Fresh Eyes

“What does that mean?” Draco asks. “You promised her you wouldn’t tell? Does she know what’s going on?”

“Don’t be thick,” Ginny snaps. “She made me promise before she lost her memory. Only, I don’t think things are going according to plan, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Who else knows?” Draco asks.

“Only me.” Ginny says. She makes a regretful face, then adds: “And now, you.”

“I want to help,” he says, then tries not to feel too stung when Ginny snorts. 

Hermione returns just then, frowning, in a gust of cool outside air and the sound of shoes being nudged off. 

“Gin,” comes her plaintive reproach, now a little irritated. 

“Silly me,” Ginny says at once. “I had it here all along! Sorry, love. Here you go…”

She gives Hermione a box of chocolates that Draco has a feeling are fresh off a Conjuring Charm. Hermione, sweet girl that she is, forgets her annoyance instantly.

“Thank you!” she says giddily, undoing the ribbon. “Oh God, nougat. My favorite…”

“It’s from a great sweets shop in London,” Ginny says. “We should take you some time, Hermione.”

Hermione shrugs and smiles, popping a chocolate into her mouth.

“I’ve never really had the urge to go to London. You can just keep bringing me candies, can’t you?”

Draco doesn’t miss the strange, seemingly subconscious aversion to going somewhere that might trigger her memory. Ginny gives Draco a pointed look. Like—see what I’m saying?

“Well, since you’re working tomorrow I can show Draco the shop,” Ginny says. “That way he can bring you nougat when I’m not able to.”

Hermione is all excitement at this idea, presumably also because of her hope that Ginny and Draco are getting along.

She is disappointed when Draco says he ought to get back to his flat for the night. 

“I’ll come see you again this week,” he promises.

He waves to Hermione as he and Ginny walk down the street to find a secluded spot to Apparate away from. Hermione lingers in the doorway, sweet as the yellow glow of light from inside her flat, until Draco waves at her to go back inside. She blows him a kiss and he smiles like an idiot until he spots Ginny’s unamused look.

“So, where’s this sweet shop anyway?” he asks, clearing his throat. “Diagon Alley?”

Ginny gives him a disbelieving look.

“There’s no sweet shop, you idiot.”

Oh.

—

It’s just after eleven at night, and seeing as there’s little open other than pubs at this hour, Ginny wants to go to the Hog’s Head to talk about what they intend to do about Hermione. Draco is forced to admit that he doesn’t ever go to restaurants or public houses because he doesn’t like being out in the world, and people always seem to wish he wasn’t there anyway.

If he’d been foolish enough to hope that this display of vulnerability might soften Ginny’s stance on him, he’d have been disappointed. Luckily he harbors no such illusions

“Makes sense,” Ginny says crisply. “Alright. Let’s talk at yours then.”

“Can’t we go to your flat?” Draco asks, thinking about how Ginny’s impression of him as a lonely creep will certainly not be helped by the sight of his empty, cold and monochrome flat.

“No,” Ginny says. “Harry’s coming over soon.”

“He doesn’t know? And what about Weasel—“

He catches himself, and Ginny’s stony glare is unamused.

“Weasel-y,” Draco says, clearing his throat. “Weasley. Ronald.”

“No. They don’t know.”

So Draco’s flat it is. And although he feels self-conscious about how empty and morose it appears, his desire to learn more about Hermione’s situation takes precedence.

“Hermione’s been working with experimental memory magic,” Ginny says, taking a seat at the marble kitchen counter. “She’s been trying to restore her parents’ memories.”

Draco’s stomach tightens.

“I didn’t know her parents lost their memory,” he says softly.

“Yes,” Ginny says, looking away. Her face is drawn. “She had to wipe their memories herself. To keep them safe, you know, during the war. The thing is, there’s no existing memory charm that would restore their memories. And there’s very stringent laws around memory magic. The type she’s working with is illegal. The Ministry’s already given Hermione a warning—they said if she gets another strike, they’ll be forced to restrict her from seeing her parents at all.”

“That can’t be right,” Draco says. A jolt of anger catches him off-guard. The Ministry? Stop Hermione from seeing her parents? “She’s a war hero.”

“I know,” Ginny says, making a face. “But… I suppose the magic turned out to be quite dangerous in the end, didn’t it? She did go and accidentally wipe her memory like they were worried about.”

Ginny shakes her head and slumps back in the sofa, looking weary. 

“Anyway,” she sighs. “That’s the mess. And now you’re in on it too. Can’t say I’m not a little relieved that it’s no longer just me responsible for restoring the greatest mind of our generation.”

Draco is silent for a moment, ruminating on all of this. Does he know enough about memory magic to be useful? At what point would it make sense to involve the Ministry, risking Hermione’s ability to connect with her parents in the future?

“Poor Hermione,” he finally says. 

Ginny gives him a long, hard to read look. 

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I agree.”

Draco’s phone buzzes in his jacket pocket then. They both look at the source of the noise.

“So, you got a muggle phone,” Ginny says. “The better to woo her?”

Draco winces.

“Something like that,” he says. “I honestly don’t even know how this happened. I saw her and I dunno—I just wanted to talk to her. Before I know it she’s asking me to drinks and as a date to a party and—”

He rubs his face.

“I guess it’s nice to know that if things were different, she might’ve liked me,” he mutters. “She’s a lot more forward than I might’ve guessed.”

This makes Ginny bite back a smile, and Draco narrows his eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just—funny.”

“I guess it’s all over now anyway. I’ll have to find some way of telling her I can’t see her anymore.”

The thought makes him want to die.

Ginny casts a shrewd look at him. She taps her finger on the counter, thinking. 

“Have you slept with her yet?” she asks.

Draco’s cheek flame. He thinks, unbidden, of Hermione kissing his trouser zipper.

“No,” he stammers. “No, it’s not like that.”

“Good,” Ginny says. “You can’t, alright? It would be extremely immoral.”

Draco holds his breath. Is Ginny about to, against all odds, say he can keep seeing Hermione?

Ginny laces her fingers, and he has a feeling he’s about to play some role in a larger plan.

“It’s obvious Hermione clearly really likes you,” Ginny says. “And being as you are aristocratically unemployed—“

“I manage the family estate—“

Ginny speaks louder, talking over him.

“—you have the ability to spend time with her more flexibly than I do. Which means you can help me gather insights on the nature of her memory loss.”

Draco, personally, finds this prospect more than acceptable. More time spent with Hermione? Not having to say goodbye to her just yet? Sign him up.

“But she’s not going to like that you did this when her memory’s back, you know,” Ginny says. “I’m not even sure she’ll forgive me for allowing it. But I’m in over my head and could use the help.”

He tries to mask his elation.

“I understand.”

From the sofa, in his jacket pocket, his phone buzzes anew. Draco tries to ignore it.

“And needless to say that’s my best friend you’re dealing with,” Ginny says sharply. “So I expect you to be a perfect gentleman and not take advantage of her.”

Draco nods quickly, his cheeks burning. 

Certainly Ginny has no idea how persistent or forward Hermione’s advances have been. But there’s a bit of an evil twinkle in Ginny’s eye and, upon second thought, maybe she does know the torture she’s signing him up for.

“Good,” Ginny says crisply, standing. “Well, I’m off. I expect regular reports on Hermione. And we can catch up sometime in the next week or two to compare notes on her memory loss.”

“Sure,” Draco says, trying to hide his relief.

He wants terribly to check Hermione’s messages. Maybe she’s sent another sleepy-eyed selfie.

Ginny says a curt goodbye, then she steps into the Floo and is gone.

Draco’s phone starts buzzing again and he leaps for it, no longer under scrutiny of Ginny’s judgment. 

Hermione: this weekend was really fun. Miss you already

Hermione: by the way, you left your clothes here :) 

Hermione: I’m wearing your shirt. it smells so good

Draco scrubs a hand through his hair, already fighting a crooked smile. He is trying to figure out how to best gently guide their relationship back to something more platonic (something that will let him help Hermione and Ginny without being a predator).

Draco: Sorry for forgetting my things. I’m glad you’re getting pajama use out of them, at least.

Draco: Next time I’ll avoid showering or changing over there.

Her message comes back quickly.

Hermione: oh don’t say that. I hope we’ll have lots more sleepovers 

She calls him then and Draco picks up after half a ring.

“Hey,” he says hoarsely, sleepovers on the brain.

“Hi,” Hermione’s soft voice is playful. He hears clothing and skin and bedding shifting on the other side of the line and he listens harder, feeling pathetic. “I like wearing your clothes. I might keep these, you know.”

“They’re yours” he manages to say, sinking into a seat on the sofa.

“What’re you doing?” Hermione hums. 

“Just sitting. Talking to you. What about you?”

“I’m in bed. Smelling your shirt and missing you. I wish you were here… I’d be giving you little kisses everywhere.”

Draco nearly bites through his tongue.

He closes his eyes and leans forward, putting his head in his hands, the phone still held tightly to his head.

“Ah,” he says. His cock is hardening in his lap. “Maybe we should talk about something else—“

“Are you making that cute face you do when I tease you?” Hermione giggles. “All—serious and embarrassed and horny?”

He can’t help but laugh. 

“Yeah. Serious and embarrassed and horny… that’s me.”

“Mm. Maybe I can take care of the last piece next time.”

This sends a little pulse of blood downwards so quickly that Draco has to blink spots out of his eyes. 

“God,” he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can hardly think when you talk to me like that.”

Hermione giggles, and says: 

“I like the sound of that. Good boy.”