A Wonderful Fortuitous Love

52. Preparations

“The bottom line is that we never fall for the people we're supposed to.”

- Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper

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Draco had met Granger’s parents on three accounts. The first time must have been around December, just before Christmas. He had been home alone, bored to death with no one being around to annoy but that feline of hers, when there was a tap on the door.

He’d answered it grudgingly; half thinking that it would be one of her idiotic Gryffindor friends. Instead, it turned out to be a woman around her forties. Her brown hair was wavy and short, stopping a little below her ears; she had kind blue eyes, freckles on her nose and was holding a bowl of pasta salad.

When she’d lifted her gaze to Draco, her smile faltered. It had, naturally, been an awkward moment. What other conclusion could she draw, seeing a man still in his pyjamas with badly messy hair answering the door of her daughter’s flat? He had reassured her quickly that that was not the case, and had came up with the lie that Granger and him were old school friends living temporarily together.

Apparently, Hermione had inherited her genius from her mother, because this tale had only fooled Mrs. Granger for a few seconds. She must have recognised his trademark platinum hair thanks to Granger mentioning it at some point, and when she heard the term ‘school friends’ uttered stiffly, made the connection as to who Draco just was.

“You must be that Malfoy boy. Sorry if this sounds rude, but I thought you two never got on?” she had asked suspiciously.

Thankfully that was when Hermione came back alone from her shopping spree with Pansy. She’d hastened to tell her mother that they had both ‘grown up’ and ‘put aside their differences’ and now considered each other to be ‘really good friends’. At that time, Draco had had to cough so as cover up the laugh that escaped him, but maybe Hermione was a better liar than he gave her credit for, because Mrs. Granger accepted the lie and had then proceeded to give Hermione the pasta salad she’d brought over.

They’d ate it for lunch, and Draco found that the woman was not so bad. But it was only when he offered to help her wash up did Mrs. Granger warm up to him, becoming increasingly amused when he asked her (quietly so Granger would not hear) for her pasta salad recipe.

The second time her mother came by, it was with Granger’s father for dinner. He had Granger’s eyes and nose, his hair much darker than that of his daughter’s or wife, and at first was very quiet. The man had been hard to talk to and much more warier than his wife, but Draco supposed any father in his position would be. He grunted when asked questions and kept glancing at Draco from the corner of his eye. Mr. Granger’s resolve only broke when Hermione asked about work and he told a story that Draco could no longer remember but knew it to be funny in that cynical way. Only he and Draco found it funny. Maybe it was one of those things men only found amusing, but Mr. Granger, through his laughter, proceeded to tell Draco another story, and by the end of dinner they were both laughing as though they had been friends for years.

And now, this was the third time Draco had met Thomas and Alice Granger. They stayed for lunch this time and the atmosphere at the table was relaxed and humble. They shared stories about their days and made lame jokes and poked fun at each other; it was sort of how he always imagined a family dinner to be like but had never had the pleasure to experience himself. But the Grangers had this way about them that somehow made you feel included and wanted, as though you actually belonged there when everybody knew you didn’t.

Draco had no trouble pretending, and he laughed and joked with them until their plates were clean. He cleared the table and placed all the dirty dishes near the sink, where Mrs. Granger was running the hot water.