the chart computer next to the dental chair.
Having gone through a routine checkup and gotten his X-rays done (which Hermione unfortunately is unable to witness due to the risk of exposure to radiation), Malfoy is now seated upwards on his dental chair, watching Hermione's mum closely as she concentrates on examining his charts and X-rays on the large computer next to him.
"Well, Draco," Doctor Granger muses, tracing one finger along the ridges of Malfoy's upper teeth in one of the X-ray photos as she frowns, "I'm afraid that I must inform you that—"
"You have a cavity!" Hermione exclaims loudly, pointing suddenly at the area indicating his lower back teeth in the X-ray and reveling in the glare on Malfoy's face at her words. "I can see it—it's here!"
"Hermione!" her mum scolds, and she quickly rearranges her look of delight into one she hopes looked like worry. Malfoy's scowl deepens. "I was getting to that. Draco, I'm afraid you'll need to . . ."
Later, after Hermione's mum has briefed Malfoy on the next steps regarding his cavity and has gone off momentarily to retrieve some papers for him to sign, Hermione can't stop herself from leaning over and whispering, "Must've been all the Halloween candy you seemed so encouraged to eat."
"Shove off."
"Guess you should've been the one to donate all your candy. To take care of your teeth, you know. Since you ended up getting a cavity and all."
Malfoy's expression darkens as he scoffs. "Please. One insignificant cavity is not an indication that I don't take care of my teeth."
Hermione ignores him, humming innocently as she swirls a strand of hair in between her fingers. "You know, Nina did donate her candy. And her teeth have no problems—she came in a few days ago." She smiles brightly. "I guess being no fun pays off."
Malfoy rolls his eyes, eyeing her in obvious irritation. "Why are you even in here? Your parents work here, not you."
"I told you—I come in after school to help out sometimes." Hermione shrugs. "For some reason, I focus really well in here, so I like working on my college applications by the front desk. It's quiet."
"Where are you applying?"
Hermione doesn't say anything for a moment, trying to gauge if he's going to make fun of her, but Malfoy's question seems genuine enough. "I'm completing Oxford's right now."
"Hm. Prestigious. Political Science, I presume?"
Hermione blinks. "I—yeah. How'd you know that?"
"Lucky guess." Malfoy sniffs, arching an eyebrow. "The program is highly selective, and you do seem like a bossy overachiever."
Hermione bristles indignantly, unsure of whether to take that as a compliment or insult. She settles on insult. "You git—" She exhaled loudly, choosing to instead fix him with a glare. "Then I assume you're applying for a different major?"
"Business," he replies smoothly. "I plan to become well-versed in the business world so I can prepare myself to inherit my father's company."
Of course. Hermione rolls her eyes just as her mum bustles back with the papers Malfoy needs to sign. Of course he's a nepo baby.
At the end, once Malfoy signs the necessary paperwork and books a follow-up appointment for his cavity (which Hermione makes sure to take notice of so she can mark the date off in her Google Calendar), Hermione's mum lets her sign one of those little slips grading Malfoy's dental habits, and Hermione does admit that she spends a little extra time making the F on the paper look nice.
—
The next time that Malfoy comes in, Hermione hates that his teeth haven't gotten worse since last time (other than the cavity).
Sure, that sounds terrible, but she's a stubborn and vindictive person when it comes to certain causes, and anyone who belittles her philosophy of encouraging nice, healthy behavior in tiny children deserves her wrath—in her opinion, at least.
"You like what you see, Granger?" he says, smirking up at her from the dental chair that's still too small for his body.
Hermione grits her teeth, staying silent. This time, there really is nothing she can comment on, unless she wants to actually give him compliments—because the plaque on his teeth is minimal, and he's been flossing good, and it looks like he'd actually been reaching his back teeth when brushing.
"Quiet, huh?" continues Malfoy, looking smugly satisfied. "I'd be too if I saw my pearly whites from your point-of-view."
"Don't forget about the cavity you came in with today to get fixed," Hermione shoots back, and Malfoy sobers up quickly. "Now open up again—I have to rinse your teeth with the water dispenser tool."
She makes sure to 'accidentally' poke the side of his mouth with the tool, causing him to gag a little and scowl up at her. It's childish, sure, but something about acting immature and petty around Malfoy—who reciprocates it, anyway—is almost a little fun to her.
That's ironic, given their first argument, but it's true—Hermione has only truly interacted with Malfoy on three separate occasions (this appointment included), but she feels strangely comfortable enough to banter with him. While he's snarky and arrogant, he's also snarky and arrogant enough that it makes her want to act the same way back to him whenever she talks to him.
It's a strange dynamic, and Hermione isn't really sure what to make of it.
At the end of his appointment, before he leaves, Malfoy turns to Hermione and shoots her look of determination, his pale eyebrows arched. "Watch me, Granger—next time I come back, these teeth are going to have zero flaws."
Hermione tilts her head. She hears the challenge in his voice loud and clear, and she doesn't hesitate to reciprocate.
"Oh yeah? See you then."
—
Unfortunately, timing sometimes is unlucky.
Malfoy's next appointment time slot coincides with Hermione's Oxford interview, which is given to her at the last minute by her admissions officer. She spends the entire day beforehand in a frenzy, practicing through rounds and rounds of practice interview questions, a certain pale blonde being the furthest thing from her mind.
It pays off. Hermione absolutely demolishes—as her mum says—the interview, and she only remembers about Malfoy when her dad mentions that "the Malfoy boy's teeth" has improved greatly at the dinner table.
—
Almost five months later, Hermione is sitting at the front desk of her parents' dentistry, fielding calls alone since Melly is off sick, when Malfoy walks through the door.
Hermione can't lie and say she hasn't been anticipating it, having admittedly checked the dentistry appointment log out of curiosity a few weeks ago for Malfoy's next appointment time, because she honestly has been anticipating it—obviously to see Malfoy's progress with his teeth, but a little part of her—as much as it pains and confuses her to admit to herself in her head—has been excited for some strange reason.
Maybe it's because she hasn't seen him in almost half a year, but as Hermione watches Malfoy approach the front desk with bated breath, she can't help but think that he looks taller and more filled out. He's just as pale and aristocratic as usual, but his eyes look lighter, and she notices that he's cut his hair.
"Hey, Granger." Is it just her, or is his voice deeper, more baritone?
Hermione shakes herself, returning Malfoy's gaze with a slightly-hesitant one. "Malfoy."
It's a quieter appointment. As Hermione's dad works on Malfoy's teeth, making occasional small talk as he focuses, Hermione stays silent by the computer, and Malfoy mostly keeps his eyes glued onto the television screen playing Hotel Transylvania above his dental chair (which he seems to have outgrow even more). Occasionally, though, Hermione notices his flickering stare lingering on her face through her peripheral vision, the too-small sunglasses perched on his nose bridge too light to hide the glances.
She pretends not to notice though, glaring harder at the charts on the computer screen.
When Hermione's dad adjusts Malfoy's dental chair upright at the end of his checkup and begins briefing him on a few logistics details regarding his insurance, Hermione is the one who took the opportunity to discreetly observe Malfoy from the corner of her eyes.
Up close, it looks as though his face has become narrower. Places that were once a little more cushioned with baby fat are now hollower, more sculpted, like someone has taken their time to intricately carve out his features. His hair, although shorter, seems to almost have a wave pattern—as opposed to his lank, gelled back hairstyles from earlier—and curves around his neck and ears nicely, loose and gel-free. His shoulders are broader, arm muscles visibly peeking out from below the sleeves of his fitted t-shirt (most likely from football, which Hermione knows he plays at his school after guiltily doing a quick little Google search of his name one day); the tendons on his neck flex whenever he swallows, an action that she can't tear her gaze away from for some reason.
Suddenly, Malfoy's eyes snap up, meeting Hermione's, and she immediately looks away, cheeks inexplicably burning as she suddenly busies herself with clearing the numerous folders on the computer's desktop, refusing to move an inch even when Malfoy stands up to follow her dad out of the treatment room.
"Hermione," her dad calls. "Draco's leaving—are you not going to say goodbye?"
"Bye," she murmurs, unable to look directly into his eyes. Instead, she fixes her stare onto a spot near his ear, focusing determinedly on one wisp of blonde hair that's curling by his earlobe.
He's looking at her eyes, though, burning gaze intense as he stares at her. After a moment, after he seems to realize that she isn't going to say anything else or meet his eyes, he inhales. "Bye, Granger," she hears him say, and she watches as he turns, and then he's disappearing around the corner with her dad, and he's gone.
A minute later, she hears the bell of the lobby door ring, signaling that he's left, and she feels her legs automatically begin to move.
"Ah, Hermione!" her dad exclaims when he sees her turn the corner. "Melly just called—she said she feels a lot better and should be able to come into work tomorrow."
"That's great," Hermione says distractedly, fidgeting with her shirt as she tries to bring up her next question as casually as possible. "When's M-Draco's follow-up?"
Her dad frowns. "He said he'd call back to book this time. I'm sure it'll be soon."
"Oh." Hermione blinks. "Okay."
—
Malfoy never calls back.
And Hermione forgets about it momentarily when she gets accepted into Oxford's Political Science program, and she rides the metaphorical high for a few months, graduating as valedictorian of her high school in mid-May and feeling excited about her future like never before.
She finds out too late—through her own parents, no less, who hear from Nina's parents—that Malfoy's parents abruptly sent him to study abroad for the spring and summer with no notice, and that he's stuck somewhere in America—California maybe, her mum guesses, and that when the fall semester of college starts, he'll be starting as a freshman at Cornell University.
"Oh, okay," is all she can say once more, tamping down the strange bubble of—disappointment?—that swells up in her chest at the sudden, unexpected news.
It takes her another few weeks to come to terms with the fact that she'll probably never see Malfoy again, a fact that saddens her for some reason, even though she'd really only ever interacted with him a few times.
In July, when Oxford sends her an invite to apply for the newly-established Oxford-Cornell exchange program for fall, she can't believe her eyes.