Chapter Text
It was February when Hermione Granger moved into her new apartment.
And it was fucking freezing.
It was the kind of bitter weather that made her want to tuck into her blankets with a book instead of restarting her life, but the moving company had deposited her boxes into her living room in such a state that she needed to organize them or she’d go mental.
And that’s how she found herself rummaging through boxes cold, a tad manic, and alone.
Alone, but very much at peace.
The divorce had been finalized in January behind closed doors. She didn’t argue, didn’t fuss. She let him stay in their marriage home that she’d poured her heart into making special with him, even though she knew Lavender Brown would be sleeping on her side of the bed. She'd kept her maiden name throughout the marriage so at least she didn't have to endure the administrative nightmare of changing it back.
Small mercies, at least, in that.
The apartment itself was a gem hidden in one of London's magical districts, the kind of place that didn't appear on any Muggle map and required authentication charms just to find the street. The Ministry had reinforced it as part of her employment package since she'd been made Senior Curse-Breaker last year, and apparently that came with perks beyond the salary bump. Between the extensive wards and Privacy charms, the whole building felt like it existed as an extension from Hogwarts and not Britain. It was perfect for pretending the last eight years hadn't ended in a spectacular failure where she worked too much, and her husband didn’t run off with his teenage crush.
Her books were put out first—priorities—filling the built-in shelves that lined the living room wall. Then her clothes, her toiletries, her kitchen supplies. The personal items were tricky, and she tried not to handle them like they were going to burn her. Photos went into a drawer, face-down. Her wedding album stayed in its box, shoved to the back of the closet where she wouldn't have to look at it. Ever fucking again.
The apartment was her own little slice of heaven. High ceilings, original molding, hardwood floors that creaked pleasantly under her feet as she padded around in her thick wool socks. The kitchen was small but functional right off the living room, the bathroom had a tub deep enough to drown in (not that she thought about it too often), and the bedroom got morning light that would be lovely once she could stand to open the curtains.
The living room's main focal point was an enormous bay window that looked out over a narrow courtyard. In summer, she imagined, it would be very charming. It wasn’t the largest of spaces, but just enough where someone could sit with tea and a book, watch the flowers bloom, and listen to the birds. But it was February, and the courtyard was still a study in grey: grey stone, grey sky, grey slush that had once been snow. So, she kept the curtains drawn for now.
The first month passed in a blur of routine. Work, home, sleep. Sometimes she remembered to eat. Sometimes she forgot and had toast at midnight, standing at the kitchen counter in her knickers and an oversized jumper, too tired to care about plates or proper sleeping attire. She was good at her job (hello, did we forget that she’s Senior Curse-Breaker?) and throwing herself into work gave her something to focus on besides the quiet of her existence.
Harry texted regularly despite his new relationship. Ginny called sometimes. Luna sent cryptic postcards from wherever her latest expedition had taken her. But Ron...
Ron and the rest of the Weasley family were radio silent, and that was fine. That was what she'd asked for. She didn't cry as much as she'd expected, but she’d also cried so much during her time with Ron that she didn’t think she even had any tears left by the time they were finally done.
The snow eventually turned to rain, then to cool breezes and thicker rays of sunshine.
It was mid-April when Hermione woke up one Saturday and realized she'd slept through the night without waking. There were no nightmares, no random anxiety attacks. No lying in the dark cataloging her failures until three in the morning. Just sleep, deep and dreamless (without a potion), and morning light trying valiantly to penetrate her curtains.
She made coffee in her French press, not the instant shit she'd been choking down at work, and stood in her kitchen feeling something that could have been hope or optimism… or it might have just been the caffeine. Hard to tell.
But the apartment felt stuffy...
And the sun wanted in...
So, she walked to the living room window and, before she could second-guess herself, she yanked the curtains open.
Light flooded in across every surface of her home. She squinted against it, letting her eyes adjust, and sighed at the warmth on her skin. The courtyard below had transformed in her absence from the world. The grey slush was gone, replaced by actual grass! It was patchy and struggling, but green. Someone had planted flowers in the beds that lined the space, cheerful yellow and purple blooms that made her smile.
And directly across from her, maybe fifteen feet away, was another bay window.
She'd known it was there, obviously. She'd seen it when she'd viewed the apartment. But she hadn't really looked at it, and hadn’t thought it would be anything close to an issue. The curtains on that window were open, too, and she could see straight into someone else's living space.
The apartment was nicer than hers. Or at least, decorated with more luxury items and upgrades. She could see a kitchen area with gleaming marble countertops, a living room with black furniture that looked expensive and uncomfortable. There were bookshelves—not as many as hers, of course—and they were filled with some of her favorites (both muggle and magic in nature). Along one wall there was what looked like a Potions workspace, all carefully organized and polished glass containers and vials.
No one was home. Or at least, no one was visible that she could see, but she kept looking back to check throughout the day. She busied herself by cleaning everything, reorganizing her bookshelves by subject instead of author, and doing three loads of laundry. She finally unpacked the last boxes that had been sitting in her bedroom corner being ignored that contained her Summer clothing. By evening, her apartment looked like someone actually lived there. Someone who had their shit together. Someone who was doing just fine on their own.
It was at this point that things were about to go terribly, terribly off course.
Hermione was standing on a chair in the middle of the night, adjusting books on the top shelf, when she felt it. She turned her head slowly, still balanced on the chair, and looked toward the window.
There was a man standing in the apartment across the courtyard.
Tall. Pale. Shirtless, wearing grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips, a book in his hand, mug in the other. Hair that caught the evening light and turned it silver.
Their eyes met and Hermione was once again attacked with the color grey outside her window.
Grey eyes.
"No," she said out loud, mouth agape. "Absolutely fucking not."
Draco Malfoy raised one elegant eyebrow and lifted his book in a small, mocking wave.
She scrambled down from the chair onto the floor, her hands shaking. This was fine. This was... this was a coincidence. A horrible joke of a coincidence, but she was a grown woman. She could handle this. She just wished she wasn’t in her flimsy little sleepset to do so.
She walked to the window, her heart hammering while he walked to his.
They stood there, fifteen feet and a courtyard apart, staring at each other.
He moved first, unlatching his window and pushing it open. Hermione mirrored his actions and the evening air drifted in, cool and fresh when she opened hers in a huff.
"Granger." His voice carried easily across the space, and she found that it was much deeper than she remembered.
"Malfoy." She kept her tone flat. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
"I assure you, I'm as thrilled about this development as you are." He leaned against his window frame, handsome in all his impeccable breeding while he lifted a mug of steaming liquid to his lips. The sweatpants were obscene, barely hanging onto his hips. She refused to look at them. "When did you move in?"
"February."
"Ah. That explains the hermit routine, I suppose. You never really did like the cold." His eyes looked past her shoulder to take in her space. "I thought the place was empty."
"It wasn't."
"Clearly. I see that now." He tilted his head, studying her. He stared a second too long at her cleavage but she refused to cover up in her own apartment. "Divorce is treating you well, I see."
Her fists clenched in her sleep shorts, drawing his gaze to her taut stomach peeking out now between the two flowy pieces of clothing. "How did you—"
"Potter can't keep his mouth shut after three drinks. You know this." He said it casually, but she didn’t like that he spoke as if they knew each other. "And he’s seeing Theo, who is my best mate. For what it's worth, Weasley's an idiot."
"Please don’t bring him up."
"Fair enough." He was quiet for a moment. "So. Neighbors."
"Apparently, yes."
"This is going to be awkward, isn’t it?"
"Spectacularly, I’m afraid."
"Or we could pretend we haven’t seen each other," Draco said lazily, leaning one shoulder against the window frame like he had all the time in the world. "Close the curtains. Ignore the fact that fate has an absolutely deranged sense of humor."
Hermione coughed out a laugh before she could stop herself, causing a few curls to hang loose from her messy bun on top of her head. "You think this is fate?"
"I think," he drawled, "that if I’d committed enough sins to deserve living across from my ex–school rival, the universe could’ve at least put you in something more flattering."
"Oh, I’m sorry. Would you have preferred Parkinson? She’s designing clothing now, isn’t she?"
"Pansy would’ve broken into my flat already and stolen all my good wine."
"She’d probably let you drink it with her."
"I have to agree with you there."
She hated that the conversation felt easy. Hated that standing there with Draco Malfoy after years of not speaking and war and funerals and marriages and divorces somehow felt more natural than most of the conversations she’d had with Ron during the final year of their marriage.
That thought alone nearly made her slam the window shut.
Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he’d seen her mind working. That was the problem with him. He had always noticed too much, and right now, she didn’t want anyone to notice her at all.
"You look tired, Granger."
Her spine stiffened, and she said the first retort that came to mind. "You look shirtless."
What? No, no, no.
His mouth twitched. "Observant."
"You’re standing in front of an open window half-naked."
"And yet you keep looking."
"Oh, fuck off."
"I’m serious." His gaze dragged over her cropped tank top, the tiny shorts barely covering the tops of her thighs. "Most people would’ve closed their curtains by now."
"Most people don’t enjoy being insufferable nearly as much as you do."
"I enjoy lots of things. That little outfit you have on, for one."
The way he said it made heat creep up her neck so quickly it annoyed her.
He noticed that too, obviously, and grinned as he watched her roll her eyes.
Bastard.
Neither of them moved for a solid minute.
"You know," Draco said slowly, taking another sip from his cup. "we could be adults about this. Cordial neighbors. The occasional wave. Very civilized."
"You don't know how to be ‘civilized.’"
"I've grown up, Granger. We're not seventeen anymore."
She allowed herself to fully look at him then. He had grown up. The sharp edges of his face had softened slightly, filled out. He looked healthy. In shape, if the muscles on his abdomen were any indication. Truth be told, he looked good. Like a bloody model good, standing there half-naked in his expensive apartment like he'd stepped out of some posh pureblood lifestyle magazine.
"Fine," she smiled tightly. "Cordial neighbors, then."
"Excellent." He straightened away from the window. "Welcome to the building, Granger. Try to keep the late-night book reorganizing to a minimum. Some of us have work in the morning."
"You work from home," she scoffed.
"How do you know that?"
Shit.
"The potions setup. I'm a Curse-Breaker. I notice things."
"Hmm. Curse-Breaker Granger." He looked impressed. "Yes, I work from home. Private clients. Specialty potions. Very lucrative."
"Good for you."
"It is, rather." He paused to run a hand through his hair. "I'd invite you over for a drink, but I suspect we'd end up hexing each other."
"Probably."
"Another time, then."
"Don't hold your breath, Malfoy."
He smiled at that. "I wouldn't dream of it. Goodnight, Granger."
"Goodnight."
He closed his window.
She closed hers.
But neither of them closed their curtains.