Initium Memoriae

The Leaky was bustling that evening: as it often was. Hermione had left work late, flooing to the pub to join her friends immediately, rather than heading home to change. She’d been deeply confused by the events of the day: going from apologising to Malfoy, to friendly discussion, to somehow ruining their delicate truce by upsetting him – so she’d done what she always did when she was confused. She stuck her head in a book.

Granted – usually she would read to find an answer to her problems. And whilst she somehow doubted that the ancient text Magicae Memor would provide any particular insight into how Malfoy operated, it did prove to be an effective distraction. So effective, in fact, that when she looked at the little clock on her desk it was a little past six. Bugger.

Hermione was out of breath by the time she arrived at the Leaky: her hair was frizzy from the rush through the Floo and her cheeks were flushed from her mad dash through the Ministry. She stumbled out of the pub’s large fireplace to a great cheer from the large central table. She looked up, sweeping her mussed curls out of her face, and beamed.

There, around the large oak table were her friends. Every month or so, a not insignificant portion of the D.A would gather for drinks and catch up. Tonight she could see Harry and Ginny – of course - grinning broadly at her, Ron smiled sheepishly from next to Lavender Brown with whom he seemed to be holding hands – that’s new she thought. Neville and Hannah looked cosy on a bench seat, Luna was smiling dreamily from next to Susan Bones, Dean and Seamus looked half-cut already. Her heart felt full as she approached them; once upon a time, before Hogwarts, she thought she would never make a friend, and then during the war she feared she would lose them all, but here she was – past all the chaos and able to enjoy a night out with more friends she could have thought to have.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she babbled as she draped her cloak around an empty chair. “I got caught up…”

“Reading!” The table helpfully supplied.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

“I think I’ll get a round in, before I sit.”

“I’ll help!” Ron spoke as he untangled his hand from Lavender, and stumbling over his feet to join her.

Hermione smiled as he righted himself – he was always extra clumsy when he was nervous; and she had a funny feeling he wanted to speak to her away from the others.

They stood at the bar – waiting for Tom to finish serving a group of middle-aged wizards.

“So … Mione.” Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wanted to have a quick word.”

“Is this about Lavender?”

His ears turned red.

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh Ronald,” she lay a hand softly on his arm. “We decided a long time ago that we were best as friends.”

“I know, but you and Lavender never exactly got on.” He grimaced.

“Are you happy?”

He nodded vigorously.

“Then I’m happy for you. School was a long time ago Ronald.”

He grinned at her.

“Thanks Mione. I gotta say – I didn’t expect it. Lav and I didn’t exactly end well at school, but I bumped into her a few months back, and things just snowballed. This is the first time we’ve come out together – and I think she was nervous about seeing you – given our … er … history.”

Bless Ron. He was so terribly awkward whenever he referenced their ill fated, and short lived romance. A few clumsy fumbles and they’d decided, quite mutually, that they were much better suited as friends – only friends.

“Go to your girl Ron. I’ve got the drinks. I am a witch you know.”

She pushed him in the direction of the central table, where Lavender was chatting congenially with Neville and Hannah, though her eyes kept tracking back to Ron.

When Tom finally saw Hermione waiting she ordered a round of butterbeers – at the rate Dean and Seamus were going she thought it best to at least try and slow the decline into drunken chaos. Especially if, a tiny ember of hope flickered, Malfoy took her up on her offer of an apology drink. Seamus could be a particularly unpredictable drunk – whilst Ron’s filter went from unreliable to completely non-existent. Oh, she really hoped they wouldn’t be rude.

Hermione approached the table – butterbeers levitating in a line in front of her. She was waving her wand to direct the glasses to sit in front of each person when the hum of the pub fell silent. Looking up the reason was evident.

Malfoy was stood in the doorway, an uncomfortable expression on his pointed face, whilst his companion -  a shorter, dark haired man - wore a broad grin. That must be Theo. Malfoy was wearing Muggle clothing; a pair of well fitted black chinos, and a pale grey, long sleeved sweater. Effortlessly casual, and no doubt hideously expensive, it suited him. Hermione’s mouth went dry.

“Uhh, Mione. Ron’s voice brought her back to herself. She blinked and looked down – the butterbeers were still hovering over the table. They fell with a clunk, sloshing slightly, as Hermione shook herself back to the present.

Seamus spoke up.

“Not surprised the ferret gave you a fright! Wonder why he’s come out of hiding.”

His voice carried and she saw Malfoy’s jaw clench.

Hermione frowned.

She watched Malfoy and Theo tuck themselves into an empty booth – and was acutely aware of the dark mutterings that seemed to follow as they swept across the room. She could make out the odd word; ‘Scum’, ‘Death Eater’ ‘Azkaban.’

The furrow in her brow deepened.

“Excuse me.” She said primly, and she stood abruptly before walking across the tiled floor – her heel clicking as she marched purposefully.

Without so much as a hello, she slid into the booth next to Theodore Nott – who looked up with mild surprise – and faced Malfoy.

“Is this why you only go to Muggle pubs?”

“Good evening to you too Granger.”

“Malfoy.” Her voice was stern.

He sighed – and looked at her with no small level of dejection in his eyes.

“Yes Granger. I go to Muggle pubs so I can avoid the stares, and the comments and the occasional curse or hex.” Hermione’s mouth dropped in horror.

“People curse you?”

He let out a bark of humourless laughter.

“Only if they think they won’t get caught. It’s why I live in Muggle London. No coming home to cursed graffiti on my front door.”

“People graffitied the Manor?”

Wait.

“You live in Muggle London?”

Beside her Theo chuckled.

“Granger – Draco here hasn’t been back to the Manor since the second his house arrest was up.” He twisted himself to face her fully – and thrust his hand out. “I know we were at Hogwarts together. But let me introduce myself properly – I’m Theo. Theo Nott. I have the unfortunate pleasure of being this one’s,” He jerked his head towards Malfoy. “Only friend.”

“That’s bollocks Theo. I have Pansy!” Malfoy protested, before returning to sullen silence.

“Hermione Granger.” She smiled in response, and took Theo’s hand. He grinned at her. He seemed to smile a lot, she reflected. Very different to Malfoy. She turned back to her prickly co-worker. “Why did you come if you knew this was the reception you’d get?”

“You owe me a drink” was the gruff reply.

“A drink I could have easily got you at a Muggle pub if you’d just asked.”

“Hermione – are you alright?” A dreamy voice stole her attention for a moment.

“Oh yes Luna. Sorry I was just catching up with Malfoy and Theo – from school.”

Luna drifted closer and peered at Hermione with her wide blue eyes.

“Hmm. You and Malfoy are surrounded by wrackspurts! Are you quite sure everything’s okay? Are you having a disagreement?”

Theo leant across the table – putting himself firmly in Luna’s eyeline.

“What, pray tell, are wrackspurts Miss Lovegood.”

Her prominent eyes flickered away from Hermione towards the Slytherin leaning towards her.

“They are invisible creatures that make your brain go fuzzy, They are particularly attracted to conflict! Have you never heard of them? We write about them frequently in The Quibbler.”

“Alas I cannot say I am a subscriber,” Theo grasped at his chest, as though this were a painful confession. “Perhaps,” he continued, nudging Hermione with his hip, “you can tell me all about them whilst Granger gets us drinks. He winked at Hermione and slipped a few galleons into her palm.

Without thought, and feeling slightly stunned, Hermione found herself sliding out of the booth for Luna; who immediately began an enthusiastic lecture on wrackspurts and related invisible creatures; complete with waving arms and impersonations. Theo looked enraptured.

Something nudged her elbow gently.

She looked to her left.

It was Malfoy.

“Shall we get the drinks? I’ve no desire to bear witness once more to Theo’s attempts to chat up witches far cleverer than him.”

He rolled his eyes when a screwed up napkin hit his chest. Theo looked deliberately innocent as he nodded along to whatever Luna was saying.  

• -

Hermione was scowling by the time they reached the bar. Brow furrowed, and dark eyes blazing, the few wizards at the bar gave her a wide berth as she approached.

With a huff she deposited her bag on the bar, hoisted herself onto a stool, and began impatiently drumming her fingers on the countertop.

Malfoy slid onto the stool beside her, resting his elbows on the counter, and his chin on his interlocked fingers, as he perused the available selection of firewhiskey. “It’s a shame wizarding pubs don’t stock Muggle liquor. Say what you want about Muggles – but they know how to do booze.”

He was met with a stony silence.

“Granger?” His voice was wary; as though half-expecting her to tear into him.

“How can you just sit there?”

“I’m sorry?”

“When people are saying those … those awful things about you. You just take it. Why? The Malfoy I remember would never have let people speak to him the way half the pub just did!”

His grey eyes turned flinty.

“That boy died the day I had the Dark Mark burned into my skin Granger. I didn’t have a choice then, and I don’t now. I can’t fight back.”

“The hell you can’t! You were acquitted Malfoy. None of it was your fault – people shouldn’t …”

“But they do Granger.” The coldness in his eyes had given way to molten rage. The words died in Hermione’s throat. “This was a mistake.” His voice was abrupt as he pushed himself up and away from the bar. “I’m heading home. See you on Monday.”

He stormed off and Hermione sat motionless – completely unsure of what had happened.

Why was he mad at her?

As the seconds passed her confusion gave way to rash anger. How dare he. She’d offered to buy him a drink. He didn’t need to take it up. He didn’t need to subject himself to abusive comments. And he certainly didn’t need to bite her head off for being upset on his behalf.

She pushed herself from the stool and followed him out of the pub.