Chapter 3
Flashback - 'Showtime, Granger'
September 2, 1997
Draco was instructed to keep tabs on Umbridge whenever he was at the Ministry. After a month of doing so, he had her down to a T. She arrived every day by floo at precisely eight o’clock, her lunch break was always at eleven and every forty-five minutes, the pink mess of a woman used the restroom.
On Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, she met with Voldemort, Minister Thicknesse and Lucius. On Fridays, she would treat herself to a blueberry muffin from a local bakery. Though it was worth mentioning that she was never the one to go out and retrieve the baked good, she sent her assistant.
He had also noted that the locket had never once left her neck.
“Is that all?” Remus asked after Draco finished debriefing the group on Umbridge’s schedule.
“Yes-wait-no.”
Remus lifted a brow as he patiently waited for Draco to continue.
“I forgot to mention that she has a Glamour specialist sent up to her office every three days.”
“For what?” Harry asked.
“A full body hair removal,” Draco replied casually, both Harry and Ron shivered in their seats.
“No amount of galleons could ever persuade me to be in attendance for one of those sessions,” Ron declared with a repulsed look, to which Harry agreeingly nodded.
“Oh please,” Tonks groaned. “You’re acting like the concept of women getting hair removed is some obscene thing. Would you prefer if we kept our legs nice and hairy for you men? Is that what would make you happy? Curling up in bed with us and feeling our bushy legs brush up against yours?”
“Tonks…” Remus exhaled.
“Oh, are you wanting to join in on this conversation?” Tonks’ glare darted to her husband, who stared back at her like a deer in headlights. As she tilted her head slightly, her hair faded from its usual soft purple to a bold and threatening shade of red.
Remus’ lips parted as he prepared to speak but as soon as Tonk’s eyebrow quirked, he promptly snapped his jaw shut. He knew that look, and unlike the younger men in attendance, he knew it was best to stay silent. Remus raised his hands in surrender as he fell back into his seat.
Tonks gave Remus a curt nod before returning her attention to the two teen boys sitting opposite of her. “Now, where was I?” she began. “Ah, yes, that’s right. Tell me, boys, what other sexist beliefs has society infected your brain with?”
“It wasn’t meant to be sexist,” Harry sheepishly replied.
“Yeah, we were just grossed out by the idea of Umbridge-” Ron began, but Tonks abruptly cut him off.
“Of Umbridge growing hair like every female on earth? Just because she’s an evil minger doesn’t mean you get to shame her with your male privilege.”
Harry and Ron both turned to one another, unsure how to respond or save themselves from the situation. Feeling desperate to escape the forbidding stare of Tonks, whose hair still matched the flames burning in her eyes, Ron looked over at Draco, who was busy cleaning the dirt from under his nails.
“Malfoy, don’t you have anything to say?” Ron asked. “You knew we didn’t mean any harm, right?”
Without missing a beat, Draco said, “I think both you and scarhead need to dislodge your heads from each other’s arses and own up to your internalised sexism.” The room fell silent, and everyone’s jaws dropped as they stared in shock at Draco, everyone except Tonks, who proudly smiled at her cousin.
“That’s a load coming from you,” Ron jeered. “A pure-blood Death Eater whose daddy has given him everything he ever wanted.”Draco slowly lifted his head and met Ron’s stare. Leaning forward, Draco placed his forearms on the table and clasped his hands together before speaking.
“I may be a Death Eater who has always gotten whatever it was that he desired, but as you mentioned, I’m a pure-blood, and something that usually comes with such a status is having respect, especially for women. I say usually because clearly, that trait has fallen short within the Weasley family.”
“Respect? Since when have you ever shown any sort of respect for anyone” Ron challenged. “Your entire family is vile, no offence Tonks.”
“Some taken,” she retorted.
“The Malfoys may have a history of being cruel and putting their loved ones in less than desirable situations,” Draco began. “But the one thing the men have always carried is admiration for women. At the end of the day, no matter what Lord or higher being they may offer themselves to, their wife is whom they’re endlessly devoted to. Without women, we’d be nothing.”
Once again, Ron and Harry stared at him slack-jawed while Tonks bobbed her head, her mouth stretched into a wide grin as she reached for her glass and raised it in the air, toasting Draco from the opposite end of the table. Hermione stayed silent as she stared fixedly at the boy who once spent his days tormenting their classmates.
Much like her friends, she had only ever viewed Draco as a one-dimensional being. From their first day at Hogwarts, he was nothing more than a bully who believed that he was above everyone else due to the purity of his blood. It only made sense to her that he would remain the same until his final days.
But as she listened while Ron and Draco went back and forth, she couldn’t help but be curious about who Draco Malfoy truly was. Her mind was an endless flow of questions she figured she’d never be granted the answers to.
I wonder what caused the separation between Malfoy and Tonks. Based on their first interaction, it’s evident that they hadn’t seen one another in a long time and that it wasn’t by choice.
How close were they? Did they spend the holidays together? Have they had any communication before this year?
Did Tonks and Remus invite him to their wedding? Does Malfoy know that they’re expecting their first child in April? Does he even know that they’re a couple?
And since when was Malfoy a feminist? I don’t remember him ever advocating for us females back at school. Granted, that sort of topic was never brought up in class.
Now that I think about it, he was always quick to defend Pansy.
Pansy.
Where was she? Was she a death eater now too? And what about his other friends? What were their names again? Leo? No. Theo? Theo! Theodore Nott and… and Blaise Zabini! Were they death eaters too? They’re pure-bloods after all. It would make sense if they were forced into the same unfortunate circumstance as Malfoy.
“Hermione?” Remus called out, snapping her from the trance-like state.
Hermione’s eyes skipped from one set of eyes to another and another until they landed on those belonging to the individual who had consumed her thoughts only a few seconds ago. She felt her face instantly go red as Draco held her stare.
“Er-sorry,” she apologised as she cleared her throat and forced herself to look at anyone other than the blonde Death Eater.
“No need to apologise,” Remus assured her. “We were just revisiting the main topic of the evening.”
As Remus continued discussing their options when it came to retrieving the locket from Umbridge, Ron leaned into Hermione and whispered, “Hey, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she declared. “Why would you ask that? Do I not seem fine?”
“No-er-I mean-you seem fine, I guess,” Ron replied, confused by her defensive demeanour. “Is this my fault? Is it because of what I said earlier?”
Of course he thinks this is about him. Everything always is, Hermione thought as she rolled her eyes.
“No.”
“You know I didn’t mean for it to come across that way,” he continued. “And that whole thing with Malfoy… I wasn’t trying to justify anything. He just gets under my skin and-”
“I’d like to pay attention to what Remus is saying,” she clipped, interrupting his ego-driven apology as she crossed her arms and tuned into the conversation.
“So she arrives by private floo every time?” Harry questioned.
Draco nodded. “That’s correct.”
“And the locket is with her at all times?”
“Excellent job Potter, you’ve learned to use your ears. I’m so proud of you,” Draco said with mock praise.
“Well that’s just bloody brilliant,” Ron scoffed. “How are we meant to get our hands on the locket if the maddening woman never takes it off?”
Harry, Remus, Tonks and Andromeda all remained silent. Even Hermione seemed to have no solution to offer. Draco rolled his eyes as he leaned over and reached into his bag.
“Must I do everything?” Draco groaned as he tossed a file onto the table.
“What are these?” Harry asked.
“Your way in.”
“Who is Albert Runcorn?” Harry inquired as he held up a photo of a dark-haired man.
“A high-ranking Ministry official, which means he has clearance to every floor,” Draco explained with a bored expression.
“I’m assuming this one is for me?” Hermione queried.
“Good job Granger, ten points to Gryffindor,” he smirked, which caused her to break eye contact and shift back into her seat. “Our dear Mafalda works in the DMLE and has just been conveniently assigned to work alongside Dolores Umbridge.”
Draco studied Hermione as she kept her head down and looked over the file. It wasn’t like the brightest witch of their age to shy away from meeting a snarky remark with one of her own. After some thought, he realised she had been relatively quiet all morning, an even stranger concept when it came to her. But the thing that puzzled him the most was her expression.
She looked… impressed.
Draco knew that he was, in his humble opinion, an extremely impressive individual. But he also knew that it would be a cold day in hell before Hermione Granger ever thought the same. No. This couldn’t be right. He must’ve been reading her all wrong.
Refusing to move on with his day until he confirmed his theory that something else must be causing the curly-haired witch’s eyebrows to raise in surprise and lips to part as she stared wide-eyed at the file in her hands, Draco focused on the space between her brows and peered into her mind.
Immediately, he was met with a barricade in the form of an old wooden door. Variations of flowers lined the border of the single glass window in the centre, and moss crawled its way up the reclaimed white oak.
As soon as his hand gripped the handle, an intense sharp pain surged through his body. Draco had never encountered a defence of this calibre. Most individuals, himself included, merely filed, separated and built walls. But Hermione, in true fashion, over-delivered.
Extracting himself from the minefield that was Hermione Granger’s head, Draco leaned back into his chair and pinched his brows together as he stared her down. Feeling the intensity of his gaze burning through her, Hermione flitted her eyes up to meet his.
“What?” she asked apprehensively.
“Who taught you?”
“Who taught me what, Malfoy?”
“Occlumency,” he stated.
“Occlumency? I don’t know occlu-”
“Who’s this?” Ron questioned, cutting her off. Reluctantly, Draco peeled his eyes from Hermione and looked over at the photo within Ron’s grasp.
“Reginald Cattermole,” Draco replied.
“What’s his job? Does he work in the Ghoul Task Force or maybe the DMLE? Is he a baddass auror?” Excitement consumed Ron’s expression as he continued to list off job titles.
“Please, did you get a look at the guy?” Draco quipped. “No Weaslebee, Cattermole works in the maintenance department. In even simpler terms, he’s a nobody. I thought he’d be perfect since you share so many similarities.”
Ron’s lip curled into a snarl while Draco’s casually lifted into a satisfied smirk. Sensing a fight was about to erupt, Remus cleared his throat and got up from his seat.
“It’s settled then,” he announced. “Hermione, I trust you still have a batch of polyjuice?”
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Good, and Draco, do you know where-”
“All three of them use the employee entrance off of Whitehall,” Draco answered.
“Alright, we’ll set out in half an hour. Draco will help with coverage inside while Tonks and I patrol outside. With that being said, I want to make it very clear that you are to stick to defensive spells only. A stun or two if needed, but please, try to keep the damage at a minimum,” Remus informed them, his focus turning to Hermione.
“Why did you look at me when you said that?” she asked innocently.
Remus closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. “I just want to remind all of you that while collecting the remaining Horcruxes is our top priority, we are also trying to show that we aren’t a hostile group. The last thing we need is our faces printed on wanted posters.”
“Aren’t they already?” Harry asked.
“Yes, but let’s not give them any credible reasons for doing so. Tonks and I also made these,” Remus held up two gold pins and tossed them onto the table. “Should anything go wrong, and our groups get separated, we will be able to use those to locate one another.”
“There’s only two here,” Harry pointed out.
“Yes, well, we figured since the three of you always manage to stick together, there was only a need for you to have one. Draco will be taking the other. Now, take this time to get ready. We’ll reconvene in twenty minutes.”
~~~
For the first time, Draco was offered a chance to wander the house he grew up hearing his aunt and mother mention as they reminisced on their childhood. He remembered how fondly his mother would speak about the holiday parties hosted at Grimmauld Place. As a child, he had always envisioned a cosy space full of colour and warmth. But as he made his way up the stairs, the floor creaking beneath his feet with each step, he couldn’t help but laugh at how wrong he was.
The walls were painted black, the furniture a shade of either dark green or brown and a thin layer of dust covered nearly every inch of the house, despite Kreacher’s regular cleanings. It was as if death itself had washed over Grimmauld Place.
After ten minutes of a disappointment-filled tour, Draco stood inside one of the bedrooms and scanned the wallpaper that doubled as a family tree. His fingers grazed the faded gold banner beneath his mother’s portrait and over to a burnt hole in the vinyl where his aunt Andromeda’s photo once existed.
The sound of glass clinking and a muffled “fuck,” caused his hand to drop. Stepping out of the room, Draco made his way down the hall and towards the source. Standing in the doorway, he silently watched as Hermione fumbled with various vials.
“Such a bad girl, Granger,” Draco tutted as he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.
Startled by his sudden presence, Hermione spun around and shoved her right hand behind her back. “What’re you doing up here, Malfoy?”
“I think the better question is, what are you doing?” Clearing the space between them, Draco peered over Hermione’s shoulder and down at the vial within her grasp. “Did you remember to add ten drops of erumpent fluid?”
“Obviously I remembered to add ten-wait-how did you…” she trailed off.
“Need I remind you who was top of the class in Advanced Potions, Granger?” he smirked.
Taking advantage of her momentarily stunned phase, Draco reached around and retrieved the vial from her hand. Holding it up to the light, he carefully examined the green liquid.
“Not bad, though I can tell based on the colour alone that you didn’t let it boil for the full thirty minutes. You always were the impatient sort, must be why you scored so far below me,” he taunted.
“What’s it going to take?” Hermione asked as she folded her arms over her chest and tapped her foot.
“In regards to..?”
“Your silence, to not rat me out to Remus.”
“Your automatic assumption that I am, as your Muggles like to call it, a tattle-tale hurts Granger,” Draco replied as he placed his hand on his chest. “However, you can make amends by telling me what you plan on doing with this Erumpent potion.”
“It’s just a precautionary measure,” she replied.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Draco ridiculed. “At least give me a warning before you set the place on fire, I just got this jacket, and I’d prefer to not have any scorch marks on it.”
~~~
When Draco had first delivered news of the Muggle-Born Registration, everyone expected Hermione to be appalled, infuriated, perhaps even crushed, but she was a blank canvas. There was no emotion or reaction, just a single blink before she continued with the meeting. Now, polyjuiced as one of the individuals that helped conduct said trials, Hermione stood in front of the marble fountain, unblinking, and her lips parted as she stared in horror at the Muggles encased in stone.
“Horrifying, isn’t it?” Ron asked.
“Dehumanising was the word that came to my mind,” Hermione replied.
“I’ll be finding a way to get back at Malfoy for this. I mean, look at me!”
Once her head turned and her gaze landed on Ron, she realised they had been talking about two completely different things. While she was referring to the sinister crimes Voldemort and his followers were committing against Muggles, Ron was busy worrying about his appearance.
Everything in her wanted to scream, to criticise him for only thinking about himself when there were hundreds of innocent people being targeted and even killed for something so meaningless like their blood status. But before she could, Draco appeared at her side.
“Repulsive,” his tone full of disgust as he looked at the fountain. Hermione’s hand found its way to her hip, and her lip curled as she prepared to scold Draco and Ron for their lack of empathy. “I get the aversion to Muggles but this?” Draco continued as he jutted his chin toward the display.
“You have something negative to say about the current treatment of Muggles?” Hermione queried.
“Many,” he replied. “But unfortunately, we’re on a bit of a tight schedule. So if you don’t mind, let’s get a move on, yeah?”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione trailed behind Draco as they made their way across the main floor and over to the lifts. Stepping inside, Harry grabbed onto the gate and began to close it when suddenly, Yaxley appeared and stuck his foot out to stop it.
“Cattermole,” he stated, his attention focused on Ron. “It’s still raining inside my office. That’s two days now.”
Ron glanced at the uncertain faces of Harry, Hermione and even Draco, who offered him nothing more than a deadpan expression.
“Have you tried an umbrella?” he asked timidly.
Yaxley pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes, accentuating his crow’s feet. “You realise that I’m going downstairs, don’t you, Cattermole?”
“Downstairs?”
“To interrogate your wife,” he explained. “Now, if my wife’s blood status were in doubt, and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement needed a job doing, I think I just might make that a priority.” Yaxley took a moment to observe Ron’s expression, checking to ensure that his threat was received. “You have one hour,” he said before turning and leaving.
Once more, Harry reached forward and dragged the gate closed. As the lift reversed and shot up to the next floor, Ron stared wide-eyed at the space in front of him.
“Oh my god, what am I going to do?” he asked, his voice full of panic. “My wife is all alone downstairs.”
“Hey fuckwit,” Draco called out. “You don’t have a wife.”
“Oh, right,” he exhaled.
“Level two,” a female voice announced as the lift halted.
“This is you Ron,” Harry said as the gate opened.
Ron let out a deep breath and staggered out of the lift. Turning, he scratched his head and said, “Wait, how am I supposed to find you all?”
“We’ll find you,” Hermione replied.
“Okay, but what if–” his question was interrupted when the gate abruptly shut.
“Best of luck Weaslebee,” Draco brought his pointer and middle finger to the corner of his eyebrow and saluted Ron as the lift shot back.
After dropping Harry off on the Minister of Magic and Support Staff floor so he could investigate Umbridge’s office, Draco and Hermione found themselves alone as they stepped onto the tenth floor and headed towards the courtrooms.
Halfway down the corridor, Draco noticed Hermione in a state that he was unfamiliar with when it came to the witch. Panic. She had always been the type to remain composed, especially during stressful situations. But each time she placed a foot in front of the other, she began to unravel at the seams.
Knowing that she was the sort to thrive on details and information, Draco began to talk her through the trials from start to finish.
“The Muggle registrations are organised alphabetically by last name. Each individual is given a twelve-hour notice about their hearing. Umbridge suggested that twenty-four hours would give them too much time to strategise a getaway.” Draco took a brief pause as he waited for the guards to pass by before proceeding. “They're escorted downstairs the morning of their trial and held in a cell until their appointment time. No one is granted a lawyer, but they can have one immediate family member in attendance.” As he continued through the steps, the muscles in Hermione’s shoulders began to relax.
There was something strange to Draco about bringing comfort to someone he wouldn’t have given the time of day to a few months ago. But he knew that if he wanted the mission to go smoothly, he needed Hermione to live up to her title of being ‘the brightest witch of her age’.
“If they’re found guilty, which they usually are, they’re brought back to their cell. At the end of the day, Yaxley and some other Death Eaters will execute them.”
As soon as the last word fell from his lips, another pair of guards appeared. Hermione’s eyes locked onto the middle-aged man who was kicking and screaming as they dragged him.
“I’m a half-blood, I swear it!” he shouted.
All of the work that Draco had put in to help subside her nerves immediately came undone when the man cried out, “Please don’t do this. I have a family.” It was then that he realised no amount of lists or facts would be able to reverse the terror that quickly overtook Hermione. Her hands flew up to her neck, and her body shook as she began to hyperventilate.
“They’re… going… to… kill… him,” she choked out. “H-he.. has... a… f-family.”
Grabbing her by the shoulders, Draco pinned Hermione up against the stone wall.
“I need you to calm down, Granger,” he commanded. “You need to lock away that heart of yours and get your shit together, do you hear me?”
“D-dead,” she stuttered. “So many are dead.”
Fuck, she’s gone completely mad, he mentally cursed. Running his hand down the length of his face, Draco let out a deep breath before attempting a new approach.
“I need you to focus on a memory, a happy memory,” he instructed. “Do you think you can do that?” Still struggling to steady her breathing, Hermione nodded her head. “Good. Let me know when you have it.” As she closed her eyes, Draco kept watch as he struggled to hold on to the little bit of patience he had.
“By all means, take your time,” he groaned.
“Okay, I have one,” she said as she opened her eyes.
“Now focus on the details. Where are you? What are you doing? Who are you with?”
“In a greenhouse looking at the orchids with my par-”
Draco shook his head. “You don’t need to say it out loud, Granger.”
“Oh-er-sorry,” she apologised before biting down on her bottom lip.
“And you don’t need to apologise,” he replied. Taking a step back, Draco motioned for Hermione to follow him. “Back to your memory, do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
“And the people you’re with, do you care about them?”
“Very much so.”
“You would do anything to protect them, to keep them out of harm's way, yes?”
Hermione’s head dropped as she tugged at a loose strand on her sleeve. “Yes.”
“Lock them away.”
“What?!” she asked, her eyes snapping up to meet his.
“Lock. Them. Away,” he repeated sternly. “Lock them, the memory and your bleeding heart away in a box. Then, once you’ve done that, lock that box in a safe, build the strongest fucking wall and reinforce it with every ward that mind of yours knows.”
“You’re having me occlude?”
“You’re already occluding. I’m simply helping you control it. Now lock them away Granger. If you want a chance at getting that damn locket from Umbridge, you need to do as I say.”
“Okay,” she sighed before shutting her eyes again.
“Breathe in and focus,” Draco instructed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Place them in the box and exhale.” Hermione let out a slow and controlled breath. “Good, again, only when you inhale this time, build a wall. Place brick after brick until you can’t see the top.” Her chest raised as she dragged in a breath. “Exhale and cast a ward.”
Hermione continued to compartmentalise and separate with each breath while Draco guided her down the remaining length of the corridor.
“How are we feeling?” Draco asked once they reached the door to the courtroom.
“Better, lighter.”
“Good,” he nodded before pressing his palm against the door. “Showtime, Granger.”
Present Day
“I have a surprise for you,” Draco smiled as he got up from the bench.
“What is it?” Hermione asked as she also stood.
“If I told you, that would defeat the purpose of a surprise, now wouldn’t it?”
“You know surprises irritate me, Draco.”
“And you know that I love to irritate you,” he replied with a cheeky smile. “Now come, it’s not far of a walk.”
As they made their way through the garden, Draco couldn’t help but admire the way Hermione looked. The golden tint of the sun brought out the honey colour within her eyes and perfectly accentuated her high cheekbones. And when the autumn breeze wafted through her hair, causing her wild curls to dance behind her gracefully, Draco thanked the Gods.
There was never a time in his life where he imagined that he’d ever be graced with the chance to love someone and for them to love him back, especially not someone like Hermione Granger. Despite how he may have acted towards her at Hogwarts, he always knew that someone like Hermione would always be beyond his reach. She was warm, kind, thoughtful, everything that he wasn’t. But he was trying. He was trying to be a better man. He wanted to be a better man. He wanted to be someone deserving of her.
“Are we there yet?” Hermione groaned.
“Still the impatient sort,” Draco teased. “But yes, we’re here.”
“Oh, wow, this is a very nice-er-field,” she replied. “I love it.”
Draco rolled his eyes and let out a soft chuckle. “And still a terrible liar as well.” Removing his wand, he muttered an enchantment causing the concealment charm to drop and a greenhouse to appear. Holding the door open, Draco watched as Hermione’s face lit up the second she stepped foot inside. Her eyes doubled in size, and she held her clasped hands tightly to her chest as she explored each aisle. When she reached the row on the far right, she sharply inhaled and stopped in her tracks.
“Are those…”
“Orchids, yes,” Draco answered, already knowing the question. “I remembered that day at the Ministry when you were polyjuiced as Mafalda and how I had you focus on a happy memory. You said that you were in a greenhouse looking at-”
“Looking at the orchids,” she finished.
Draco nodded. “I thought that perhaps if the memory alone could bring you comfort back then, that maybe bringing it to life would be able to help bring you some now. Do you hate it?” Hermione’s lip quivered as her eyes misted over. “Shit, you hate it. I’m sorry, I should never have-”
Unable to contain her emotions any longer, she dropped to her knees as a heap of grief poured out in a flood of uncontrollable tears. Her face fell into her hands, and she mumbled incoherent things as she choked on her sobs.
“Granger, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Draco apologised as he rushed to her side. “I can have it dismantled.”
“No,” she cried out as she shook her head.
“No?”
“No,” she repeated once more. “I don’t want you to get rid of it.”
“But you’re crying?”
“Not because of this,” she said as she motioned to the space around them. “ This is wonderful.”
“Then what is it? What’s wrong? Talk to me, please,” he pleaded.
Hermoine wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand before flitting her bloodshot eyes up to meet Draco’s. She hated herself for how she had treated him over the last few months. She knew he only wanted to help her, and she loved him for it, but he didn’t understand. She hated how she always managed to ruin a good moment. She was tired of crying, of being angry and broken, but most of all, she was tired of hurting him.
All she wanted was to be happy, to be happy with him. She wanted to laugh with him until her cheeks hurt, and she wanted to fill their days with banter just like they used to. But that was then, and this was now. She wasn’t the same girl that she was during the war. Instead, she was merely a ghost of who she used to be. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t be the girl that Draco had fallen in love with, not entirely. What she could do was drop her defensive walls for once and let him in.
“I never told you why I chose that memory.”
“You don’t have to, Granger.”
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to,” she said quietly.
“Okay,” he nodded understandingly. “I’m all ears then.”
Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “The memory was one with my parents. My dad used to have a greenhouse like this in our backyard; granted, it wasn’t nearly as extravagant. It was his pride and joy aside from mum and I. He would spend hours in there. One summer, he came rushing into the house and insisted that mum and I follow him. He had grown his first tomato which was a very big deal,” she giggled. “We spent all evening walking up and down the aisles as he told us about each plant and the specific care required. My dad had a thing for turning everything into a lesson, so of course, he seamlessly related the various vegetables and flowers to life. But the one that stuck with me was the orchids.”
Draco could tell, despite her smile, that it was hurting her to talk about this. He could hear the pain in her voice and see the strain in her eyes as she reflected on the memory, but it had been so long since she had been vulnerable with him, and selfishly, he didn’t want it to end, not yet.
“He told me that you needed to be careful not to overwater them and that once the blooming is over, let the flowers wilt and fall off naturally,” she continued. “He then went on to tell me that I should use the same approach with life. Everything was best in moderation, and I needed to relinquish my need for control and let things happen organically.”
Lowering her head, Hermione swallowed back the tears that threatened to escape again.
“It’s one of my favourite memories with them, one that I hope I never lose because I won’t have the chance to make any new ones.”
Draco’s head tilted to the side, “What do you mean? Are they..”
“No, but sometimes I wish they were, which is a terrible thing to say, but it would certainly make things hurt less,” she admitted. “I never told you this because, frankly, I never saw any reason to do so, but before we began the Horcrux hunt, I obliviated my parents.”
“Granger…”
“It’s fine. It was for the best. It was to protect them,” she replied, though it seemed like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone. “I knew Voldemort would do anything to get to Harry, which meant he’d do anything to get to me. Wiping their memories was the best way to ensure their safety. It’s what was best for them.”
“Where are they now?”
“Australia, at least that’s where I had sent them. They could’ve moved for all I know. I just wish I could see them again, even if only for a moment. I never got to say goodbye, to tell them that I love them.”
“Then let’s go to them,” Draco suggested.
“I can’t, not like this. Besides, they wouldn’t even remember me.”
“Surely there’s a way to reverse the effects. Somewhere someone has done a study on it; we just need to figure out who and speak with them. We can do this Granger. Let me help you with this. Let me bring your family back to you.”
Hermione’s eyes softened as she raised her hand and reached for him. Just as her palm was about to cup his cheek, a sharp crack cut through the silence.
“Master Draco, Bippy brings news,” the elf announced.
“Not now, Bippy.”
“But Master Draco, it has to do with the guests for this evening,” she urged.
Rubbing his eyes and letting out a sigh of defeat, Draco signalled for Bippy to continue with her message.
“Mister Ronald Weasley sends his regards but says he will not be in attendance.”
“And what of the others?”
Bippy shook her head, “No response from anyone else yet Master Draco.”
“Alright, thank you Bippy. You’re dismissed.”
With another crack, the house elf disappeared as quickly as she appeared, leaving Hermione and Draco alone again. Draco had wished that she hadn’t been present for the conversation. He had wanted it to be a surprise. Swallowing his pride and strong distaste for her friends, Draco sent letters yesterday inviting them to dinner to celebrate her birthday.
He knew that the short notice was less than ideal and that asking someone to step foot inside the house that they were once held captive in wasn’t exactly a selling point. But he figured if Hermione could stomach living in the bloody place, then surely her friends could grow some bloody balls and suffer through an evening.
But now that he thought about it, it didn’t surprise him that the first to decline was Ron fucking Weasley. He had forgotten her birthday altogether last year, so why in Merlin’s name would he make it a priority this time? He was probably still bitter that Hermione had chosen the Death Eater over the sad pathetic pining best friend.
Flashback - 'Cuts and Comfort'
September 19, 1997
Following the infiltration at the Ministry, Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves bouncing from one place to the next every few days. When Draco had first visited to deliver them supplies, his entire list of disparaging remarks regarding their tent paused the moment he entered. He had never seen anything like it.
“It’s a fairly common charm when camping. You were at the Wizarding World Cup, didn’t you use it on your tent then?” Harry asked.
“The fact that you think I stayed in a tent is insulting Potter,” Draco scoffed.
In all honesty, he most likely would’ve stayed in a tent. One much nicer than everyone else’s, but nonetheless, a tent. The only reason he hadn’t was that his father had received, what he referred to at the time as, a business message. That business message ended up being a summoning from the mark that now covered Draco’s left forearm.
It was a common theme throughout Draco’s life. Whenever he and his father had something planned it either got interrupted or cancelled altogether due to some sort of business matter. By the time Draco was eight, he learned to no longer get his hopes up for anything, no matter how much his father may have assured him that he would be in attendance. Instead, Draco learned to expect people to not show up, to not live up to their word.
“If you expect nothing, then it won’t hurt as much when you get nothing,” he would always remind himself.
With that being said, Draco made sure to always make good on his word. Whether he chose to admit it or not, he never wanted anyone to feel the way he did as a young kid. He never wanted to be the reason someone choked on their tears as their mother tried to console them.
During fourth year, he had told Theo that he would meet him at The Three Broomsticks for drinks. Despite dislocating his knee during a last-minute quidditch practice and being advised to visit Madam Pomfrey to get it fixed, Draco limped his way to Hogsmeade to meet his friend.
During sixth year, Draco agreed to help Blaise and Pansy with their potions assignment. Even though he was mentally and physically exhausted from hours of mending the vanishing cabinet, he still stayed up until one in the morning going over alchemic symbols.
If Draco gave his word, he stuck to it, which is exactly what he was doing as he lugged a sack of different foods and potion ingredients through the woods. The locator pin that Tonks and Remus made would bring him to the general area in which the trio was located but never directly to them. Usually, Draco wouldn’t hesitate to bring forth a complaint over a matter like such but after discovering that Tonks was pregnant, he chose to bite his tongue. Something about ridiculing a pregnant woman’s work seemed brash, even for him.
Finally reaching the campsite, Draco effortlessly crossed the concealment barrier and found himself face to face with Hermione, who stood no further than a foot away from him.
“Just can’t stay away from me, can you Granger?” Draco smirked.
“In your dreams,” Hermione quipped as she rolled her eyes and headed back to the fire.
“Yes, you and your dirt-covered body are precisely what I fantasise about at night,” he replied sarcastically as he dropped the sack on the ground. Wasting no time, Hermione pulled the bag into her lap and sifted through the contents within.
“You’re welcome, by the way. It was a pain getting the dittany.”
Once she retrieved the vial of herbs, she looked up at Draco. “Thank you, we were just about to run out.”
“How is the orange peel doing?” Draco asked as he took a seat on the edge of the log, making sure to keep as much distance between himself and Hermione as possible. “Still moaning and crying like the child he is?”
“He’s recovering, slowly, but still recovering.”
“So he’s not going to die?”
“No.”
“That’s unfortunate. Can I see that?” he requested, pointing at the knife to her right. Picking it up off the ground, Hermione tossed him the item. “So, tell me, what’s with the children’s book?” Draco asked as he flipped the blade out and began scraping the collection of mud, sticks and stones from the sole of his boots. “I always pinned you as the classical literature type.”
“Dumbledore left it to me. I’ve read through it four times now trying to find any sort of message or clue that he may have left us regarding the Horcruxes.”
“And have you?”
“No.”
“I will say Granger, I figured even you would allow yourself a break from the world-saving on your birthday. I guess I should’ve known you’d prove me wrong, you’re painfully annoying like that.”
“What did you just say?”
“I said you’re annoying.”
“No, before that.”
“What? That it’s your birthday?”
“Yes! That!” she exclaimed as she shot up to her feet. “You know that it’s my birthday today?”
“Am I not supposed to?” he asked, his voice full of annoyance.
“No-I mean-you’re allowed to-it’s just-” Hermione slumped back down onto the log and stared at her hands as she picked at her nails. “Harry and Ron didn’t, that’s all. Which is fine, there are more important things to be focusing on than some stupid birthday.”
Unsure of how he’s meant to respond, Draco decided to remain silent as he continued to clean the bottom of his shoes.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”
“Oh, okay.”
There it was again. The strange and disgusting impulse to help her, to comfort her. He hated it and would rather take the knife in his hand and drive it into his eye than do so, and yet the words “What’s your question Granger” still fell from his lips.
“Did Bellatrix teach you occlumency?”
His eyes snapped over to her and his hand jolted, causing the blade's sharp edge to cut into the palm of his other hand. “Fuck,” he muttered as he dropped the knife and applied pressure to the wound.
“Shit, let me see it,” Hermione requested as she slid over to him.
“I think the fuck not,” he retorted as he jerked away from her. “Everyone may consider you to be some brilliant witch, but I know that you’ve been roommates with four eyes and carrot-head for the last two weeks. And based on the heinous sound coming from inside the tent, I'd say you haven't had a full night's rest in a while. I mean seriously, Granger, how do you stand that snoring? Regardless, the last thing I need is you accidentally disfiguring my hand due to exhaustion."
“Can you try to not be an insufferable prat for one minute?” she scoffed as she reached across and yanked his hand into view.
“I can try, but no promises.”
Ignoring his comment, Hermione held up her wand, cast a lumos and inspected the gash.
“It’s pretty deep but a few drops of dittany should heal it,” she informed him as she set her wand down and reached into her small beaded bag.
“No,” Draco said as she applied the first drop.
“Malfoy, I promise this isn’t going to cause your hand to burn off.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what I’m talking about, I’m referring to your question. No, my aunt Bella didn’t teach me occlumency.”
“Oh, I see….”
“Just ask it.”
“Ask what?”
“Your follow-up question. I know you have one.”
Still holding onto his hand, Hermione rolled her shoulders back and cleared her throat. “Alright, who taught you then?”
“No one. I’m a natural occlumens, just like you Granger.”
“I still think you’re wrong. I think I would’ve known if I were an occlumens.”
“You can think all you want, but that doesn’t change the facts. And the fact is that you are an occlumens, a pretty devious one too. I’ll admit, your whole shocking door handle thing is rather impressive.”
“Wait, have you tried to look into my min–”
“What’s going on here?” Ron’s voice cut through the air and his eyes burned a hole through Hermione’s hand that was still gripping onto Draco’s.
Dropping his hand and brushing the blood from her own onto her jeans, Hermione replied, “Nothing, Malfoy came by to drop off more supplies and accidentally cut his hand.”
“So you took it upon yourself to heal him?!” Ron questioned. “Don’t you have a house full of elves that could do that for you?” he directed at Draco.
“That I do,” Draco replied as he got up, grabbed the sack and walked over to Ron. “Word of advice Weasley,” he whispered. “If you want a chance at getting the girl, perhaps try to remember her birthday.”
Forcefully shoving the bag into Ron’s chest, Draco harshly patted his left arm that was being supported by a sling before turning and leaving.