Gifts and Other Misfortunes: The Series

ONE

"Mind if I sit?"

Draco's mind raced silently as Hermione Granger sat in the same seat she had the first time, the one directly to his left. So close that their knees knocked as she scooted forward, but she shrugged— as she always did— as if she couldn't quite comprehend the idea of personal space, or simply didn't care. She never cared about little etiquettes. Never noticed.

"I actually do mind, Granger." He tried to lie, but the words came out accompanied by a nervous chuckle. She rolled her eyes. Like she always did— no, had. Always had.

It was undeniably her, this person sitting before him. She was real. There was no denying it; there was no plausible way she could be a vivid auditory and visual hallucination, unless this was the afterlife and he was simply reliving a moment which should have brought him joy as a punishment for all his sins. She was here, but she couldn't be here— shouldn't be here, sitting in this pub like she had fifty years ago. This couldn't happen.

He couldn't tear his eyes from her, though. She looked so youthful– so bright . The life in her cheeks was clear as day, and there was not even a hint of blue on her lips. Her hair was pulled back, but the bun atop her head had begun to come apart, leaving stray hairs poking out in every direction. He watched as she inhaled then blew a stray strand away from her face with a frown. Then she glanced up at him. He realized was staring so hard with eyes so wide he likely looked crazed. She didn't know him yet. Not enough. He couldn't stare.

"Why are you drinking all alone, Malfoy?" She broke the silence.

"Well, I was quite content with being alone," His words were slurred. He paused to knock back his glass, emptying it's contents into his throat. "It was peaceful."

"Well, now you're not alone." She grinned.

"How ever can I thank you?" He mumbled through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to reach out and hold her

"You could use that endless wealth of yours to buy me a proper drink." She suggested. Draco's heart stopped. She'd said that before. Not her— but his Hermione. His witch. She waved her hand to summon the bartender. The plump man began to walk towards their table.

The barkeep approached the table, parchment and a quill floating over his shoulder. "What can I get for you missus?"

"The biggest butterbeer money can buy, please." She pipped, and grinned mischievously at Draco.

The rest of the night felt as if it lasted years. It felt like bliss and torture all at once, because Draco Malfoy loved Hermione Granger but he was not allowed to. He wanted nothing more than to feel her hand in his again, to brush his lips against her forehead and tell her she was his everything. She was his universe and his home and yet, right now, he was nothing more than her childhood bully. He was just a coworker whom she managed to coexist with long enough to get a job done. Every word that Granger spoke swirled in his head like a brewing potion; her voice still sounded like a song. Every drink she added to his tab was overpriced and far too extravagant and he knew she was testing him to see if he would cut her off. But she didn't know he'd seen her drink two entire bottles of elf wine without even feeling tipsy, so he let her run his tab into triple digits.

He couldn't tear his mind from the fact that the witch he'd watched bleed to death on his drawing room floor was laughing and speaking and drinking and doing the things that people do when they are alive. She was alive. She was breathing and it was up to him to keep it that way. She shouldn't be here– he should have left hours ago. Every second they spent together was a second he couldn't afford, because he was to be the death of her, even if she didn't yet know.

But then Granger stood abruptly and her hand was on his shoulder and Draco couldn't believe his ears as she said, "I'll see you tomorrow won't I?"

He opened his mouth to say no, but all that spilled out was, "Tomorrow is Sunday, Granger. We don't work on Sundays."

"That doesn't mean I can't see you."

They met for ice cream the next morning, even though Draco knew he shouldn't have come. Granger wore a different dress, one with flowers instead of stripes, and she didn't comment on his muggle clothes because perhaps she didn't care. He hoped she didn't care.

"Are we sharing?" She asked. Her big brown eyes were shining– there was no pain in them, no sorrow, only hope and joy. Draco just nodded, because he couldn't bring himself to let that look in her eyes fade.

She ordered a cup of butter pecan ice cream and this time, he didn't ask for caramel sauce.

They sat at the same table. She sat in the same chair, directly to his left. He let her eat all the pecans because those were her favorite, and he didn't let his spoon go anywhere near her side of the cup, because Merlin forbid he might eat more than his share of their ice cream.

She eyed him as if he was a puzzle that she intended to solve, and he supposed in a way, he was. "You're quiet today, Malfoy."

He racked his brain for an excuse: "I'm hungover," was the best he could muster.

"That's not it." She sucked her spoon. He hated when she did that. "You're hiding something. You're looking at me right now as if I am a delicate piece of china. You flinch when I speak."

He should have known she was too clever to be fooled, but he was shocked she'd noticed so soon. The witch did solve mysteries for a living, after all, but never in a single day.

"Do you believe in Fate, Granger?"

She threw her head back and laughed. "No! It's a fairy tale made up by Seers and storytellers." She shook her head. "It's––"

"She." Draco blurted.

"She?" Granger cocked her head.

"Fate is a she."

"I don't know what you mean." Granger's lips were still turned into a smile, but her eyes were wary.

"I'm okay with that."

"Well I'm not." She crossed her arms, her spoon still in her right hand. Leftover ice cream dripped down the side of her dress, but she didn't seem to notice. "Don't tell me you buy into that divination rubbish."

"Hermione," He said, and her eyes grew wide. He'd never called her by her name before. Not in this lifetime at least. "You don't want to see what Fate will do to us– to you. Believe me when I say, Fate is very, very real."

Draco stood up. He couldn't bring himself to see the confusion on her face. This had been a mistake. But Granger's hand shot up to grab his wrist before he could step away.

"Where are you going?" She narrowed her eyes.

"I can't be here. This is a test, and I have already failed." He gently pried her fingers away from his wrist and drew his wand to apparate.

"You've gone mad." She laughed. Draco flinched, because perhaps he had.

"Granger, I am your downfall." He blurted. "You just don't know it yet."

Then he disapparated without a word, landing in the last place in the entire world he wished to be. That damned room. Draco tried not to stare at the spot where she'd laid for the last time as he left the Drawing Room. As the doors slammed shut, he made an oath to himself to rip the bloody place apart.