Chapter Text
June 25th 2002
Hermione's fingers trembled as she traced the ancient wood grain of the counter, a silent testament to all the conversations it had absorbed over countless cups of tea. Delia's words hung heavy in the air, a suffocating fog that clouded Hermione's thoughts.
"Retiring?" Hermione's voice cracked, the term foreign and unwelcome on her tongue. "But Delia, this place... it's more than just bricks and mortar. It's a sanctuary."
Delia's eyes softened, creasing at the corners with a lifetime of smiles and sorrows. "I know, dear, but it's time for me to rest. My nephew, he's got plans—"
"Plans to gut it," Hermione interjected, a flush of indignation warming her cheeks. She straightened her petite frame, as if to physically brace herself against the news. "Please, let me buy it. I'll find a way. There must be something I can do."
"Golden Girl or not, some things are beyond even your reach," Delia said, the apology in her eyes doing little to ease the sting. "The papers are signed. I'm truly sorry."
Before Hermione could muster another plea, Faye appeared, her youthful energy a stark contrast to the somber mood. "Hermione, there's someone here to see you." The teenager's lips curled into a knowing grin. "That blonde-haired jock you know."
"Draco," Hermione muttered under her breath, her mind already whirring with annoyance. Surprises were anathema to her carefully structured world, each one a chaotic ripple disrupting her meticulously laid plans. And Draco Malfoy, of all people, embodied the unpredictable.
"Can't it wait?" Hermione asked, her tone betraying the turmoil within.
"Doesn't look like it," Faye replied with a shrug, her gaze flickering with mischief as she watched Hermione's composure waver.
With a deep breath intended to steady herself, Hermione pushed away from the safety of the counter, her feet carrying her toward what she knew would be an unwelcome encounter. As she moved, she couldn't help but resent the upheaval, the unexpected intrusion into her day—and most of all, the sale of the cafe which felt like losing a piece of her very soul.
"Surprises," she whispered to herself, the word leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "Everyone’s full of fucking surprises today."
Hermione's steps faltered as she spotted the figure leaning against the counter, a smirk playing on his lips. But it wasn't just him; Pansy Parkinson clung to his arm, her sharp eyes scanning the cafe with thinly veiled disdain. Her glossy black asymmetrical bob and pristine outfit seemed out of place amidst the worn wooden tables and the comforting haze of brewing tea.
"Draco," Hermione said flatly, feeling the weight of her irritation like a physical thing. "What are you doing here?" She kept her tone clipped, a testament to the inner turmoil she wished not to reveal.
"Granger," Draco greeted, all warmth and oblivious charm. "Have you met Pansy? Pansy, this is Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of her Age." Git.
"Yes, I remember her," Hermione replied, unable to keep a hint of frost from coloring her words. She recalled too keenly how Pansy had once advocated for betrayal during dark times.
A hush settled over the group, an awkward silence that seemed to stretch on for an eternity until Hermione broke it with a pointed question. "Have you met Faye?"
"Can't say I have," Draco admitted, but before he could extend his hand in greeting, Faye chimed in.
"Actually, we met last summer, remember?" Her voice rang out clear and unbothered by the tension that seemed to coil tighter with each passing second.
"Right," Draco conceded, looking momentarily off-balance.
The moment hung between them, uncomfortable and unyielding, as Hermione fought the urge to escape back into the familiarity of her work and away from the prickling sense of embarrassment that Draco and Pansy's presence brought upon her.
"Come on, Hermione," Draco urged, a playful gleam in his eyes that clashed with the grim set of her own. "Ditch this place and catch up with us."
"Malfoy, I'm working, is there anything I can get you two?" she replied, her voice betraying the strain of patience. She held Malfoy’s gaze, daring him to speak, Hermione would have won too if she wasn’t so affronted by Pansy's scoff at the pastry case that echoed through the room.
"Fine, just coffee then," he said, dismissing the menu with a flick of his wrist. Hermione turned on her heel and retreated to the kitchen, grateful for the reprieve.
"Who's the bimbo with the bob?" Faye's question cut through the dense air as Hermione busied herself with the coffee machine.
"Draco has a penchant for shiny things," Hermione murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as she poured the dark liquid into her cup with a precision that contradicted the simmering frustration beneath her calm facade. “An incessant need to be entertained and well, Pansy's...shiny." A fleeting smirk played on her lips, a momentary crack in her otherwise composed demeanor. "Don't worry; it'll be someone else next week," she added, her tone laced with a hint of knowing amusement.
Armed with the steaming cup, Hermione braced herself to face them again. Draco's hand enveloped hers with more force than necessary as he passed over a wad of muggle cash, the bills crumpled and excessive.
"Keep the change," he said, his smile broad and insufferably magnanimous.
She couldn't help but let out a short, disbelieving laugh, gods, where had he heard that—until his next words registered. "It's for you. A tip."
The laughter died on her lips as something uncomfortable twisted inside her. The idea of Draco Malfoy offering her charity was more than she could stomach. Her fingers clenched around the cash, and she had to remind herself to breathe evenly, to not let him see how much he'd rattled her.
The sand shifted beneath Hermione's shoes as she marched up the dune, her eyes fixed on the solitary figure silhouetted against the setting sun. Draco Malfoy, ever the picture of casual elegance, lay sprawled upon the sand, his white-blonde hair glistening like spun silver in the dying light. She drew a deep breath, readying herself for the confrontation.
"Malfoy!" Hermione's voice cut through the tranquil sounds of the waves licking at the shore, causing Draco to jolt upright with a look of surprise that quickly morphed into his usual smirk.
"Granger, usually just a ‘hello’ would suffice," he chided, brushing sand from his clothes.
Hermione tutted, her cheeks flushed with indignation. "Don't ever do that ever again, Malfoy! Friends don't tip their friends. It's patronizing."
Draco's expression wavered, his pale eyes flickering with uncertainty as they met hers. "It was a gift, Hermione. I thought—"
"Money isn't a gift," she interrupted, folding her arms across her chest. "It's cold and impersonal. And in front of Pansy, no less." Her words were sharp, but underneath the surface, hurt and pride warred for dominance.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know you don't need handouts. But you looked upset about Delia's news, and I wanted to... I don't know, do something nice?"
Hermione's stance relaxed slightly, though she remained wary. There, on the sand beside him, lay an unopened bottle of wine, the glass reflecting the last rays of sunlight. "You could have just said something supportive instead of throwing money around," she muttered.
"Supportive, like this?" Draco picked up the bottle, presenting it with an exaggerated flourish. "I brought this for us—to share. Good enough?"
She paused, caught in the turmoil of irritation and the undeniable truth that he was making an effort, in his own clumsy way, to be a friend.
"Fine," Hermione conceded, taking a seat beside him, allowing a moment of quiet to settle as they both stared out at the vast expanse of water. The conversation naturally drifted to safer topics, and Draco's posture relaxed as the wine did what wine was good for.
"Have you seen the latest articles? They're relentless," he said with a bitter chuckle, referring to the wizarding papers.
"About you?" Hermione asked, though she had already read every word printed about him.
"Yeah," he admitted, picking at the sand. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm on the team for my talent or just... just for the Malfoy name. For publicity."
"Draco, you're a brilliant Seeker," Hermione insisted, her voice firm. Yet, within her, doubt gnawed. She, like many others, had pondered the possibility that his family's powerful influence had acted as a key, unlocking doors of opportunity for him that might otherwise have remained firmly closed. More than that, she questioned whether his frequent appearances in the media were generating more attention for the Chuddley Cannons, something they didn’t seem to be complaining about. She chose her next words carefully. "You work hard, and everyone can see that. I don’t think you have anything to worry about."
"Thanks," he murmured, sounding unconvinced. Desperate to shift away from the uncomfortable topic, Hermione turned the conversation back to his companion from the café.
"Speaking of publicity, Pansy really knows how to manage hers, doesn't she? Is she—?"
"She's not my girlfriend," Draco cut her off, a hint of exasperation in his tone. "Can we not talk about Pansy?"
"Fine, but-" Hermione agreed, though curiosity lingered. "But when will you realize you're too good for Hogwarts?" Draco countered quickly, deflecting the attention from himself.
"Ha, ha. Teaching is important to me, prat" she replied, her gaze taking up something more serious. "Just like Quidditch is to you."
"Fair enough," Draco conceded, his eyes holding a hint of admiration.
They sat in silence for a while, the sky painted with streaks of orange and pink. As the first stars appeared, Hermione felt the weight of the day's events slipping away, replaced by the unexpected comfort of shared understanding.
Hermione gathered her feet beneath her, the grains of sand clinging to her skin as she stood. The twilight sky stretched infinitely above, a canvas of deepening blue that promised the cool relief of night. Draco remained seated, an elegant figure against the backdrop of the sea's endless murmur.
"Really, I should get back," Hermione insisted, brushing sand from her trousers with brisk movements. "Early morning at the shop, you know."
"Stay a bit longer, will you?" Draco's voice held a note of pleading she rarely heard from him. "I can pop over and grab another bottle of wine. It's no trouble."
She hesitated, torn by the invitation and a sinking feeling in her gut. "Pansy is waiting for you somewhere, isn't she?"
Draco waved dismissively, his gaze fixed on her. "She can wait. Come back with me to the beach house. We haven't caught up properly in ages."
The suggestion stirred memories, once cherished but now tinged with bittersweet regret. They'd shared many such impromptu nights, laughter spilling into dawn, their closeness a secret woven between whispered confidences. Now, the mere thought made her stomach churn, her cheeks heating with a flush that felt like shame.
"Share a toothbrush, sleep on the day bed," Draco continued, unaware of the turmoil he invoked.
Ginny's words echoed in her mind, grounding her resolve. No more sleepovers. No more losing herself in the heady mix of firelight and the sharp edges of Malfoy's perfect fucking face. "No, Draco. I can't."
His expression flickered, the mask of carefree indifference settling back into place. "Suit yourself, Granger," he said with a casual shrug as he rose to join her. But Hermione saw the briefest glint of disappointment in his eyes before he turned to watch the waves, giving her space to leave without further protest.
She walked away, each step a deliberate choice. This was for her own good, she reminded herself. For her own peace.