Hiiiii Dramione readers -- if you're still out there. I've re-started this Dramione fic! Chapter 1 is up! I miss Dramione and the fandom! I will be consistent, updates once a week -- maybe every 2 weeks! Since I initially had this at 10 chapters and deleted it, I have lots thats already outlined. I'm working on chapter 2 as we speak. Please share, take a read, all of that good stuff! Thanks!!! I've also dropped a mini snippet to get ya curious about it!
You can now read chapter 1 in full on:
AO3 here
Wattpad here
FFN here
Hermione Granger comes back to Hogwarts because she has nowhere else to go. Draco Malfoy comes back because he has no choice. Then the storm hits. And nothing, not their enemies, not their grief, not the careful distance between them, is ever quite the same.
8th year. Post-war.
Chapter 1 - WORTH snippet
Draco Malfoy's dot was moving through the fourth floor, closer than she'd like. As a condition of his re-admission to Hogwarts, he'd been given prefect duties; paired with Zacharias Smith, who was ostensibly there to shadow him and report any misconduct to his Ministry liaison. It was an arrangement that said everything about how tentatively the Wizarding world was willing to trust him back within these walls. Filch was one floor down and climbing. She tucked the cloak under her arm and started for home.
She was moving fast, cutting through the castle with her eyes on the map, when she rounded a corner and walked directly into something solid.
She scrambled for it and got it half-covering her, but the hood had gone and her face was visible in the torchlight, and when she looked up she found herself looking at Draco Malfoy.
He had tired traces under his eyes that hadn't been there in sixth year, his jaw more angular. His prefect badge caught the light like a blade. His face was unreadable in the first half-second; something slipping through it before it closed.
"Well, well," he said, his gaze dropping to the Cloak crumpled at her feet. "Look what's been slinking around after curfew."
"I'm not in the mood," she said flatly. "Move."
"What's the matter, library too crowded for your late-night escapades?" His tone was airy, but his eyes weren't; they skimmed her face with careful attention, taking inventory, and then narrowed almost imperceptibly at what they found. "Long night, Granger?"
"Not your concern." Feeling mild embarrassment, she dragged a hand through her unkempt hair. "You're on rounds. I'll be out of your way."
"Technically," he said, tilting his head, "as a prefect it's my sworn duty to report rule-breakers. Especially ones with a recent flair for public hexing."
The mention of it imbued right through her. "Don't lecture me about righteousness. You are the last person—you of all people—"
"Go on," His chin lifted. ”Finish it."
"People died. People who didn't have to. Because you did nothing." Flat. Controlled. The way she said things that were too large for volume. "Because you were…useless.”
The expression cracked. Just along one fault line, just for a fraction of a second; and then his face was careful and giving her nothing.
She had prepared, without realising it, for almost anything else. Deflection. Nastiness. Bigotry. The performance of indifference he had been perfecting since they were eleven years old. She had not prepared for that; two words, quietly meant, with nothing behind them that she could push against. It disarmed her in a way that fury never could have.
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
Then she heard it; footsteps, carrying from the north end of the corridor.
Draco moved before she did.
His hand caught her upper arm; firm, nothing malicious in it. And yet. The body keeps its own counsel, remembers what the mind would sooner forget; and her mind went somewhere else entirely in the space of a heartbeat; the floor was cold stone and the air tasted of terror, blood and the screaming had not yet stopped.
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