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Chapter Text

It had been a long day for Hermione Granger. The news coverage on her and Ron’s split had come to a slow, thankfully. She was able to walk to work this morning without getting trampled on by the media. 
She tripped anyways, and broke a heel. No excuse this time, but no news coverage, and Hermione’s mother had always taught her to find the silver lining. 

Walking into her office, she set down her coat and sat down, ready to start the day.

Two minutes later the Ministry’s wards had set off, alarms blaring everywhere. She didn’t have to look up to see who it was.

“Oooh you refilled your sweet jar.” Draco Malfoy plucked a sweetie from the bowl on her desk, unwrapping it and eating contentedly without care for the alarms blaring around them.
“Would it kill you to use the elevator?” 
“Would it kill you to buy a flavour other than strawberry?” He takes three more before sauntering out of her office, saying goodbye without turning back to look at her. 

Returning back to normal post-war was a difficult thing, mostly because no one really knew what normal was. The trials had been settled and peace achieved. What followed was almost… awkward. 
Trials were held, most students found innocent under the pretence of familial pressures and expectations. Draco Malfoy started to work at the Ministry Of Magic, alongside Harry and Hermione. At first, it was strange. Those who were on opposite sides of the battlefield now only separated by an office wall. But if this was their new normal, so be it. They’ve had enough fighting. Harry and Draco made unlikely friends, and Malfoy proved a worthy substitute to keep Harry company as Ron travelled the world. 

She was able to get a few pages of work done before her next disruption. Harry had knocked on the door just as she wondered how to ward her office against men. 

“I’m not going, Harry.”

“Please come, Mione. Ginnys proper shitting herself and—“

“Harry I’m not sure if single, unmarried women with no plans to have children are the target demographic for this course.”

A week ago, Hermione was approached by her closest friends for a fun day out. A fun day out, she was promised. The flyer handed to her was for a Muggle parenting course an hour away from London. Her rejection was prompt but polite. But now The Boy Who Cant Take A Hint was coming by her office every day to try persuade her.

“Harry, we would have to drive up there… Ginny hasn’t exactly wrapped her head around the non-flying cars—“
“I’ll drive… it’ll be fun! We can have one of those road trip things”
“Why don’t you ask Ron? I’m sure him and Lavender—“
“—are in Italy for the next month.”

There was a time in her life when Hermione thought her and Ron would marry. Not because they were head over heels in love, but because everyone had expected it. But when the dust settled and the danger passed, they realised their relationship was built on the basis of obligation, a lieu devotion. Hermione needed more. For once, she wanted to be wanted. She’s had enough of settling. Ron had his own dreams and aspirations, none of which particularly involved Hermione. He left and she was heartbroken, really. But not as bad as she should’ve been.

“Okay, then, ask Neville—“
“You think Pansy Parkinson would spend a day at a Muggle convention? You’re having an absolute laugh.” 

Hermione taps her quill on the table, her excuses running thin, and only just remembering her clock is an hour early. With her last two hours of the day suddenly turned to three, she gathered what’s left of her self composure and took a deep breath. Bringing her palm up to her forehead to sigh, she smudged pen all over her face. Harry said nothing. Just a silent Scourgify.

“Mione? Are you alright?”

She wasn’t alright, because with the sudden realisation that her clock is an hour early, comes the moment she remembers what five o’clock brings in.

“Six seconds.” She huffs, almost dreading it. Harry blinks at her. He didn’t think she had gone this mental since Ron dumped her. She sighs again.

“Three… two… one…”

Malfoy barges into the room, almost slamming into Harry. Even after a long shift, he looks pristine.

Different from before the war, he wasn’t a lanky teen anymore. Lean, still, but in a toned way. His hair grew out into soft blond curls, too short to tie up but long enough to get your handles tangled in, Hermione supposed. Sharpened features; he’d look identical to his father if only his eyes weren’t so gentle. Handsome, objectively, and deemed Witches Weekly’s Bachelor Of the Year. Thrice.

Bastard.

“Granger~“ He sings

“No.”

“I haven’t even asked you yet.”

“I know exactly what you’re going to say.”

“I could surprise you, I could ask you to dinner” he winks in his Malfoy way, that would have any other witch on her knees. Granger scoffs, howls, even.

Harry looks between the two, “Am I missing something?” Hermione scoffs and Harry’s FOMO deepens.

“It’s five o’clock and a Friday.”

“Wonderful observational skills, Granger” Draco drawls, helping himself to the tray of sweets on Hermione’s desk.

“Right. Is that… is that it?”

“Malfoy has tea tomorrow with his mother—“

“—which I cannot bear to go to and so I ask Granger for her help, but she always so rudely declines. Aren’t you supposed to be a Good Witch?” He unwraps another sweet, popping it in his mouth and going to sit on the edge of Hermione’s desk.

“Well she genuinely can’t this weekend. Miones with me.”

“Oh, brilliant. Me too. Where are we going?”

“You are not invited.”

”How rude, Granger. I always offer for you to come to my house.” 

“So you can avoid tea with your mother—“ 

“I’ll hold my breath until you invite me, then”
True to his word, Malfoy dramatically sucks in a breath, and holds it in his cheeks. His cheeks blown out and his lips puckered, Malfoy resembled nothing less of a child. A slowly suffocating, purple-turning child… 

“Alright! You can come! Bring a partner—“ 

“Actually… you need a partner, Mione.” Hermione shoots Harry a glare, one that rivals her own mothers’s. The Boy Who Can’t Take a Bloody Hint—

Malfoy let’s go of the breath he’s holding, exaggerating his  lack of oxygen and puffing hefty inhales. 

“So where are we going? I only fly first class— business at an absolute push.”

“A parenting class an hour away, I can pick you up.”

“Harry!”

The blond shrugs, pushing himself off of Grangers desk. “Beats spending the day with my mother. I’ll meet you at Granger’s place tomorrow at seven.” With that, Malfoy leaves, slamming the door.

Harry turns to her, grinning like a fool. “Road trip!”

Chapter Text

The life of Draco Malfoy has been different since the war. He doesn’t get the snarls from strangers whilst simply walking down the road anymore. He’s no longer confined to long sleeves, the association his family had to Voldemort dwindling. There’s no more news articles of the girls he brings home. No more fistfights in nightclubs. 

He was getting bored. And what better way to pass time than to make a friend?

It started with awkward elevator rides; small talk seemed so much harder than it was. Granger was many things, Draco had noticed over the years. But Granger was never dull. So when her mood turned, not sour but barren, Draco had made his decision.

It was four years ago when Draco first barged into Grangers office. His shift had just finished, and he was passing through to the elevator when he saw Granger in her office, door slightly ajar. She was upset, he could tell. And Draco just couldn’t have that, could he?

“Granger, do you like tea?”

She blinked at him, and if she didn’t want him there she didn’t show it.

“Don’t answer that, I know you get one every morning. Chai when it turns winter months. My mother prefers an Earl Grey—“

“Why are you informing me of your mother’s tea time habits?”

“Because I’m inviting you to tea? As real gentlemen do.”

“— gentlemanly senior citizens—“

“Unkind. My mother won’t tolerate any bullying against her only son.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, a grin pushing against smile lines.

“I think you’d get along perfectly,” Draco had said, and the smile on his face was so gentle it had her questioning his last name.

Every Friday at five o’clock Malfoy had asked her the same question, no matter the excuse she came up with. A sort of friendship was formed between them, the only one of Draco’s that hadn’t been formed through a pureblood connection. The first friendship that Malfoy thought he could be good for.

It didn’t stop him from being the same twat he was in school. Old habits die hard, right? But with every insult thrown there was always one back from Granger.

Her latest: “What the hell are you doing in my house you absolute creep?!”

Wasn’t she supposed to be a good witch?

“Did you not hear? Potter said he was going to pick me up—“

“How do you know where I live?!“

“— and I thought it would be better to be early. My mother taught me that being on time was being ten minutes late.“

“It’s seven bloody am! The course doesn’t start until ten.”

Truth be told, Draco was sneaking out of the manor before his mother could corner him. Also there was the possibility of catching Granger in a bathrobe…

“Well it’s better to be safe than sorry. Where are your elves? I could use a cup of coffee right before your rant on house elves.“

“House elves are the number one most preyed on species in the entire magical world…“

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose, looking up from the depths of the hole he had dug himself. Looking up at her he saw the young girl he met seventeen years ago. The swotty activist who fought for the things important to her. He was glad to know she was still in there, and determined to pull her back out.

“… with less than twenty percent being freed in their lifetime! It is one of the…”

Her curls were stuffed into a plait, making her hair look shorter than it really was. Some sprang out in bursts of brown, some falling down and framing her face. Seventeen years and she still had the wildest hair he’d ever seen. Not for the first time, Draco had the urge to wrap a curl around his finger.

“… and how could they live like that? A lot of witches and wizards assume they don’t want…”

Was she still going on?

“Granger, spare me. I’m begging you. If u need me down on my knees— Forget it, Potter’s here.”

She huffs and looks out the window. Sure enough, Potter had just pulled into the driveway, a sleeping ginger next to him. Draco looks Granger up and down one last time as she frantically stuffs her handbag with her essentials.

“Put a coat on, Granger. It’s October. There’s a chill. Plain irresponsible.”

Climbing into the backseats of the car, there was already a problem.

“Put your seatbelt on.”

Draco shoots a glare at Hermione, “I will.”

He shuffles a bit, fiddling with the belt buckle but not plugging it in.

“Malfoy put your seatbelt on.”

“I—“ he struggles, clearly, but denies help.

Harry adjusts his mirror to view the two in the backseats. “Everything okay back there?”

Hermione reaches over to try and help, only to get her hand swatted away. “What is your problem? I’m trying to help you—“

“I don’t need it! I can figure this out by myself.”

“Malfoy just put it in!”

Ginny stirs awake. “Harry control your children.” she grumbles, shuffling to rest her head against the window and falling back asleep.
The distinct click of a seatbelt followed by a loud scoff from Draco was Harry’s indicator to start driving.

Half an hour later, Ginny wakes up to a pale arm reaching forwards between the two front seats, hell bent on pressing every single button. Draco presses the button labelled FM, and the unenthusiastic drone of a news reporter fills the car. Startled, he sits back in his chair properly, leaning over to Hermione.

“Can she… hear me?” He whispers, cautious.

The witch had the audacity to laugh in his face. Was she not concerned? Did her parents not teach her stranger danger?

“That’s the radio. A recording. She cannot hear you.”

“Fascinating… and how does she do that?”

She blinks at him, a small, bewildered smile on her face. “How does she do… what?”

“How does she put her voice in there?”

“Keep him away from all the buttons, Mione.” Why were they going to this stupid course? Potter sounded enough like a tired father.

The rest of the car ride was an explanation of the radio from Hermione. Swotty, but very informative, Draco thought. And it was better than any of this house elf stuff.

Finally, they arrived that their destination, a small community centre. Harry parks the car (letting Draco do the gear shift) and turns to his wife. 
The loving expression on Potter’s face as he looked over to his Weaslette (Potter-ette?) was sappy. Disgustingly so, Draco thought. So why did it make him feel so lonely? He looks over to the witch beside him, almost catching her eye. 
He looks down, because where else? He had no witch, no sappy looks to hand out. He stares at his shoes, his jealousy for Harry Potter’s life stinging just as much as the first time it hit. 

“Malfoy?” 
Her voice was soft, tired, and made him look up at her. 
“Ready to go?” 
He nods, glancing outside the windshield to see the banner hanging above the building’s entrance. 
We’re Ready!