Chapter Text
She pushes open the door to the Leaky Cauldron. The vapory heat suddenly suffocates her and she takes a moment to get used to it. She easily finds her friends' booth in the crowd and heads toward their table. She slides in next to Ron without a word and snuggles against him, into his warmth. He lets her and silently wraps a strong and protective arm around her. It comes oh so naturally to him, like a reflex. She fits perfectly into his arms and he feels like a huge protective cage around her. Even after six years of being together, she still finds herself amazed at times, at how big he is compared to her. She almost feels like a little girl around him.
Ron presses a kiss to her head. His breath is warm and smells of alcohol. He's already inebriated but she doesn't really mind. Every week it's the same ritual. Harry and Ron and all of their friends go to the Leaky on Friday night. She joins the crowd later on when everyone is well into their third or fourth drink of the night. She picks up her inebriated boyfriend and brings him home. They make clumsy love if they aren't too tired or Ron falls asleep before he reaches their bedroom. Hermione makes herself herbal tea and reads in the armchair by the fire, lulled by the rhythm of his drunken snoring.
"So how did it go?"
"Fine," she answers dispassionately. "Malfoy was a rather decent host, actually."
Ron shakes his head disapprovingly at the mention of the name. It always evokes some kind of disgust in him. Hermione, for her part, feels unexpectedly differently these days. A few years back she probably would have had the same reaction. Malfoy had been the bane of her school days. He made her life a living hell throughout Hogwarts and that was before Fifth year when he joined the Inquisitorial Squad and became a proper bastard, rotten at his very core. For a very long time, she hated him but she grew up and out of her hatred, she let go of her anger. It was too tiring, festering her heart and spoiling her relationships. She supposed he must have grown up too, his behavior might have hinted that way at the very least, and now her curiosity gains ascendancy over everything else.
Not that she necessarily wants to befriend Malfoy, far from it. She simply likes to think that she is capable of seeing beyond the bully he used to be and look at the person he has become. She likes to think that she can be the better person.
Ron interrupts her stream of thoughts by squeezing her shoulder in a proprietary gesture.
"Did you meet his parents?" Harry asks, joining the conversation.
She shakes her head. "They were there, I think, but I didn't see them. And it's all for the better as far as I'm concerned. It felt weird going back there."
Harry mumbled something like "Tell me about it" into his beard and Ron grumbles, squeezing her shoulder again.
"I can't believe they sent you there."
Hermione shrugs. "I'm the last arrived in the team. No-one else wanted to go."
"Obviously," Ron protests. "Who would want to throw themselves in the Death Eaters's den? This isn't fair. After everything we've been through. All the things that happened to you in that mansion. Why should it be you again, sacrificing yourself for the sake of the wizarding world?"
She doesn't tell him that she volunteered.
Ron has always been a supportive boyfriend but he also has a tendency to be overbearing. He worries and that's understandable. Ron is very protective of her, he doesn't want her to be hurt and she gets where he is coming from. She feels the same. But sometimes she feels like all he does is limiting her options.
"It was fine," she insists.
It was not fine. Not at first. She even thought she was going to fall apart at some point but she didn't and then the prospect of being allowed to read through thousands of ancient books on witchcraft and wizardry completely overcame her volatile feelings of vulnerability.
Ron regards her dubiously. She smiles and kisses his cheek. "It was fine. I promise."
He grumbles and accepts her explanation with some reluctance, a hand laid on the nape of her neck in a possessive manner. She lets herself go with the feeling and lets him comfort her. His hand travels down her spine and she shivers.
"I'd love a drink," she says after a while.
It was a long day.
Harry takes the hint and brings her back a pint of lager. She doesn't drink very often. She doesn't like it much. It scares her. But she feels like she needs to relax tonight.
Earlier that day, she treaded upon the grounds of Malfoy Manor and meandered across its beautiful gardens. Malfoy was there, waiting for her in front of the colossal entrance gates of his childhood home.
He was wearing formal robes, all black, buttoned up to his neck. Stern and severe. It clashed terribly with the fairness of his skin and hair which was perfectly combed back on the top of his head.
He looked extremely stuck-up, dressed in layers and layers of clothes, hiding underneath the fine fabric as if to cover his discomfort. The robes, even more solemn than the ones Snape would wear in his time, billowed around him majestically, giving more stature to a rather small man. Not that Malfoy was in any way way small in height. He just looked small. Small and weary and uncomfortable in this huge mansion where the dark magic still marred the rooms and corridors and darkness permeated the very walls of it.
That was the first impression he made on her, like his clothes and decorum were the only thing keeping him up afloat and that without them, he would crumble under the weight of his past and the expectations of his family legacy.
She greeted him and thanked him for granting her access to his library. He nodded in quite a refined manner and welcomed her surprisingly warmly. They walked along the gravely path in silence. Him leading the way, his hands joined behind his back, his face turned away from her, brightened in the autumn sun. Her following behind, looking everywhere around her, enjoying the beautiful view, the eternal flowery bushes, the golden colors of the trees and the white peacocks parading arrogantly, their long neck straightened in self-confidence. They looked as flamboyant in their simplicity as Malfoy looked dull underneath his layers of sophistication.
Setting foot inside was another thing entirely. Her heart started racing, her skin prickled, her vision blurred. For a short moment, she was petrified on the threshold, reliving, without her consent, the horrors that had happened six years ago.
She had thought it might happen, had tried to anticipate but she felt abruptly and unpreparedly overwhelmed by the sudden memories assaulting her. Tears welling up in her eyes, her breathing quickening, she closed them and focused on deepening her breathing.
"The library is down the corridor, on the right. Please make yourself at home."
She opened her eyes, Malfoy's deep voice instantly bringing her back to the present. He was staring at her, concern entirely too visible in his eyes, but he acted with much restraint and didn't try to comfort her with words or gestures. He didn't ask if she was alright, which she greatly appreciated.
He dared not, she thought. Or perhaps he trusted her to recover on her own. Either way, she was grateful for it.
"Let me get your coat," he said, extremely politely and rather dispassionately. She took it off and held it out to him. She was dressed simply underneath, wearing the light blue color of the unspeakable robes but in a much more modern and practical fashion.
Malfoy's eyes roamed over the shape of her body but he didn't react. Not visibly anyway. He took her coat and led her towards the library.
The Malfoy library, as it happened, could easily rival the one in Hogwarts. There were alleys and alleys of ancient publications and family journals, most of them written by hand and passed down from generation to generation, to the descendants of the Malfoy family. Some of the books were more than a thousand years old, kept safe underneath ancient and powerful charms.
An inestimable source of knowledge that Hermione had been granted access to, quite extraordinarily. She couldn't help but feel honored by the privilege. Something Ron would never understand, obviously.
She started pacing hesitantly among the alleys, fingers barely brushing the spine of thousands of books. It would take weeks to find what she needed, perhaps even months.
A good thing her mission wasn't given a deadline. That was the benefit of working with the Unspeakables. She could spend a lifetime researching without being required to get results. Even though for this case, specifically, they did have an objective that went beyond understanding the magical world.
Malfoy let her wander around and remained at the entrance, standing eerily straight against the door, his hands behind his back. Hermione didn't pay him any attention, entirely too ecstatic about the place, entranced by the familiar smell of books and the ancient magic pervading in the walls, humming and purring like a protective feline.
"How can I be of any help?" He asked. Hermione stared at him then, as if she had entirely forgotten about his existence. "Are you in need of anything?"
Despite the obvious nervousness, he looked genuine in his offer. She offered him a smile but ignored his question entirely, determined to make the most of her time in the magnificent library. She hadn't come for chitchat.
At some point Malfoy left, she was already enthralled in her reading, sat at the huge oak table placed at the very the center of the room. He came back some times later on carrying a tray with a teapot and tea cups.
"Would you like a cup of tea?"
Caught off guard, she eyed the tray rather suspiciously. She would, actually. She would very much.
"Yes, thank you."
He poured her a cup and gestured toward the milk jar and sugar so she could help herself. She took the jar of milk and ignored the sugar while Malfoy poured himself a cup. He sat opposite her.
She eyed him as she took her first sip. His fingers were long and refined. His nails were clean and perfectly manicured and he was holding his cup in a fancy, aristocratic manner, verging on ridiculous. Her mom would have loved that.
"Thank you for letting me consult your family library," she said as the silence lingered heavily between them.
Malfoy nodded in a discreet and distinguished manner, acknowledging her gratitude with restraint.
"I'm surprised they sent you," he replied and she felt her heart race. Old insecurities resurfacing way too quickly, anger rising up in her chest. Malfoy noticed. "I'm not doubting your competences, Granger. No offense. But surely someone more experienced would have—"
She didn't let him finish his argument, which was probably wise but she wasn't ready to hear him say it. Not now and not him. She raised a defiant eyebrow. "Pissed off that they sent a mudblood?"
Malfoy blanched, his mouth parting slightly. Then his cheeks flushed pink, shame replacing the initial shock on his face.
"Not at all," he said, clearing his throat. Somehow, despite everything, he sounded genuine and Hermione's simmering rage faded. "I'm just astounded that you've volunteered for this, after what came of your last impromptu visit in my home."
She almost smiled at his choice of words but kept a straight face, wanting to make a point. She hated hypocrisy, she hated false pretenses. She hated how people like Malfoy and his family would always fall on their feet, like nothing could attain them.
She stared right into his eyes, standing his gaze. He looked back with shifty grey eyes.
"You do not scare me."
His face looked even more flushed, then. He cleared his throat again. "It was never my intention to scare you," he answered softly, his deep voice sounding hoarse and sincere.
Perhaps it was needed then, to root out the evil and start anew.
Perhaps they could forget about their sordid past and build something new, based on mutual acknowledgement and respect. Not that she intended to become friendly with Malfoy but by the state of it, she was going to be here for quite a while.
To his utter bewilderment, she started unbuttoning her robe and and took it off so she could show him her scar, the one that still blemished her body. A souvenir from her first visit at the manor.
He stared in horror, she showed off her scar proudly, in defiance.
"We all have our scars from the war, don't we?" She purposely glanced at his left arm as she spoke and stared up into his eyes challengingly. His eyes were shiny and intense, veiled with the pain and shame from the war but he kept looking at her and did not try to avoid her accusing stare. "I refuse to let it stop me from being who I want to be or doing what I want to do."
Malfoy looked back, gaze unwavering, and nodded. After a moment, he cleared his throat once more. His face was crimson and his expression grave.
"I'm so sorry, Granger," he finally husked out. "For everything."
Hermione gasped, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his gaze and the unexpected sincerity behind it.
"Everything," he insisted, his voice pregnant with emotions and Hermione knew he didn't mean the war then.
The weight of his words lingered between them for a long moment after he uttered his apology. Hermione squirmed onto her seat, finding herself unable to focus on her reading. She watched his features, distractedly. She had never before. She had never taken the time to look at him, too blinded by her strong distaste of him.
He definitely looked like himself but he also looked different.
Malfoy kept sipping his tea quietly and finally stood up. "I'll let you to your research," he muttered politely. "Will you be back, do you think?"
She raised her head, looking up at his expectant face.
"Yes, I think I will," she answered after a short while. He nodded. "Ideally, I would need several weeks to browse the entire library. Perhaps months. I do not want to impose however."
Malfoy looked down at his feet, avoiding her gaze before answering. "You're welcome to visit us anyway time. As long as you need. Please inform me beforehand if possible, so I can arrange for your comfort."
Hermione smiled at him emptily.
She knew what this meant but was grateful for the opportunity anyway.
When she left after spending an entire afternoon in Malfoy Manor, she realized she hadn't felt any discomfort there. On the contrary.
She takes a sip of her pint and gets lost into her thoughts again. Ron's hand is traveling up and down her spine, keeping her warm and safe. She felt good about herself then. She felt strong and hopeful.