Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger.

Draco Malfoy

If she only had one more minute, one more hour, one more year…then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t be tracing the words engraved onto his headstone.

LOST IN YESTERDAY

__

FUNERALS—Hermione hated them. She knew that they were supposed to be the last goodbye; the right way to put someone to rest.  Some used the time as a celebration of a life no longer lived. Some might even describe them as a form of closure for the people who unfortunately had to arrange and attend the event; Event...that seemed too happy of a word. Funerals were nothing of the sort. Hermione felt like they were nothing but torture—so much preparation, reliving, unrest. The complete opposite of what they were supposed to be. For her, it was like somebody twisting a knife in an already gaping wound. The finality of it all is what destroyed her. Funerals would be the last time she'd see whom it was she lost. It was the ending credits to their life. The closing chapter of their book. The nail in their coffin—literally and figuratively. Funerals meant that it was all over. Funerals meant that it was nothing more she could do. 

Since Harry had put an end to the reptilian tyrant that was Voldemort—with just a simple expelliarmus—it felt like attending funerals was all Hermione did. The grief in the air was suffocating. Inescapable. There had been so many lost; so many of her friends, some of her teachers. So many people that didn't deserve death. 

It hadn't taken long for Hogwarts to be rebuilt. While trying to pick up the pieces of their lives, students had returned back to school. Hermione had been one of them. Harry and Ron hadn't joined her, they instead occupied themselves with the ministry and rebuilding. Both her and her friends were doing what they could to cope. For Hermione, that was her studies. She had of course, graduated top of her class...what was left of it anyway. Everyone around her expected it but Hermione shocked herself. She hadn't ever let it show, but each and every day in the place she once called her second home was excruciating. All she could see was death. Grief. Loss. She felt like she had made it through hanging on by a thread. 

She still felt that way. 

She had attended the remembrance memorial they'd held on the day the Battle of Hogwarts had taken place. Although it was the last place she wanted to be, she went for Harry; to be his support, because she knew the scars he still bore on his heart. She knew that he tried with all his might to keep pushing forward. That he was trying to give all he could to the rebuilding of the wizarding world, all while handling his own sorrow.

A small bakery is what Hermione used to push her sorrows away after graduating. She had lost her desire to have anything to do with the ministry after her studies. She wanted to be nowhere near the limelight. That decision was solidified when all the news had broke about her being unable to reverse the erasure of her parent's memory. It had crushed her and everywhere she turned she was reminded of it. People giving her looks of pity, asking her questions that should've been obvious; like if she missed them? Of course she did. So instead of exploding like she wanted, she hid. 

Her bakery was her pride and joy now. It was the only thing she felt she truly had left. Loving her parents from afar hurt like none other and baking took her mind off it. She knew she still had the Weasleys and Harry to lean on, but every time she saw them she only saw pain that reflected her own. The loss of Fred causing them to look and feel incomplete. Nothing was the same. So, she stayed away, shut up in her flat that was above her shop.

It was naive of her, but she had hoped that she would never again have to attend another funeral. One was more than enough and she had exceeded that. 

Yet here she stood. 

A gripping cold surrounded her. For the middle of June that was extremely odd. Yet, it was so. The harsh wind whipped her hair every which way and she had not one care to fix it. It felt colder than any winter Hermione had ever experienced. It seeped past her clothes, into her skin and settled into her bones causing them to ache. Truthfully, Hermione had never minded the cold but she hated this. This felt different. This felt like death. This was death.

She stood with a small group of others. Not many had showed up and that fact had lit anger somewhere inside her. She supposed she could understand why they hadn't, but she didn't want to. It was cruel to her that they hadn't. Someone had died; no longer living, the least that could be done was to show some kind of empathy. If not for the deceased then for their loved ones. The small coherent part of her was grateful for her best friends making an appearance with her, even if it hadn't been for long. They paid their respects and had also come along because she'd asked them to—because as much as she hated the occasion, she knew it was the right thing to do. 

Her body felt frozen in time as she stood where the casket would be lowered into the six foot deep hole. She knew a eulogy was being said, yet she couldn't quite hear it. There was nothing but white noise in her ears, as if someone had hit her over the head and she was trying to come to afterwards. The world around her was muffled and slowed, like she was underwater. She could hardly focus on breathing correctly. Shock—it was all she felt. 

She couldn't believe that he was dead. 

She couldn't believe that Draco Malfoy was dead. 

___

Hermione wasn't sure how long she'd been standing in her spot next to the tree. She wasn't even sure of when she had moved there. She supposed it was her subconscious telling her to give his loved ones the space they deserved to say goodbye. They had lost a friend, a son and all she'd lost was a classmate, yet she was still here. 

She snapped out of her daze when she heard the last crack of apparition. Well, she wasn't sure if everyone had left but it seemed as such. It was still, quiet, and ever so cold. The clouds in the sky made no break for the sun. A gray blanket of clouds. Hermione felt like the world was playing a sick joke. Of course today of all day's would be gray. Gray like the eyes of the deceased boy whose funeral she just attended. Whose final resting place was a few feet from her. Her feet felt like they were bolted to the ground.

She hadn't shed not a single tear—not when she first heard that he was gone and not now. She felt like she couldn't command her body to do anything it should in a situation like such. It wasn't that she didn't feel any grief for him, in fact, she felt like she would collapse from it. It was just that she didn't understand. She couldn't process any of it.

They hadn't been anything close to friends, far from it. She had been convinced that she hated him with every fiber in her being and him her. There was nothing positive about the relationship—the dynamic that they'd had, but she had cared. On a one human being to another type of level, she had cared for him. She hadn't ever wanted to see him exactly as he was now…dead. 

As she took a step towards the place he lay to rest, her hands shook. Her limbs felt like lead and it took every ounce of strength she had to move. She hated this finality but she couldn't bear to leave, to actually come to terms with what was going on. 

When she reached his headstone, she shut her eyes tight. She didn't want to read it yet—didn't want to see the words etched in stone, making it all the more real. She didn't even realize she was shaking her head no, telling herself that she couldn't do this; couldn't accept this as reality. Her chest heaved up and down with each struggle of a breath she took. Her hands had balled into fists and her nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms. 

With a shaky exhale, she opened her eyes. Her vision fell to the words on the headstone—his headstone. She read them over and over, her eyes scanning each letter frantically. Each time hurting more than the last. 

Draco Lucius Chevalier Malfoy
June 5th 1980 - June 4th 1999
beloved son and friend.

When she had read it for about the fiftieth time, the dam finally broke. A strangled sounding sob slipped past her lips and she sank to her knees. Small rocks that were in the ground pierced her skin but she didn't care. She couldn't care. Her hand flew to chest, gripping at her sweater as she wailed. To anyone who could pass by, they might have thought Hermione was someone close to him. Someone that he spent every waking moment with. Her cries were heart shattering, from a place deep within her. It felt like she was being ripped from the seams, her chest rattling and aching with every cry. Her pain was clear in the sounds of her sobs. 

Everything, everything that she had been through since Voldemort had risen up again came crashing down on her. Her hands moved to the ends of her hair and she tugged at them before moving to rip up grass. She dug her fingers as deep as she could into the earth surrounding her before pulling up the green and throwing it with all her might. 

A scream bubbled within her chest and she did nothing to stop it. She let it out because she had suppressed so much already. She hadn't the energy to continue doing so. Her throat had begun to feel scratchy and sore but her tears wouldn't stop. 

Draco Malfoy was dead. 

He was never coming back. Dead. Gone. She was angry. Confused. Tired. All the loss she had been through, he was the straw that broke the camel's back. Or in her case, the loose stitch that caused her inevitable unraveling. 

If anyone saw, they'd have millions of questions. Of course, they'd expect her empathy, some form of sorrow but not this. Hermione being completely and utterly distraught over the death of Draco was not something that would have been forseen. 

Though she had every reason to be. 

She had every reason to be because Draco had not just gone and died—no, he had killed himself. He had committed suicide day before his birthday. He had committed suicide and Hermione had been the last person to see him. She had been the last person to speak to him, to know that he was living, breathing, still here. She had been the last to see him alive. 

It was consuming her from the inside out.

She knew, she knew it could in no way be her fault but she felt responsible. She felt like she had failed. Why her? Why had she been the last one to lay eyes on him? Why hadn't she done more?—said more. Why did this feel like it was all her fault? She hadn’t fought a war for things to end up like this. She hadn’t put her life on the line just to later realize that there were people she still hadn’t been able to save. All her efforts still had not saved him. 

Hermione had finally settled down into sniffles. She had shifted her position, her cut knees brought up to her chest with her arms wrapped tightly around them. Salty tears still poured from her eyes but she was no longer making any sound, except for the few whimpers she couldn't contain. 

"I’m so sorry, I wish I would've known."

Her voiced cracked as she spoke quietly to no one but herself. He was gone now, so her words wouldn't reach him but she spoke anyway. As she begun to absentmindedly trace the words engraved into his headstone, she failed to notice the grieving couple that stood not too far from the tree she had previously occupied. They had been watching her from afar, not wanting to disturb or intrude on her. This was their son she was destroyed over, but they understood. They had returned to lay something of Draco’s atop his headstone when they noticed her. Instead of asking her to leave so that they could speak their final goodbyes, they stood back. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy knew Hermione Granger and their son weren't friends. They knew that she would have every right to spit on his grave if she wanted, disrespectful as it'd be. He had been nothing but horrible to her. They had been nothing but horrible. Yet to see her in the state she was, wasn't a shock to them. Hermione Granger may have had much disdain for the malfoy family but she hadn't wished any of them dead. Nor would she wish for them to have to go through what they were now. 

They understood. 

Hermione Granger had been the last one to see their son, to speak to him, to see him breathe. They couldn't imagine the torment it was on her mind. So, even though they had wanted a private moment with their boy who they had failed in so many ways, they let her be. For her, it was the least they could do. 

___

Draco Lucius Chevalier Malfoy. June fifth, nineteen eighty to June fourth nineteen ninety-nine. Beloved son and friend. Those words plagued Hermione’s mind as she lay awake in her bedroom. She hadn't slept but a few hours and she didn't see an effort in trying to sleep anymore. She knew she'd just wake up in tears all over again. Already, she had set her mind to distracting herself with the bakery yet she made no move to get up. 

Sad wasn't the word to describe how she felt. It was more like defeated. Crushed. All of the loss and mourning was finally catching up to her. Even though they had obviously won the war, Hermione felt like she'd lost. So many people were dead, people who should be alive. Draco should be alive. She hadn't been only fighting for herself and her friends, but for him and any others in his position too. Anyone who couldn't fight for themselves. Anyone who might not have had a choice. Hermione had never been naive enough to think that Draco had truly had any say in what he'd done—who he had fought for. No, she knew they all had been predestined to the cause some would eventually lose their lives over. 

Draco, like Harry, hadn't had any choice because they were already chosen. Harry was prophesied but Draco was weaponized—used as a means to teach his father a lesson, and him himself. Failure wasn't an option because their lives were on the line. From the moment he was born Draco would have had to be involved in some way. Wether he relished in the fact that he was chosen for something out of envy of Harry or not, he still never really had a choice. The choice to know better, see better, fight for better. No, he had been set up to fail from the start. Fed with lies and put on a pedestal only to have it ripped out from beneath him. Forced to have to witness others be gifted what he had been promised, to witness others recieve a love that he had never known; no matter the riches and so called popularity. 

Draco was built up to the heavens only to be knocked down.

Hermione had known and had it confirmed with the story Harry told her about the night in the astronomy tower. Oh how she wished Draco’s actions could've been different. She wished that he'd listened to Dumbledore because maybe he'd still be here. He’d still be here and she wouldn't have to feel so torn apart by his permanent absence. 

Draco should be alive. 

He deserved to be able to move on as much as they did. He deserved to be able to finally make decisions for himself without having to look over his shoulder. Without having to bear the pressure of upholding the family name in order to keep them all living. He deserved that. 

Yet it was so painstakingly clear he didn't believe he so. He had taken his own life. 

The reality of that fact caused bile to arise within Hermione’s throat. She shot up off her bed and ran to the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach. Once she felt like she was finished, she moved robotically to brush her teeth and rinse her mouth. Fresh tears were racing down her face and she made no attempts to wipe them away, they would only be replaced by new ones. 

Moving back towards her bed, she told herself that there was no way she would be able to try and bake anything today. Good thing she had already put out the memo that she'd be closed. All she felt capable of was lying in bed, crying herself to sleep and waking up hours later to do it all over again. 

She had the thought to disconnect her floo, but she decided against it. In case of emergency, she needed to have that point of contact. Besides, she knew that no one would be coming to bother her unless she asked. They knew Hermione and even though they hadn't a clue on how upset she truly was, they knew she needed space. Time to really reconcile with all she had gone through in the past year including now. 

Her wounds hadn't ever closed and the knife was still being twisted. She just had gotten used to the pain. She had chose to ignore it, but Draco’s death had opened the floodgates and everything she'd tried to bury resurfaced. 

For a moment, she felt angry at him. It was so like him to make sure she was the last one who saw him. Of course he'd leave her with that heartbreaking knowledge. One last trick up his sleeve to make her life miserable. He probably had smirked and laughed about how he'd make sure she wouldn't forget him. The thought extinguished her anger and instead elicited giggles from her. Though just as quick as her anger had left, her giggles turned into quiet sobs and she felt guilty for even having such thoughts. He couldn't have been thinking anything like that. 

She was probably the last thing on his mind and she couldn't ask him because he was gone. 

___

Hermione jolted awake, immediately sitting up in her bed. A glance out of her window told her that it was the middle of night. A frown plagued her face as she tried to recall when she had fallen asleep, and stayed asleep. Her mind was then brought back to why she was awoken in the first place. 

Her wards had gone off. 

Somebody was either trying to get into the bakery or her flat. She was gripping her wand before she even knew it. Her mouth had gone completely dry and her heart was beating so hard she felt it'd come out of her chest. The sickly hands of fear had taken hold of her and rooted her to the spot. She had to remind herself who she was. She was Hermione Granger. She had fought in a war. She could handle an intruder if there was one. 

Without a second thought, she was up and putting on her slippers. Still dressed in her clothes from earlier today, she didn't feel a need to pull her robe on. Cautiously , she made her way out her room making sure to check every corner, never keeping her back turned for long. She did that until she felt sure that nothing or no one was in her flat. That meant whatever it was had come from downstairs. With a deep inhale, she left her flat and treaded down the short hallway before descending the staircase that lead to the kitchen door of her bakery. 

She cast a disillusionment charm on herself before slowly turning the knob of the door and pushing it open. Just as she had done upstairs, she kept her movements quiet and cautious, making sure to never leave herself vulnerable to anyone that may be hiding. A bowl that had been drying but was knocked into the sink had her pivoting on the spot, the noise raising alarm that something was in fact in here with her. She had a nasty hex ready to be cast on the tip of her tongue when she caught sight of a furry tail turning the corner around the kitchen island. 

She had found the culprit. The intruder was a cat. 

With a sigh of relief, Hermione felt her anxiety ease and she tucked her wand up into her mess of an updo after revealing herself. She took careful steps around the island, not wanting to scare off the furry creature. She found it curled up in a ball near one of the feet of the island. It’s soft purrs relaxed her further and she tentatively sat next to the unusual burglar. Reaching out her hand, she stroked the cat's fur to find that it was incredibly soft. Whomever it belonged to had obviously taken very good care of it. Hermione saw a glimpse of a collar and she wondered who on earth the cat could belong to. It’s fur was midnight black, with a healthy looking sheen to it and soft like velvet but with a shine like slik or satin. Her gentle caresses caused for more purrs from the cat and she moved to take it into her lap when it finally turned it's head towards her. All the breath in her body suddenly felt like it had ceased to exist. 

Gray eyes. 

The cat had eyes the color of an overcast sky. The color of ash but not as chalky or washed out; more like a glacier grey combined with an ash blue. A complex color that was often seen as boring. It stood out against it's black coat of fur. The feline’s eyes were wide, staring right back into Hermione's brown eyes. She once again found herself completely immobile. The air around her felt still and time seemed to be no longer moving in its slow rush. She forgot for a moment that it was a cat she was staring at. Those eyes, those eyes were so much like his—so much like draco's. 

He was haunting her. 

A quiet whine brought her out of her trance and she resumed her movement of picking up the cat. It surprised her by snuggling right up to her without hesitation and she felt tears threatening to spill over. She turned the deep blue collar that was around it's neck to inspect whom it belonged to and if it had a name. Coco, she read. So this cat was a girl and french too. That gave her an inkling of the name she'd find on the back. She flipped the pendant over to see the very name she had suspected would be there, Draco Malfoy. 

So he had owned a cat, a cat with eyes nearly identical to his and named her Coco. Somehow Coco had found her way to Hermione. How odd it was and again perfect yet imperfectly timed. It was like she couldn't escape him. As soon as she felt her mind would give her even a second of relief from grief, there was something else waiting to remind her of what reality was. 

She nuzzled into the cat, relishing in the feeling of it's soft fur against her cheek. She pondered on how it even got in here. How had she come all the way from Wiltshire—where the manor resided—and decided to come here, to Hermione of all places. 

"Coco is it?...Oh, how did you even get in here? How did you find me?" 

The mysterious cat turned to look at her when she spoke, yet didn't hold an annoyed look like Crookshanks always had. No, this cat seemed to like Hermione more, although she knew Crookshanks secretly had adored her. She was the only one allowed to hold the mischievous orange ball of fur. Coco seemed to be listening to her and she thought herself a little insane to think that a cat could be listening to her. They were intelligent creatures she knew, and this is the magical world, so she decided she would indulge on the possibility that it could.

"You…you must miss him don't you?"

A meow was all she got in return but in her mind it had sounded a bit sad. Coco was grieving too. 

"Do you know I was the—the last one to see him too? Is that why you came here?"

Her voice cracked and pitched higher with emotion. Her mind wandered, she wondered if Malfoy—Draco, had said goodbye to his Coco before he left for good. She also thought that referencing him by his surname was too petty. He should at least be called by his first given name. It humanized him in a way that he deserved to be, because even though he hadn't been a saint, he had still been human. A human being who had suffered. A suffering that Hermione hadn't known anything about, nor had anyone else. 

She was crying again and she allowed herself to do so. She admittedly had grown incredibly tired of being the ‘strong’ one, that's all anyone saw her as, all anyone expected of her. She had expected that of herself too but knew that it was just a lie. Hermione was really a coward. Her bravery was more like blind loyalty and stupidity, she felt. She could throw herself fully into a war but couldn't face the day to day world. She couldn’t face the fact that her being the strong, level-headed friend was all a façade. Maybe that had been how Draco had felt. Tired—tired of living up to expectations that even he had set for himself. Expectations that were only going to lead to destruction. They had done exactly that. 

"I..I just wish I would've known that day, Coco. If he would've said something…anything—maybe he had."

Maybe he had and she just missed it. Maybe he had long been crying for help and no had seen. No had cared to see because they hadn't looked past who he was and what he'd done, or maybe he hadn't gave off anything at all. Maybe he had kept his impenetrable mask up and let people keep their opinions about him. Maybe he hadn't wanted any help at all. He had made up his mind that he was tired and wanted nothing more from the world. 

It would kill Hermione never being able to truly know. She wished she'd had one more minute that day. One more hour. One more year and maybe then she or someone else would've saw the signs. 

Wishing was all that she could do now. 

"It’s too late now I suppose, Coco. God I wish it wasn't. I really wish it wasn't."

Coco gave her a purr in agreement and another snuggle that Hermione greatly appreciated. The cat seemed to understand her and she felt less guilty about being as torn up as she was. Yes, he and Hermione hadn't been friends but she had been the last one to see him, to speak to him, to see him breathe. 

This french, gray-eyed feline understood.

In the kitchen of her beloved bakery, Hermione sat against the island snuggled up to Draco Malfoy’s cat. The cat that had somehow found it's way to her. A cat that seemed to be grieving too. A cat that somehow understood and could sense the pain Hermione was going through. She was glad it had come here. She took it as a sign and she vowed to keep coco safe until she found the time return her to the Malfoys. Part of her didn't want to let the cat go, but she knew she'd have to. The Malfoys deserved to have whatever was left of their son. So, she would do it. Comforting each other, Hermione and Coco the cat fell asleep—wishing they could go back in time.

Chapter Text

FLOUR stained the baby pink apron Hermione was wearing. It was also smeared across her right cheek, her forehead and all over her hands as she rolled out dough for her signature sugar cookies. Her secret was the almond extract in the pink icing she frosted each cookie with. It took the flavor over the top and also cut through some of the sweetness. It was a nice subtle balance, and so it happened to be one of Hermione’s most popular cookies.

She had gone with pink, cream and gold accents for the theme of her bakery. A Batch Made in Heaven was the name. It was cheesy, but she had loved it for that very reason because it was the opposite of everything she'd been through. The opposite of what everyone expected her to be, her theme colors included. That was why she loved what she did so much because it was something no one ever thought she'd take up or be interested in. Although, there were plenty of things Hermione and many others never thought they'd see from her, cream painted walls with large pink hearts stenciled on them was definitely at the top of the list.

Right now, she was doing her best to use what she loved to keep her from falling apart any further. She needed to get back to work and she couldn't afford to spend another day dwelling in all her sorrow. Well, financially she could, the ministry had compensated her and her friends greatly for their war efforts. It was more of the mental aspect. So, she had dragged herself out of bed early and had decided she would bake up a storm if need be.

It was still a bit early, only a few stragglers had come into the bakery and Hermione was happy to jump in and serve them. Most of her traffic came in the afternoon and evening hours, when most were having their lunch break or getting off work. Still she didn't give herself not a moment of rest. There was always something to be done. If it wasn't washing dishes, it was cleaning a spill. If it wasn't cleaning a spill, then it was icing and displaying her cookies and cakes. If that didn't need to be done, she was heading back to the kitchen to start a new batch of whatever she felt like making. She wouldn't stop, because if she stopped for even a millisecond her mind would wander to the war. Her fallen friends. Draco’s suicide.

She couldn't bear to think any longer on any of it.

Ironically, being in the bakery also happened to be a challenge. It was taking her mind off of things but it was also a glaring reminder of what had happened. Here was the last place he had been. She was the last person he had seen, right here in the one place that had been her safe space from any grief or pain. Now, it was tainted. Residual of Draco’s presence seemed to linger everywhere Hermione went; which had only been the bakery and her flat for the past few days.

She kept Coco up in her living room ever since the cat found it's way in. Every night the gray eyed feline slept atop her bed with her, curled up at her feet. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed having a cat around. Her own had passed a few months after the battle. Yet another thing Hermione had lost.

With a shake of her head, she drew her thoughts away from her gaping wounds and back to her dough. She double checked her ovens to make sure they were at the right temperature. She had already preheated them before making her dough. Carefully, she used a circle cutter to cut out the shape of her cookies before placing them onto the baking sheets prepped with parchment paper. The cookies Hermione sold were quite large and thick, she took ample time to make sure they were iced to perfection. When somebody purchased one or however many, she'd box them into the pink boxes she had for all her baked goods and tied it off with a gold ribbon. Her extra care and attention to detail is what made people flock to her establishment

The soft ring of the bell at the door broke her concentration, alerting her that a costumer had entered. Taking a deep breath, she wiped her hands on her apron before exiting the kitchen into the dining area of the bakery. Without looking to see who had entered, she walked behind the counter readying the register while greeting whomever had come in. 

"Good morning, if you would give me one moment to get these cookies in the oven I’ll be right with you. I hope that'll be alri-."

She had finally looked up to see Narcissa and Lucius malfoy standing a few feet from the door looking at her. It stopped her dead in her tracks and she immediately felt dread wash over her. She knew this day would come eventually—that they would have questions for her that she didn't have the answers to. 

Narcissa had her arm looped through Lucius’s, it looked as if they were holding each other up. There was still an aristocratic air about them that screamed wealth, but neither of them held that familiar look of sheer disgust she was so accustomed to seeing; the look that said they were better than thou. No, they looked tired. Both their eyes were red rimmed and glossy, like they had been crying before they arrived here and many nights before that. Lucius was gripping his walking stick rather tight, like he'd collapse into a heap without it. Narcissa's usual updo was nowhere to be found, her hair uncharacteristically down and framing her face. It was probably an attempt to hide her sunken in cheeks and draw attention away from her tired eyes. Despite all this, the Malfoys still looked exceptionally well put together. 

Hermione wondered if that kept them sane in a time like such—if keeping their outer appearance up to par helped them to cope with the loss of their only son. Their only child. 

"Miss Granger, if you had a moment we would like to speak with you. It happens to be about...Draco."

It was Lucius that spoke and that surprised her. She’d thought that Narcissa would be the most likely one to ever utter a word to her. Yet when she saw her visibly flinch at her son's name, she knew that his mother was in no state to speak right now.

"Yes of course. Just...um, give me a moment please and I’ll be happy to talk about whatever."

She tried to give them both a smile but she knew her own pain seeped right through it. When she was given a nod she made her way back into the kitchen and turned the ovens off. She then covered the cookie trays and set them in the fridge. She didn't know how long they'd be here and she would rather not risk trying to bake anything. Quickly, she threw off her apron before running up the steps and down the hall to fetch Coco. When she had the cat scooped up into her arms, she took a deep breath and made her way back to where the Malfoys were waiting for her.

Hermione gestured to one of the booths in the dining area to sit at and all three of them moved to sit. Narcissa and Lucius sat together while Hermione sat across from them with Coco in her arms. It was quiet for a beat too long and Hermione cleared her throat before speaking.

"Um, I don't know how she ended up here but I’ve been keeping her until I found the time to return her. She’s been fed, so you don't have to worry about that. I hope that isn't a problem, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. I really have no clue how she even got in or found her way all the way to my bakery."

She was rambling nervously and avoiding eye contact. Her head snapped up when she felt a surprisingly warm but soft hand touch hers. Narcissa was looking at her with a small smile and shook her head. 

"It’s fine Miss Granger. If you'd like, you can keep her. She seems to like you, and Lucius and I wouldn't know what to do with her anyway.”

A lump formed in Hermione’s throat and her eyes began to mist. She didn't trust her voice so she gave the woman a small nod and blinked her eyes to keep the tears away. Lucius hadn't spoken another word and kept his eyes trained on his hands that were clasped over one of his wife's. 

When Hermione realized she hadn't offered them a single thing to eat or drink, she wanted to facepalm and scold herself. How could she be so forgetful?

"Oh my, I’m so sorry Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, would you like anything to drink or eat? I seem to have forgotten myself."

"It’s quite alright dear and please call me Narcissa. Whatever you have would be fine."

Hermione nodded and stood to get them something after placing Coco on the seat beside her. She occupied herself with boxing up two cherry and cheese pastries for the two of them. She then made three cups of chai tea, only guessing how much sugar and cream to add. She hoped it'd be alright for them because she hadn't the courage to ask them how they take their tea.

Setting the food and drinks down onto the table, she settled back into her seat and Coco immediately jumped into her lap. Herman stroked her along her back earning a purr. 

"I hope this is alright with you and that the tea is to your liking."

They had both taken a sip, seemingly needing to occupy their hands, or maybe focus their minds. Narcissa gave her another smile. Hermione never thought anything but her expression of disgust would fit on her aristocratic face, but her smile did. In fact, it seemed to fit ten times better and it was almost as if Hermione had always seen the woman smile. Narcissa was beautiful, it was no wonder the elite looked at her and treated her like royalty.

"It’s more than Miss Granger."

"Call me Hermione."

It had gone quiet again and Hermione didn't know what to say. So to ease her nerves she picked up her own cup of tea and took a lengthy sip. She watched as they shared a glance with each other, seemingly communicating. With a nod, Narcissa pulled out a sealed envelope from within her robes. Hesitantly, she sat it on the table and slid it slowly towards Hermione who's eyes were drawn to the glisten of the grieving woman's wedding ring. It looked vintage, like it had been in their family for centuries but was in pristine condition. It surely spoke for their wealth. 

"This...this is for you. It’s a letter, from my son. Had we known it was there before we would've given it to you sooner but as you can imagine, we haven’t been in his room since...since then." 

Hermione could hear the waver in her voice. She could see the pain of loss cracking through the perfected mask Narcissa wore—could see her strong exterior cracking rapidly. She watched as Lucius gripped Narcissa's right hand in his left, conveying that he was right there with her without uttering a word. Then is when she realized that despite his poor choices, Lucius did in fact love his family. 

She tore her eyes away from the couple sat in front of her and looked at the envelope instead. It was a deep green color, so dark it looked almost black. The edges looked to be gold trimmed and there on the front was Hermione’s name in gold ink. Without realizing, she reached out a hand and traced her fingers over her name. The ink had of course dried by now. It was neatly written cursive and Hermione wasn't surprised to see that Draco has-had impeccable handwriting.

"We also would like to thank you for all the treats you've sent us, dear. You didn't have to. We know we haven't ever been deserving of such treatment. Neither had our son...but seeing as he's written you that letter, I’d say your actions towards him at some point must have meant a great deal. While we have many...many questions, I’m sure it's been a tough time for you, given the situation. So we'll wait until you contact us if you wish to do so."

She couldn't believe the words coming out of Narcissa’s mouth. A tough time for her? This woman's son had just died, been buried and here she was willing to wait on answers she had every right to hear. Her posture, words or expression held no malice towards Hermione. Neither did Lucius’s. She was someone they too had been brought up to hate. Although the war was over, she knew that unlearning ingrained behaviors was no easy task. Yet the both of them were here empathizing with whatever sorrow Hermione was feeling when they had lost their only child. She couldn't understand it but she had a newfound respect for them. 

"I-I..yes of course. I’ll answer whatever questions you have if it helps."

She couldn't keep the tears from forming in her eyes but she did her best to stop them from falling. Their eyes filled with hope and again Narcissa spoke to say that she would stop by again at some point to have that conversation. Hermione agreed and as they stood to leave, she couldn't help but say what she felt they needed to hear. 

"I know your son and I weren't friends. There wasn't too much I did know about him but what I do know is that he loved you both very much. He would've done anything for you."

It was the truth. Over the years of attending Hogwarts with the Malfoy heir, she'd gathered that much about him. Draco really loved his family and would do things that went against his true nature just for them. She watched as a lone tear fell onto narcissa's face before she dabbed it away quickly. Lucius kept his unreadable expression, she could see where Draco inherited it from, but there was an unmistakable glisten in his eyes. The tears were pooled right at the edge of his eyes but he somehow managed to keep them just as they were. This was as close to crying she had ever seen the man. 

Her already broken heart cracked a bit more for his parents. 

With a nod from them both, they made sure to grab the pastries she boxed for them before heading for the door. She stood by seeing them on their way. They were halfway out of the door when Lucius stopped in his tracks. He seemed to be contemplating something before he turned to look back to Hermione. Then, for the first time since he'd asked if she had a moment, he spoke. 

"Miss Gra-Hermione...whatever it is you did that compelled my son to write you that letter, whatever kindness you may have shown him despite him not deserving it...thank you."

With that, he took his wife's hand and exited the bakery but not before the tears he held back with great strength finally won over. Lucius was crying and he had thanked her. 

When they were out of sight Hermione felt her knees give out and she sank to the floor. Coco leapt down from the booth they had been in and circled Hermione curiously before settling into her lap. Hermione scooped her up in her arms. Then , much like the night the mischievous creature had broken in, she held the cat Draco had left behind and cried. 

___

An entire week had gone by. An entire week since Hermione had been given that letter. It was now the twenty second of June; exactly eleven days had passed since the funeral. Eleven days since Hermione had any real contact with any of her friends. Besides running the bakery, it was just her and Coco each day in her flat. She didn't do much there, she tried to read but her mind wouldn't focus. She tried to eat but her stomach couldn't seem to keep much down. So, most days she had been in bed with Coco snuggled right up to her. She of course made sure to keep her well fed, groomed and entertained as best she could. She didn't want a thing happening to Coco, she couldn't take anymore loss. 

Her bed is where they happened to be at the moment. She stared at the envelope that sat on her nightstand. So far she couldn't bring herself to read it. She had no idea what to expect. It was odd enough that he'd left a letter for her in the first place. Had he written pages or just a few words? Would he explain? Would he say how he'd given signs and no one picked up on them? Or would he leave it all left unsaid. Had he taken his sorries to the grave? 

"Oh Coco, I don't know what to do. I know I’ll have to face this and read it eventually."

Coco turned towards Hermione and nuzzled her face against her thigh. Hermione took that as her saying she understood her hesitance. She stroked the cat behind her ears and along her back, like always earning her a satisfied purr. 

"Should I open it now?"

A meow, one that sounded like a yes. Coco must want to know what the letter said too. Maybe it'd explain why her beloved owner had left her behind. Hermione was losing her mind thinking for this cat. 

"Maybe...maybe we'll go visit him afterwards yea? I’m sure they'll be much we have to say."

The smart cat gave her another nuzzle in response and it caused Hermione to smile a real smile. It was a small one, but it was there. The cat was turning out to be like a therapy animal, something that Hermione knew she definitely needed. After five deep breaths, she reached over and took the letter into her hands. Like she'd done the day she got it, she ran her fingers over the perfect cursive that spelled out her name. She thought of how his hands might've moved, or wether he wrote her name quickly or took his time forming each letter carefully. Her hands shook and she set the letter in her lap to ball her hands into fists. She curled and uncurled them a few times before picking it back up. She could do this. She needed to do this. 

She could feel a familiar knot in her throat and she wondered when in the world had she become so overly emotional. Perhaps she had always been, it was just that everybody including her had expected her not to show it. Turning over the letter, she stared at the gold wax seal. The Malfoy crest was imprinted on it. God, why was this taking her so long to do? She gulped down the rest of her hesitation and shut her eyes. With a mental countdown to three, she broke the seal and opened the letter meant for her. As she began to read, she could almost see him somewhere in his room maybe, at a desk. She had never even set foot in it but she could see his brows furrowed in concentration as he wrote, could hear his voice clearly, almost as if he were right in the room with her. 

Dear Granger,

or should I say Hermione? I suppose I should address you as such since this is goodbye. Yes, goodbye because if you're reading this then I’m already gone. Chin up...well, only if you cared enough to cry. If not, this entire letter is embarrassing but I won't be around to suffer from said embarrassment anyway.

I know, you're wondering why you? and let me tell you, for a moment, I thought that too. I thought, why of all people Hermione Granger? What has that bushy haired—height of a munchkin—woman ever done for me to write a goodbye letter to her? 

Through her teary eyes, she found herself giggling at his comments about her hair and height. She could visualize the smirk she knew he'd had on his face. 

The more I thought about it though, the more I realized that you've done plenty. The very first day I came to know of your existence you proved me wrong. Me, and others with a mindset akin to my own. Sure, there happened to be plenty of muggleborns we went to school with, but they weren't Hermione Granger. Thee Hermione Granger who bested me at everything I thought I was top notch in. ( except potions, you could never! ) The girl who dared to stand in my face and tell me everything that I was—everything that I believed—was wrong and didn't matter. I hated coming second to you and it made me believe that I hated you.

Only years later, when I was way in over my head, did I realize I just hated the fact that you made me uncomfortable with looking in the mirror. You made me question the very people I thought would always steer me right. You stole my throne right from under me and coupled with Potter seemingly getting everything I was promised, it struck at something buried deep within me. 

My insecurity.

You had proven my worst fear to be true—that my superiority meant absolutely nothing. That my existence meant absolutely nothing. All the lies I’d been fed since I was a boy were exactly that, lies. I wasn't going to be some king in a castle. I wasn't going to have the world at my feet. Sure, my wealth could get me quite far, but still it would all mean nothing because without it, then what? If there was somebody with blood that's supposedly inferior to mine that could outdo me...what was the point? Why had I held myself up to a standard of royalty when I was nothing of the sort. Funny, I found out later that I actually am but that still didn't matter. I had no real purpose. 

I suppose that fact haunted me until I could take no more. 

All the while, I was too blind to see that you had your own insecurities too. Sure, you stood up to me and anybody who dared to try and belittle you but words hurt. I didn't see that you hadn't only bested me, but you desperately did what you could to outdo everyone else. You liked being ten steps ahead of others because it made you feel like you were above them. You were constantly trying to prove yourself to a world that told you that you were less than. So of course, you used your talents to show that you were in fact, just as worthy as anyone else. Then there I was, saying that even that didn't matter. Seemingly the only thing you had to show for yourself, that you were sure of, still wasn't enough. Just like my wealth and name still didn't seem to be enough for someone to really see me. 

To be proud of me. To believe in me. To want to share my dreams and success. To give me the world that was promised to me since I was a boy. 

You could gain the world and still have nothing. 

I had no clue who I was, who I would be. For as long as I remember I was told what to do, what I was destined for, who to befriend, how to act, speak, move. 

This isn't a pity party though, this is about how you turned my world upside down seemingly for the worst, but really for the better. Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, taught me, Draco Malfoy, that just because you've believed something your whole life doesn't meant it's true. Or that it's right. You taught me to stand for something or someone. To question things even when it's hard. That sometimes your parents—or those you love— can-no, will be wrong. That it's okay to be unsure, to not know who you are, to want more out of life other than riches and fame. 

My apologies mean nothing and there is no reversing what I’ve done, but I sincerely apologize for all my wrongs. For my words that I knew would cut deep. For my actions that put more people than I thought in jeopardy.

So back to your—our, question. Why you? Why Hermione Granger? Why the brilliant, courageous, smart, pretty ( yes Granger, I do think you're quite pretty. I’d be blind not to notice. Don’t let it go to your head, it's big enough. ) little troll of a woman?

Because you taught me how to smile. 

That made her smile.

Taught me the importance of friendship and that it was okay to want that. Taught me to stand firm for what I know in my gut is right. Taught me that almond extract tastes amazing in icing on top of a sugar cookie. 

We weren't ever friends, yet I’ve learned alot from you. You should give yourself more credit, and also give yourself a real chance to grieve and heal. You deserve that. Don’t turn away good things just because you think you didn't have it as rough as your favorite scarhead. You deserve happiness too. Indulge in it. Cherish it. 

I hope you don't mind, I instructed my house elf to send my Coco your way should anything ever happen to me. ( yes yes, my elves are actually treated well—can't speak for my father in the past. They were insulted when I offered to pay them and it earned me a hex. No thanks to you and S.P.E.W ) I didn’t know who else would take good care of her and since I was already writing to you I thought why not. I think you two will get along and she's a much better companion than that orange demon spawn you called a pet. You can think of her as a piece of me to have to remind you of all the times I brightened up your miserable life. ( kidding )

If my parents ever stop by to see you, which I’m sure they will to give you this if I already haven't, tell them I love them dearly. Always have. It wasn't their fault no matter their mistakes. I know they always did the best they could with what they were raised to believe as well. 

To my best mates who've given me the best in the worst of times. Who’ve stood by me even when I was wrong. Who saw the worst of me and didn't let it faze them. My best friends who were the only ones that truly cared wether I lived or died. Theodore. Blaise. Don’t ever stop being the irritating prats you are. I love you.

My apologies for leaving all this up to you. None of this is your burden to bear. So please, once you've told them, don't make it your responsibility to keep tabs on them. Don’t make it your responsibility to see that my name isn't further tarnished. Don’t beat yourself up over wether it was anything you could've done or said. Don’t feel guilty for not knowing. Nobody did. There were things I just couldn't escape. Don’t get lost in yesterday.

Don’t waste your life holding onto mine. 

I’m already gone.

Thank you for your kindness when it wasn't deserved. Thank you for trying to bring me sunshine on that rainy day. You made me laugh before I left here. 

Thank you.

Keep going with your bakery ( you've got a billion galleon business there ) and take care of yourself, Hermione. 

Take a breath.

Smile.

Chin up, smart girl. From here on out, don’t you dwell on me anymore. 

Things will be just fine. 

In the stars,

Draco. ♡

p.s. Yes, I sign my name with a heart, it makes the ladies feel quite special.

Hermione burst out into what was a sob and laughter combined. She clutched the letter to her chest and curled on her side into a ball. Her sobs of laughter morphed until her smile faded and it was just her cries left. Her heart hurt and she felt like she couldn't breathe. 

Draco Malfoy was dead and gone, and he wanted nothing more than for her to live life and move on

Chapter Text

HERMIONE stood by the same tree she’d retreated under during his funeral , contemplating on whether or not she should even be here. Coco was in her arms napping contently. Yet again, it was an overcast sky but this time it was actually warm out. Hermione wondered if it actually had been cold the day they buried Draco, or if it was just the presence of death and mourning causing it to feel that way. She had on simple jean shorts and a camisole, but still had decided to put on a jacket even though there was no need for it. It was like a security blanket for her, and if she needed it to it could swallow her whole and cause her to vanish. 

She straightened her posture and took a deep breath in before walking towards his headstone. When she reached it, she sat down criss-crossed in the grass in front of it. She spotted his slytherin class ring resting atop the marbled stone and she guessed it was probably charmed so that no one could steal it or knock it off. She hadn't thought to bring anything to leave herself because all she had were her words. Words she knew he wouldn't ever be able to hear but words she needed to say nonetheless.

Occupying her hands with caressing Coco, she took a deep inhale trying to figure out where to begin. Oh how she wished she could be doing this face to face with him. She would try to keep it together, but she knew she wouldn't leave here without a tear stained face. 

"It’s an overcast sky again. I’m wondering if it'll be like that every time I’m here. To really remind me of you i suppose. Although your eyes were alot more complex than that. That sounds like something a teen romance novel would say, I know, but it's true."

Hermione thought about how he'd probably say that he was the muse of teen romance novels, and that they wished they could write the poetry that he was. A smile graced her face at the thought. Draco had been a fine man and he'd known it. Her smile disappeared when another thought occurred to her, had he even truly liked the way he looked? Did he even like to look at his reflection for long? For all she knew, his cocky attitude when it came to his looks could have been a facade. There was so much she didn't know—so much she wanted to know, but would never get the chance to ask.

"I received your letter."

She had read it about a hundred times by now. Each time, she hoped and prayed that he'd somehow come out and say that this was all a sick twisted joke. Granted, she would probably send him right back to his grave for doing so. 

"You must've loved seeing me cry, huh? I assure you it has me doing alot of that."

A lame attempt at a joke. It wasn't like she had much of an audience. She was only trying to cheer herself up. It seemed to have worked because she snorted quietly at her words. It wasn't true though, sure Draco had liked getting under her skin but he never did enjoy seeing her cry. It was a contradiction, but it was the way it had been. She didn't know that. 

I can't do this, she thought. Careful not to startle Coco, she covered her face with her hands in shame of her tears that had already begun to fall. There was so much she wanted to say—needed to say, but couldn't find the words. She was still coming to terms with the fact that she hadn't hated him, still didn't. There were still so many unhealed wounds that'd he'd caused, though small, they still hurt. She hadn't been able to tell him how much it'd hurt, to let it all out, try to fully understand his point of view. 

She hadn't been able to forgive him. 

She was going to—had it set in her heart and mind that she wanted to—needed to. She just had never found the time or the right moment, and now there would never be. Oh how she hoped he'd somehow known that she was ready to put it all past her. For her sake and his. She hoped he'd known that she cared, that it was why she testified on his behalf in front of the wizengamot. She had stood beside him despite their rough history throughout their Hogwarts years. Everyone had thought her to be crazy, but Hermione had always known there was more than meets the eye when it came to Draco. 

"I—I know you wished for me to move on, but how could I? I can't. I’m trying but I really can't. It was never supposed to be like this. I’d never wanted to see you dead, not even when you pushed me to my limit. Not ever. I’m so sorry, Draco—so sorry." 

She was unraveling further, her chest heaved as her cries grew more violent. Coco had stirred from her cat nap and nuzzled against Hermione, sensing her distress. 

"Had you have said anything, just one word, I would've been there for you without question. You couldn't see that—how would you have seen that? All we did was bicker. It seems so stupid now. I should've been there. I would've been there. I wouldn't have cared a thing about what people said, you know? Not even my best friends. You just left me—left me with so many questions. You knew I hated unanswered questions!"

At her last sentence, she tugged at the roots of her hair in frustration. Her tears were giving no sign of stopping and she wondered how she even had any left. She was sure she looked out her mind right now but couldn't bring herself to care. 

She wanted to stamp her feet on the ground—wanted to roll around and cry while hitting the floor. She wanted to have a full blown tantrum and for someone to gift her everything she wanted. Oh, there was so much that she wanted—longed for. 

For Draco to be alive. 

For her heart not to hurt so much. For the ghosts of her fallen friends not to haunt her. For the Weasley family to look whole again and not so utterly incomplete. For Narcissa and Lucius to not look so lost and beaten down. It was unnatural for them. Everything was just so wrong.

"Well...thee Hermione Granger. I did not expect to see you here."

Hermione immediately froze in her spot at the sound of a voice. Coco hissed at whoever the newcomer was, seeming to not like the disturbance they'd caused. Quickly wiping her tears and attempting to fix her hair from all her tugging, she readied herself to turn and face whoever it was that had obviously come to visit Draco’s resting place. She took a deep breath and when she finally turned around, she was met with the lopsided grin of Theodore Nott.

He stood just a foot from her, looking down at the mess she was. She hadn't really seen Theodore Nott since before the war, and afterwards it was only a few glimpses of him here and there. It was to be expected, they hadn't ever been in the same circle. Now it seemed that lines were getting blurred with the circumstances at hand. 

His chocolate brown curls had grown longer. It was messy but almost if he intentionally styled it that way. He was still slim and tall—not as tall as Draco had been or Ron—but still tall and especially a great deal taller than Hermione. In his dark prominent brow, strong nose and structured jaw, she could see the same aristocratic air she'd seen in the Malfoys—in Draco. Blue-hazel ringed eyes that made them appear green didn't hold their usual amusement, even though he had just been grinning at her. He was harboring pain that kept it from reaching his eyes.

"Nott....Theodore? Wha—what are you doing here?"

She wanted to hit herself over the head the moment the question left her. It was obvious why he was here. 

"Has the brightest witch lost her touch? I thought I should be asking you that but it seems we must be here for the same reason."

Hermione actually gave a soft snort at his lighthearted jab at her intelligence. She hardly got offended at things like that because she knew she could be a bit oblivious at times. She also knew she wasn't much of herself.—whoever that had been. Theo moved to sit next to her in the same criss-crossed position that she was. He didn't seem to care that his perfectly tailored slacks would soon have grass stains on them. He plucked a dandelion from the ground and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. 

They sat in silence. Neither of them knew what to say to the other or felt the need to speak. Coco had settled back down into Hermione’s lap and even let Theo reach out a hand and pet her. She must've recognized him now. Hermione turned her head slightly to observe him. In a moment like this, she thought it silly to think that his side profile was almost as impeccable as Draco’s had been. Hermione had never minded Theodore back in Hogwarts. He had been a quiet soul, but also had quite the reputation among the female population of the school. She also knew that even though she didn't see him with Draco much during those days that they happened to be very close. Blaise Zabini was included in that as well. Goyle and Crabbe had seemed to only be there to uphold Draco’s reputation. 

Why was it that all her mind did now was wander to Draco? 

It was Theo that she was supposed to be pondering about. It was then she remembered that she'd once had a small crush on him throughout her shenanigans with Ron. She supposed it was because of the one day he'd picked up a book she dropped. Even though he hadn't spoken a word or spared her a glance, somehow her mind wouldn't let it go and it'd caused her to develop a schoolgirl crush on him. It hadn't lasted long anyway and it was funny to think of now. Life had changed so much since then. 

"You know—he didn't tell me anything either. I was his best mate…and he didn't say a word."

Hermione jumped a bit when he spoke. She watched as his eyes were fixated on the dandelion he was still holding. When she had taken in what he said, her heart felt even heavier than it had when she'd come here. Just as he'd done back in school, Draco had left a string of broken hearts behind. 

"I suppose I should've known—should've been able to see that something was up. The week before, all he did was hang around. If he wasn't around me or Blaise, he was with Narcissa and Lucius. The last time we hung out he'd been the happiest I had ever seen him. The moment he'd given me that long hug I should've suspected something. Draco was only really affectionate like that with his parents, and it wasn't seen. Although he was never afraid to say I love you, if you can believe that.” A quiet huff of laughter escaped him, thinking of his friend whose demeanor was often solemn and withdrawn. 

“In fact, now that I think about it...he'd been saying it too much. I just thought he had finally started to forgive himself—allowed himself to really enjoy the little things again, but then he isolated those last few days and truthfully I thought nothing of it. He had always been that way—needing to have time alone after being around people for so long."

Theo shook his head seeming far off in thought. He had stopped twirling the dandelion but never let go of it. His eyes had glossed over and Hermione found herself shifting closer to him, her brows furrowed in concern. 

"I was stupid not to see it. You know, he was always telling me not to die on him back then—when we'd thought the war wouldn't end. All along it'd been me that needed to worry."

Hs closed his eyes, willing the tears that had pooled in his eyes away. He missed his best friend more than he could say. They had grown up alongside one another; had seen the shift and damage within each other. They survived through the war with no guidance together; the same expectations building them up to fail with no way out. They had been like brothers—no, they were brothers. 

Nobody knew. 

Hermione remembered Draco’s words in his letter. She couldn't let Theo sit here and blame himself. 

"Theodore...nobody knew. You couldn't have known this was going to happen. You did all you needed to and that was to be his best friend. You can't blame yourself for this. It’ll do you no good."

She laid a firm hand on his free hand and kept her eyes on him. She spoke with nothing but sincerity and it struck at something in Theo. How Hermione managed to have so much empathy and understanding for someone that had been on the side of the enemy; he couldn't understand. He saw why she was coined the golden girl. No, she wasn't perfect, she was flawed like everyone else but she had time and again been the one to place herself in other shoes.

He finally turned to her with a knowing look in his eyes. She knew that he saw right through her. It seemed that he, along with his best friend, had a knack for reading people. He took her hand in his, just as firm but gentle as she had been. His face scrunched up in the slightest and a humorless laugh fell from his lips; a lone tear escaping his eye against his wishes. He blinked a few times to keep any more away before he spoke. 

"You say that to me as you sit in turmoil over being the last to see him. You aren't to blame either, yet it feels as if it’s all your fault. It keeps you up at night, doesn't it? I know how it feels—he was my best friend. Even though the logical part of us knows it couldn't—will never be our fault, it doesn't feel that way. I wouldn't dare judge you for being distraught Granger, no matter what your relationship with Draco was like. It’s okay, but I also won't sit here and let you blame yourself either."

Theo understood.

Hermione felt her lip tremble and she cast her eyes down so he wouldn't see her eyes water. They were both guilt ridden and self destructing slowly. Though they'd had two completely different relationships with Draco, still they seemed to get so much about each other with just this one conversation. They both had unanswered questions. They both felt responsible. They both wished they'd known; wished they had more time. She supposed Blaise and his parents probably felt the same. All of them were grieving in ways that were different yet the same. 

As she'd done earlier, she covered her face to hide her tears. Theo didn't say a word, but wiped at his own tears before throwing an arm over her shoulders, tucking her into his side. He rubbed a comforting hand up and down her arm while she cried; too saddened to be embarrassed that she was crying in front of someone. Besides, she knew Theo wouldn't ever judge and he happened to be fighting his own tears still. 

When she'd calmed down, they didn't feel the need to change their position. Hermione without a doubt had a newfound friend; someone that wasn't her own friends that could understand what she was feeling. They sat in a comfortable silence. Theo had gone back to twirling the dandelion again, in deep thought. Hermione just stared at the words etched into Draco’s headstone. She wanted to erase it all like it'd never happened.

"For an insufferable know-it-all, you aren't half bad Hermione." 

He made a point to use her first name as he poked her side. It got a smile out of her. 

"You aren't so bad either Theo...thank you."

He nodded with a grin on his face that reflected the one he'd given her earlier. Except this time, she saw a flicker of the amusement that hadn't been in his eyes before. A small weight had been lifted off his shoulders from speaking with her. They had both needed someone who understood to confide in. Yes, they both had their friends—Theo with someone who'd lost his best friend too—but it was different with someone unlikely. Theo held the dandelion up in front of the both of them then handed it to Hermione. 

"Make a wish for the both of us."

Hermione closed her eyes and then after a countdown from three, she blew on the dandelion. 

She wished that they both, even just for a moment, could see Draco again.

___

Monday happened to be a slow day at the bakery, so Hermione had plenty of time to enjoy Theo’s company. He had stopped by to see how she was holding up and to finally see her prized possession. She found that he absolutely adored her lemon pound cake cookies and had taken an entire box with him when he'd left. It had made her morning. 

She found it ironic that people from Draco’s life were somehow now being intertwined with hers. She wouldn't be surprised if her next run in happened to be with Blaise, and she wondered if she’d get along with him like she had with Theo. The thought brought guilt to her because of her neglect towards her own friends. She knew they were probably worried sick about her. She made a mental note to see Ginny, then Harry and Ron would follow. Her guilt then morphed into sadness as she realized that maybe if she'd given any of the slytherins a chance months ago, Draco would still be here. 

The bell above the door rung, putting a halt to Hermione’s crestfallen expression. She straightened up and plastered a smile on her face to greet whoever had just come in. When she looked up, she saw Narcissa standing near the door like she had been the day she gave Hermione Draco’s letter. Although this time, her usual updo was on display and though her eyes were still red rimmed, her face was no longer tired looking and sunken in. Her attire of course was just as put together as it had been her last visit. Yet it was obvious she had clearly put in alot more effort to appear less...devastated? Destroyed ? Whatever word that could suffice for what she was most definitely feeling over the loss of her son. 

"Oh, Narcissa."

"Good afternoon, dear. I thought I’d finally make that second visit I had mentioned."

Hermione hadn't forgotten that the mourning woman had questions, she just had hoped for more time to get ahold of herself. She noted that Lucius wasn't with her and she wondered if he was not yet ready to hear about the last moments that his son had been seen alive.

"Right, of course. I’ll be just a moment. Would you like anything?"

"Yes, if it wouldn't be a bother, I would love to try whatever you’re most proud of. I hear your confections are quite delicious."

Something like pride swelled within Hermione. She felt a warmth at Narcissa's words and an excitement that someone at her status had even took interest in the fruits of Hermione’s passion. She busied herself with making some tea and grabbing a fresh sugar cookie for Narcissa to taste. She figured it'd be the safest to go with. When she had what she needed, she joined her in one of the booths. 

"I thought my signature sugar cookie would be best to start with, and some tea of course."

Narcissa gave her a smile and accepted the treat with slight eagerness that made Hermione grin. She was glad that something as small as trying a cookie was able to bring excitement and joy to the woman who had lost a part of her. She watched nervously as Narcissa held the cookie with the grace of a pureblood raised woman and took a small bite. Her eyebrows raised in surprise before another smile danced onto her delicate features. Again, Hermione felt quite proud. 

"Oh my Hermione, that is absolutely wonderful! There’s something subtle that takes it over the top. I’ve never tasted anything like it."

"Thank you Narcissa. I’m really glad you think so. It’s the almond extract in the frosting you're tasting!" 

"Really? Almond extract?"

"Yes! It’s my secret weapon. It’s even better when it's chilled."

Hermione felt like clapping her hands in excitement, much like she had done when she'd let another Malfoy taste her creation. She loved to hear and see that people enjoyed what she did. 

"I see why they call you the brightest witch of your age. You’ve got a billion galleon business, sweetheart."

Those words yanked the air from out of Hermione's lungs. Her smile was still on her face but it had turned into a much more saddened one. Narcissa noticed the silence, the shift in the air and looked to the misty eyed girl to figure out what had gone wrong. She placed a hand over the shaking ones of the young woman with an extraordinary talent for baking. 

"What’s wrong? Did I say something to upset you? I do apologize if I have."

Hermione shook her head frantically and willed herself to keep it together. 

"Oh no it was nothing like that. I assure you. I really am quite pleased that you love it so much."

"Then what is it that's bothering you, cherie. Tell me."

The french term of endearment warmed Hermione’s heart and saddened her all the more. It made her think of her mother, and she remembered that's exactly what Narcissa was. It was showing through her tone, her expression, her words. She had no reason to care for Hermione yet she clearly did to whatever extent. The loss of her son had really melted away any of the prejudice towards the muggleborn girl. It had put things into great perspective—that life was too short for such hatred and such cruelty; that a little kindness really could go a long way.

"It’s just that...Draco happened to say the exact same thing."

A flash of pain crossed Narcissa’s features at her beloved boy's name. Hermione wondered if she would now always have that reaction; like she was being cut open all over again every time someone said his name.

"I see. The letter?"

Hermione nodded.

"There and the last time I—when he was last here."

She felt like she had fought a war just to get those words out. Narcissa kept quiet and looked deep in thought for a moment, though Hermione knew what was coming. She inhaled a deep breath and readied herself for what was to be asked; for the memory she'd have to relay. They both sat still for a moment, Narcissa's hand still over Hermione’s. When she pulled back to take a sip of her tea, Hermione thought herself ready to tell whatever was needed. 

"If it isn't too much to ask of you, will tell me about that day?"

"Of course I will. You have every right to know.” She took one more deep breath to brace herself against the memory that came flooding to the forefront of her mind. “Truthfully, I never in a million years thought he'd walk into my bakery..."

 JUNE 4th 1999 

Friday morning. Usually, Hermione was cheery on this day. It was the last weekday before the weekend, and most people were particularly pleasant because of that fact. She loved most that her customers included alot of bright eyed children; curious eyes that loved to watch as Hermione mixed, rolled, and frosted through the glass window that allowed a view into the kitchen. She also had a small area set where little ones could watch her work out in the main area behind the counter. She adored the innocence on their faces and she hoped that they'd never have their childhood ripped away like she had. 

She had of course fought a war for all children, muggleborn or not, to grow up free of division; free of harmful expectations that no child should burden. 

Though this friday, she hadn't been in bright spirits. She had been fighting tears the moment she opened her eyes. Getting out of bed had felt more like a chore than it should have. The weight of the past war was weighing her down. The reality that she'd never get to hug either of her parents crushed her further. Taking a day off had crossed her mind but she wouldn't allow herself the time to dwell on her grief; to properly face the shadows that lurked at every corner of her mind, waiting to drag her into the dark abyss of depression awaiting her. 

That was part of her problem; why she was always cracking on the surface and then patching up the seams to keep her turmoil from seeping out. She had never bothered to tend to her gaping wounds and now they were infected. Festering. Aching. Each of them smothered in a layer of fake smiles and distractions disguised as a healing salve. 

She was only prolonging the inevitable.

Still, she woke up early to get her day started in the bakery. She wouldn't have much traffic until later but she always opened early for the people who rose with the sun. Usually, it'd be one or two elderly people who wanted to have their fun before the rush of the working world began. 

She stood behind the display counter, placing one of each of her baked goods in the viewing window. It made it easier for customers to choose and she always had some ready if a taste test was requested. She was doing her best to keep her mind away from thoughts of all she'd lost—people she'd never again see, hold, or laugh with. She tried not to think of how she missed out on being a kid because she had to carry the responsibility of keeping her best friend's alive. Nor how the little happy moments at Hogwarts barely sufficed for the little girl inside Hermione that still cried for all she missed; that still cried for her parents. 

It took her three blinks to withold the tears that had threatened to fall. She cried entirely too much for her liking nowadays and was truthfully sick of it. Though she knew where that stemmed from too. 

She had just moved to double check that the register was ready to go when the familiar sound of a bell filled her ears; a customer. Hermione straightened her posture and told herself to put on her best smile. It was likely an elder who had entered and they were always so happy and sweet. She refused to ruin that because she was an unraveling mess. After she took two deep breaths, she greeted them. 

"Hello, welcome to A Batch Made in Heaven! Is there anything I can do for you?"

When whomever it was hadn't replied to her, she finally took her eyes off the register to see who had come in. The moment her eyes landed on him she froze in her spot. Stupidly, she actually brought her hands up to rub her eyes because there was no way she could be seeing right. Fortunately, or unfortunately, she was. There, in the middle of her shop, Draco Malfoy stood. 

She really couldn't believe her eyes.

Rooted to her spot, she did nothing but stare at him as he scanned every corner of the bakery. His expression was unreadable. Impenetrable. There wasn't a soul that could decipher what he could be thinking or feeling. Hermione hated that. He had always been the one person she couldn't seem to read. She guessed he was probably an exceptional occlumens. 

His stance seemed relaxed, his hands were in his pockets, but his posture was that of somebody who'd been raised as royalty. Her eyes started at his hair; it’s length reminiscent of their fourth year but a few strands fell into his face, almost like they had been carefully placed that way to give off an effortless look. She didn't dare try to catch his eyes, in fear that she'd be forever turned to stone. That was how intense his gaze could be. Instead, she focused on his other features. He had long since grown into his sharp, chiseled from marble like facial structure. It had even softened a bit but his jaw was still just as defined as she remembered it to be. She took notice of the shadows of sleepless nights beneath his eyes peeking through what was surely a glamour charm. She used those alot too.

He was dressed in all black; a long sleeve turtle neck, slacks and shoes made of some kind of leather that cost more than Hermione’s life three times over. The turtleneck striked her as odd for it to be June but then again, Malfoy was probably accustomed to wearing things like such in the heat. She thought of the perfectly tailored suit he wore all of their sixth year. 

He was tall—maybe even taller than the last time she'd saw him. She knew that if he stood next to Ron, he probably would only be an inch or less shorter. Hermione felt immense irritation at the fact that he so easily dwarfed her. Although, many people did seeing as she inherited nearly all of her mother's traits except for her hair. She had gotten that from her father. She sometimes wished she could've snagged his height as well. She found she did not like feeling as if she were at a disadvantage even when it came to something as simple as one’s stature. 

When she drew her eyes back up, she saw that his were now on her. If she wasn't already bolted to the spot she was standing in, she would have become completely immobile. His eyes seemed to hold her there and she made no movement as he now scanned the length of her—that he could see—like he had done her bakery. She wanted to turn and run but her legs didn't seem to get the message. Then he spoke.

"That’s good question. Is there something you can do for me, Granger?"

Chapter Text

 JUNE 4th 1999 

HIS eyebrow raised in question as he waited for an answer, but Hermione was still too stunned about the fact that he was even here. Finally, after she blinked and shook her head to snap herself out of her shock, she found her voice. 

"Malfoy...what on earth are you doing here?"

She hadn't meant for her tone to be so harsh—snappy. The truth was that she was only curious as to why he was here, but it wasn't like she'd turn him away. She wanted to be angry at him; wanted to turn her nose up at him like she had done so many times in the past. She wanted to ask him how dare he show his face in her only safe space after all he'd done—after all he didn't do. She didn't have it in her though because she had come to learn that nobody truly wins a war. Especially the one they'd fought. There was no such thing as black and white. There was only grey area—complications. She knew that he was a victim of war too. 

When she made to apologize for how she'd come across, he put his hand up to stop her like he knew what she was going to say. 

"I asked myself that when I walked in. Why would I ever choose to spend my time in the establishment ran by the world's infamous, know-it-all Granger?"

Although he’d thrown a jab at her, his tone held no malice; none of the sharpness that had cut and nicked at her many times throughout their school years. In fact, it was almost bored—like he'd rather be discussing something else other than why he was here. 

Maybe he didn't know why.

She watched as he made his way over to the counter she stood behind. He kept his hands in his pockets and because of his change in location, she had to look up at him if she wanted to see his face. The closer proximity triggered her defenses and she curled a hand behind her back to rest on her wand. Her earlier thoughts of not turning him away had quickly changed; Malfoy had only ever caused her trouble. She wasn't going to be taunted in her own shop. 

"Look Malfoy, I don't know why you're here but if you came just to get under my skin and cause an argument, you can leave. I don't have the time nor the energy to-."

She was silenced by his finger on her lips. For a second, she was dumbfounded at his lack clear disregard for personal boundaries. She then looked at him as if he'd grown a second head and smacked his hand away. She took a step back to create more distance between them. Sure, he was on the other side of the counter but he was still too close. He only rolled his eyes at her reaction. 

"You talk entirely too much, first of all. Second, I came here to see what all the fuss with this place was about."

That left her stunned into silence for the third time today. She was willing to try and accept that he hadn't come here to taunt her—key word try—but she found it highly unlikely that he'd shown up just to visit her bakery. No, Malfoy definitely had to be up to something. She kept her hand on her wand.

Malfoy had grown impatient, even though it'd only been a minute at most that she'd been speechless. He supplied her with another eye roll. 

"Well, are you going to offer me your best? Or are you going to stand there gawking at me like I’m the fine piece of art I am?"

That earned him an eye roll.

"I’m sorry, I just can't seem to believe a word you just said. You, Draco Malfoy, coming to and standing in my bakery?"

"Yes."

"Just to get a taste of my cookies?"

"Yes. I’m quite sure that's what I literally just said." There was a hint of a smirk on his face and Hermione had missed how her question had landed entirely. 

"—And you aren't here to start any trouble at all? Not even a little?"

"That brightest witch title is really starting to sound a whole lot like a lie."

She narrowed her eyes and scrunched her nose in annoyance at that. He sighed and removed his hands from his pockets to throw them up in mock surrender. If he didn't put her fears to rest right now he'd be interrogated until dusk. 

"Look Granger, I assure you that I’m not here to cause you any stress or trouble. You clearly have enough on your plate living with the fact that you’ve been the same height since third year. I truly only graced you with my presence because I was curious about your prized possession. So, you can take your hand off your wand now."

How had he even known? She let out a huff at yet another dig at her and crossed her arms over her chest. Although he was still poking fun at her, she could tell he was being sincere. So, with a sigh she dropped her hands, hitting them against her thighs in the process. 

Still, before she would tell him she believed him, she wanted him to promise. It was childish but she didn't care.

"You promise?"

The corners of his lips twitched like he wanted to smile but he didn't. Instead he crossed an X over his chest where his heart beat. 

"Cross my heart and hope to die, sweetheart."

The term of endearment held no sincerity in it, but his promise did she knew. 

"Fine. I believe you, but if the second you get on my nerves I’ll kick you out with no treats at all."

"What am I a dog, Granger?"

“Precisely."

Hermione turned her attention back to the register she had been readying, not really caring if Malfoy was waiting on her. He would again would surprise her when he took it upon himself to walk right behind the counter over to where she stood, observing what she was doing over her shoulder. Malfoy really had absolutely no mind for personal space. His presence behind her felt of a large tree; it's branches blocking out the sun and everything else above it, but was commanding like a controversial art piece on display in the center of a room. He noticeably took up space. He could engulf her completely if he wanted to. 

She paused her movements and slowly turned her head to look up at him. She blinked a few times and pursed her lips in irritation. He gave her nothing but a raised brow in response as if he had not a clue why she would be looking at him this way, or why she would mind him looming over her shoulder like he was. 

"Malfoy…What. Are. You. Doing?"

He looked at her then at the register and then back at her, as if the answer was quite clear.

"I’m observing what it is you do here obviously, Granger."

She only stared at him in response seemingly trying to process the fact that he really didn't care about how close he was. He acted as if they were long time friends and were comfortable enough to be in each other's space. He hadn't even realized the issue because he was simply satisfying his own curiosity; being near her was hardly even an afterthought. A frown made claim to her features as she thought about how the blonde boy she'd known in their younger years wouldn't dare to be within ten feet of her. 

Malfoy had clearly changed alot more than she'd thought.

With shake of her head and not another word to him, she turned back around and slammed the register shut. Grabbing her menu for the day, she brushed right past Malfoy and headed for the kitchen door. When she realized he wasn't following her, she stopped halfway through the doorway and turned to look at him. 

"Well come on then, will you—want to see what I do or not?"

He pushed off the counter he'd been leaning against and placed a hand over his heart. His expression was that of feigned shock. 

"Oh you mean me? I must be really special to be allowed into the kitchen. Oh Granger, I never knew you were this fond of me."

She rolled her eyes, her foot tapping impatiently. When he moved towards her is when she turned and entered her kitchen.

"Oh please! Shut up and get in here. Do wash your hands as well."

"Sir, yes sir!"

When she whipped her head around to send him a nasty look, she was met with a devious grin that told her he enjoyed provoking her. She was beginning to question her sanity and her decision to allow him here any longer. 

With a huff, she'd turned back around and proceeded to immerse herself in gathering the ingredients for her sugar cookies. She had trained herself not to care what Malfoy had to say about her or anything she did eons ago, but this was different. She wanted to impress him—not because she had some odd fixation with him and sought his approval—it was because he was Malfoy. That name held prestige that couldn't be shaken even with their poor choices in the war. She would be a fool not to value his opinion when it came to matters like baked goods. 

That, and the fact that a miniscule part of her still wanted to prove that she was worthy of existing in the wizarding world. 

She was halfway through sifting her dry ingredients when she realized that Malfoy had long been finished washing his hands. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move. She knew better than to let it phase her, he had always been one to observe incessantly; she did wonder what it was that he was thinking. Did he think she looked different?—seemed different? Was that in a good or bad way? Did he still recoil on the inside from the mere thought of her? Did he still hate her?

Those questions plagued her as she combined the egg, sugar, vanilla extract and butter mixture with the dry ingredients. She’d almost forgotten he was even there until she once again felt a presence hovering over her shoulder. The warmth she had been feeling for the past five minutes now had an origin, seeing as he was standing behind her. The realization startled her, having no idea when he’d crept up on her again.

She spun her head around to look at him, doing nothing to mask her irritation or the fact that he'd just frightened her. 

"Malfoy! Are you trying to cause me to go into cardiac arrest? What are you doing?"

"Exactly what I’d been doing before. I’m just obser-"

"Yes I know, you were observing me. Blah blah. I meant, why on earth do you have to be looking over my shoulder to do it?!"

This earned her yet another sly grin and that only caused her cheeks to tint pink with her simmering anger. Was he toying with her? She knew she should've thought better of his promise. Of course he was somehow trying to humiliate her. She didn't know what looming over her shoulder had to do with it but he was up to something—he had to be. She was truthfully trying to put trust in his seeming sincerity but it was hard with the history between them.

"It’s more fun that way, of course. I just wanted to see from your point of view, granger. Is that such a crime? No need to be on high alert, little goblin."

He was still poking fun but his words her struck at something within her. ‘I just wanted to see from your point of view.’ That sentence alone had stirred up suppressed wrath within her; the taste of the unsteady emotion bitter in her mouth. She had turned fully to face him now; anger was the only emotion that could be deciphered on her face as she looked up at him. 

"You wanted to see from my point of view? Is that so? You’re a few years too late for that, Malfoy! Maybe you should have had that thought back in school when you threw mudblood at the end of every insult to make sure you'd cut deep. How about before you let my second home be infiltrated with your death eater friends. Or just maybe you should've thought about that before I was being tortured within an inch of my life on your drawing room floor, you foul git! What ever you're up to, just leave me out of it. I’ve suffered enough at your hands."

Hermione regretted the words deeply the moment they flew off her tongue—sharpened with the intent to wound, and that they did. When she had a moment to process all that she said, her stomach turned on itself. With shaky hands, she covered her own mouth in fear that she'd say anything more. She watched his playful manner vanish within a twinkle of an eye, but not before an overbearing amount of hurt marred his features. That—much like his grin—disappeared just a fast. What was left behind was the unreadable expression that he'd adorned since their sixth year; the year that set everything in stone. He took a few steps back from her, his eyes already focused on whatever was above her head. 

She scrambled within her brain for an apology. She watched as he just stood there, clenching then unclenching his fists. It was like he was deciding on what to say or do next. She drew a breath in, her lips parted to utter a pathetic sorry but a small shake of his head stopped her. Without a word, he simply went around the kitchen island she occupied, and instead stood up against the counter where the sink happened to be—right across from her. 

Neither of them uttered a word afterwards. Hermione silently hoped to hear the bell ring so she could escape the suffocating tension in the room, but it never sounded. Of course today would be the slowest of all. For a while, she didn't feel the weight of his gaze on her and it caused her throat to dry and her chest to feel heavy with guilt. Finishing up the dough, she peeked at him from time to time only to see that his eyes were trained on his shoes; his features still as indecipherable as before.

By the time the cookies were in the oven, she felt his stare on her again but she didn't have the courage to meet his eyes. She fidgeted like a restless toddler, picking at the loose skin on her lips or around her cuticles. She knew it wouldn't be long before she caused herself a stomach ache because of how awful she felt. She hadn't meant to be so nasty towards him; the insecure, paranoid part of her had reared it's ugly head and caused her to speak before thinking. He had really only been watching her work like he'd said he'd come to do.

Tears stung her eyes and threatened to break loose of the weak dam she'd built. She needed to apologize—needed to explain herself even though he'd wished her not to. 

"Malfoy I—I really shouldn't have said any of that."

She still couldn't look at him. It was silent for a moment before he spoke. 

"It was true, Granger. Don’t waste your breath apologizing to me. You only told me what no one else would dare to."

"That’s because anyone else would know better. It was unfair of me to come with so many low blows. I didn't—we didn't survive a war just to continue on with petty insults and unjust hatred. It was never easy for you either, I know that. It was never going to be as simple as you putting yourself in my shoes, because in order for it to have made a difference, I would've had to do the same; me and so many others. Neither of us really understood until it was too late."

What she said was true. Hermione hadn't truly understood what Draco had endured his entire childhood until the moment Voldemort had called his name. That moment where she'd seen the struggle to choose between his family—everything he'd ever known— and a side that probably wouldn't welcome him with open arms even if he had stayed. She’d seen how it took his mother's voice to get him to budge. He had been fighting an entirely different war all the while, wars even; one alongside death eaters, one with society's expectations and one within himself. 

When he didn't reply, she continued to speak. She couldn't stop now—not when she'd cracked open the lid on her grief and inner ruin. She had too much to say. 

"I—I said those things because I knew they'd hurt—for just a moment I’d wanted to see you bleed but it's only made me feel worse. I should know better than anyone that the last thing you wanted was to see me on the floor of your home. I saw it in your eyes then, when the only thing familiar in the room was you. Yet I still said such things because I can't seem to let go of the past. Every day I wake up and I—and I come in here doing my best to keep moving forward. I try to bring a smile to people's faces after what we've been through but it's so hard. How?—How can I keep going when all I hear are screams and all I see is blood—.”

Her voice cracked and she was cut off by her own cries. There wasn't anything she could do to stop her tears. She had finally boiled over and of course Malfoy would be the one to witness it. She pressed a hand to her chest as she tried to steady her breathing. There was so much that she'd kept inside that it was now actually choking her. Her legs supported her no longer and she staggered, sinking to her knees involuntarily. Now, she was panicking and it only caused her tears to flow all the more. 

Her vision was obstructed by her tears but she could see that Malfoy had knelt down in front of her. She clawed at the collar of her shirt and neck, trying her best to find a way to breathe. 

"Hey—no, no Granger. Snap out of it. You’ve got to calm down."

She tried to speak but couldn't even get the air to do so. She shook her head instead, indicating that she couldn't—didn't know how to right now. 

Firm, warm hands cupped the sides of her face. He wiped her tears with his thumbs allowing her to see the concerned look on his face. He shook her gently, doing his best to try and get her to focus. 

"Granger, look me in the eye. You have got to calm down so you can focus and breathe, okay? Whatever it is you have to do."

She followed his instruction and looked him right in the eyes. She saw nothing but worry and determination. Although the complex grey had rooted her somewhat it still wasn't enough for to focus on. She needed rhythm, something steady and repetitive to distract her mind. He’d moved his hands to her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on them. 

Out of sheer desperation for a lifeline, she brought up a hand and laid it on his chest. Closing her eyes—willing herself to focus even though she couldn't breathe—she zeroed in on the feeling of his heartbeat beneath her hand; steady and calm. Exactly what she needed to be. 

"That’s it—there you go. Just keep your focus on the rhythm and try to breathe. One, two, three, four...five, six, seven, eight."

She did as Malfoy said and kept her mind on the rhythm of his heartbeat, doing her best to match the cadence of his breathing. She allowed his voice to guide her and soothe her as she brought herself down from her panic. It took a moment, but she got to a point where she only had a few stuttered breaths every so often. 

They had both shifted to sitting on the kitchen floor, Malfoy’s hands now rubbing up and down Hermione's arms. She sniffled, and took her hand away from his chest to wipe away any stray tears. 

"Good girl. You’re alright, Granger. You’re alright."

He brought his hands up, brushing away a stray curl from her face and smoothing down her hair. In any other situation, Hermione probably would've detested his words—despised all his touching, but right now it seemed to be exactly what she needed. Something—someone to ground her when she'd nearly gone off the deep end. 

The timer on the oven sounded, alerting her that her cookies were ready to be pulled out the oven. She didn't feel like getting up at the moment but also had no wish for her cookies to burn. Lazily, she used her wand to shut off the oven but made no moves to get up from the floor. 

They sat for a few more minutes with Malfoy repeating his actions of smoothing her hair. Hermione did nothing but focus on her breath. She couldn't look at him, the embarrassment of what had just taken place had started to settle in. Finally, without a word, Malfoy helped her up. 

"Thank you."

Her words were quiet and shaky; her confidence was nowhere in sight now. He only nodded in response but it was enough for her. As before, they didn't speak a single word to one another. Hermione didn't dare to sneak a look at him either. She had done enough for today. 

It was only when she had a cookie iced and ready for him to taste, did she finally speak again. Her nerves had pushed any looming embarrassment to the back of her mind. He would judge her on how well she did what she loved most. 

When she'd placed the cookie on a small, glass, baby pink plate, she looked up to meet his eyes. He was leaning against the counter like he'd been before, his arms crossed and his eyes already on her with an expectant look. Moving around the kitchen island towards him, she held the plate carefully like her life depended on it. He watched her until she stood a few feet away from him, holding out the plate. 

"Ta-da!"

"Well that does look absolutely wonderful, Granger. May I ask which of your famous flavors this is?"

She shot him a look for the clear sarcasm in his voice. He took the plate from her, awaiting her answer.

"First of all, I can hear that sarcasm and I’ll have you know that this is actually my best seller. Second, it's my classic sugar cookie, sounds basic but it's really far from it I assure you."

He examined the cookie slowly; picking it up with a careful hand, turning it this way and that. He glanced up at her every so often, knowing that she was on edge. She fidgeted with her apron and bounced on the balls of her feet as she waited for him to take a bite. When she saw the faint smirk growing on his lips she had an itch to shove him. 

"Bookworm, I sure do hope you're right."

Then finally, he took a bite. Hermione watched in agony as he chewed as slow as possible. Her eyes darted over his features, looking for any possible reaction but he gave nothing away. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek and nearly cried when she watched him pretend to think long and hard. 

If she wasn't so afraid of his opinion she would hit him with a mixing spoon right now. 

When he was finally done, he set the plate down on the counter next to him. Then, he crossed his arms and met Hermione's eyes, a full blown smirk now on his face. She couldn't take anymore.

"So? What did you think, Malfoy? Tell me."

Her last words were more of a plea than a command. She had to know and he was torturing her with how long it was taking him to give an answer. When she saw his expression turn serious and he began to shake his head, her face fell. Immediately, it felt like a storm cloud had formed over her head and nothing would ever bring forth a sunny day again. After what felt like eons, he spoke with a deep sigh. 

"Well, Granger...I must say—.”

She was near tears and she almost didn't want to hear whatever bad news he was about to deliver. She braced herself for a harsh critique. He had paused for dramatic effect and the growing grin on his face only confused her. If he wasn't going to say what he was next, he might have felt bad. 

"I see why they call you the brightest witch of your age. You’ve got a billion galleon business here!"

The change in her mood once he'd said those words were instantaneous. Albeit childish, she did nothing to stop her claps of excitement and small squeal of joy. It only resulted in a bigger smile from Malfoy. 

"Really? You like it? The icing and all?"

"Yes, the icing and all. You’re ingenious for the almond, by the way. I’d never known something could be so good. I admit, I’m boiling up on the inside about you being excellent at yet another thing."

She was over the moon. She knew he was only half serious with his last statement but it satiated the part of her that still had something to prove. Draco watched as she danced a happy dance with absolutely no shame. She couldn't stop smiling even if she'd tried. He saw her pride and joy seeping through her every pore. It was only moments ago that she'd been nearly spiraling. He then listened as she rambled on about all her different flavor combinations and what she'd have him try next, until she stopped mid sentence. 

"Wait a minute, you absolute prat! You’re so awful. You nearly caused me to faint, tricking me like that."

Without warning, she slapped him on the arm. Of course, ever the dramatic, he cradled his armed and eyed her like she was a wild animal. It hadn't even hurt at all—she could hit harder, that he knew for sure.

"Ouch, you angry miniature troll. You assumed I was going to say something negative, that's not my fault."

"It is too! I nearly cried, you bigheaded buffoon.”

She was hardly angry, in fact, she was laughing at the face he'd made at her calling him big headed. He only childishly stuck out his tongue at her then opened up his arms signaling for a hug in a mocking way.

"Oh I’m sorry most royal one, want a hug and a kiss to make you feel b—.”

He was cut off by the bell indicating she had a customer. She rolled her eyes at him and then grabbed his unfinished cookie, quickly boxing it up for him. After tying a perfect bow, she shoved the box into his chest so he had no choice but to take it, though careful not to crush the cookie inside. 

"Here, my parting gift to you. Now shoo! I have people waiting."

After shouting that she'd be with whomever in a moment, she grabbed Malfoy’s hand, forcing him from his relaxed position against the counter, and pushed him towards the kitchen doorway. He looked over his shoulder with a feigned pout.

"Already trying to get rid of me. How rude of you. I should file a customer service complaint."

With a great struggle—because he was fighting against her, she managed to get him to the kitchen door but not through it. She rolled her eyes and waved her hands at him dismissively.

"Oh please, you go right ahead. Now get out of here, Malfoy. I’m sure you have other things to do besides hanging around here pestering me."

The entire interaction had been bizarre, but she couldn’t say that it was entirely unpleasant. In fact, there were times they got on quite nicely with each other. Part of her still couldn't even believe he'd come here. Whatever the reason, she knew he had to have something else he needed to be tending to. 

"Wow, and to think I almost thought you were on the levels of decent-"

"Malfoy!"

"Alright, alright."

Putting his hands up in mock surrender, he stopped resisting her pushes to get him to leave. She crossed her arms as she stood in the kitchen doorway, watching as he made his way around the front counter. She frowned when he stopped halfway and turned around. The playful look he'd had before was gone; his eyes held nothing but sincerity.

"Granger?"

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"Thank you."

This shocked her and it took her a moment to realize what he'd said. Never-mind that there was a customer potentially waiting on her that may have decided to leave instead. She didn't know why he'd said it, but she could tell that he'd meant it. She could tell from his tone, his eyes, his body language—he meant it. 

She smiled.

"You’re welcome."

He smiled. It was a real one; a smile that reached his eyes and brought out the fine crinkles near the corners of them. It was a  smile that was more sincere than his thank you had been. Then, without another word, he turned and headed for the door. 

There— leaned against her kitchen door—Hermione watched as Draco Malfoy left her bakery, unaware that her eyes would be the last to ever see him.

Chapter Text

Present Day

WHEN Hermione finished relaying the events of some of Draco’s last moments, both her and Narcissa had tear ridden cheeks. She’d left out the unnecessary details and the vulnerable words that had come before her panic attack, but was honest about the argument they'd had. Well, it was less of an argument and more of Hermione losing her temper.

Narcissa had taken both Hermione’s hands into hers and hadn't let go. Hermione didn't even realize she'd been staring into her cup the whole time she spoke. The entire day had played out in front of her eyes like she had been watching a film. She looked up into the broken mother's eyes and saw only pain within them.

"I had not a clue—not even a thought that he'd been saying goodbye. I was so busy with tending to a customer that I hadn't even stopped to really think about his words. There he was…helping me during a panic attack when he'd been suffering the entire time. I—I’m so sorry—“

Her own strangled cry halted her from saying anything more. In place of words, fresh tears replaced old ones and Hermione wondered if she'd ever stop. The more she thought about Draco’s words, the more she concluded that it wasn't sincerity she was hearing; that she'd thought she'd seen in his eyes. It had been something more. It’d been finality. Resignation—a goodbye.

He had already made up his mind before he'd even set foot in her shop, and had only been more sure of his decision when he left. She wished she'd never rushed him out. She wished that bell had never rang. She wished she'd actually accepted his invitation for a hug—anything so he'd still be here.

'I’m sure you have other things to do besides hanging around here just to bother me.‘

Oh how she hated herself now for her words.

"Oh Hermione darling, don't you sit here and apologize to me any further. You don't owe me anything of the sort. This is not your fault, no matter what was said between the two of you. If anyone were to blame, it'd be Lucius and I."

With her last statement, she turned towards the window to her left, seeming to be lost in thought. Her hands still held Hermione’s and it was clear that the older woman was doing her best to keep composure. Hermione thought about how twisted and flipped their world must be for the two of them to be sitting across from each other in tears; mourning someone who they'd known two entirely different versions of.

Hermione thought back to the letter and Draco’s words. She gave a gentle squeeze to the hands of the mother across from her.

"I know the last time you were here I’d said that Draco loved you both very much and it's true. In the letter he said—he wanted you to know that he didn't fault either of you for anything—that he knows you did the best with what you were given."

Narcissa had kept her focus out of the window but had dipped her head at Hermione’s words. She watched with a feeling of helplessness as the matriarch's tears flowed freely. She wished there was something she could do—wished there was comfort she could offer, but she knew there was none.

Then as if the woman remembered who she was and the weight her name carried, she quickly wiped her tears away. With a clear of her throat, she turned back to Hermione and gave her a smile. It was weak and obviously forced, but Hermione wasn't going to point any fingers because she understood.

"Did he mention anything else? Did he say—did he say why?"

It seemed to be that that was the big question lingering in the air and it was sure to go unanswered forever. Hermione only shook her head no in response, her words failing her. Narcissa gave a curt nod in response.

"Well...I suppose that's the way things will be have to be. Thank you for sitting with me, dear Hermione. You really are every bit of the saint they've said you to be."

She paused for a moment, like she was gathering up the courage to say what else was on her mind. Hermione sat in silence feeling undeserving of praise.

"We're having a sort of remembrance ball that'll be for charity as well. Everything given will be going to St. Mungo's, in honor of Draco and mental health awareness. I think he would've loved that. In his last few months…he tried to help those in need in every possible way—anonymously of course. Anyway, would you—would you like to be there? I know the both of you didn't have good history but as I’ve said before, you still had quite the impact and it's only right I extend an invite. It is your choice of course."

There was no question of Hermione attending—of course she would go, she just couldn't believe that she was being asked. She thought that it was probably the same as her going to his funeral, but anybody could’ve summed that up to the two of them being schoolmates. She had already paid her respects, so this was entirely different. She assumed that the Malfoys would have no need to seek her presence after the letter was discussed.

"I’ll be there."

The smile she got in response was enough to solidify her choice.

___

Ginny was the first to interrogate Hermione on where she'd been and why she hadn't really been speaking to any of her friends. This was of no surprise. Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before one of them came around to ask questions. She couldn't blame them. It was out of character for her to go as long as she had without saying a word to anyone.

The two women sat on Hermione’s bed—she didn't feel like leaving her room—with a cup of coffee in their hands. She had needed the caffeine to wake her up and feel something other than groggy. Ginny had taken it upon herself to do all the talking so far between the two of them. Hermione was grateful for that, even if some of the things the red headed girl had told her had been purely to cause guilt. She actually felt a tad bit upset with herself when she learned that Teddy had been constantly asking about her. She was going to have to make paying him a visit a priority no matter what.

There was a stretch of silence where neither of them said a word. Hermione knew that Ginny was trying to find the best way to say whatever was on her mind. Her anixety wouldn't allow her to wait for her best friend to speak.

"Just say it Gin."

Ginny was unable to hide the sorrowful expression at the sound of Hermione’s voice. It was small, and despite her obvious efforts, it was sad too.

"How have you really been? You know...with everything?"

"I’m fine. As fine as one can be."

It was a lie of course and she did her best to mask it with what she hoped was a convincing smile. Her fiery-tempered friend wasn't buying it.

"Hermione—you don't have to lie to me. It’s obvious you aren't okay. I mean, you haven't been speaking to any one and you don't even leave your flat unless it's to run the bakery. You can tell me what's going on. How did the talk with Narcissa go?"

Hermione had somewhat filled Ginny in on all that transpired since Draco’s funeral. She of course had known that Hermione had been the last to see him alive, but she didn't know just how greatly that affected her friend and his loved ones. Hermione had been vague in her explanation in order to keep her emotions in check.

"It went...well?" It was difficult to say that about a conversation that had been about someone's dead son. " She got all the answers she was looking for, I guess. She—she invited me to his remembrance ball."

The last bit had come out as a whisper. It was still so hard to grasp the reality of the situation. She took a gulp of her coffee to hide whatever emotion that might've been on her face. When she looked at Ginny, she found that her friend was quite shocked.

"And...you're thinking of going?"

It was more a statement than a question, but Hermione was more perplexed about her friend’s reaction. She couldn’t understand why Ginny would be at all shocked—she had attended his funeral afterall.

"Yes? Why do you seem so surprised? I’m sure you know I would go even if circumstances were different."

Ginny responded with a sigh.

“I’m not really surprised…it’s just that—this is Malfoy we’re talking about.”

“Yes….I’m quite aware but I’m not sure what you’re getting at? Again, I would still go even if it weren’t directly asked of me.” Hermione was unsure about where this was headed and if she liked it.

Ginny frowned, setting aside her empty cup onto Hermione’s bedside table, and stood from the bed. This caused Hermione to form a frown of her own and she watched her dear friend carefully as she paced her room.

"I know that, because that's just who you are but Hermione—you don't owe these people anything. You don't have to go just because of your somewhat involvement in all this. There’s no need to keep dwelling on it and wasting the rest of your life trying to repay a debt you never owed in the first place. You do remember how foul Malfoy was, right? He was horrid to alot of people but especially to you, Harry and Ron. It’s sad what happened, I get it. You’ve paid your respects, but just because he went and killed himself doesn't mean that he was ever worth any of your time."

Hermione gasped, rearing her head back like she'd been slapped. The room felt as if it had become a vacuum for a moment—void of life. For the first time ever, she felt utter disgust towards the friend she considered to be like a sister. Her lip curled upwards into a sneer that she'd never think throw at any of her friends. In hindsight, she knew that Ginny meant well—that she'd only said those things because she thought her friend was guilt ridden and felt an obligation to the Malfoys.

Ginny had stopped her pacing and hand movements when she realized the words she'd spoken. Her hand flew to her mouth and she felt a crushing guilt when she saw the look on Hermione’s face. She scrambled to correct herself.

"Oh God, that last bit came out completely wrong—.”

"You don't get it."

"Hermione, I wasn't trying to—.”

“I don’t know how I could’ve expected you to.”

“That’s not fair—.”

"You don't understand at all and I thought you of all people would try. You don't think I’ve already thought about how he treated me in the past a million times? How so called bizarre it is to care that he's no longer living? That I shouldn't feel grief? Do you hear how cruel that sounds? He’s dead! None of that ridiculous, idiotic hatred matters anymore because he's dead, Ginny. Gone, and he left people behind. He was a human being with feelings—feelings that he himself had trouble understanding and sure, you could say that isn't my problem. You could say that he could've tried harder, or maybe he could've done better. That seems so obvious but it's not that simple. It never was, because when you grow up being told constantly that you're special just to have that ripped away from you, it does alot of damage. I, of all people, can understand that!"

Hermione hadn't even realized she was yelling, nor that she was crying, until some of her tears splashed into the cup of coffee she was still holding. Ginny’s guilt had only worsened and she tried once more to explain herself.

"Hermione...—.”

"He knew that—recognized it. He wished he would've done differently—wished that he could've realized his faults before it was too late. He was stripped of everything he'd known and was left with nothing. That ate him up inside until he couldn't take anymore. What you said...he—that was most likely the very reason he decided to—.” Hermione choked on her words, feeling like they were caught in her throat. It hadn’t gotten any easier to say. “—decided to stop living. He thought because of who he was he wasn't worthy of anyone's time, not even his own. So because of the inability of the world around him to put themselves in his shoes—regardless if he'd never done that for others himself—he had nobody to tell him otherwise."

There was a beat of silence between the two. Hermione’s words settled within the air, leaving a bitter taste within her mouth when she pulled in a breath.

"So yes, I am going. Not because I feel like I have to, but because I want to. If there was anything he ever deserved, to be recognized as the human being that he was, would be it."

To be remembered for the things he was never given the chance to display. To be remembered for the lives of people he'd unknowingly—for the better—touched.

"I really didn't mean it that way, 'Mione. I was only trying to—.”

"You said exactly what you meant Ginny!" her anger had been misdirected and caused her to snap. "I’m sorry. I mean—I know what you meant."

"Hermione, you're my best friend. You’re like the sister I’ve never had and I’m sorry that I upset you. I support your decisions either way, I just—I just don't want you to waste your life dwelling on his."

Hermione felt more of those wretched things called tears sting her eyes again. If Harry and Ron saw her now, they'd be scared and Draco surely would’ve thought her pathetic. All she seemed to be able to do these days was cry. It was the consequence of suppressing her emotions for years. She couldn't stop it even if she tried, and she had desperately done so before.

With a sigh, she shook her head and finally stopped clutching her coffee cup, setting it aside.

"I know Gin. Funny that he said the same in the letter he left me...” The constant reminders felt almost cruel. “I’d like be alone now. Please."

She didn't want Ginny to witness her fall apart.

"Hermione—.”

"It’s fine Gin, really. I just need to be alone now—you know—to think about things."

Her friend eyed her warily, then sighed heavily after a few moments of contemplation. Without warning, she moved towards Hermione and wrapped her up in a bone crushing hug.

"I love you, Hermione and I’m not the only one that does. Don’t forget that."

She couldn't help but to allow a few tears to slip.

"I love you too Gin."

The moment she'd left is when Hermione allowed herself to completely unravel. Like many nights and even days, Coco came right to Hermione’s side before she curled up into a ball and cried herself into a dreamless sleep.

___

Hermione had stood in front of her full length mirror for nearly two hours staring at her appearance. Her mind had run rampant as she ridiculed her own reflection, noticing entirely too many flaws for her liking. It wasn’t something typical of her, but her mind was not at all in the right place. She felt so out of sorts, but in the end she decided that she felt pretty enough to leave her flat.

Her first dress of choice had been one that was much more extravagant than her usual taste. Still, she liked the dress very much but she knew tonight wouldn’t be the time to step out of her comfort zone. It was all so ridiculous really—her fretting—yet she couldn’t help but feel the need to look as presentable as possible. She wanted to feel it too, because maybe that would help disguise the turmoil inside.

Now, she stood in the front gardens of Malfoy Manor, a few paces from the entrance gate. Of course, she was late—a dress dilemma and multiple bouts of panic would cause such. She’d opted for something simple; a black, satin, spaghetti-strapped dress that graced the floor but didn’t trail. It was tasteful, with a square neckline that was only low enough for her collarbone to show. It was the kind of dress she wouldn’t feel like she was a complete imposter in—she could flow with this kind of elegance. Her hair was wrangled into big, loose curls that she’d swept into an updo using a butterfly hair-clip. The clip had been a gift from her mother; a sparkly blue butterfly that was durable enough to hold all her unruly strands. It brought her some semblance of comfort. It had been so long since she’d had to dress up for anything.

It pained her that of all occasions to change that, it'd be this one.

She admired the beauty of the gardens and the albino peacocks that strutted across the perfectly kept lawn. Her hands clutched a tray full of goodies she had baked herself. She knew it was pointless of her to have brought it—there was sure to be plenty of sweets she'd never even heard of—but she just couldn't show up empty handed. On a desperate whim, she thought to bring Coco along with her but decided that she'd look absolutely ridiculous carrying a cat around.

When she finally made it inside the ballroom, she found herself sticking to one of the far corners of the room trying her best to blend in. So far, only a few had noticed her presence and it had earned her some curious looks and a gasp or two. Her turbulent emotions had made it so that she completely disregarded that she was back in the manor—the place where she had been tortured within an inch of her life. It seemed like that had been eons ago and she hadn't the energy to give it thought. There was other trauma that demanded more of her attention. She couldn't believe that it had been almost a month since Draco had passed.

"Hermione? I didn't know you'd be here. It’s nice to see you."

A familiar voice broke through her thoughts and she turned to her left to see Theo approaching. The silk, silver suit he wore was not like any Hermione had seen before. The shirt beneath his impeccably tailored jacket was collar-less. The jacket itself was cinched with a double banded belt. Theo looked every bit of the pureblood that he was.

When he reached her, he made a show of bowing deeply as if she were royalty. It pulled a genuine laugh out of her and she could feel herself begin to relax with Theo’s presence.

"It’s nice to see you too, Theo. Narcissa invited me."

"Ah, Narcissa. She’s really outdone herself."

Hermione only hummed with a smile in agreement, seeing as she had never attended an event as such to compare to. Still, she did think that the ballroom looked like something out of a fairytale. It felt open and bright—a contrast to how Hermione last remembered the Manor to look. Although, she hadn't looked around when she came in to see if what she caught glimpses of last time were the same. It didn't matter anyway.

The room seemed to follow a silver theme where deep vibrant blues accented in varying places. Hermione thought that the blue was obviously meant to be the real star of the show. At the front of the room was a raised platform where a live orchestra, including a harp, was playing music. Tables covered in blue tablecloths were on each side of the room, leaving plenty space for dancing and mingling in the center. She hadn't missed the blue stitching of a dragon into the silver napkins that sat atop them. On the far left was where Hermione had left her tray of goods on the enormous table that ran the length of the wall. It was covered in an array of different foods and sweets that one could only dream of. Hermione wondered if anyone had even bothered with the things she'd brought.

"Secretly, he would've loved this."

Hermione brought her attention back to Theo when he'd spoke. He stood next to her and seemed to have been examining the room as she had been when he made the comment. She figured it was directed more to himself than her, and it saddened her to see the hurt faraway look in his eyes. She placed a comforting hand on his arm.

He turned to her with a sad but knowing smile. It was then that he took note of her appearance. She watched him with a guarded expression as his eyes ran over her. It wasn't in a way that said he was attracted to her, but more in a way that told he was just simply observing. When he'd caught sight of something in particular about her attire, he frowned and then smiled with a shake of his head. That had caused her to become self conscious instantly.

"What? What is it?"

Again, he shook his head and his smile grew wider. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling like the dress she chose wasn’t such a good fit anymore. It was then that Theo’s expression changed.

"Hermione, you look fine. It’s nothing really." he gestured towards her hair. "It’s your hair clip, that's all."

That made her feel ten times better, although now she was a little confused on why her hair clip got a reaction out of him.

"Oh. Well, what about it? It’s just a glittery, blue butterfly."

"Exactly. It’s so...odd how bits and pieces of him seem to be everywhere, especially with you."

"Draco?"

She could understand how odd it probably seemed that her life had recently become intertwined with aspects of his. It was something that she herself would've never saw happening. Theo only nodded, seemingly in deep thought before he spoke again.

"He liked the color silver alot, but blue was definitely his favorite. Same thing with dragons and butterflies. He would never admit these things, but he enjoyed the fact that his name translates to dragon in latin and he was fascinated with the life cycle of butterflies. It was something about how they could change from what some people see as ugly into something different—something beautiful. He admired them." he gestured towards her hair once more "This blue species especially."

She thought hard about the information Theo had just given her. It was yet another layer added to the mystery that Draco Malfoy had always been. Of course, out of sheer coincidence she happened to be wearing something that meant a great deal when it came to Draco. Her heart hurt for Theo who so clearly wore silver in honor of his friend and then she thought more about the butterflies. The symbolism they held was something Draco probably thought over a-lot—no doubt he had compared himself and his life to it. She bit the inside of her cheek at the obvious fact that he'd decided it was something he couldn't obtain or wasn't worthy of.

When she looked back at him, he nodded at her, already knowing what conclusions she'd come to because he'd come to them himself.

"Anyway," He straightened up and cleared his throat of any emotion, before slinging his arm around Hermione's shoulder and rubbing her arm in a comforting manner. “I’ve got a speech to make about the prat soon and I’m going to need courage in the form of food to get me through. Take care, gryffindor. I’ll see you soon, yea?"

When she gave him a smile and a nod in reply, he planted a kiss atop her head and then disappeared into the crowd. 

Narcissa found her next, her arm looped through Lucius’ and Hermione was taken completely by surprise when the woman pulled her in for a hug. She of course returned the affection so as to not be rude. When the mother had caught wind of Hermione's shock, she explained how great of a deal it was for Hermione to have showed up. They seemed to think her presence was just as important as his best friends. It was something she couldn't quite understand but she assured them she was happy to be here anyway. Lucius had nodded to her in acknowledgement and even shook her hand. She wondered if he was even fully aware of his actions— the look on his face betrayed that the man was somewhere far in his mind. His glassy red eyes gave her an inkling of where his thoughts resided and she questioned if there was a night he hadn't spent crying.

It was unsettling and heartbreaking to witness. Just as the first time she'd seen them at the bakery, they seemed to be the only thing holding each other up.

Before she knew it Narcissa was standing at the front of the room, commanding the attention of everyone. Hermione only heard the beginnings of a thank you to those in attendance before she purposefully tuned the mourning mother out. It wasn’t that she didn't care about what Narcissa had to say—she just couldn't bear to hear the sadness and the longing in her voice when she spoke about her son. It made it difficult for her to suppress all her disastrous feelings, and as Narcissa carried on it suddenly felt as if the room around her slowly turned to the color of stone. Everywhere Hermione turned it looked as if all the color had drained from the world—there wasn’t a hint of blue or silver in sight. Her eyes darted around the room and she spotted Theo standing near the platform—his eyes on Narcissa with one of Hermione’s cookies in hand. He looked as sad as he probably felt. In fact, just about everyone in the room did—a loss that was so evident and profound it had blanketed the entire room. Hermione had been looking at her hands to inspect if she herself had gone grey when her mind chose that moment to tune into the last of the Malfoy matriarch’s speech.

"...and I would like to give a special thank you to someone—who in all her right should've turned us away when we came looking for answers. Your kindness will be remembered fervently and it has allowed me to see just how wrong I’ve been in the past. It was because of you my son came home with a smile that day—a smile I didn’t get to witness myself, but one Wellie was so proud to see." Narcissa’s eyes had pooled with tears she refused to let fall by the time she'd finished speaking. She had taken several pauses throughout it but she had done it, and she had been staring at Hermione throughout the last of it. With a nod towards her, she stepped off the stage and Theo took her place shortly after.

Hermione had barely been able to give a nod in return, let alone a smile. She felt as if her head had been submerged underwater. Theo’s voice was completely muffled. The room was still a painfully dull grey—a suffocating, sad, depressing grey. A grey that was nothing like Draco’s eyes had been when he was still alive—when his heart had still been beating. No, this was a grey that had probably resembled when his heart finally ceased. It was lifeless. It made Hermione sick. It was all too much.

She hadn't known.

She hadn't known that he'd gone home—hadn't known that he'd gone home with a smile, a real one. She hadn’t known he had an elf that he secretly compensated throughout the years, even though she refused. Wellie—who saw a fleeting glimpse of a piece of the boy she looked after since birth return. She hadn't known that she had been the reason for it, or that he even had such a beautiful smile before he had given her one after she all but shoved him out of the shop. She hadn't known that he had longed for true friendship back in their school days; had no clue that he was practically a prodigy in potions or that he liked the color silver quite a-lot, but favored blue most of all. She hadn't known that butterflies held such meaning for him—the blue ones especially.

She couldn't breathe—and with no idea where she was headed, she allowed her feet to carry her out of the ballroom. Her escape was found when she exited two doors that she hadn't noticed before, near the spot Theo had been standing. The doors opened to a path that led to a beautiful garden with a huge fountain sat in the middle of it. She noticed the golden twinkling lights around it before she all but collapsed onto the structure. She sat sideways, pulling her feet onto the ledge and her knees to her chest. When she'd buried her face into her arms is when she allowed herself to sob. She was trembling and she wished that Harry could be here to pull her into one of his hugs. She should've told him she'd be here, but then he probably wouldn't have understood why she was so torn apart at the moment.

She could hardly understand the reason herself.

Draco Malfoy was so much more than she'd known him to be and tonight had proved as much—if the letter already hadn't. It was one thing to know that she was the one he spent his last moment with, but it was another realizing just how much she truly had impacted him. It had never crossed her mind that she, of all people, could ever matter so much. It was because of her that he'd began to question his upbringing, his parents, his existence. It was because of her testament alongside Harry’s that he hadn't gone to Azkaban. It was because of her that he'd at least bowed out with a smile.

She was getting to know him in all the wrong ways. She hadn't even meant to be the cause of any of it—just like she hadn't meant for him to believe she had still hated him.

That was what ate at her the most.

Her cries had slowed some and she wiped lazily at her tears before turning her head towards the sky. It was a clear night and the stars seemed to be shining brighter than ever. She easily found his constellation. In the stars is what he'd wrote and sure enough, he was there. She wished it weren’t stars she was looking at but him instead.

"Oh Draco. I wish you'd truly known how much your parents adored you. I wish you'd seen how much your friends needed you. It should be them falling apart like this, not me, but I can't seem to keep from doing so."

She looked away from the sky and instead turned her gaze to her reflection in the fountain water. Her tears fell and hit the water with small splashes—her wishes sinking to the bottom of the fountain with them.

She undid the clip from her hair and allowed it to tumble over her shoulders. She brought her hand to her lap, studying the glittery blue butterfly. She wondered what he'd say about it.

"I wish I could've gotten to know you while you were here, instead of this way. Here, now, there's no way for me to tell you that it wasn't my doing that made you want to be better—to do better. You had that in you all along, there was just no one to help you see it. I wish you'd known I hadn't hated you. I wish you hadn't hated yourself. You were so much more than your past mistakes, and I wish it hadn't taken your death for people—myself included—to truly see that."

With her hair clip clutched in her hand, she again stared at her reflection in the water. As more of her tears fell from her eyes causing ripples across the water's surface, so did another round of her unspoken wishes.

I wish you were here just one more hour. one more day. one more year. one more lifetime.

I wish you were here because you deserved to live.

I wish you'd known you deserved to live, Draco.

Chapter Text

HERMIONE had woken with a splitting headache. Her face felt stiff and her eyes were crusted from tears she'd shed the previous night. She was still in her dress and her hair had become tangled and unruly. She looked the exact way she felt—exhausted.

She took her time with getting out of bed and starting her morning. She had debated on staying put and taking the day—maybe the week—off but decided that distracting herself was better. Besides, she had a feeling Harry would be coming to visit her next, especially after the conversation with Ginny. She didn't want to worry them any further and so like always, she wrangled herself together until she felt like she could pass for being ‘okay’. A hot shower and detangled hair made all the difference.

She was struck with confusion for a moment when she hadn't spotted or heard Coco anywhere in her room. She didn't fret over it for too long though, recently discovering that Coco had taken a liking to sleeping in the library as well. The room itself happened to actually be a bedroom that instead Hermione used to store all her books on shelves Harry had helped her install.

Following her normal routine, she started out with some prepping and cleaning in the kitchen. She liked to have at least one batch of everything on the menu ready to mix. She then moved to organizing the display counter and eventually the register. All the while there was an odd feeling creeping up her spine that she couldn't seem to rid herself of. It was like she'd lived this before, and sure her morning routine hardly ever changed but this was all too specific. Maybe she was finally losing her wits? Or maybe she just needed to get out more.

As if she was on autopilot, she began to double check that the register was ready when the sound of the entrance bell rang through her ears. She pushed away the feeling of how familiar this was and immediately plastered a bright smile on her face. Without first looking up to see who'd come in, she spoke.

"Hello, welcome to A Batch Made In Heaven! Is there anything I can do for you?"

She continued her task with the register and prepping the space around it before she realized she hadn't been given an answer. The odd sense of familiarity struck her ten times harder and for reasons unknown to her, her heart quickened. It was as if her mind and body knew before she did. When she looked to see just exactly who it was that'd come in— just as she'd done that day—she froze.

There, in the middle of her shop, Draco Malfoy stood. Again.

Her heart had skipped far too many beats and it was as if phantom hands had squeezed her lungs for every bit of oxygen they held. If anyone saw, they might've mistaken her for a statue. She’d gone incredibly pale and was all the more still.

She watched him with wide eyes as he scanned every inch of her beloved bakery. She then understood the feeling she'd had all morning— this was deja-vu. She had lived through this before and now it was happening again. Except, that should be wholeheartedly impossible because Draco Malfoy was dead.

He looked just as he did the last time she'd seen him; tall and lean, but not scrawny. He was dressed the same—all black and not a speck of lint or dust to be found on him. His hair, as expected, was still cleanly done with only a few hairs falling out of place as if done intentionally. As she’d done before, she avoided his eyes while he continued to glance around. She was afraid for entirely different reasons this time. She was afraid that he'd look at her and the grey she'd see would be cold, lifeless and dead—just as they'd been at his funeral.

Without missing a beat he finally took his eyes away from her shop and fixed them onto her. She kept her own gaze somewhere above him, hesitating to confirm her fears. She could feel the burn of his stare on her as he analyzed her features and when she felt him trying to catch her eye, she couldn't hold off any longer. She looked, and when she did, what little air she'd been holding onto left her that instant. She had been wrong—so very wrong because his eyes were nothing near dead. They were grey, his grey—the grey she'd seen the last time he'd set foot in her bakery. The grey that was, although unreadable, full of life and a glint of mischief that was so unique to him and him only.

Then just as she knew he would, he asked that question.

"That’s a good question. is there something you can do for me, Granger?"

She of course, didn't answer him right away. That wasn't because felt like she shouldn't—because it was what she'd done then—but it was because she couldn't. Hermione didn't even know how to answer him, or how this was even real. She blinked a few times to keep the sting of tears from her eyes.

As if she were following the lines of a written script, she responded the only way she could.

"M-Malfoy...what on earth are you doing here?"

The emotion in her tone was unmistakable and she saw that it hadn't gone unnoticed by him. She didn't have a chance to see his reaction because she was shaking her head rapidly and speaking again.

"How...how are you here? Wha—what are you—?”

"How? Well I walked in through the door, of course. As a response to your first question though, I asked myself that when I walked in. Why would I ever choose to spend my time in the establishment ran by the world's infamous know-it-all Granger?"

Although his tone was just as bored, Hermione noticed something she hadn't caught last time. There was a teasing glint in his eyes that was a dead giveaway that he meant no harm. Her heart clenched with a wish that she'd known that before.

Hermione decided that the only possible way that this could be happening was that she was dreaming. She’d had dreams of this very day before, and she always knew that she was dreaming too. This time around felt a little too real, but maybe it was because of the remembrance ball she'd attended last night. So she would let it play out, because at least here in her mind he was still breathing. She didn't want to dwell on the fact that her subconscious was now adding on details and dialogue that hadn't happened.

Still, her brain worked for any other reasonable explanations—anything that would make her worry less for health mentally. She didn't notice him move to stand right across from her at the counter or the fact that her thoughts were being said aloud.

"You’re not supposed to be here. You shouldn't be here. I mean if I was having the horrid reoccurring dreams then maybe you would be here but-."

Again, like the first time he'd done it, she was stunned when he placed a finger to her lips to shut her up. Out of shock she pushed him away, but this instance was also for entirely different reasons. Usually, in any of her dreams, she could hardly register any person's touch. It always felt phantom like, as if while she was dreaming the feeling was a memory in place of something tangible. instead, his finger felt warm and real.

Her heartbeat began to pick up again. She was beginning to doubt she was dreaming and was actually hallucinating vividly. She knew what he'd say next.

"You talk entirely too much, first of all. Second, I came here to see what all the fuss about this place was."

She only stared at him and instead of answering—deciding she'd take in how much she had memorized his features. She felt a sense of pride in how well her brain had etched the grace and aristocracy of his features into her mind. Life looked good on him she thought.

He’d gotten impatient, no surprise there, because he uttered the same ridiculous statement he had then.

"Well, are you going to offer me your best?  Or are you going to stand there gawking at me like I’m the fine piece of art I am?"

This time that made her giggle uncontrollably but she still supplied him with an eye roll. She watched as a small smirk graced his face and she told herself she liked this version of the dream—of that day.

Clinging to that thought, she ran through what was to come next and gave herself the liberty of jumping ahead. Again, with entirely too much emotion in her voice and barely restrained tears, she answered him.

"You really aren't here to bother me? You promise?"

With an expectant gaze, she watched the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Then she followed the movements of his finger crossing an x over his heart.

"Cross my heart and hope to die, sweetheart."

She did her best to keep the sadness she felt hearing that from out of her smile.

"I believe you."

She went back to busying herself with the register, knowing that he would come around to watch. Since she liked the way her dream was going, when she felt his presence over her shoulder, she didn't say anything. Instead, she let him watch and knew that if she ever had a chance to do it all again, she'd do it exactly like this.

She glanced behind her to look at him and he looked back at her with a brow raised in question. Even in her dreams he had no concerns for her personal space. She didn't think she minded too much now though, at least here he was breathing. Just for the sake of it, she asked him a familiar question.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?"

She held in her laugh as he looked from her, to the register and back, just like she knew he would.

"I’m observing what it is you do here obviously, Granger."

Her response was only a hum of acknowledgement. She looked at him some more, trying to see what her brain would put in place as his reaction. It turned out to be a questioning look—one that said 'what are you staring at?'. She only shook her head then turned to close the register.

She then brushed past him to go into the kitchen. Even though she didn't need to, she made sure to grab the list of cookies she'd had available that day. She stopped in the doorway, knowing he hadn't followed her.

"Well come on then, will you. Want to see what I do or not?"

She hardly hid her smile at what his next words would be. That same expression of feigned shock was there on his face.

“Oh you mean me? I must be really special to be allowed into the kitchen. Oh Granger, I never knew you were this fond of me."

Her poorly contained smile grew into a grin and she rolled her eyes at him. She didn't move until he made his way over and they both entered the kitchen.

"Shut up and get in here. Do wash your hands as well."

When he replied with 'sir yes sir', this time she snorted but still gave him a glare; one that of course didn't hold any of the malice it had in real time.

As before, while he was washing his hands, she began any further preparations she hadn't gotten to beforehand. She remembered how that day, she'd been too wrapped up in her thoughts to notice his staring. Guilt coursed through her at how paranoid and irrational she'd been. She mistook his genuine interest for silent plotting and blew up on him.  She had wanted someone to be angry at and residual ill feelings about him had fueled the fire—she took it all out on him over something so little. It was probably one of her biggest regrets.

Her breathing quickened at the thought of having to relive the harsh words thrown at him—the misdirected anger and hurt. Sure, there were things she wanted to say to him—things she needed closure on, but that wasn't the way she'd ever intended to do it. She willed her subconscious to gloss over that part of the day in this dream but failed, and before she even realized what was happening, she was panicking.

Of course, there was no escaping them even in her state of sleep.

It was odd that things were so different yet the same in this dream of hers. It was of no delight to her that she was in the middle of an attack, yet in this instance the trigger was different. Still, just as he had then, he took hold of her to try and calm her down. It was working but Hermione couldn't focus enough to know if he'd said the same words. She could feel him though, almost as if this were really happening. When she repeated the trick of focusing on his heartbeat, more than a few tears spilled onto her cheeks. It was beating right beneath her palm—something that wouldn't ever happen again.

What cruel dream this was turning out to be.

Much to her disappointment, she found herself nearing the end. She had done her best to cling to their playful dialogue that followed her breakdown. She even went through the agonizing process of him trying a cookie, even though she knew he'd love it. Her fuss about his dramatics and tricks were genuine; she still couldn't believe he'd got her that good. When he opened up his arms mockingly for a hug, she'd almost given him one. Then she remembered—this wasn't real, and even though she'd felt his other touches, she wouldn't feel a hug because it hadn't happened for her to memorize. The thought saddened her.

They’d gone through her weak attempts of her getting him through the door. It was time for him to go now and she watched him with sad eyes as he stopped in his tracks then turned around. Hearing his thank you again in this vivid of a dream was going to break her heart once more. What surprised her though, was when he seemed to once again take notice of her emotion, and spoke on it this time.

"Don’t look so sad, I might have to stay forever."

Oh how her mind loved to cause her to suffer. She only gave a poor excuse for a laugh and a weak eye roll as a response. Part of her wished to keep this going forever, because she knew when he left she'd wake. She always did any time she dreamt of this day.

"Granger?"

Her heart wept.

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"Thank you."

It was as sincere now as it was then. The same look was in his eyes—the resignation, the finality. She wished it was anything but.

Still, she smiled and poured everything she wished to say into two words.

"You’re welcome."

His smile was just the same too. Real. Sincere. Alive. He was happy if just for a moment. He turned to leave and Hermione wanted to reach out then beg him to stay. Though it wouldn't matter; he wasn't really here with her, and this bittersweet dream had to come to an end. Despite this, she scrambled and on a desperate whim she said the words that many in his life hadn't gotten to say.

"Goodbye, Draco."

It had barely been above a whisper but he still heard it because he stopped again and looked at her. He stared for a moment, a slight frown on his face but then his expression cleared. He smiled again, tipped his head into a nod, and walked out the door.

Hermione had expected to wake up from the odd dream the moment he left. Instead, she felt a shooting pain in the back of her skull and knew immediately that something was wrong. She didn't have time to think because soon after her world went dark.

___

When she awoke the first thing she took note of were her pajamas. She didn't remember changing out of her dress she'd worn at the remembrance ball. Yet, she didn't think she could trust her memory that much at the moment. She had thought herself awake in her dream—that was how real it'd been.

Thinking of it, there were many oddities that took place and she didn't know what to make of it. There was something she was missing yet she didn't know what. She was confused and emotionally drained.

Sitting up, she pondered on if she should actually see a therapist of some sort. She couldn't deny that her situation was becoming increasingly unstable. Draco’s death had been her tipping point and she couldn't seem to move forward in life. She’d very well lose her mind if she didn't resolve some of the things she'd kept buried. She made a mental promise to herself that she would take the steps to eventually take care of things. First though, she had a decision to make.

It’d been a minute since she last spoke to Harry. She had expected him to show up when she'd woke in her dream, and she thought he would've by now. Harry’s work as an auror prompted him to be up early in the mornings and he liked doing things as soon as he could. Maybe she could floo him? Tell him to come over? She thought about it some more and her heart sank. He may be upset with her. Things hadn't gone too well with Ginny and Hermione had been rather distant with everyone. There was a possibility that he no longer cared to speak to her.

Her mind began to spiral with what ifs. What if he felt she abandoned him?—abandoned their friendship because she'd pushed everyone so far away? Harry had been abandoned before, and she'd been the only one left to stick beside him. Even when his first best friend, Ron, had walked away from him. She thought about how hurt and angry he'd been. If he felt that way, no wonder he wouldn't want to speak with her. A part her hoped he would know better though, that he'd know she'd never leave him. She, again, was the one who'd stood by him through it all.

But would that matter? Had it ever mattered? Had she ever mattered?

Doubt, like poison gas, was creeping towards her undetected. It entered through her airways and shrouded her brain so that she couldn't see past the worst of the worst. Accompanied by the sickly, melancholy fingers of insecurity gripping her heart, she never had a chance.

Hermione had been insecure about where she stood with Harry and Ron many times before, but it was always just that—stupid insecurities. She always did her best not to give in to them because she knew Harry and Ron loved her. Even if on some occasions, they still made her feel like she was more a mother to them than a friend, Ron especially. Even if sometimes they shared things with each other that she wasn't in on. Even if Harry sometimes had a tendency to side with Ron first out of habit because he was his first friend; she had come in and added herself on to a perfect two.

They thought about alot of things differently from her. She essentially would always be an outcast. She should've known better. It was only a matter of time before they grew tired of the dynamic. The two plus one, disguised as a perfect trio—the golden trio. What a load that was. She was going to end up alone just as she'd started and this time, she wouldn't even have her parents.

It was then—when she wished to feel the soft fluff that was Coco’s fur—that she snapped out of it. She had gone so far into her mind and hadn't realized her actions. She was curled up on her side, clutching one of her pillows to her chest. Her face was wet with tears and she swiped a hand beneath her eyes. She hadn't even known she shed them. A sudden burst of anger coursed through her and she got up from her bed.

She was going to wreak havoc if she cried one more time.

Stomping around, knocking a few things over in the process, she searched for Coco. It was just like her dream. Coco was nowhere to be found in her room. She would try the living room next. She swept her eyes over the room in search of the animal she'd become so fond of. She tried calling out to her.

"Coco, where are you girl? You haven't tired of me already, have you?"

Hermione tried laughing at the last bit but it fell flat. She was voicing the worst of her worries about Coco. After the kitchen, the last place to look was her library. When saw no sight of black fur or haunting greys, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Coco had obviously found her way out and left. Her heart cracked at the thought that maybe the feline missed her true owner. She could understand that, in a way, she missed him too. That was something she never believed possible or had ever crossed her mind.

Hermione Granger missing Draco Malfoy.

Way out of the ordinary, but true. She never thought his presence to be necessary or that it held any significance to her but in a strange way it did. When on the rare occasion she ever allowed herself to think of the future, he was always somewhere in the background. She would still be in her bakery, successful as ever—maybe she'd expand her flat above to accompany other things she hoped for. Harry and Ron would probably still be aurors. Maybe Harry would become a department head and maybe Ron would take off and play professional quidditch for the Canons. That was always a dream of his.

Then there was Draco. She always imagined he'd be somewhere being typical Malfoy; not a prejudiced bully, but one hundred percent still a snarky, slightly mean yet charming bastard. He would be as obnoxious as he always was, finding ways to get under her skin when they crossed paths. He would even crack a joke or two, because even though he had once been cruel, he had always been funny. He would give just enough for her to want to consider hanging around him—she’d see he could be fun. He of course would still be filthy rich because despite his lesser qualities, Draco was insanely talented in many areas. She’d learned so at Hogwarts, so whatever he pursued, he'd more than likely excel in it greatly. Maybe she would've provided the desserts for one of his over the top parties she thought he'd throw. In return, he would rave about them while simultaneously throwing jabs, but it would bring people to her shop all the same. That would be his way of thanking her.

These were the things she had invisioned. She never accounted for anyone else dying. She definitely hadn't ever thought it'd be him, because no matter how small, he was a piece of her life puzzle. He had always been. Now that he was gone, she didn't feel like she could complete it. The pieces were left jumbled—some missing, some completely torn up. She had no direction or picture to go off of anymore.

Hermione felt lost.

Coco had gone, Harry probably wouldn't be around, and she didn't have anyone else who she knew would understand. The dreams, her grief, the weird feelings. Harry would've listened but she was alone in it now.

She didn't feel up to running the bakery today, so it would remain closed. Her protections were in place in case of any intruders; it would alert her if someone came knocking too, not that that'd ever happened. She would shut the world out for today and pretend she was just having a lazy day. After making herself some tea and grabbing some mini apple pastries she'd baked for her own supply, she sank down into her couch.

There she sat all day, first watching some of her favorite disney movies. Most were films she'd obsessed over in her childhood but others were more recent; the movies she hadn't been able to see because she'd been fighting a war. When she got tired of that, she read and not long after was back to movies again; opting for romance this time around. She could admit that she was a sucker for clichés. She ignored when she was alerted through her wards that someone was knocking at her shop door. It was probably some kid wanting to come in after their extracurriculars—she felt a little guilty, but pushed the feeling away. They would see the closed sign and go away, she would be there for them tomorrow.

It felt like such little time had passed by the time it was dark out and she had begun to doze off. She kept the television on for noise to fill the room. She was afraid that if she switched it off the silence she'd be met with would be too suffocating for her to handle. She hadn't spent all day distracting herself from her thoughts just to succumb to them at night.

She was just on the precipice of falling deep into her sleep when the sound of her floo chiming pulled her out of it. She sat up quickly, but she wasn't too alarmed. Only a few people were connected to her floo, and those few in particular hadn't used it in a while since her distance. She waited for whoever it was to step out of the green flames. Shock struck her when she saw that it was the very person she thought hadn't wanted to speak to her, Harry.

A smile found its way on her face instantly and she stood to greet him. She didn't notice his expression or the way his posture screamed defeat at first.

"Harry? What are you doing here?”

He didn't answer her and instead sat in the armchair adjacent to her sofa. He gestured for her to sit as well and she did so, now becoming increasingly worried. She took note of the heavy silence and his mannerisms—he was in auror mode. That chilled her to the bone. He seemed to be trying to pick his words carefully or maybe he just couldn't believe whatever had happened. She searched his face and eyes desperately for any indication to what the matter was—what she found, only scared her further. He had a sadness in his eyes that warred with other conflicting emotions. It was like he didn't know how to feel or if he should even feel anything. She’d seen that very look before. She’d seen that look the night she had been told the very thing that offset something within her core. In fact, he'd come to her just like he'd done tonight.

"Hermione..."

He began slow and somehow she knew. She knew exactly what Harry was going to say and she didn't want to hear not one word of it. Not to mention, the fact that this was utterly impossible because she had already lived this and she knew there was no way she could be dreaming again. This could not be happening again. She was going to have to go to St. Mungo's immediately after this. What she was convinced were very vivid hallucinations were clearly out of her control. She needed help.

Harry looked her dead in the eye and like that night, a horrid feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She wrapped her arms around herself and sat frozen, unable to escape this reoccurring hell. She stared into the eyes of her best friend and waited for the storm to come beating down on her.

"Malfoy is dead."

Chapter Text

HERMIONE was annoyed when she'd woken early and saw that she was, yet again, in bed. Things weren't making any sense and she had no recollection of falling asleep in her room. The last place she knew she'd been was her living room couch. The time between her dozing off and now was questionable—very questionable. The encounter with Harry could have very well—and she was leaning towards this—been a hallucination. If so, she would wholeheartedly admit that she had completely lost it. She needed to seek help, because she couldn't go on reliving things as painful as this. What if she started seeing memories of the war? She nearly vomited at her next thought. What if she had to relive her torture?

If it wasn't a hallucination, dream or anything of the sort—if that had all happened, then what did that mean? How could that even begin to be possible? Hermione, shockingly, knew little about time and magic, save for things having to do with time-turners. Hermione didn't have one of those, so there was no way that could be the case. She was stuck with many unanswered questions.

After cleaning herself up and wrangling with her hair, she grabbed her notebook from her nightstand to list a few things. She usually used the book for her recipes, but today she would be using it for other things. After grabbing a pen and a few specific books from her library, she settled onto her couch to get to work. Flipping to an empty page, she took note of all the strange occurrences that she'd experienced so far. She started with the first time things had shifted.

After the remembrance ball is when the first "dream" ( or hallucination ) happened.

- the night of the remembrance ball if it was a dream.

- the morning after if it was a hallucination...or if it was real.

She thought back to how she'd woken up still in her dress and her hair all over the place, breaking free of its previous style. She made sure to note that she also had seen no sign of Coco then.

First night/day of the dream coco was nowhere to be found.

-Why? If this is what I think it is, then it would make sense for Coco to be out of the picture.

In her mind, she replayed the strange reenactment of the last time she knew Draco had been alive. She wrote down the similarities and differences about what had happened then and—if she was calculating correctly—what should be two days ago. She thought about how some of the things he said were different depending on her response. She also recorded how real his heartbeat felt and how nothing about his presence felt dreamlike at all.

Then she went over the previous night with Harry. He’d acted in the same manner he had when he'd told her the news about Draco before. There were no differences here and she pondered if that was because this might've really been a hallucination, or because she hadn't changed her actions from that night either. The way things had ended in both instances was what stood out to her most.

The first time I got a headache and blacked out? This happened when Draco left. The second time...did I fall asleep? Did I blackout again? ‘It’ ended the moment Harry told me Draco was dead.

- When I blacked out I saw Draco. The next ‘day’ I didn't. ???? Also no Coco again the day I saw Harry.

She scoured her mind and thought of when she'd been alerted about someone at her shop door. Could that have been him? She wrote that down as well. The last thing she needed to confirm her suspicions was today's date. Without hesitation, she went to look at the magical calendar that was stuck to her fridge and saw the date highlighted. She blinked in shock, seeing what she already suspected to be true. It was Friday, June the fourth, nineteen ninety-nine today. If she wasn't mistaken, that had been the date for the past two days as well. She was somehow stuck in time. She raced back over to her notebook.

Stuck in a time loop. June 4th 1999.

- How? Why?

She tossed this revelation around in her brain for a moment before glancing up at the clock that hung above her fireplace. If she was right, then Draco would be arriving at her shop soon, seeing that this was around the time she finished her prepping. A bout of nerves overtook her and she made a few last hasty notes before readying herself for the day.

If this is real then I need to test what I can do.

- speaking

- contact

- Will different versions of the same thing happen? Can I have an entirely different day?

___

The sound of her heartbeat was the only thing Hermione was able to hear. She was anxious and had busied herself with getting through her preparations quick. It had hardly helped. She was doing her best not to fidget and worry herself to death. This would be alright. She could just treat this like an experiment, instead of it being her having to relive some of the last moments of Draco among the living. It would be extremely hard knowing what would happen when he parted from her, but she could do this, right?

She had to. It didn't seem like she had much of a choice regardless because she was stuck within a loop. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, using the same counting technique Draco had utilized to help calm her. If she was going to go through with this again then she would have to be level headed. She said a few prayers that she wouldn't just burst into sobs during any part of his time here.

After she was sure she wouldn't crumble on the spot, she assumed her position at the register. Determination settled within her with each second ticking away. She was dead set on getting some of the questions in her journal answered. She only hoped that she wouldn't have to repeat the day verbatim, even if the last encounter hinted that it wasn't likely to be so.

Wiping her hands on her apron to rid of the perspiration on them, Hermione glanced up at one of the clocks that were on the walls of her shop. He would be showing up any moment. She did her best to ignore the odd feeling within the pit of her stomach and her chest. Anxiety was putting forth great effort in taking hold of her person. It was causing her to lose her place in checking the register and she had wanted that over with before Draco arrived. She told herself she would be fine. She pushed past her anxiety all the time and if it got to be too much, she'd go and see someone. She would. She would.

The ringing of the bell brought her from her thoughts and for just a moment she panicked before reigning herself in. This was it. Instead of greeting him outright, she decided to observe like always. When she looked up at him from the register she felt herself shake in her stance. Her vision immediately began to blur with tears but she would not allow any to fall. She took a deep breath. He was alive. He was standing there breathing and functioning. He was alright and she would most likely see him again, so if she wanted this to work she needed to remember that.

This time, she didn't avoid his eyes. She noted with surprise that instead of a cool indifference, they held a genuine look of interest as he observed the building he stood in. A sense of peace and relief poured over her at the life his eyes held. She knew of course that there was a struggle within him that wasn't visible, but he was still there—he was still holding on this little bit longer. It made her feel at ease and she could genuinely say she was happy to see him alive, even if it was within a time loop.

It was as if every time she saw him she noticed something new. It was odd that this small thing in particular brought her any kind of relief, but seeing his signature rings on his hands just reassured her all the more. She didn't know how she'd missed them before, especially because he'd cradled her face within his hands twice now. There was no doubt they'd been there the first time because Malfoy always wore his rings. It only spoke to the fact of how much she'd really been out of it lately. She hadn't been paying attention to the world and details around her until her world was knocked off it's axis. She was glad to see them on his hands. He was still Malfoy.

Hermione wasn't aware of the small smile on her face until grey had met brown. The look on his face was one of skepticism, because why in the world would she ever be smiling while looking at him. Heat rushed to her cheeks out of sheer embarrassment but she simply played it as if she hadn't been caught smiling at him like lunatic. His eyes now shined with a glint of amusement and before she could finally greet him, he spoke.

"You like admiring art don’t you, Granger?"

Not quite the same sentence from previous times, but still just as cocky. She crossed her arms over her chest defensively and rolled her eyes. She could feel a smile tugging at the corners of her lips with persistence. She would not budge.

"Malfoy. Welcome to A Batch Made In Heaven. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"That's a great question. Is there something you can do for me?"

He had stuffed his hands in his pockets, his stance casual but still giving off a regal air. She focused on a point between his brows, not being able to hold eye contact for long. It was something she struggled with recently and the intensity of his gaze did not make it easy.

"Depends on what you're doing here?"

He must've taken that as a sign of hostility, because he'd put his hands up in surrender.

"I only came to see what all the fuss is about. This is your most prized possession, is it not?"

She smiled with a pride she'd forgotten she had for her bakery.

"It is, and it's your lucky day. Today's most likely going to be a slow one, so you’ll have all the time in the world to witness greatness."

She watched something flicker across his expression and it saddened her. He didn't ever plan on staying that long. She pushed that thought away before it caused her to unravel.

Instead, she turned her attention towards the register again. She had managed to finish with it the second after he'd stepped in but she didn't mind going through the process all over. She knew that he would come around to watch from behind her and that was one of the things she didn't really want to change.

When she felt him peering over her shoulder, she took comfort in the warmth radiating off of him. He was still alive. He was still breathing. She decided to explain what it was that she was doing. She wasn't sure if he would know but decided she would do it anyways since he'd come to see what it was she got up to in the first place. A glance back up at him and she saw that her explanations weren't in vain. He had been listening intently and once again, had no qualms about their proximity. He still just simply did not care that he was hovering over the shoulder of someone he'd once thought he despised. It probably didn't even cross his mind as something other than just him observing closely.

She shut the register when she was done demonstrating and turned to face him with a calculating smile. He narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing as she brushed past him and headed for the kitchen. Hermione planned on getting Draco to talk as much as she could, to see what changed in their interaction or what stayed the same. Or, if it would come about in a different manner. She also without regret was going to take advantage of this time she had to—in short—pick his brain.

Of course, he hadn't followed after her and Hermione looked back at him to see suspicion in his eyes. There was also something else, something akin to hesitation. She wondered why this was because Malfoy usually had no issue with feeding his curiosity, just as she. He had proved that just a few moments ago and twice before. She thought about it some more and it dawned on her that he might've thought himself unwanted. Watching her at the register was one thing, but actually coming into her space that she'd worked hard for and took pride in was another. In his mind, he probably thought she was only tolerating him. So when she actually invited him in, it must've shocked him. He of course had masked this by pretending it was feigned and being sarcastic. She felt her heart clench as she pondered on him having felt he was merely being tolerated elsewhere.

Acting off those thoughts, she softened just that little bit more towards him. She gave him a genuine smile and gestured towards her kitchen.

"Want to be the first to have the special privilege of seeing me in action in the kitchen?"

This time she saw the surprise in his eyes and the lift of his brows. The corners of his lips twitched before he pulled them into a smirk. She would take a million of those if it meant he felt the least bit wanted somewhere. With family and friends, he might've thought they felt obligated to have him around but with her, it was different. Her invitation carried a certain importance.

"Me? Why of course, granger. I could never pass up the opportunity of being first at anything."

"Well c'mon."

Without her needing to tell him at all this time, he moved to the sink to wash his hands. She suddenly felt a little silly for telling him to before if he'd already known to do so. Even though he hadn't ever touched anything, she still took precautions in the kitchen, clearly so did he.

While she gathered all her ingredients and preheated fhe oven, Hermione thought about how she'd even strike up a conversation with Draco. The two of them had never had much to say to one another unless it was to cut the other down with their words. What would she even say? There were so many things she wanted to ask that would no doubt cause him to leave. He had no idea she even knew of his inner turmoil and it would be incredibly invasive of her to just try and pry things like that out of him. That made her think of the letter and she wondered if he had it on him right this moment.

"My God, Granger, I can practically hear you thinking and your looks are not at all subtle, you elf."

"Wha-, excuse me? I am not an elf!"

She tried to fight the blush on her cheeks from having been called out. She actually hadn't really known she'd been looking at him due to her being so lost in thought. She also did not appreciate him calling her an elf.

"Sure but your two foot tall stature, that rather huge bobble head and the way you're fluttering about this kitchen says otherwise. That's beside the point, what is it you're dying to ask me?"

Did he just say her head was huge? Hermione could do nothing but stare for a while before she burst out laughing. There was really no other way to react and it was as if she had no control of the response anyway. She placed a hand above her chest as she did her best to bring air in because of how hard she was laughing. Draco was so...Draco. He quite possibly was the most unpredictable person she'd ever met and what he said out his mouth was even more so. His jab at her height had caused her to imagine herself as an actual elf and it was completely hilarious to her.

She didn't notice his expression as her laughter morphed into quieter giggles. Mirth glittered in his eyes and a trace of what could be a smile was on his face as he watched her. He liked seeing people have genuine joy, even if just for a moment. Especially people like Granger. He'd not often been the cause of anyone's joyful laughter, most certainly not hers. It was nice to see, that after all she'd been through—after all he'd put her through—that she could still laugh. Bonus that it was because of something stupid that he said—though she probably could blend in with elves and goblins, being a near dwarf and all in his eyes.

When she'd calmed down, she looked at him to see him staring back at her expectantly. She remembered she hadn't answered his question. She kept herself from fidgeting by finishing up with making the cookie dough. Not being used to casual conversation with Draco, she felt incredibly shy all of a sudden.

"Well, I guess I just wonder how you are these days."

He blinked. There was a beat of silence and Hermione worried that she'd said something wrong, even if she was sure she hadn't.

"You're being serious?"

"Wh-, yes, I'm being serious. I hardly see you around. One might wonder what a prat like you has been up to."

She had spoke that last sentence with a hint of teasing, trying to distract herself from the truth. Until this time loop, she—nor anyone else—hadn't seen him since this very day. She bolted that thought behind a door in her mind that was made of iron.

He's right here. He's alive.

"I'm afraid I'll be a disappointment then, because the answer is not very much. The world thinks me to be Voldemort incarnate so you can imagine how closely the ministry's been watching. Although, I'm still a filthy rich bastard and I make do with that."

She frowned at how he'd skirted around her question of how he was doing, even though she did ask what. She also knew that his making do with his money was anonymously donating.

"Hm. Well, I think it's utterly ridiculous that you're treated as such. We didn't survive a whole war just to continue being at each other's throats. I don't care about past deeds unless they're being continued. They shouldn't have let you free if they were going to imprison you in some other way."

"You are probably the only person who thinks so, Granger and I'm sure some would think you insane for it. I understand the need for a scapegoat—someone to blame. I haven't given many reasons not to be made such, it's deserved."

She disagreed strongly. He was made aware of that by the way she slammed one of her pink mixing spoons down on the kitchen island.

"Don't say that! It is not deserved. If people used the brains they claimed to have, they'd remember that the man to blame is dead and the rest of them are in Azkaban. You were as much a victim of war as others, and why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would anyone think me insane?"

He looked at her for a moment and then sighed. She noticed how he'd drawn into himself as the topic of conversation went on. The mask of indifference was back and his tone was detached—clinical.

"As I said, you would be one of the only people with these thoughts. With all you've endured, especially at my hands, they would think you’ve lost your mind. You are their princess after all."

She scoffed.

"As if they really cared what it is I went through, or any of us for that matter. They just want to use me to fit into their narrative and whatever other stupid agendas they have. Besides, you hardly had any part in-."

"Shouldn't you be getting those in the oven?"

"I-, what-?”

"The cookies, Granger."

He'd cut off her angry rant so abruptly that she had no idea what he was talking about. She looked down and saw the cookies she'd placed carefully on the baking sheet to go in the oven. She had forgotten what she was doing completely in the midst of her frustration. The topic of the war and how Draco was treated was touchy for her. He didn't know that of course, and he surely wouldn't know the reason why. She needed to gather herself.

"Oh...right, sorry."

He didn't say anything in response and she looked to see him staring somewhere behind her. She'd seen him retreat into himself just before and now it seemed that he was completely hidden. She watched as his jaw clenched then unclenched, like he was trying to work through emotions he didn't really want to feel. Guilt plagued her as she realized why he'd spoke so suddenly. It was enough to be speaking about society's treatment of him, even if it was surface level but the topic of her was another thing. He clearly didn't want to hear her thoughts on what it was he put her through. Especially if it was to deny his hand in most of it. It was obvious he didn't believe that to be true, he'd already said it was all deserved.

Though the gears within her mind kept working, she didn't say anything else. Instead, she placed the cookies in the oven and set to work on the icing for them. When she finished with that, she moved on to cleaning up the dishes she used and any mess she'd made. All the while, Draco remained in his spot near the sink, still not speaking a word. He'd chosen to stand exactly where he'd been before, right in view of where she mixed and measured.

When she had gotten through with cleaning, she walked around the kitchen island to the side closest to Draco. She pushed herself up onto the surface to sit so that she was now directly across from him. The silence between them was oddly comfortable as she watched her legs swing in the air to and fro. She glanced at him a few times to see that he still looked somewhere far off and reserved. Biting down on the inside of her cheek, she decided to ask the question that was circling through her mind.

"Can I...can I ask you something?"

That seemed to bring him back from wherever he'd gone because he finally looked at her. He shrugged.

"You'd ask me anyway."

"What? No I wouldn't. If you didn't want to talk-."

"Granger, just ask me whatever it is you want to ask."

Something about his tone of voice seemed so...sad. It made her chest ache. He'd been so playful just earlier.

"Why are you here?"

His brow raised.

"I thought I'd already answered that after I'd come in."

"Well, yes, but why? What made you even think to come here in the first place? I don't suppose you wanted to know how I was doing, hmm?"

She was of course just joking, but he'd gone quiet again. His brow furrowed, and he looked as if he wanted to say something but then decided against it. She guessed that she'd once again gone into sensitive territory. After another beat of silence, he finally answered her.

"I don't know."

Her shoulders sagged with disappointment but she did her best to conceal it. He wasn't up for talking about it and she could respect that, even if it worried her. She was in a time loop, yes, so technically she had plenty of chances to understand the mind of Draco. The problem was, that even though she would remember their conversations, he wouldn't. So it may be possible that she wouldn't ever get beyond surface level with him. She was going to do her best not to panic about that.

She opted to be positive and honest with her next words. She wasn't sure what his reaction would be, but she wanted him to know anyway.

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad you decided to come here."

There it was. His smile. A smile that mirrored hers and it was genuine. He didn't bother with hiding it or giving her a response. The smile was enough to let her know that her being glad to have him here meant something. This was a new development too, because it was happening much before he was to leave. The sight brought her a feeling of warmth and she made a silent vow to try and bring it out of him every encounter, if she could.

The timer for the oven went off before she could even think to say anything else. Hermione hadn't needed him to nor asked, but he helped her down from her spot on the kitchen island. She held both of his hands as she jumped down. She could hardly be blamed for holding onto him just a little longer than needed. There was still this need within her to make sure that he was really alive at the moment. She felt like if she blinked he'd be gone and she'd be tracing the words on his headstone again.

When she removed them from the oven, she waited a moment before using her blast chiller to cool them down quicker than usual. That only took a few minutes, and shortly after she was setting a cookie on a plate to be iced. She got through with icing a few before an idea struck her.

"Want to try doing one? You can watch me do another and then have a go at it yourself."

She didn't think he'd take her up on her offer, so she was surprised when he walked around the island over to her side to stand next to her. Draco watched closely as she held the piping bag full of pink icing with a firm but gentle grip. Her arm brushed against his a few times as she skillfully maneuvered her wrist to come out with a perfectly iced cookie. It was yet another grounding moment to let her know that he was still here, and he hadn't gone just yet. If he'd noticed any of their touches, he hadn't had any outward reaction as far as she could tell.

"There. Now let's see if you can do it like that or better."

She passed him the icing bag and looked up at him to see him with his other hand over his chest. His expression was one of feigned hurt and she couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"I'm sorry but you wound me, Granger. Is that doubt I detect?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Malfoy. It is only the first time you're doing this. I don't even expect you to get anything more than a blob on there."

"Oh really? I want you to remember that when your cookie looks absolutely pathetic next to mine."

"You're doing an awful lot of talking and not a-lot of icing."

"Shut up, pint sized pastry troll."

She narrowed her eyes in a glare at him but he was already focused on icing the cookie in front of him. Her glare turned into a stare of something akin to awe as she watched him. He made sure to keep his hands steady and he didn't begin icing until he felt he had the right grip on the bag. Although his brows were furrowed in concentration, the rest of his features were soft and relaxed in comparison. He didn't look troubled or withdrawn, he was serene—completely engrossed in what he was doing. Hermione found herself smiling again and it took nearly all her willpower not to tear up. He must've felt her eyes on him, because he paused to glance up at her and did a double take when he saw the look on her face.

"What? Did I make a mistake or something?"

"No, no, keep going. You're fine."

His eyes became slits full of suspicion.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"No reason, Malfoy. Just ice the cookie, will you."

He looked at her a moment longer before going back to his cookie. She tried not to stare so much at him but couldn't help the frequent glances. It was nice to see him this way, especially after not seeing him at all after they'd lowered him into the ground.

He took his time with finishing the cookie and then, just to show off, he did another just as quick as she'd done before demonstrating for him. He set the piping bag down and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her with a self-assured smirk. He knew he'd done incredibly good. How on earth had he managed to do that on his first try? She hadn't been able to do that.

"I'm a Malfoy, Granger. It's just in my blood."

She must've said that last bit aloud. She mimicked his stance by crossing her arms with a pathetic pout.

"Please, you probably just cheated somehow. Or you've done it before and just didn't say so."

"Ha, you wish. I'll have you know that I'm insanely talented. Now admit that I did way better than you thought I would."

He was talented. She'd been aware of this fact for a while, but that didn't mean she had to tell him. As if he wasn't already obnoxious. Still, she relented.

"Fine. You did really good, as good as me honestly. Even though I hate to admit that."

"Oh you are too kind, love, too kind. It's alright that you'll never be as good as me. I won't tell anyone."

"Oh shut up, you twit. Now you have to taste it and tell me what you think."

He dodged her slap and reached for one of the cookies that she iced instead of his.

"Why don't you eat the one that you iced?"

"Now where's the fun in that?"

"What?"

"Things taste a million times better when it's someone else's food, or in this case, if they did all the work. Especially if it's the work of a wild haired, angry, baking pixie."

He was unbelievable.

She watched in antsy anticipation as he took a bite and chewed slowly. His face of course had no indication of what he was thinking. She knew he would like it. She'd done this with him already before and still it put her on pins and needles. When he was finished, he shook his head in what seemed like disappointment before he spoke.

"Granger, my sweet sweet Granger. Oh how will I ever break this news to you."

"Malfoy."

"Honestly, when I called you an elf, I had only meant it as a joke. Now, I might really have to replace mine with you. I think that'd be nice. Granger the baking elf—that also loves to read and has eyes almost as big as an elf's too. Not to mention her giant-."

"Malfoy, I will hit you over the head with a rolling pin if you don't shut up."

"Granger the elf is also incredibly violent-."

His mouth snapped shut when she snatched up a spatula to throw at him. She was trying to appear anrgy but she was failing miserably with the barely contained giggles leaving her. He rasied his hands in surrender but pure amusement was written all over his face.

"Alright, but seriously, you've got a billion galleon business on your hands. They clearly don't call you a genuis for nothing. Pottery and the red skunk couldn't ever come up with something this good. This place would burn down in the first five minutes. It shows who needed who."

"Pottery and wha-, shut it! No talking bad about my friends, okay. Really though, thank you."

"No need to thank me."

"No, I do. It really means alot to me, Malfoy."

"Granger, don't get all mushy on me please but you're welcome. You'll never hear anything as nice from me again."

She rolled her eyes but on the inside she had nearly wanted to scream at that. He didn't know what he was saying, or maybe he did, but it made her want to breakdown right then. She hated that when he left here what came after would still be.

It was while she was having these thoughts that the bell that signaled a new customer rung. Now she really had an urge to scream. She wasn't ready to say goodbye yet. She wasn't ready to watch him leave, knowing what he'd be going to do. She couldn't even say the word in her mind.

"Well, in that case, as another thank you I'll box these up for you to take."

She did just that, and she may or may not have taken extra time tying the bow just to buy herself time. She held the cookies in one hand and grabbed his hand with her other, leading him to the kitchen door. She handed him the box once they stood in the doorway and he took it with his free hand.

"Kicking me out already?"

"I have another customer to tend to, now go on."

She'd said this but she hadn't let go of his hand yet. She was swinging their linked hands back and forth, not wanting to let go. The cool metal from his rings was a nice contrast to the warmth his hand brought. If he could feel her trembling, there was no comment made about it. Fear and sadness had settled in again. This part was the hardest. She had the need to thank him again.

"I know you said not to get all mushy, but I really appreciated you coming by and giving my baking a chance."

"It's nothing, Granger, you're unsurprisingly a natural. Now if I'm to leave you're going to have to let me go."

She was reluctant in doing so, and she gave his hand a soft squeeze before she let it go. There was an unmistakable knot in her throat.

He hadn't moved to leave yet. He looked down at the carefully wrapped box in his hands then back up at her. He smiled again. That very smile that told it all now.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Far too soon, he was gone.

Chapter Text

NOTES from her encounter with Draco were written down as soon as Hermione awoke. She wasted no time in getting herself ready and jotting down all she had learnt. She needed to do it as quick as possible, lest she forget. It took a moment for her to push through her disappointment and grief at the fact that she was still in the time loop. What cheered her up was the realization that she had more time; More time to figure things out and ore time with Draco.

Hermione was not blind to the fact that this was all a huge miracle—a second chance of some sort and she absolutely wouldn't waste it. She had concluded that somehow, some way, she had to save Draco. Better yet, she had to help him want to save himself. She didn't know how she could do that within a day but she wasn't going to doubt her capability. A-lot had changed just the day before, even if technically this was the same day. For her, it felt like weeks were going by.

She had already gotten quite used to Draco's presence and being around him. She had even started to notice and anticipate some of his behaviors—the things she hadn't noticed within the seven years of going to school with him. The challenge would be with him. This was a time loop, so every day was new for Draco. There would be nothing familiar about him stepping foot into her bakery in his mind. She would have to try hard to earn even an ounce of his trust over the span of a day and she would have to do it multiple times she guessed. She refused to think about how she may never change what happened this day.

That was not an option.

She now stood behind the register like usual, waiting for the Malfoy heir to arrive. She had formulated a plan. This time around, she was going to be sure that no interruptions from new customers would take place. She would modify her shop sign to say that she'd be closed for today. Her scheme was to step outside the moment she knew Draco would be approaching and still allow him in regardless of her shop status. He wouldn't know that she'd done this on purpose and hopefully he wouldn't decide to leave her alone. In that case, she would come up with an excuse and drag him inside. She was determined to have him spend the whole day with her if possible.

This time around would be completely different and she hoped that it would reward her with greater progress. Earning the trust of Draco Malfoy was not an easy feat and it was at the top of her to-do list.

With a quick glance at the clock, she saw that Draco would be nearing the door any minute. She rushed outside and propped the door open half-way with her foot. Her open and closed sign matched the pattern of her shop walls—a pink heart. The sign was placed in the center of the door, low enough that Hermione wouldn't have to struggle if she ever needed to take it down or alter it. Directly above it, A Batch Made In Heaven was written in silver, sparkly, and cursive letters. She switched it to 'CLOSED' with a flick of her wrist and now was doing her best to appear busy. In her peripheral, she could see Draco approaching her, his eyes trained on the sidewalk beneath his feet. She did her best to act surprised as he slowed to a reluctant stop.

"Oh! Hello Malfoy."

"Granger."

She moved so that she stood in the entryway with her back against door, her body holding it open instead of her foot. Draco gave her a once over before his eyes flickered to the sign above her head. He nodded once to himself—the familiar look of resignation on his face. He was never surprised by any kind of disappointment.

"You're closed. No need in my being here then."

She didn't even let him move an inch before she was waving him in.

"No no, it's alright. You can still come in if you'd like. I only thought I'd give myself a break today. I'm not busy."

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"You wouldn't be, trust me."

Hermione watched as Draco hesitated. She had to remind herself that he wasn't used to actually being wanted anywhere—post war. She would have to play this as if she still wanted to best him. Their old rivalry was something she knew he'd respond to.

"Besides, since you are here I'd love to show you something else I've— unintentionally, of course—topped you in."

She had his attention now. His brow raised and he was exuding a pompous air that was so familiar. She knew whatever he was about to say would be extremely cocky—in true Draco fashion. It brought her comfort in an odd way. She'd missed it.

"I'll pretend for a second that I believed that—one...alright done. Although, it's nice to have confirmation that your life truly revolves around me and trying to best me. It's okay to say you've missed me, Granger. I'd miss me too."

He had not a clue.

"Oh please, you only wish I would."

"How long will you continue this act? I know you've always secretly loved being in my presence. You just might take Potter's spot as the head of the Draco Malfoy fan club."

"I would be the only fan you had and out of pity. Now, are you coming in? Or will I have to kidnap and drag you in?"

"You are likely half my size in both weight and definitely in height, Granger. I would be kidnapping you, but since you've practically begged me, I'll come in just for you. It is the least I could do."

Got him.

She rolled her eyes in an attempt to mask the smile fighting it's way onto her face. Draco could be infuriating but it was perfectly fine with her, as long as his heart was still beating. Refraining from pulling him in by his hand, she opened the door further and gestured for him to come in. He did so with feigned reluctance and she followed after him, shutting the door behind her and locking it shut.

At the sound of the door locking, he turned with his eyebrow raised in suspicion. His eyes narrowed at the expression on Hermione's face. The grin she wore was downright devious.

"Locking the door, hm? Are you planning on killing me, Granger? I know you said you'd kidnap me but I didn't think you were serious, or..is it something else you're looking to do?" Now he was the one with the devious expression—his trademark smirk suggesting that he found himself hilarious.

She wondered briefly if kidnapping him would actually break the time loop and keep him alive. When she registered what he was implying on the tail end of his questioning, her face heated with embarrassment.

"Such curiosity? Scared, Malfoy?" She was not going to satisfy him with a response to his perverted thinking. 

"Never. Just didn't imagine you hated me that much to actually try and kill me. I know I've never hated you as much."

He'd said it so nonchalantly that she hadn't caught his admission at first. He did and it showed in the way he immediately went tense and was suddenly quiet.

The grin she'd sported faded into a much softer look and she felt like she was looking at him with new eyes. Draco continued to surprise her without even trying. She'd already come to know that he hadn't really hated her—his letter said as much. It was hearing it from his own mouth that had her frozen momentarily.

She'd never expected to hear him say it so openly, let alone it being the truth. All the things she wished to say to him; the questions, the residual anger, the hurt, it was all on the tip of her tongue. She didn't speak any of it, because if she had learned anything, it was that too much too fast would only cause him to shutdown. She would have to settle for less for now.

"I wouldn't have it in me even if I possibly wanted to see you dead."

This was an admission of her own and by the slight nod he'd given her, he understood.

___

"Careful! Look you've got some of it on my face."

She'd been teaching him how to make blueberry lemon muffins. Draco had been measuring out the flour and, purposefully she suspected, made a bit of a mess of it. Some had sprinkled onto the counter, his hands, his apron—the apron he fussed about wearing because it was pink—and her cheek.

He gasped in mock horror and then moved to examine her. He held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning her head to and fro. Then once he 'found' the problem, he swiped his other thumb across her cheek and stepped back, giving her a sarcastic smile.

"There. All better."

It wasn't. He'd only smeared and added more to her face. The silent stare she gave him conveyed her displeasure but he only snickered at her expression. With a roll of her eyes, she wiped the flour from her face with a nearby hand towel and then resumed her silent coaching.

Hermione sat up on the kitchen island next to where he worked, giving him room to mix and measure but still near enough to help if needed. He had let her know early on that he in fact didn't need her help and just needed the recipe after ten minutes of her trying to walk him through step by step. He also let her know that if she ever took up teaching, it'd have to be with two year olds whom she then could gladly do everything for.

With just a bit of annoyance, she watched as he once again quickly got the hang of things. She only had to remind him that it was the teaspoon he needed and not the tablespoon, everything else he got on his own. The silence that fell between them was a comfortable one. Hermione wondered if this was because they stayed in safe territory. They could have coexisted like this much earlier if they'd given up cutting each other down then. They could joke, and if they didn't purposefully hit where it hurt, the jokes were quite funny. That and never toeing too close to the edge of their past, their social circles, or their upbringing. It was safe. It was constant. It was comforting, but Hermione knew that if she was going to help him, there would have to be some turbulence.

He looked completely engrossed in what he was doing—serene and at peace, somewhat. The same way he'd been when he iced the cookie—like focusing on creating helped him block out the outside world. At least, that's what it was to her most of the time. She guessed that he could feel the same and it made her happy. He looked...handsome like this and she wished she could take a picture without raising questions. She took a mental one instead and then worried over if her question would erase that look.

"How are you so good at this?"

Her question seemed innocent enough, but they both knew she was digging. She was edging past that sign that marked the deep end. She had to. She had to start somewhere.

Draco was quiet for a long moment—she almost thought he hadn't been listening. She didn't dare to ask again. By then, he had finished scooping all the batter into the muffin pan, and had put them in the oven. She watched his face carefully as he washed his hands for any signs of discomfort. He hadn't displayed any, and she figured that maybe it was actually that he just didn't want to answer her when he stood back in his spot. It was then that he spoke up.

"My mother."

He spoke quietly but she heard him. He leaned forward on the island, resting on his forearms, his gaze on his hands. She dug some more.

"She taught you?"

Another pause followed by a sigh. He then straightened up and moved to sit atop the counter next to her. Her arm and leg brushed against his but neither of them seemed to mind the closeness. Hermione was already comfortable but found it a little shocking that Draco seemed to be too.

"I watched her. She liked to be in the kitchen. The elves didn't do everything, shocking to you I know—" She elbowed him lightly, knowing he was teasing. "But really it just made her happy and I liked to see her that way. Whenever I was upset or overwhelmed, she'd take me to the kitchen and I'd just watch and taste whatever it was she ended up making. Times like that became rare the older I got, but she still tried until...yeah."

He didn't need to finish his sentence in order for her to understand. The war hadn't left room for such things then. It was purely survival for both sides. She could feel that he had gone tense, as if he regretted saying so much. He'd let her in just a bit. Hermione was well aware of the love Draco had for his mother and how sensitive of a topic she was. The mother and son loved each other strongly, and that love had prompted Narcissa to lie straight to Voldemort's face.

It made her think of her own mother. He'd just put a little trust in her and now she would do the same. She hoped that they would go just a little below the surface and progress from there. As much as they could in a day anyway.

"We have that in common."

He turned towards her with a look of question and she wasted no time in elaborating.

"My mother lived in the kitchen too, although it was exclusive to baking. She usually let my father do things like lunch, with the exception of breakfast. It's funny because both my parents were dentists, big on dental hygiene, yet there wasn't a day that went by without something sweet cooling on the counter. I grew up with the house smelling of vanilla, cinnamon or something fruity all the time." Hermione giggled at a memory that had popped in her mind. "When I was about six, I once stole an extra muffin that had been left out on the counter after bedtime. I felt so bad about it the next morning and told my mum, she laughed and told me she had actually left it there for me. Sometimes I awoke in the middle of the night hungry."

As she spoke, a range of emotions coursed through her at the fond memories. She missed her mother and she missed her childhood. Her eyes were trained onto her lap and she would've forgotten Draco was even there if not for his quiet breathing.

"I used to love being her helper and I'd be so upset if I ever made a mistake or my own attempts didn't turn out quite right. I used to think that I just didn't have the knack for it—that books would really always be my thing, but every time she told me different. She used to say that baking was an exact science—that I could understand. I can read the directions, measure, and follow. Then she said that it was also imperfection, mistakes, creativity and discovery. It was going outside of expectation sometimes. That was how you got new recipes and flavors. She said that life was like that too and that I just had to allow myself to be more than the Hermione I think myself to be; what I might think everyone else thinks or knows me to be, as well." When she felt a small splash on her hands that were in her lap, she knew she was crying. "I miss her."

She wiped at her tears but didn't make an effort to stop anymore that came. Hermione had grown tired of trying to hide her tears.

She glanced at Draco to see him looking at her in thought. It was as if he was trying to understand something without having to ask her about it. She realized it was probably the way she spoke about her mother in the past tense. Of course he wouldn't have known about what she'd had to do. She decided to answer his silent question.

"They would've wanted me to stay hidden with them, but I knew we'd just be living in fear. I knew I'd never rest not being at Harry's side and doing all I could to protect this world I belonged to—both these worlds I belong to. I didn't have much time and it would've ate at them having to worry for their only daughter constantly. So I made the decision to take myself out of the picture. I obliviated them—sent them to Australia as completely different people in their minds. They always did talk about visiting there."

She tried shrugging her shoulders and giving the blonde a half smile like it was no big deal. Except it was. It really was.

She never talked about this. Not even with Harry or Ron. She didn't like to think of the fact that she was orphaned by her own hand. The words explaining how she couldn't reverse what she'd done got stuck in her throat. It was no matter, because by the look on Draco's face he already concluded such. A silent understanding passed between them, clicking something into place. He understood. He knew all about having to make impossible decisions in the name of protecting the ones you love. He knew that all too well.

"Sometimes I wonder if I should've just ran with them. Or if I ever got them back if they'd ever forgive me. I feel so lost sometimes, like I'm still a little girl just wanting the love of her mum."

Her body shook with repressed cries. It was her natural instinct to fight her grief instead of feeling it freely. Draco wasn't sure if she'd be comfortable with a hug. He wasn't an expert on comfort but he did his best to pull through in the times those close to him seemed to need it, and she looked like she needed it. Without a second thought, he slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side. She didn't hesitate to lean into him, her face in his shirt.  He couldn't help the guilt he felt, like he was the cause of this, of the war.

Hermione appreciated his efforts. It only spoke more about his true character and who he really was on the inside. No, who he is. It reminded her of Theo and how he'd comforted her in the same fashion. When she'd been sitting at the headstone of the very boy who's arm was around her. It made her heart swell and break all at once. When given the opportunity without judgement, they could be better. They could be kind, they could be more than what people think of them—what they may think of themselves, just as her mother had said.

Draco was more—is more. She would not lose hope.

He didn't speak for a moment, allowing her the moment to try and process her feelings. She was thankful for his silent understanding and support. His next words pained her though, because she only wished for him to do the same; that he would've allowed himself the same courtesy.

"I know it'd probably feel much better to hear this from one of your friends but since I'm here, I guess I'll be the one to tell you. You did what you had to do to survive and protect. Nobody should or could fault you for that. If you need to, forgive yourself. You were a child fighting a war that you had no business fighting. You were protecting those who should've protected you, or couldn't." He gave her a light squeeze against him. She did not miss how his words were ones he also desperately needed to hear. "You're parents loved you, I'm sure and I'm guessing by that small bit of information about them that they would understand. They were safe and are both still alive because of your efforts. Keep that in mind. You did the best you could. You're doing the best you can. Look at this thing you've got going here. I think you've had the knack for it all along and your mother knew that too. She sounds like a wise woman. She would be proud of you, Granger. They both would."

She heard the hint of sadness in his voice and she wondered briefly if he longed to know if his parents felt that way about him. If he even felt worthy of it.

There was a pause before he added with a quiet voice, words that surprised her.

"It may not even mean a thing either, but I'm proud of you."

She couldn't understand why but it was then that she finally truthfully broke.

___

Hermione had never came up with an actual plan on getting Draco to stay for the day, but she found she didn't need to. After she'd opened up about her parents, the two of them had been silent for a moment. She was afraid that they were both retreating behind the invisible line that forced them back onto safe territory. It wasn't until the muffins were out of the oven that they fell right back into their lighthearted banter. The only difference was that they didn't have to tiptoe around each other as much. The conversation had brought them beyond the tip of the iceberg, and now together they were exploring the depths.

Never in her life did she think it would be easy to talk to Draco Malfoy. Still, she found herself trading stories with him. He was a little shocked, but not entirely surprised at all the mischief she'd gotten into during their school days. In his words, bolt boy and his talking red-headed loyal steed would've gotten her killed if it weren't for her own brains. He admittedly still wasn't very fond of her two best friends, but he now held some base level respect for them.

That led them to the topic of his own friends—Theo and Blaise. He cracked jokes but he spoke with such pride for them that it made her heart squeeze. The two of them were always much better than he was, he'd said. She listened as he recounted summers where they'd drive Narcissa insane with all the dangerous stunts they'd pull. Things like climbing to the highest branch of the old oak tree on their property. That had been when he was really young—when a smile from his father was rare but they still occurred.

She watched him closely as he spoke, and once more she found herself seeing him in a new light. He had people who he loved dearly—who he'd do anything for and had done anything for. That included attempting to follow through with a suicide mission he'd been sent on by a madman. It solidified what she'd concluded about him a while ago. He was just as much of a victim of war as she was—in the end, only fighting to survive and keep those he loved alive. What could things have been like if he'd ever been given a real chance to know something other than what he was taught to be?

That question poked at her even as the topic of conversation changed many times. When they got hungry again, she found that Draco had an unhealthy love for pasta, seeing as any suggestions about what they should make included it. She'd pointed this fact out to him just to tease, although she quickly learned that it was no random thing about him. He—with a bit too much enjoyment she'd say—informed her that on top of being descendants of french nobility on his father's side, he too was royalty on his mother's. More direct even—the difference was that The ancient and noble House of Black had strong italian roots. The influence from both sides of his family attributed to his knowledge within the kitchen. She also learned that he was fluent in both french and italian—not to mention, he'd learned to make pasta when he was five.

The pompous bastard.

She would've brought up the fact that she'd never read such a thing in books, but she never particularly cared about the world and history of purebloods. She could admit that she lacked knowledge on the origins of their families and traditions. She could also admit that this was because of her own prejudice and poorly based opinions. There was importance in keeping some traditions upheld.

Before Hermione even realized, the sun had began to set and Draco was still here with her. The day hadn't reset and he hadn't slipped from her grasp. They had abandoned the kitchen some time ago, and now sat in one of the booths in the far corner of the dining area. She sat with her legs tucked under her, leaning her head against the window and he was across from her. He sat back with his arms folded over his chest—his full attention directed towards her. The both of them sipped occasionally on the tea they had in front of them.

Her question she'd thought of swam back to the forefront of her mind and she found herself pondering something new.

"Do you think—, if things were different...do you suppose we might've gotten along?"

She knew that it wasn't wise to dwell on what could have been, but it was hard not to. Not when she's already had a taste of it.

His gaze didn't shift from her as he thought on her question.

"Maybe. Probably."

"Why maybe?"

"I'm sure some things would've remained the same."

"What? You'd still think I was some ugly, bushy haired know-it-all?"

She wasn't able to hide the hurt or the slight bitterness in her tone. She did her best to cover it up with a weak laugh. She hated when her vulnerability showed through at the wrong times.

He noticed anyways and was frowning. He held up a finger that said 'now hold on just a minute' without him actually saying so at all.

"A know-it-all? Yes, I would likely still think that. It's not something you can seem to really help, Granger. It just happens to be a little irritating when you're as stubborn as I, but ugly?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't recall ever calling you ugly."

That was a blatant lie if she'd ever heard one.

"You're kidding me."

"No, I'm not. Why would I start denying anything I've said to you, now? What I've done is bad enough. I don't appreciate any added details."

"Malfoy. You quite literally always had a word to say about my teeth, my hair or the way I dressed. Even a troll could tell that you thought me to be ugly."

"Exactly, did you hear what you just said? It was specifically about your teeth, your clothes or your hair. Which we both know I tended to exaggerate about. I’m aware that gets me no brownie points either—still, that wasn't me calling you ugly."

"You can't be serious!"

"Very. You of all people know I had no trouble saying what was on my mind back then. If I thought that about you, I would've said it like I did to your two dimwitted friends. Actually, I specifically remember one instance where I said it was a shame someone like you had a face like yours—that it was a waste. Really, can you honestly tell me a time where I called you unattractive?"

Hermione did try and think of an incident, and found that she couldn't come up with one. Draco had always been vocal about his opinions of people. He had called Harry and Ron every word synonymous with ugly in the past. She had even heard him say something about Millicent Bulstrode once. In fact, she too remembered the comment about her face, even if it was a backhanded compliment. She'd been too annoyed with him to even pick it apart to be anything other than a horrid insult.

He took her silence as an obvious tell that he was right.

"Exactly. I've never said such a thing."

"Well you-"

"In fact, I thought the opposite. You've always been pretty, Granger."

That shut her up immediately. She stared at him in absolute shock. She felt her face growing warm and knew that her cheeks were tinged pink. Draco was too busy enjoying the fact that he'd won their little argument to even notice.

"I-what did you just say?"

He looked her over as if she was suddenly the dumbest person he'd ever spoken to.

"I know you can't suddenly be hard of hearing. I said you've always been pretty."

There. He'd said it again. He'd said it just like that, as if it was nothing to it. As if it was just some fact he'd learned ages ago that wasn't particularly a big deal. Except it absolutely was. Draco Malfoy, of all people, had just called her pretty. He had just said she'd always been pretty. She was beginning to think he'd never stop surprising her.

She was alarmed at the weird fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach. She as well did not like the way she was suddenly hyper aware of herself. She could swear that Draco could see every pore on the surface of her skin.

This time he did notice her blush and the teasing glint in his eyes only made it worse.

"My God, Granger. Blushing? You aren't seriously that surprised that I think you're pretty? I mean—I know it's probably an honor coming from me—."

"Oh shut it and yes, it is a little shocking to hear."

This prompted an eye roll from him and Hermione crossed her arms over her chest in defense, mirroring how he'd been sitting. She couldn't quite understand why she felt vulnerable in this situation but she did.

"I'd have to have been blind not to see it. I wasn't the only one who thought so."

"Okay now I know you're lying."

"Again with the accusations? Just because Weasley didn't even realize you were a girl until we were fighting for our lives doesn't mean the rest of us couldn't see the obvious. I thought you'd have known that—with Krum and all"

She blinked in astonishment.

"I-."

"Yes yes, he didn't really count since it wasn't the bumbling red idiot. Well, now you're aware."

She didn't offer up any response at the realization that he was right. She'd been insecure before, yes, but she had grown to accept her looks for what they were. She definitely didn't think she was unattractive but she was sure she wasn't about to be featured in any magazine—she was just plain Hermione, almost blending in. That was what she assumed other people thought of her too when it came to her physicality.

It never dawned on her that part of that stemmed from the way Ron had never really acknowledged her in that way. She had liked him so much then, so of course it mattered a little how he viewed her. Up until those last few years it seemed as if she was just another one of the boys among her two friends. If he hadn't looked twice at her before, she assumed that no one else had. It was odd that someone who picked on her every flaw happened to see her beauty still. Nor was he afraid to tell her. She'd been oblivious to the idea of being seen.

She thought about Draco and how he was the complete opposite. He knew very well that people thought he was gorgeous—to put it in short. She was one of those people. It was one of the things that used to infuriate her most. How could someone so vile be so striking? He was different now though and it only added to his features.

There—there was the fluttering again and Hermione was determined not to put a name to the feeling. She would not.

She wondered just how much he noticed about her. How much could you see in a person you supposedly hated? It made her think back to his earlier words and she felt the sudden need to bring it up. Their conversation about her parents made her feel bolder. She had laid a part of her bare for him to see and he hadn't made her regret it. It wouldn't hurt to reveal a little more.

"I never hated you that much either."

His eyes, unfocused, snapped to to hers and the sudden eye contact made her just a tad nervous. His once playful and somewhat relaxed demeanor became completely gaurded. His body seemed tense—like he was expecting the worst when it came to her thoughts that involved him.

He doesn't say anything, only motions for her to continue.

"What you said earlier? The whole killing you thing and not hating me that much? I've never hated you that much either. Honestly..." She took a deep breath, now avoiding his eyes. "I've never hated you at all. I don't hate you."

There was a long beat of silence, and for a moment, Hermione thought she'd spoken too quiet. That was until she heard a sharp intake of breath that caused her to look up. Draco was pinning her with a look she couldn't quite understand. It seemed as if he was trying to figure her out or process her words. He seemed somewhere far away in his mind.

She noticed a slight shake in his shoulders and she could've sworn his eyes had gone glassy, but it all disappeared within a second. Instead he shook himself from his stupor and gave her a half-hearted smirk.

"You always did have a heart too big for your body. Hero to the helpless."

He was trying to deflect and make light, but Hermione wasn't going to let him. She needed him to know at least this while he was here.

"I mean it. I never have, and it's only been a day but it's obvious to me now that I was right not to. I've never spoken about my parents to anyone, really. Let alone cry in front of them. Give yourself some credit. You're not so bad, Malfoy."

She flashed him a grin in her own attempt to lighten things up. The air around them felt raw and heavy, but it was much needed.

He looked at her for a moment before shaking his head to himself. It was clear to her that Draco was not used to hearing many positive words on his behalf—not the kind anyone truly means anyway. He glanced out the window, seeming to need to verify that he'd actually been here all day, before looking back at her.

"I guess you aren't so bad either, Granger."

The grin he gave her in response was like sunshine breaking through the clouds on a rainy day.