"Life becomes easier when you learn to accept an apology you never got."
- Robert Brault
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Granger did not come out of her room for five hours. He thought, given her own way, she would have chosen to spend the rest of the night in there. But the need for food outweighed her desire to be alone, and slowly, quietly (perhaps hoping he would not notice her presence) crept down to make soup.
As the feeble whistle of the water boiling filled the kitchen, soon followed by the tempting scent of pumpkin, Draco debated with himself from the lounge room. He wondered if he should say anything, searched for some witty remark or words of comfort. Then wondered why he was bothering. He did not have the right things to say to her, as Potter no doubt would’ve. He did not have some funny comment like Blaise would. And he did not have the arms to hold her like Weasley. Because that was not who he was, and it was not his place.
Or perhaps he was just too cowardly.
Granger had already crossed the room and was two stairs up when she paused, cup of soup rested neatly in her palm. Her eyes met Draco’s from over the railings; glassy and shiny with the dim light overhead. Her lips parted an inch, closed. A deep breath raised her chest and stirred the steam drifting from her cup, and Draco watched as her gaze travelled over him. Slow and searching. The corners of her mouth turned down like they always did when she was in deep thought.
He was not used to her stares. It was usually always Granger who broke whatever eye contact they had, always being the first to look down or quickly say something else, as though the silence frightened her. So it made him uncomfortable, made him want to fidget. He looked right back though, seeing a lot reflected in her gaze. Had he been someone else, he might have understood. But he didn’t. Did not know why she was looking at him so closely, did not understand the question that was being asked.
And then, after what seemed like a long time but was probably only a matter of seconds, Granger climbed the third stair. Then the fourth. Fifth. Sixth, until she disappeared from view, leaving Draco alone, television playing quietly in the background, wondering what she never said to him.
***
The next morning he tracked her movements almost tentatively, and was surprised that they were swift and neat, her eyes lacking the redness he had anticipated. She ate proper meals, drank the right stuff, dressed the right way. Weasley might never have happened.
In retrospect, she really was fine.
Or so he thought.
Two days passed. And that was when Draco steadily but surely noticed how she was always busy. Always with some task at hand that had to be done, always with something in her hand – from laundry to quills and papers to write.
Nobody is ever ‘always fine’, Draco. Some of us can just pretend better than others.
Blaise’s words drifted to the surface of his memory as he watched her scrawl things down on parchment with alarming speed through the open door to her office, and his body made the decision before his brain could catch up.
Draco walked in and shut the door behind him. If she heard his arrival or was already too far gone in her work to notice, she did not acknowledge it.
He sat down across from Hermione and watched as she blindly stabbed her salad with a fork, eyes glued to her work, and continued to watch as the cucumber fell to the floor while the lettuce only just made it into her mouth.
“Granger,” he said calmly.
“Mmm?” she mumbled through her food.
He hesitated. “What are you working on?”
Searching, she lifted up several papers with one hand, irritation making her eyes narrow. “Look –” she aimed her fork again at her lunch – “this isn’t a good time, Draco.”
“Is it about that elf from last week? Twinkles or something rather?” he asked lazily, stretching out in his seat.
“Yes.” Abandoning the search on her desk, Granger resorted to pulling out her drawers. “She’s got the same problem Tully had, you know, eating slippers. I’m trying to see how common it is.”
“Are you really?” he asked with mock fascination, and she shot him a look.
“What do you want? And make it quick too, this is supposed to be my lunchbreak.”
He waited for her to stop fidgeting with the items on her desk and meet his gaze before he answered. “I want to know what’s wrong with him.”
Her eyebrows arched for a second, and then she was back to business, sorting through files again. “I think you need to mind your own business,” was the curt reply, and Draco almost snorted.
“We stopped minding our own businesses a long time ago, Granger.”
“Never too late to learn again.”
Annoyance flared in the pit of his stomach, and he fought down the urge to glare. “What happened? You fight so hard to keep Weasley and the next thing I know you’re calling it quits? Do you even know what you want anymore –?”
There was a sharp snap as the plastic fork connected too hard with her plate of salad, the several broken pieces scattering over the desk. Apparently he’d pushed her too far too soon, only when she caught his eye, there was no anger. She looked… something akin to tired as she leaned back in her seat and fixed him with a level look.
“My grandmother once had this dog.” Her voice was soft yet matter-of-fact. “This truly amazing dog, you know the kind you read about that save people from burning houses or floods? She was like that. There was never an important part in my childhood when I can’t remember that dog being with me. We weren’t always together because I didn’t live with my grandmother, but she visited and I stayed with them so often I might as well have. She was so great. I was the only one she offered to share her food with, the only one who could pick up her bone in the middle of her eating it and not get growled at. My grandmother always joked around saying that she thought I was her puppy. She was just… she was my best friend.”
Draco sat up, leaned on the desk. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because when I was thirteen, and the dog was eighteen, she got sick.” Granger swallowed, her eyes glazed with the memory. “The vet said there was nothing they could do, she was old. They said we could have a few more months with her at best if we really wanted. But she was going blind and she was deaf and she was just growing weaker and weaker. Fading away. And my grandmother knew this, and she said no. Said that it had to be done. I was waiting in the next room and she came out and told me what was going to happen, told me to say my goodbyes. And I… I remember so clearly looking up at my grandmother, and asking why. It didn’t make sense to me. Why would she let her best friend go when she could easily have a few more months? And she sat down, took my hands, looked me deadest in the eye, and said because she loves her. Because she was hurting. Because if you love something, sometimes you have to let go. And that… that’s what I did to Ron.”
For a solid two minutes, Draco was at a loss for words. He had never really thought of anything like that before, being far too selfish to even consider letting anything he loved go. He hid this new and unexpected bewilderment though, rested his chin in his palm in order to appear indifferent.
“You could have just told me the last two lines of that story without going through so much detail.” He waited for her to yell at him for that, but to his surprise, a ghost of a smirk crossed her features.
“I guess. But non-dramatic speeches aren’t really our style, are they?”
“Touché.” He started to shift out of his chair when he stopped. “Aren’t you sad?”
“Yes,” she answered without missing a beat. “And I…” She hesitated, unsure, and again she had that look, as if she was trying to decide something about him. “And I’m scared.”
Like someone had flipped a light switch, he finally understood. She was seizing him up, wondering whether or not it was safe to confide in him, if they had even gotten to that point yet. But Hermione Granger had just admitted to him that she was scared, not even over anything huge, and it hit like a bludger to the chest that this was her trusting him.
“So what now?” he managed to ask, almost numb with this new realisation but competent enough to keep himself in check; expressionless, with the help of many years practise.
She shrugged. “Break ups happen all the time. I’ll move past this part and do what I’ve always done. Get on with life.”
***
“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”
Ophelia was sitting directly across the dinning table from Hermione, perched awkwardly in the unfamiliar environment yet somehow managing to still look graceful about it.
“Of course you can,” she said. “It’s just the door to the right of the stairs.” Ophelia smiled and went into the bathroom, and when the door shut behind her, Hermione leaned back in her seat, relieved that she no longer had to rack her brain for conversational topics as they waited for Draco, who had yet to return from Blaise’s and was already running about five minutes late for his and Ophelia’s lunch date.
She wondered idly what they did during their lunches and coffees. Did they talk about school and work and family or about personal things? Did he tell Ophelia things he had already shared with Hermione? Did she laugh at his jokes because she was supposed to or because she thought he was genuinely funny? When he reached for his drink did he let his fingers touch hers accidentally or on purpose?
She considered asking Draco some of these questions, but she would always bail out, remaining herself that it was not her place and that if he wanted to, he would have already told her. He hadn’t.
She slumped further into the chair when there were two quick taps on the door. Knowing that this would not be Draco, she got up grudgingly – and then wished she hadn’t gotten up in the first place.
“Tina,” Hermione said, the word coming out higher than she anticipated from surprise.
“Oh,” she said bluntly, a scowl already setting onto her features. “It’s you.”
The polite smile Hermione had been forcing melted. Her mother had always said that manners cost nothing, but, in this case, she thought maybe there was an exception.
“Well,” said Hermione, standing taller, “I do actually live here, so…”
“Whatever.” Tina’s eyes ranked over Hermione’s most comfortable sweats and oversized shirt – well really it was Harry’s shirt that she had shamelessly borrowed and had yet to return – with her lip curled. Hermione, meanwhile, eyed Tina’s tight jeans, complete with high heels once again. A total different pair from last time with embedded fake diamonds, but still. They also weren’t the only things that were ludicrously high. Under the leopard print halter top, her breasts were so raised from a push-up bra Hermione was sure that, should Tina bend over, they would touch her chin.
Tina, noticing, pushed out her chest. “Jealous?”
“No, I just… they’re quite high up.”
Tina looked over Hermione’s shirt again, which did absolutely nothing to flatter her own chest. “Yes, well one of ours ought to be.”
Before she could reply to that, not that she had any idea what to say, Tina pushed past her and strolled into the flat.
For several seconds all she did was look around with a snobbish expression, then, just as she was turning back to Hermione, Crookshanks suddenly appeared, hissing.
“Looks like your pig wants something.”
Hermione bristled, her gaze hardening. “He’s not a pig.”
“Whatever,” she said again, bored. “Now, tell me. Where’s Draco?”
Just then the bathroom door opened. Ophelia came out, fixing bits of her hair and makeup. Upon seeing Tina, she stopped, and when no one bothered to offer any introduction, or perhaps sensing the tension of the room, asked, “Who’s this?”
“Oh, um, just – just a friend.” She resisted the urge to wrinkle up her nose at that, but apparently Tina had no restraint, her expression of disgust clearly showing how she felt about befriending Hermione.
“With Draco. Not her. Hey,” she said suddenly, walking up to Ophelia, “your mum’s the one who hosts those balls, yeah?”
Ophelia nodded. “She does.”
As if this was a custom or tradition or sorts, Tina glanced over Ophelia’s outfit, her face turning from one of mild curiosity to distaste. Thankfully without comment, she swivelled back to Hermione.
“You still didn’t answer me. Where is he?”
“Oh,” Ophelia replied instead, “are you looking for Draco?”
“Maybe. What’s it to you?”
“I’m waiting for him too.”
Tina’s eyes almost instantly narrowed. “Why?”
“We’re supposed to have lunch,” she answered, a little reluctant this time.
“Lunch,” she repeated flatly, her gaze quickly becoming steely.
Hermione smirked at the turn of conversation, feeling smug. “They’re actually about to be engaged.”
Tina stared at her in disbelief, then rolled her eyes. “Of course they are. I bet she hasn’t even slept with him.”
Ophelia, too, rolled her eyes. “And you have?”
“I don’t think anyone needs to know –” Hermione tried to interrupt, no longer feeling smug, but Tina’s voice carried over hers.
“As a matter of fact.” She smiled tauntingly.
“Look,” Hermione tried again desperately, “this really isn’t –”
Ophelia crossed her arms. “I meant recently. School flings don’t count.”
“Exactly!” Hermione exclaimed. “They don’t count.” She emphasised the last word, looking pointedly at Tina, hoping she would get the message. That maybe she would be kind enough to play along, because she knew Hermione was powerless right now. If she did anything to stop the conversation it would only look suspicious.
But Tina had no remorse. She ignored Hermione entirely, enjoying this far too much. “That’s what I meant too, darl. It was only last month we did the deed.”
The words hung in the air, a dead silence following. And then Ophelia’s face fell, her gaze dropping to the floor, and Hermione could not think of anything to say, but she tried anyway.
“Ophelia –”
“Is it true?” she asked, her eyes holding a small portion of hope that was soon diminished by Hermione’s continued silence.
Tina was still smiling at the drama she had caused. “You better believe it.”
Ophelia slowly shook her head, taking a few steps forward. “I, uh, tell him to never mind about today.”
“No,” Hermione said quickly, panicking now, “no, don’t go. He was – he was drunk. Completely off his head. She could have been a cow and he wouldn’t have cared.” She glanced at Tina. “Not that there’s much difference.”
“Hermione, I’m sorry. I just… ah, I need to go.” She walked to the door.
“We can talk about this –” Hermione pleaded hopelessly, and before she was even given the chance to finish, Ophelia was gone.
For a few minutes all Hermione could do was stare at the door. Then she heard Tina chuckle behind her, and suddenly she whirled around, livid. “What is wrong with you! Why did you do that?”
Tina stepped closer, towering over Hermione with her shoes. “Because,” she began, in a voice that said it was perfectly obvious, “he’s mine. Not yours. Not hers. Mine.”
“Like hell,” Hermione snarled.
Tina’s grin widened to be, if possible, even cockier. “I slept with him before all of you. He lost his virginity to me. And what have you done? Shared an apartment for a couple of months?”
Hermione let out a frustrated growl. “I don’t want him, you daft cow! And he didn’t lose anything to the likes of you!”
“Ah,” she said, with a smile of realisation. “He never mentioned it? Guess there’s some things he doesn’t share with you.”
Her anger temporarily faded, confusion quick on its tail. “Didn’t tell me –?” And then she knew. Suddenly it all clicked, but it was painful, her heart dropping as she asked hesitantly, “What school did you go to?”
“Beauxbatons.”
Her heart sank even lower. “You… you were one of the girls in the bushes. On the night of the Yule Ball.”
Tina clapped mockingly; fake nails glinting in the light. “For supposedly being the Brightest Witch of your Age, that took a long time for you to piece together. So I’m sure now you understand where I’m coming from. Ophelia can dress up as a little princess as much as she wants and you can continue to look innocent, wearing men’s clothing for the rest of your life and being smart with your boring books and hair that obviously has no product whatsoever, but I know what kind of girl Draco Malfoy goes for.” She stood taller, lips pouted.
Hermione looked her in the eye. “What, trash?”
Simultaneously, two things happened. From somewhere behind them, there was a loud crack. Hermione’s gaze snapped to the source of the sound, and so she did not see until the last minute Tina’s hand raise, about to strike, when suddenly there was a shout of “Protego!” and an invisible shield fell between both women, sending them flying off their feet. A thud followed as Tina hit the ground, safely on her back, while Hermione, who had been unfortunately standing right in front of the dining table, fell backwards with an even sharper thud as her head and back connected with the chair leg.
“What,” Draco demanded sharply, “is going on?”
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Next chapter; I couldn't find a preview that wouldn't give away anything, sorry guys.
You know, writing this chapter, I realised how many women Draco's been with; Pansy, Astoria, Tina, Hermione and Ophelia. Hahah, must be the Malfoy charm ;D
And Hermione's story about the dog was a true one. I didn't plan on writing that, it sort of just came out, but I think it's something we can all relate to, you know? Most people have had to put down a pet or let go a loved one because they have to. Only Draco being Draco did not understand that, or now thanks to Hermione does. I love it when she makes him think twice about stuff c:
I'm prattling on, aren't I? I'm oddly chatty tonight. Probably was the coffee. Why did I have caffeine at 12.30am in the morning? Because I'm fearless. Livin' the hardcore life.
I might not brush my teeth tonight.
That's right, you be intimidated.
Boom.