Chapter Text
Draco settled into the supple leather armchair, his foot tapping an erratic rhythm against the polished floor. The corridor outside the psychologist's office bore an almost funereal silence—fitting, perhaps, as he was here to witness the death of his marriage. After five years, his union with Hermione Granger was drawing its final breath.
He harboured no desire for these tedious formalities, yet his own stubborn pride wouldn't allow him to let Hermione go without one last bout of torment. She'd spent the past year hounding him about seeing this bloody psychologist. Well, there you have it, Minister. Do try not to choke on your victory.
"Malfoy."
Only one person in all of Britain could imbue his surname with such magnificent disdain.
"You're late," he drawled, not bothering to lift his head.
Hermione strode past him, her heels striking a sharp staccato against the floor, trailing a wake of French perfume he knew would haunt him until his dying day. Draco drew in a deep breath, letting the scent settle in his lungs.
"I've informed the secretary we're waiting."
"You've only just arrived," he clicked his tongue. "Afraid to waste a precious second?"
"Afraid I might become physically ill from prolonged exposure to your company."
"Trust me, you won't."
Silence descended between them—a rare commodity in their marriage—and Malfoy used it to gather his thoughts. Whatever questions the psychologist might pose, he was certain that he and Hermione would never find common ground. They held opposing views on marriage, life, finances, careers—everything that mattered. If he were being brutally honest, Draco doubted the poor soul could survive even ninety minutes with them in one room, let alone multiple sessions.
"How much longer!" his beloved wife exclaimed, glaring daggers at her watch face.
The watch he'd given her, ironically enough. Apparently, her hatred for him didn't extend to diamond earrings, watches, or Jimmy Choo shoes. No, Granger wasn't mercenary. She simply wasn't the hysterical sort who'd dispose of expensive items in a fit of pique.
Stop making excuses for her.
"We could simply divorce, but you must make a production of everything," Hermione lamented.
"We're attempting to save our marriage with a Muggle specialist, and you're still dissatisfied."
Malfoy clenched his jaw and turned away from his wife to keep his rising fury in check. The corridor felt suffocating. He could do with sitting on the opposite side of the planet from her.
"Oh, my lord, shall I fall to my knees in gratitude? Or is it too soon?"
Smirking, Draco spread his legs wider. Let the bitch remember how she used to love kneeling between them.
"I wouldn't object."
Malfoy dared to meet her eyes for the first time. Those same brown pools with their amber storms. Beautiful, damn her to hell.
"Bastard," Hermione hissed.
"Mr Malfoy, Mrs Granger," a young woman called out to them.
Draco shifted his gaze to the psychologist and felt a moment of surprise. She appeared to be their age. For some reason, he'd assumed that guidance in matters of the heart came from those with greying temples and decades of wisdom etched into their faces.
Though what did it matter to him? He would endure this hour and a half of purgatory and return home to a far more qualified specialist: a forty-year-old Ogden's.
"That's us," Draco responded, rising swiftly to his feet.
His ingrained sense of propriety warred with his petty desires until the very end, but eventually, his gentlemanly upbringing won out, and he allowed Hermione to enter first.
Her wispy curls swayed with each step, brushing his cheek as she passed. Quickly wetting his dry lips, Draco followed her in and closed the door.
The trap had sprung shut.
"Please, have a seat." The psychologist gestured towards a diminutive sofa against the wall, whilst taking her own place in the chair opposite.
Rather cramped quarters, but Malfoy forced himself to comply without comment. The proximity to Hermione was excruciating, though the sight of her face contorted with barely contained rage made it marginally more bearable.
"My name is Charlotte Kent. You may call me Charlotte."
"Pleasure to meet you, Charlotte," Draco said with practiced courtesy, as Granger maintained a remarkably pointed silence.
"I've gleaned quite a bit from your questionnaire, but let me verify the most salient point: you're seeking a divorce?"
"Yes," they blurted out in perfect, thunderous unison.
"Well then." Charlotte bit her lip, as though finding their synchronicity rather childish, and opened a plain black notebook. "Perhaps we ought to begin with the catalyst. Why does each of you wish to end the relationship?"
Oh, Charlotte, you'll need a considerably thicker notebook.
"I'll begin," Hermione exhaled, futilely attempting to increase the microscopic space between them. "Draco refuses to listen to reason. He can't—or won't—understand why my work demands such dedication, makes impossible demands of me, and himself... himself behaves in an utterly insufferable manner."
Rather mild, that. Not a single expletive. Should he applaud now or wait for the encore?
"Miss Granger. When you say you're not being heard, what specifically do you mean?"
"We discuss matters ad nauseam, yet he steadfastly refuses to compromise."
"On what matters?"
"She doesn't want children," Malfoy interjected, unable to contain himself.
"Please allow me to speak with your wife first."
"You see! This is precisely how it always unfolds!" Hermione nervously tucked wayward strands behind her ear.
"So, Mr Malfoy wishes you to spend more time at home?"
"If he had his way, he'd have me under lock and key, never to see the light of day."
"You voiced no objections during our honeymoon," Draco drawled, savouring how easily he could still bring colour to her cheeks.
"That was an age ago," she said through gritted teeth, turning away.
"And you? What are your reasons for seeking divorce?"
Malfoy drummed his fingers thoughtfully against the armrest. Rather a complex question, that. He was simply exhausted by it all: their perpetual shouting matches, their endless conflicts. Married life with Granger had been akin to an endless duel, and he simply had no unmarked territory left on his psyche. Not literally, of course.
"Hermione views our marriage as a completed project. She has no interest in nurturing our relationship, no desire for children, no desire for me. It would be kinder if I simply let her go."
"Kinder to whom, Mr Malfoy?"
~*~
She wanted to cover her ears like a child refusing to hear an unpleasant truth. Hermione had always struggled with his brutal honesty. If Draco had possessed even a modicum of flexibility, perhaps everything might have unfolded differently.
But he'd been sculpted precisely this way by his upbringing. Principled. Arrogant. Utterly self-absorbed.
"Kinder to her. I'll spare her the torment of my company."
Torment? Good Lord... had they stumbled onto a West End stage?
"Mrs Granger," Charlotte observed her reaction, "do you take issue with any of this?"
Splendid, fine. The psychologist wanted truth, she'd have it in spades. After all, she still had the financial department's report awaiting her attention through the night. Why prolong the inevitable?
"I take issue with every syllable. The truth is..." Hermione swallowed but pressed on out of respect for the specialist: "A psychologist might have salvaged something a year ago, but now we're rather beyond the pale."
"What transpired a year ago?"
"She was unfaithful," Draco inserted himself into their dialogue once more.
"Right, that's quite enough."
Granger rose to her feet and was already reaching for her handbag when the psychologist's gentle voice stayed her hand.
"Please, sit down," Charlotte requested softly.
"What's the point? He's determined to humiliate me..." The familiar lump rose in her throat, but Hermione dismissed it with the same efficiency she employed as Minister, lifting her chin higher. "Draco believes I'm married to my work, that I'll never bear his precious heir, and that I'm nothing more than a common strumpet. I've no wish to remain here."
And she couldn't bring herself to look at Malfoy, who had finally fallen silent. Naturally... He surely had nothing to add—Hermione had done him the courtesy of summarising all his accusations.
You're welcome.
"That's merely his perspective. I'm here to hear both sides."
She felt a twinge of sympathy for Charlotte: undoubtedly possessed of numerous glowing reviews, happy couples who still delighted her with fresh bouquets in gratitude for their salvaged relationships. The poor woman didn't deserve to attempt raising this particular Titanic from the depths. No one did.
"Fine, very well."
Hermione reluctantly sank back onto the sofa. Her stockinged legs once again brushed against his warm thigh.
"And a year ago?"
It was the pinnacle of their marital nightmare, which she and Malfoy had foolishly called a marriage.
She'd been appointed Minister for Magic—vindication that everything she'd accomplished until then hadn't been in vain. Hermione had been floating on clouds of pure elation, whilst Draco had received the news as though it were a death sentence.
He wanted children, or rather, an heir, but Granger wasn't prepared to put her career on hold for childbearing. She needed solid ground beneath her feet—ground that she had laid with her own hands. Not that pitiful patch of earth in Wiltshire that Malfoy touted as the solution to all their woes.
For him, the manor and the contents of their vault were sufficient for a life of contentment. But she hadn't the slightest interest in any of it. She wanted to reshape the future, not while away her days lounging before the hearth.
"I received a promotion," Granger finally said.
They were sitting with a Muggle specialist, so the particulars of her position were rather beside the point.
"And Draco disapproved?"
"That's putting it rather mildly," Hermione's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "He decided it was the end, and we separated."
"Don't you want to share the tale of Theo?" Malfoy asked with calculated insolence, wearing that insufferable crooked smile.
"You needn't continue," Charlotte immediately reassured her, but Granger had no wish to conceal anything.
"Theodore Nott is a family friend. At that particular moment, he offered his support."
"Oh yes. The support was absolutely splendid," Malfoy continued to sneer.
How dare he! Draco had practically thrown her out the door, crossed out all their years together as though they were nothing more than a clerical error. The Manor had never heard such language; the walls had trembled with his vulgar tirade, which he hadn't spared in addressing her.
"We were on a break!"
"Is that why you tumbled into his bed?!"
"We were separated!"
"Excellent justification for sampling his cock!"
"Mr Malfoy, Mrs Granger, please," Charlotte attempted to restore order.
Fascinating, at what point would she finally come to her senses and summon orderlies with straightjackets?
"The events of a year ago seem to be our starting point. Before this, did you have any significant conflicts?"
"Constantly," Malfoy muttered.
They'd been arguing since childhood, but it had never been truly serious; in most cases, Hermione had actually enjoyed their verbal sparring. He was brilliant, cunning, and never yielded an inch to her. That was precisely why Granger had married him, truth be told.
She had thought they were pieces of a perfect puzzle.
"I don't believe so. Before this, we argued about trivial matters. No one ever spoke of separation."
Charlotte nodded and made her first notation in her notebook.
"Mr Malfoy, why did you feel compelled to put your relationship on pause?"
"There was no pause," Draco immediately corrected her. "I simply lost my composure because it hurt. Everything that mattered to her was work. I couldn't recall the last time I'd woken to find her beside me."
"Were you lonely?"
"Desperately so," he confirmed, despite the hoarseness in his voice.
Granger lowered her eyes to her shoes. She and Draco had talked about loneliness before. The family he'd grown up in couldn't be called exemplary. He'd received exactly as much attention as was prescribed in pureblood families, and not a minute more.
Deep down, Hermione understood what he was talking about, but it wasn't enough. Outside, there were still too many barriers and too much bitterness.
"Was Theodore Nott your best friend?"
"One of my friends."
"What do you think happened? Try to set emotions aside."
She'd felt less uncomfortable even during election debates. Granger didn't know what to do with herself, especially when her entire body burned with the desire to vanish from here immediately.
"Theo always knew how to get along with people. He and Hermione are similar. Both clever, both oddities..." Draco began fidgeting with his watch strap. "I can imagine he congratulated her on the position, took her side and... seduced her."
"He didn't seduce me," Granger defended Nott for some reason. "I wanted to get revenge on you. To get you out of my head."
Malfoy clenched his jaw and sharply turned away from her.
"Can you tell us what really happened?" Charlotte addressed her.
Hermione couldn't suppress a heavy sigh.
"I shall try."
~*~
The moment before it happened, Hermione had felt like the most fortunate soul alive. She was merely twenty-seven, had become the youngest Minister for Magic in history, with an entire life stretching before her, brimming with reforms and long-awaited changes.
But in the next breath, Granger felt like the most wretched of women. Her husband regarded her worse than an enemy. Draco seemed intent on destroying her for daring to achieve her dream. He cared nothing for the landslide victory she'd secured in the election—he wanted to personally arrange her downfall.
"Why are you silent?! Why do you say nothing?!" Malfoy continued to thunder.
His hands trembled, as did their dining room service. He'd already struck the table with his fist, completing the ritual of their worst marital row, yet he showed no signs of ceasing.
"What would you have me say? You're not happy for me, you simply don't care."
He didn't deserve her tears, but Hermione still felt her right cheek growing damp.
"Of course I don't care! You care nothing for me either! You're Minister! What were you thinking?! This could stretch on for years, decades!"
Ministers stood for re-election every five years, but Malfoy was either attempting to catastrophise the situation entirely or had finally lost touch with reality behind the veil of his righteous fury.
"I wasn't thinking of myself."
"You weren't thinking of us!" his voice cracked before continuing in an unpleasant mourning whisper: "The thought of bearing my children disgusts you, is that it? You needed an escape route."
"That's not true."
Hermione was simply terrified. She didn't want children now, didn't want to find herself trapped in this house alone. She knew perfectly well how these matters typically unfolded. After a child arrives, it's the woman who bears the burden, her personal dreams and desires eternally relegated to second place. In a single day, you become an actress in a single role—and not necessarily a talented one.
"Then what is it?" Malfoy didn't await her answer. Granger wasn't certain he required one at all. "I've had quite enough. Focus on your career, focus on England, focus on whatever you bloody well please, but I'll have no further part in it."
What was he suggesting?
"What precisely does that mean?"
Her heart gave a painful twinge, hinting that Hermione already knew what was coming.
"My parents were right. You'll never truly be one of us."
What utter nonsense!
"We're getting divorced. That's all," he concluded with a face carved from stone.
Malfoy turned away towards the fireplace, his jaw clenched in perfect imitation of his father.
Draco wasn't naturally cold. He was kind and sensitive, but now he'd chosen to become someone else entirely.
"So you only wanted a child? And what of me, Draco? What role had you planned for me?"
They were meant to live differently. They were meant to love each other eternally. He was meant to stand beside her in the moment she needed him most.
"Silent? You truly don't care."
Hermione sighed, acknowledging her final defeat, and rose from the table.
"I thought I knew you. Thought we both yearned for the same future. You need me to play second fiddle? I wouldn't have children with you if they'd be even half as selfish as you are."
"You bitch!" Malfoy erupted in a heart-rending roar, hurling his chair aside. "Get out of this house! I never want to see you again! I wish I'd never known you!"
Granger instinctively recoiled, frightened by his first such outburst in their four years of marriage. In all this time, Draco had never once told her he loved her. Apparently, he'd never intended to.
Hermione drew her wand and Apparated away without another thought.
The wave of transgression only intensified her mounting nausea, so upon materialising in Diagon Alley, Granger made directly for the Leaky Cauldron without hesitation.
She'd never felt the urge to seek solace in drink, but now it suddenly seemed an excellent notion. It would be rather amusing if the journalists caught her.
"Minister for Magic Goes on Bender on Her First Day."
What a splendid start to her career.
"Who do I see! Minister Granger!" Tommy stepped away from the counter, smiling with all his gold teeth.
"I need a drink," Hermione admitted without preamble.
"That's what we call 'celebrating,'" the old devil chuckled. "I'd join you myself, but your friend came in half an hour ago. I expect you'd prefer his company?"
Friend, right. She still had friends.
Draco hadn't managed to destroy her entire world—he'd only ruined the small part that connected them.
"Friend?"
"Table by the wall, the last one."
Hermione turned and tried to make out the person Tommy was indicating.
Well, even from this angle, the broad back and curly brown head were unmistakable.
"Theo," she greeted Nott, placing her hand on his shoulder.
He immediately pushed aside his glass of firewhisky.
"Granger," Theo smiled and awkwardly attempted to embrace her. "How are you? What brings you here?"
Oh, damn. Should she tell him? Draco had been quite categorical when he'd told her to get out, so sooner or later everyone would know about it.
Everyone would know how utterly pathetic she was.
"I became Minister," Hermione decided to say first.
"I heard, but I wanted to hear it from you," he confided in a conspiratorial whisper. "Incredible! You've earned every bit of it! Please, sit."
He gestured towards the adjacent chair and immediately pulled it out for her. Nott was genuinely delighted: his blue irises were shining as she'd never seen before, and crow's feet appeared at the corners of his eyes.
If Malfoy had just smiled, Hermione wouldn't know all this pain.
"Draco and I are getting divorced," she informed Theo without further preamble.
Nott instantly deflated, his face elongating in surprise.
"Divorced? What has he done?"
"I'm not good enough for him. Apparently," Hermione sighed.
Theo pressed his lips together, clearly at a loss for words that might comfort her. Draco was his friend too, so Nott had landed in quite an awkward position.
"He doesn't love me, and perhaps no one does. What was I thinking? It's impossible to remain an attractive woman and build a career as Minister."
"You're extraordinary," Theo immediately countered.
And she pondered. How many measures of firewhisky would it take for her to dare to exact revenge on Malfoy with his best friend? Could she even contemplate wanting another man?
~*~
"Enough! I need air," Draco loudly interrupted her tale and bolted for the door.
Hermione stared at her nails, which had been desperately scoring crescents into her own knees.
"You didn't sleep with Theodore, did you?" Charlotte suddenly asked.
Granger stared at the psychologist in astonishment.
"What? How did you..." The air seemed to vanish from her lungs.
"A man won't engage in infidelity with a woman he respects, and Mr Nott clearly held you in high regard. Moreover... you looked away when speaking of the supposed intimate relationship, in the opposite direction. You were imagining, not remembering."
Now Hermione began to understand why people paid Miss Kent such substantial sums.
"And your husband's rather telling reaction. He's possessive, and nothing else could wound him quite so deeply."
"Don't tell Draco. Please."
It was the last thread suggesting to her that Malfoy still harboured feelings for her.
"Are you attempting to gain his attention?"
"I'm trying to make him reveal what he truly feels."
Draco had never been known for romantic declarations, but in recent years he hadn't shown her any kindness at all. If she needed to fabricate this tale to reclaim her husband's affections, that's precisely what she would do.
Last chance. Everyone deserves one.
"What truly happened that evening?"
"I told Theo everything. He quickly took my side because I was always his favourite." Hermione involuntarily smiled, remembering how many times Nott had defended her in Slytherin company. "I asked him to kiss me, and he, as you correctly surmised, refused at first. Then I insisted because I wanted to know if I could forget about Malfoy for even a moment." Granger massaged her neck, though it wasn't aching from fatigue. At this moment, absolutely everything hurt. "Theo kissed me on the cheek, it was gentle and kind, but I could only think about Draco; only about how desperately I longed for his kisses."
Charlotte finished making a note in her notebook just as Malfoy returned to them.
Judging by his wet shirt collar, he'd gone to wash his face. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if with ice-cold water.
He was jealous, and she was perversely pleased. How dark did that make their relationship?
"Shall we continue?" Charlotte asked Draco casually, as if she hadn't just uncovered the Minister for Magic's greatest deception.
"Yes."
Draco adjusted his jacket lapels and settled beside her. Though he hardly had a choice on this diminutive sofa.
"After this argument, did you see each other?"
"At events. My position demands certain appearances, and spouses are generally expected to attend such functions together."
Miss Kent responded with a measured nod, not even inquiring about the nature of her work.
Well, truly, first impressions could be deceptive. At the beginning, Charlotte had seemed rather green to her because of her youth.
"What was happening in your life, Mr Malfoy?"
"Nothing of note," Malfoy shared dryly. "I managed family affairs and counted the days until our divorce."
Naturally. If wizards got divorced like Muggles, they wouldn't be sitting here, would they?
She didn't know how many such sessions Charlotte would deem appropriate for them, but Granger understood that due to Malfoy's legendary stubbornness, she would have to attend them all. And it mattered not that this was holding up at least three government reforms. He'd never shown interest in others' lives.
"We've established when your relationship ended; later we'll examine how and why it began. Right now, I'd like you to consider what you cherished most in your marriage?"
Hermione bit her lip and quickly shifted her gaze to the door, as if that might hasten her escape.
"Sex," Draco answered when he realised her comment wouldn't be forthcoming.
He made her blush. Rather remarkable considering how long they'd gone without intimacy. Despite the arguments and misunderstandings, their relationship had indeed functioned perfectly in the horizontal plane. Thankfully, Malfoy's selfishness didn't extend to matters of the flesh: he practically worshipped her in bed, and that couldn't help but inflame her desires.
"Miss Granger?" Charlotte finally prompted her response.
"We do indeed share excellent physical compatibility," Hermione confirmed her husband's words with extreme diplomacy.
Draco deliberately laughed loudly before crossing one leg over the other.
"Not all marriages can boast of such harmony in this aspect," Miss Kent noted. "How many years have you been together?"
"Five years of marriage, and we've been together just over seven years," Malfoy quickly calculated.
"You've managed to maintain passion." Charlotte began making fresh notes in her notebook. "Rather remarkable."
Their relationship was remarkable in general. Starting from who they were in the magical world as children, ending with who they'd become now. She and Draco had always been two opposing forces, which was precisely why it worked. And passion won't die if you keep dousing the flame with petrol, will it?
"Besides physical intimacy?" Charlotte prompted their thoughts.
"Intellectual discourse?" Hermione suggested. "Draco is one of the few people I truly enjoyed discussing literature with."
What's more, they'd met after school in the reading room at Flourish and Blotts. He'd been attempting to conceal his purchase of a guide to Muggle culture from her, and she'd blushed while trying to snatch the book from his beautiful pale hands.
They'd got talking, and for once nothing stood in their way. For the first time, Malfoy didn't have cronies or parents hovering behind him whom he needed to impress with nastiness, and she... she had felt utterly hollow inside. Many of her loved ones had perished in the war, her parents were only just recovering their memories, and conversing with Draco had unexpectedly offered escape. Freedom from the routine that brought only melancholic pain.
"Mr Malfoy?"
"Hermione has a brilliant mind," he said quietly, inclining his head.
It seemed to pain him to acknowledge her merits.
"I see."
Miss Kent closed her notebook and favoured them with an approving smile. One of those carefully crafted expressions used to soften unpalatable news.
"You may disagree with me, but I can clearly see that each of you wishes to preserve this relationship."
It's unclear what Charlotte had been observing, but certainly not Malfoy, who was utterly indifferent to her existence, save perhaps for that burst of jealousy.
"I can attempt to save your marriage, but you must strictly adhere to my assignments. Ninety percent of success depends on your own efforts."
Hermione missed him desperately, but wasn't certain she could endure his coldness again. To lower her gaze to his lips and know they had never uttered the three most vital words.
Draco was too rigid, too self-absorbed, and too fixated on rules he no longer wished to follow but which, due to his pernicious upbringing, were deeply embedded within him.
He would have celebrated her success if he'd understood that a woman could achieve such heights, that she wasn't obligated to think only of heirs and manor affairs. He would have confessed his love if he himself had heard it more frequently in his life.
Yes, she was shamelessly making excuses for him, and Charlotte was to blame for this with her warm, almost maternal gaze.
"We'll try," Malfoy answered. "My wife wanted us to see a specialist. Let's consider this her parting wish."
"I don't object."
"Excellent. First, you need to cohabitate once more. Draco, I want you to move in with Miss Granger."
Oh. Her flat was decidedly more modest than the manor. And she possessed a microscopic sofa in the living room where the almost two-metre-tall Malfoy wouldn't fit even if he deigned to try.
"I'm amenable," Draco agreed instantly, wearing the expression of a man approaching the gallows.
He simply wanted to prevail, as if the psychologist's conditions were merely another chess match between them.
"What else?" Granger asked on an exhale.