Chapter Text
Friday October 7th 2005
After an exhausting day teaching first years how to brew stomach soothing potions, Hermione fell into the familiar comfort of her office chair. The early evening light streamed in through the large windows to her right and covered her in a golden hue. She opened the windows with a wordless flick of her wand, airing out the remainder of the potion fumes. The breeze dancing through the air and flicking a page or two of the book in front of her. Her fingers found their way into her hair, undoing the heap of curls and shaking them out to relieve some tension. Today had been particularly challenging after being bombarded with questions from the 1st years who had heard all about her and her “adventures” from their parents. There are only so many times one can repeat their life story before it becomes thoroughly boring.
Alas, questions popped up every few minutes during the lesson:
“Did you really brew Polyjuice Potion when you were our age, Professor?”
“Did you really sneak into Gringotts, Professor?”
“Why did you and Ron Weasley break up, Professor?”
Now there was a question Hermione hated answering. Not only was it incredibly inappropriate to discuss with eleven-year-olds, but it also meant that she would once again be reminded of the very different paths her and Ron were now on.
Here she was—a potions professor at Hogwarts, the place she called home for several years and then fought for her life in. Living in muggle London, with only a grumpy Crookshanks to welcome her home, spending her evenings marking potion essays and her weekends planning lessons. Her life had become… stagnant. Despite revelling in the peace for the past few years, she was starting to notice how all her loved ones had begun moving on in ways she feared she never would.
Ron had just announced his wife, Susan Weasley (formerly Bones) was pregnant —with twins. They had recently moved into a lovely little home in Devon. Not far from the Burrow. Hermione and Ron had decided almost a year after they began dating to call it quits —realising their relationship worked far better as friends. Their year-long stint had resulted in more than a few embarrassing nights of fumbling in the dark during what should have been very intimate and raunchy scenes, leaving them both uncomfortable and confused. It wasn’t until a very drunk Ron confessed he didn’t feel it was working anymore that Hermione realised she felt a relief she hadn’t known she was waiting for.
Suddenly everything seemed to make sense—their constant bickering and lack of chemistry. It became so obvious she wondered how she hadn’t seen it before. Despite a few awkward interactions early on, they soon settled back into their role as friends, with Hermione’s place solidified when she was asked to be a bridesmaid at Ron and Susan’s wedding two years later.. Ron was well into his career as a Senior Auror where he made very good money. He often spoke of dreams of having a big family close to his childhood home and it seemed this dream was finally coming true. Hermione, meanwhile, realised that despite the initial heartbreak of their breakup, it truly had been for the best. She had never shared his aspirations, instead wanting to establish her career and independence long before even considering children.
Her mind drifted to her other friends. Ginny was now famously the first female Quidditch commentator—a school passion that had quickly taken over her life, sending her all around the world. She wrote to Hermione about whatever new place she was in, often sharing far too detailed accounts of her nightly escapades. Hermione usually had to skim a few paragraphs until she reached the end, where Ginny expressed her joy and sent her best wishes.
Luna and Neville were also out of the country, researching all manner of creatures for their upcoming book. Their friendship had blossomed into a great love—one of the sweetest things Hermione had witnessed to date. It almost made her sick. Their constant puppy-dog eyes and inability to stop touching in public left Hermione feeling cold, longing for more than just a friendly greeting hug. She wanted someone to call her own, to talk to every night before bed, and to make tea with in the morning.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft blue light gliding toward her—Harry Potter’s Patronus. It relayed a message in his voice:
“What are you doing? Need to talk when you’re free.”
Panic fluttered in her chest. She immediately sent her reply—that she was free now—and watched her otter Patronus flit out of the room. A moment later, the Floo in the corner roared to life, and out stepped Harry.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” The questions tumbled from her mouth as she stood and marched over to him, giving him a quick once-over. Nothing seemed visibly wrong.
“What? Yes, I’m fine!” Harry replied, brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you panicking? I just wanted to see if you were free for dinner.” He trailed off, holding up a paper bag.
“You sent an ominous message about ‘needing to talk’—what is the matter with you?” She smacked his arm gently as she took the food and cleared space on the table beside the fireplace.
Harry laughed and helped her, sitting down across from her and unpacking the Chinese takeaway.
“Right, sorry about that… I do have something to share, though.”
“Hold on, this is Hing’s Takeaway. We only get this on special occasions. Harry, what’s going on?” She narrowed her eyes, lifting a forkful of rice to her mouth.
“Yes, well. Right. So. You know… uh… you remember Pansy Parkinson, don’t you?”
Hermione hummed in response.
“Well, she applied to be the new finance manager in our department.”
“Okay…?” Hermione twirled her fork, waiting for him to get to the point.
“Well, that was a month or so ago. And our offices are next to each other, so we’ve been talking a lot. And… recently, things have taken a bit of a turn.”
Hermione continued eating, now thoroughly intrigued. Harry really was taking his time.
“Okay,” Harry said, taking a deep breath. “We’ve decided to start seeing each other… you know… outside of work.” He looked at her, eyes wide with hope and mild fear.
Hermione stayed quiet for a moment. She studied the face of the man she’d called her best friend for over a decade. Concern crept onto her face as he waited.
Pansy Parkinson. The girl who had once helped terrorise her at school alongside Draco Malfoy. Perhaps now, the woman who—just maybe—deserved to date her best friend.
“Well, Harry,” she said at last. “I am a little surprised, I won’t lie. But I trust you. If you believe she’s changed from the girl she used to be, then who am I to object? Merlin knows all of us have changed in ways we never dreamed of.” She smiled warmly.
“Thank fuck for that,” he exhaled with relief. “It’s really unexpected—and very new. But she’s a wonderful woman now. The first day she came into the office, she asked for a word. She apologised for everything she did in the past and asked that I forgive her, and—quote—‘allow things in the office to remain unaffected so that we may work together to create an efficient and comfortable work environment for everyone.’”
Hermione huffed out a laugh at the overly formal apology from their former schoolmate. She listened as Harry described their growing connection and how well they balanced each other. They ate together for another hour or so, reminiscing about their school days—when things were somehow both simpler and more complicated.
Harry left through the Floo just before 8 p.m. Hermione packed up her marking and prepared to head home.
The bath mat soaked up the water running down her legs as Hermione stepped out of the shower. Her thoughts drifted once again to her friends and their lives as she cast a hair-drying charm. She was 26 and had only ever had one proper boyfriend—and that had ended nearly seven years ago. She really did feel quite pathetic.
Mentally, she made a list. She had only kissed two people, slept with one, and gone on two dates with another. She groaned audibly and continued getting ready. The squish-faced creature she loved dearly padded into the bathroom and leapt onto the counter with the subtle confidence of a cat who knew he paid no rent. He stared at her intently, his expression somewhere between disapproval and mild pity.
She caught his eye in the mirror, then quickly looked away, feeling foolish as a quiet blush crept over her cheeks.
"Yes, I know, Crooks. Don’t look at me like that," she half-whispered to her reflection.
He let out a meow that sounded quite rude, which could only be translated as: “You look ridiculous, dear mother. How on earth do you plan to attract a respectable man with your hair looking like that?”
Hermione huffed and resumed wrestling with the knot at the nape of her neck.
"Really, Crookshanks. People do this all the time. It’s not unheard of to go to a lounge you’ve never been to before… by yourself… in your mid-twenties."
She set her brush down harshly and turned to face him fully. The ginger menace continued his judgemental glare.
"I don’t need to explain myself to you, sir. I’ve already made my decision. I’m going. And that’s final."
Crookshanks blinked once. Slowly. As if to say, “You’ll be back by midnight, alone with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s, Mother.”
She turned back to the mirror, deciding to ignore the dramatic tail flick of the orange devil as he hopped off the counter and gave herself a final once-over. The black cocktail dress hugged her figure delicately, giving a modest swish below her knees as she twisted this way and that. Her kitten heels—which felt like stilts despite being barely two inches high—were about as daring as she dared to be right now. The thin straps over her shoulders exposed more collarbone than she was used to, but she held her ground, pushing past the barricades of insecurity with all the bravery of someone about to storm a castle. Which she had done actually so really this should be no big deal.
Tonight, The Hermione Granger was going into the city to find herself a man to bed—or something adjacent to that.
At 10pm, Hermione had found herself outside The Winking Wyvern, a lounge she had been recommended by Pavarti Patil. She looked up at the slightly crooked sign with its letters carved into the wood. Above the door, a dimly flickering lantern glowed, the soft light catching the silhouette of a wyvern whose eyes seemed to twinkle in the dark. She swallowed nervously, reminding herself, tonight was the night. She needed to do something to break her routine and venture into new territory. With a slightly trembling hand she opened the door.
Inside, the warm glow of overhead lanterns cast flickering shadows all around her. To her left, there was a small stage, with most tables occupied by couples and groups laughing together as the lady on stage sang her seductive tune. Hermione smiled softly and made her way to the bar straight ahead, where a handsome man in semi-casual robes greeted her.
“And what would the beautiful lady like to drink this evening?” he asked with a mischievous grin, his curled moustache twitching slightly.
Hermione cleared her throat gently and asked for a glass of red wine. Something she’d had before—no need to try too many new things just yet.
With her drink in hand, she sat towards the end of the bar, raising the glass to her lips as she surveyed the room around her. Mismatched furniture in warm reds and golds decorated the space, while portraits on the walls depicted people mirroring the lively atmosphere, dancing in their frames, drinking, and laughing as the night passed on. Bespoke wooden tables held glasses of all shapes and colours. Candles floated tenderly above the patrons, casting a soft glow as they continued their charming evenings.
Hermione began to finally relax as the wine settled warmly in her stomach, letting out a faint sigh. The alcohol was slowly calming her nerves—until she caught a glimpse of white-blond hair just to the right of the stage. The hair seemed all too familiar. Yes, she’d definitely seen it before. She squinted and leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better view, but her line of sight was blocked by a man entering her personal space.
He smiled at her warmly and offered her a hand. “Milo. Nice to meet you.”
Hermione leaned back slightly, eyeing his outstretched hand. Possibly for a beat too long, as his smile began to falter just a little.
“Oh! Milo, lovely to meet you too. Hermione,” she replied, hoping her palm wasn’t too sweaty as she shook his hand in return.
“Hermione. A very pretty name for a very pretty lady,” he winked at her charmingly. Hermione wondered how many times he’d used that line. She smiled in reply.
“And what are you doing here tonight, Hermione?” He emphasized her name in a way that made her feel funny. She wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.
“I’m just, um, out for the night to… see where it takes me,” she said, mentally cringing at her awkwardness.
Smooth.
He smiled brightly at her, clearly intrigued by her stumbling words.
Hermione took a moment to get a hold of herself. She was a grown woman. A grown woman with… needs. And here was a good looking man chatting her up in a quaint bar. It was exactly the kind of place that whispered: Yes, you may make a questionable decision tonight and no one will judge you for it.
She looked at the man before her, his gentle curls resting atop his head, the purple robes trimmed with delicate gold detailing complimenting his tanned skin nicely. The candlelight reflected off his glasses, casting a glow on the smile tugging at his cheeks.
“So what do you do for work?” Hermione followed up her fumbling confession with a question she thought was innocent enough.
“I’m a writer,” he said, his grin widening.
“Oh, how wonderful!” Hermione’s interest was piqued. “What kind of writing?”
“Erotica,” he said matter-of-factly.
Hermione choked mid-sip, wine catching in her throat. She attempted to disguise it, reaching hastily for a napkin.
“Oh, how… interesting.” She cringed internally at the sudden shrillness in her voice.
“Yes, quite. Have you heard of the Charms & Chains collection? The fourth book comes out this Wednesday, actually.” He stirred his whiskey with his pointer finger, tapped it against the rim of his glass, and then placed the tip of it between his lips.
Hermione watched the motion a little too intently, becoming very aware of how warm the room had become. She waved the bartender over for another glass of wine and drank over half in one go.
“Ahem,” she cleared her throat. “I’ve heard of it, but haven’t gotten around to reading them, I’m afraid… However, I’m not judging. Erotica is a perfectly valid form of literature,” she added, nodding firmly to punctuate her declaration.
He laughed warmly at her announcement.
“Ah ah ah, careful, Hermione — that almost sounded like something a very curious person would say,” he teased.
“Maybe I am curious.”
What? Who said that? The confession slipped past her lips before she could think. How strong was this wine? She looked dubiously at her drink before drinking the remainder. In for a knut in for a galleon she supposed.
“Is that so?”
Milo leaned in, close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath.
“Perhaps I could recommend something from my personal collection… tailored to your taste, of course.”
His gaze dropped to her lips as he spoke, then lifted again to meet her now glassy eyes.
She leaned forward just an inch or so, and allowed the wine to do the talking for her at this point.
“I would—”
“Oh! So sorry, love!” came a voice from behind her as she stumbled forward slightly from the sudden contact. A stranger brushed by her, clearly having had one too many as he looked at her with unfocused eyes and a lazy smile.
Milo instinctively reached to steady her. His hands were warm and softer than she expected—probably because he didn’t do much manual labour, she thought. She found herself wondering how the hands would feel of someone who did.
“Are you alright?” Milo’s voice broke her train of thought, and she looked up at him, worry etched into his face.
“Yes, I’m fine, no harm done here!”
“Some people, honestly,” he scoffed. “Now, where were we?” He brushed his fingers against her arm. She looked down with uneasy eyes; the moment they were having seemed lost in time. Now she only felt silly and out of place.
“Yes, right. Uhm. Sorry, would you excuse me just a moment?” She began to stand and venture her way to the toilets, trying to find a moment to collect herself. She shuffled through groups of people enjoying their evenings, locating the toilets sign to the right of the stage. Hermione’s curls blew wildly as she rushed, her head down and thoughts all muddled.
“OOMF!”
She slammed into something hard. But soft at the same time. She took a step back, her eyes focused on the ground as embarrassment washed over her. Her red-painted toes hovered mere inches from a pair of sharp, black Oxford shoes. With the black hem of suit pants brushing the laces ever so slightly. Hermione thought they were almost the perfect length, definitely intentional, must have been tailored. There was a hint of something fresh in the air too, something minty she couldn’t place.
“I’m very sorry, I really should look where I’m going, I—” She rushed out an apology but was cut off when she finally glanced up at the man as he began to turn to face her.
The amused and confused face of none other than Draco Malfoy. There was a pause. A long one. Their eyes met, and Hermione realized she was standing there with her mouth hung open. She closed it. Well now, this evening definitely took a turn she was not expecting. Here she was in a seductive little place, face to face with her childhood nemesis. She had to admit the years had definitely been kind to him. He stood tall, with the sort of poise and elegance that Hermione just didn’t possess. His white button shirt tucked into (definitely tailored) suit pants, and his tie loosened ever so slightly around his neck.
He stood still, too still, like a marble statue. Looking down his pointed nose at her, still bemused by her evident flustering. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it when he realized she had begun backing slowly away.
Hermione turned on her heel and made her escape for the door. She mouthed a sorry to Milo as she caught his confused face on her way out. Once out into the cool autumn air, she finally breathed. What on earth had just happened? And why did it leave her wanting to come back for more?