Author's Note: I recently got an e-mail from one of those fans who's holding out hope that I'll make a come-back. She asked me if I would do something for "old times' sake." Unfortunately, being me, it seemed the perfect title for a fic…and after that, the plot just came pouring out. So here's something to have fun with… For old times' sake.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling and various publishers (including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc.). No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
For Old Times' Sake
She always remembered it as the best summer in her entire life. It had begun innocuously enough, with her parents' decision that, as a graduate of Hogwarts and a fully-qualified witch preparing for her new career with the Ministry of Magic, she should have a tour of the Continent. Ron and Harry had been understandably upset because they'd both had commitments they couldn't break, Ron to his family, Harry to Remus.
So she was going to France, then to Spain and Greece. Italy was her last stop, because she'd always believed in saving the best for last. Before she left, Ron had…well, he hadn't quite asked her to marry him (they had dated for most of seventh year). Maybe if he had, things would have turned out differently. He had, instead, asked whether she would like to meet in Diagon Alley on August 15—the one-year anniversary of their first date—so he could ask her something.
She'd known what he was asking, and was in no way averse to it. But she always knew, thinking back, that if he would have asked, things would have turned out differently. She had never decided whether that would have been better or worse.
It had been in France that she met him. She had seen him less than two weeks earlier, at the Leaving Feast, but he looked so different she hadn't recognized him initially. She had actually been the one to start the conversation, and had expressed surprise that he was English.
"Hermione Granger, don't you recognize me?" he said, laughing.
Her mouth dropped open. "Malfoy?"
He made her a mock bow. "At your service, ma'am."
"You look so…" she fumbled for an appropriate word. Although many would fit…handsome, carefree, happy…she couldn't imagine herself saying any of them aloud. "Different."
"Is that a compliment?" he asked, grinning.
Hermione was so surprised that she smiled back and said, "Why, yes, it is."
There had been so much banter after that, such lightheartedness, it still brought a smile to her face just thinking about it. She had been in such good spirits that when he'd asked her to dinner, she'd said yes. After all, it wasn't really a date. They were just…schoolmates, catching up for old-times' sake.
She realized now that, even then, she'd already fallen a little bit in love with him. It had helped that most of the animosity from school had disappeared since he had switched sides during the last year of the war and made amends with Harry and Ron. Oh, they would never be friends, but at least they didn't hate each other. At least, she didn't think they did.
By the time she left France—two weeks later—they had gone to dinner ten times, lunch four times, tea twice, and had visited the sites six times. Every day, they had met in some way. And when it came time to leave France, he had rearranged his schedule so that he would be in Spain with her. She still didn't call them dates, and because they hadn't kissed, she didn't feel she was deluding herself.
It was in Spain, after the first dinner there, that it happened. And she couldn't delude herself anymore.
Hermione smiled as she walked up the steps to her room, Draco a step behind her. As she reached the door, she turned, and was surprised to find Draco's face just inches away from hers. She inhaled sharply, looking up into his eyes.
And then he moved closer, one hand coming up to her shoulder as he lowered his head…and kissed her.
It hadn't stopped there. With her room being right there… Things had happened. Things Hermione knew she couldn't delude herself into thinking were just the actions of schoolmates. They were the actions of lovers. And lovers were something she and Ron had never been. For them, it had never been right. The timing, or the moment, it just hadn't felt right, so it hadn't happened.
But that night in Spain, after two weeks of getting to know him better than she knew Ron, it had felt right.
By the time they arrived in Italy, they had both realized they were in love. She'd stayed up the entire night before the last day, wondering what she was going to tell Ron. What could she tell him? I'm sorry, Ron, but while I was on vacation I met our old school nemesis and fell in love with him, so I can't marry you because I don't love you. That would certainly have gone over well.
In the end, though, it had been easy to know what to say… We're too young, Ron, to know what love really is. Because by that time, she and Draco were over as well.
How had it happened? She still couldn't understand it. She understood the how, but not the why.
Hermione walked into the restaurant and opened her mouth to tell the maitre d' the name on the reservation—but then she saw Draco.
And Pansy Parkinson.
And he was holding her hands, rubbing his thumb over the back, smiling at her as she whispered something to him.
And she felt her heart break, as her mind scrambled to pick up the pieces to try and make sense of it.
He tried to explain that he and Pansy were engaged. That his father still expected them to make a match of it. That there was nothing he could do to get out of it, but that he loved her. Her, Hermione, not Pansy.
So when she'd come back to England and met with Ron in Diagon Alley on August 15, she had known exactly what to say.
"Ron, we are much too young to know what love is. I will not make the mistake of marrying when I am eighteen years old. I love you, but as a friend. A best friend, but only as a friend. Not as a lover, and certainly not as a husband."
And so she had closed a chapter in her life, deciding that love was, apparently, just not for her.
Now, seven years later, she had gone on many dates, generally ones arranged by her friends, but she hadn't had any serious relationships, or even any one night stands. She and Ron had become friends again, after many botched attempts. Harry had married Luna Lovegood two years ago, and they'd had twins in less than a year: James and Lily. Ron was seriously dating Padma Patil, who had been impressed by how much he had matured since his early Hogwarts days. Draco had married Pansy, but she hadn't heard of any children.
And earlier that day, on the front page of the Daily Prophet, there had been a title that caught her attention and had caused her to reminisce about that summer in a way she hadn't in a long while.
Lucius Malfoy Dies From Heart Attack
She wondered if there would have been a future for them, if Lucius had died in the war; if Draco would have been able to break the betrothal, if he would have wanted to…or if Lucius had only been an excuse. She supposed she would never know.
The Prophet was actually a few days old, as she was in Italy and it took a relay of owls to deliver her paper from England. Every year she visited Italy in an attempt to close the wounds that were still too fresh, to try to mend the breach between her mind and her heart that had been made that summer. Every year, on the same date—August 12—she came to that same restaurant, in an attempt to understand what had happened, and why she couldn't let go.
Now, she sat at the same table she had once seen him at with Pansy, and looked at her menu, trying to decide what to order.
And then someone sat down at her table.
She looked up, but she needn't have bothered, because she already knew who it was.
"Draco," she said, inclining her head.
"Hermione." He didn't smile, he didn't frown, he just looked at her.
"I haven't seen you in…" she trailed off.
"Seven years," he supplied, crossing his legs.
She was at a loss for what to say. He and Pansy had successfully stayed out of the media for years, so she was surprised to see the changes seven years had wrought upon him. She could see threads of gray in his hair already—at his age, too! He wasn't more than twenty-five years old. "Where's Pansy?" she asked, deciding to draw attention to the reason for that long lapse in their seeing each other.
"In England, with Blaise Zabini."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Really?"
"They're affianced."
Hermione floundered. "What?"
Draco smiled slightly. "Pansy and I are divorced. There needed to be no settlement between lawyers. We never wanted to be married. We had always known exactly how it would happen, when we were divorced. We signed the papers the night my father died."
"Why are you here?" Hermione asked.
Draco sighed. "To say that I'm sorry. Will you come with me, for coffee? For old times' sake?"
Hermione looked him in the eye, and nodded. That she could do. She could have coffee with him. And maybe, if it were possible, they could make it work again. If not…at least they had tried. For old times' sake, if nothing else. Maybe, though, for a little more.
Author's Note, Take 2: I think the final "resolution" comes too quickly, but if anyone has any suggestions I'd be happy to incorporate them. I really feel that I'm out of practice. This is more of a first draft than anything else. Critiques are welcome. :) Look out for a re-upload within a month or so.