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NOVEMBER
Chased down the narrow footpath by a hostile gust of wind, Draco speeds up, teeth chattering, hair whipping into his eyes.
He doesn’t belong here.
Even the weather knows it, howling at him to Apparate home already.
An agitated mother has blocked his way with her pram, grappling with a runaway teddy bear blanket and a wailing baby. He skips onto the road, hugging the curb to avoid honking metal death traps on wheels.
Pure chaos, these Muggles. Pure bloody chaos.
Narrowly dodging a reckless rider on a motorbike, he returns to the footpath, where a shop door swings open and nearly whacks him across the face. He pauses mid-step, allowing an old man with a steaming paper cup to barrel out, barely registering Draco’s presence.
As he waits for the path to clear again, which he fears it never will, something shiny catches his eye from the shop window to his left. It’s a sliver of a place, nestled between a florist’s and a kitchenware store. A young woman on a stepladder stretches on the tops of her toes, sticking holographic snowflakes to the glass.
Draco freezes.
Unruly curls. Fastidious concentration on her face. What’s she doing here?
Curiosity burning, he makes an impromptu detour. The cursive sign on the door reads Full Steam Ahead, store hours bullet-pointed below it.
Stepping inside, exhaust-smudged air transforms into the intimate scent of fresh-ground coffee beans and his lungs unravel, inhaling deeply.
Granger’s lace-up boots thump on the ground as she vacates the window. “Malfoy,” she says with an edge of surprise. “What are you doing here?”
Vintage is a generous description for the look of the place, but the brick walls are redeemable, he supposes. Safe for that one covered in whatever you call that monstrosity. Drawings of teapots and coffee urns, dozens of them, colours sun-bleached over time, backgrounds yellowed.
He raises his hand, a sleek shopping bag swinging off his index finger. “It’s Pansy’s birthday this weekend.” The lengths he goes to for that woman…
“And you bought her a gift from a Muggle shop?” Granger’s surprise morphs into confusion.
He can’t remember the last time he saw her in person. Likely at a Ministry mixer. She looks the same, except in Muggle clothing. Hair as chaotic as the rhythm of her people bustling outside the shop.
He shrugs, maintaining a cool demeanor. “It’s some designer she likes. Apparently, their scarves are a big deal.”
She runs her palms down faded blue denims, a charm bracelet jangling around her wrist. “I heard she’s a personal stylist now. It’s nice she’s expanded beyond magical inventory.”
“She thinks our fashion’s outdated,” he says, though he doesn’t see how Muggle apparel is more appealing. Granger looks prepared to scoop horse dung out of the Malfoy stables. “So, this is what you’re doing now?” He makes a show of looking around. “I heard you got fired from the Ministry.”
“I didn’t get fired.” She bristles. “I resigned.”
“Because they didn’t give you a choice.” He smirks. “Gods, Granger, what were you thinking?”
Watching colour bloom on her cheeks fills him with a great sense of satisfaction. He can still get under Gryffindor skin.
“I’d do it again. And just because I’m not working at the Ministry anymore doesn’t mean my career’s over.”
“Not at all. Working in a shoebox seems incredibly appealing.” He stares pointedly at the four bulky tables that take up too much real estate for a store this size. Dressed in picnic-pattern tablecloths and crammed with mismatched chairs. All unoccupied.
“Quit acting so smug.”
“Can’t help it.” His smile widens. “It’s nice to see you facing repercussions for breaking the rules. For once.”
“Well, you’ve had your fill.” She opens the door for him, letting in an icy breeze that blows curls over her shoulder. Is that peach shampoo he smells? “Have a nice day.”
“Not so fast. I’m suddenly in the mood for coffee.”
DECEMBER
It’s two p.m. and besides a couple of headphone-wearing—Granger told him they weren’t earmuffs—university students at the second table, they have the place to themselves. She runs a damp cloth across the counter, wiping away freshly grated chocolate that missed his cup.
Draco inhales a thick whiff of chocolate-espresso steam and sighs it out. “I’m totally fucked. She wants me to be married by next year.”
“You’re an adult. Why do you have to listen to your mother?” In a thick black jumper and an overall dress, hair pulled back in a messy knot, dainty golden hoops peeking through errant curls, Granger looks completely in her element.
“You don’t know my mother. If I don’t find a wife, she’ll finagle me into a marriage of her choice. Trust me, this is bad news.” He picks up the oatmeal biscuit from his side plate, takes a bite, and promptly spits it into a napkin. “Blegh! This tastes like cardboard.” He folds the napkin into even squares before tossing it over the unfinished biscuit.
Snatching the plate away with a scowl, she dumps it over the tall rubbish bin.
“You charge people for that stuff?”
“So you have an entire year to meet someone. Make it your New Year’s resolution,” she says, ignoring his comment.
“My what?” He takes a generous gulp of his latte, rinsing away dry cookie crumbs from the back of his throat. Then runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth. “You put something in this.”
Her eyes twinkle with mischief. “Do you like it?”
“Granger, you can’t just toss whatever you please into people’s drinks. This is how you’ll get fired from this job too.”
“Oh, please.” She waves her hand. “You’re hardly people. And my aunt wouldn’t fire me. Who else will keep this place running while she’s away?”
“It’s pretty good,” he admits, licking his lips. “Peppermint?”
“I made it for our holiday special. Here.” She disappears behind the counter and emerges with a jar of crushed candy canes. With a tiny spoon, she sprinkles a generous serving on his foam.
“Hey!” He yanks his cup back too late, already covered in jagged red and green bits, artificial colouring bleeding into the foam. “I didn’t say you could do that.”
“I’ll make you another one if it’s terrible.”
He gives her a weary look but takes a sip, chews, candy canes crunching between his teeth, and—is pleasantly surprised. “More.” He thrusts the mug towards her.
“Please,” she adds, dumping another spoonful into his drink anyway. “If my toughest critic likes it, then it’ll be a hit.”
Toughest critic, he likes that. “One sticker away from a free drink.” He flashes his Full Steam Ahead loyalty card, each slot besides one patched with a coffee bean sticker.
“Single-handedly keeping this place afloat,” she jokes without smiling.
Since his father hasn’t been giving him as many responsibilities as he thought he would, Draco’s been a frequent visitor at the café. A place where nobody knows his name, his history, or how many galleons he has in his Gringotts vault. Safe for Granger who, since warming up to him, has become astonishingly easy to talk to. Besides, she’s rarely busy when he comes by so, if anything, he’s doing her a favour by showing up.
“Back to the New Year’s rezo-whatever-thingy. What’s that all about?”
“A New Year’s resolution? It’s when you make a list of things you want to accomplish in the new year. A clean slate. For instance, mine is to triple sales at the shop.”
The door chimes and two young women enter, pulling Granger away to her barista duties.
Draco considers the New Year’s resolution and decides it couldn’t hurt.
This year, he’ll find a wife. Someone who will love him, and he’ll love in return.
JANUARY
There’s something nostalgic about jazz music. Brassy and mellow like a glass of port after dinner, it sets Draco’s mind adrift.
Metal spoon tinkering against his mug, the clockwise swirl of the frothy latte transports him back to a dim-lit classroom, where a bright-eyed boy with agile hands and a propensity for precision once hovered over a churning cauldron.
If Snape were still around, he’d call Draco a foolish disappointment for not pursuing Potions, both his strength and passion.
In his defense, by eighth-year he just wanted to get the hell out of Hogwarts. Sick of lying low and avoiding communal areas, too caught up in what idiots were calling him to think of much else. All he’d wanted then was a future that promised a peace of mind. But now?
He aches for those days. Watching his hard work come to life. Being good at something.
A floating teaspoon appears out of thin air, tipping a heap of crushed candy canes into his cup.
He glances up. “Thought you said you didn’t have any left.”
“Limited supply,” she admits. “You looked like you could use it.”
“Limited supply,” he scoffs. “You just used magic at a Muggle establishment.”
“Don’t make me take those back.” She leans against the back counter, arms crossing over a chunky jumper with a capital H knitted on the front.
The odd look in her eye urges him to ask, “How’s the resolution going?”
“I’m going to buy this place.” The way she says it, decisive and eager, tells him she was waiting for an opening to tell him about it. He’d have asked sooner if he weren’t so distracted.
“Here’s some free business advice, Granger: it’s not a good investment.”
“It will be when I’m through with it.” Her shoulders straighten down her back. “Want to see my plans?”
“Do I have a choice?”
She disappears into a back room, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and returns with a tall roll of parchment in her arms. A second display of wandless magic snaps it open on the counter, looped edges unfurling flat. “I’ll remodel. Close up shop for a couple of weeks and work on it myself. All of it is doable when I learn the steps and acquire the right equipment.”
“You can’t do all that by yourself.” He eyes her complicated diagrams.
“I have good friends.” She grins up at him. “Don’t I?”
“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I am not getting sucked into this.”
“Come on. You do nothing all day.”
“First of all,” he starts, offended, “I don’t do nothing all day. I have a flexible schedule.”
“That’s what all the rich kids who do nothing all day say.” She places her elbows on the counter right beside him, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. Her cardinal-red gum permeates cinnamon into the air.
He leans closer. “Can you even afford this place?”
“I’m going to sell my jewelry. I have gold.” Her hand curls around the tree of life pendant that’s always around her neck.
“Hold on, Granger. Maybe you should think about this. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll never get them back.”
“I have to take the risk.”
He’s come to know her well enough to realize there’s no talking her out of this one.
FEBRUARY
Hermione’s sitting at the back of Full Steam Ahead, a DIY Home Improvement book laid open in front of her, taking meticulous notes in a well-loved journal.
It’s been a slow day and so far, all of her customers, whom she’s training herself to call guests, have ordered takeaway coffees and promptly departed. Only Linda from next door lingered for a few minutes to tell her about their cutlery sale, asking if she might be interested in purchasing a bulk supply of teaspoons.
When the door chimes, Hermione shoots up to her feet.
It’s only Malfoy. Nose and cheeks wholly flushed despite his brief walk from Apparation Alley, a term he proudly coined the other day.
“Kind of early, isn’t it?” She returns to her seat, recrossing one leg over the other.
“It’s eleven a.m.” He joins her. “Don’t you dare insult my flexible schedule.”
She bites down a laugh, flipping a page in her book. “It’s February fifteen,” she reminds him. “You had a date last night. And you’re here before noon.”
“It wasn’t like that.” He yanks off his scarf, folds it in half, and hangs it over the back of his chair. “Fuck, Granger, she was a nightmare.”
“Be nice.”
“She asked me how much money I have,” he says. “Straight up. ‘So, Draco Malfoy’ emphasis on the Malfoy, of course, ‘how much are you worth these days?’”
She flinches. “At least she was honest.”
He settles across from her, plucking off his leather gloves. “Sometimes, I wish I could take Polyjuice and date women as someone else.”
“It’s only February and one crummy date.”
“After a string of other bad dates.”
“To be fair, your standards are atrociously high.” The sympathy on her face smooths away, remembering the last time he complained about a witch he took out to dinner. “The pitch of a woman’s voice shouldn’t be a factor for you.”
He rolls his eyes. “This coming from the person who exclusively dates quidditch players and men over six foot one.”
“That’s a coincidence!”
He leans back in his seat. “You going to make me a latte or do I have to get behind the counter and make it myself?”
“Patience is a virtue, Malfoy.” Now that he’s here, she tugs out the picture catalogue she left beneath her book and turns it towards him, pointing out two different sets of furniture. “Which ones?”
“Don’t tell me you’re considering that hideous orange.”
“It’ll go with the brick walls.”
“Furniture doesn’t have to match the walls. It just has to compliment them. That red would stand out nicely and still suit the warm hues you’re going for.”
She smiles. “You get a latte for that.”
MARCH
When he enters Full Steam Ahead, Draco finds Granger in a desert beige minidress and nude patent pumps. Glittery gold powder glimmering along her smooth calves.
“New uniform?” He grins, gaze descending her figure as she strides towards him.
She doesn’t smile. “Closing early for Ron’s birthday.”
“Not even a latte for your favourite customer?”
“Suppose I could use the sale,” she caves, locking the door behind him.
Probably best to use his free drink from the loyalty card another time, he thinks, following her to the bar with a cardboard box in his arms.
When Granger steps behind her workstation and swipes her wand from a holster beneath her dress, Draco trips over his own feet.
Luckily, she’s too busy to notice as she slashes her wand in the air. The espresso machine stops cleaning itself, goes still, then works backwards to reassemble its parts.
Bending over, she swipes a carton of milk from the fridge beneath the counter, twists the lid off the jug, and slams it down beside her. It splatters. Cursing, she reaches for a dish towel, and wipes herself and the counter dry. “Lavender’s throwing him a surprise party.”
He pulls back a stool and takes a seat, depositing the box beside him. “And you’re upset about this because…?”
“It’s going to be an entire night of Won-Won this, Won-Won that, Lavender draped all over him, eyeing me to make sure I’m watching them together.”
“Then don’t go.”
“It’s Ron,” she says like it’s non-negotiable. “They’ll all be coupled up.” She pulls a lever and steam shoots out of the espresso machine. “And I’ll be getting sympathetic looks all evening.”
“Where are you guys going?”
“It’s called Piquette. A wine bar. Ron can’t even pronounce Cabernet Sauvignon.”
He snorts. “You look smoking.” His gaze sweeps down her arched spine, lingering on the curve of her arse while she’s not looking. Her legs are hidden from view at this angle, but the sight of her when he entered the shop is something he won’t forget anytime soon. “I’m sure some posh gentleman will pick you up and rescue you from your boring friends.”
“Want to be that posh gentleman?” she coaxes, placing a latte in front of him in a takeaway cup.
His pulse spikes. Dropping his gaze to the foam, he rasps, “Double heart. Impressive.”
“Is that a no?”
“It’s a hell no.” He forces a laugh. “You think I want to show up at Weasley’s birthday party? Have you gone mad?”
She gives up, gaze snagging on the object beside him. “What’s that?”
“Thought you’d never ask. Open it.”
Shooting him a curious look, she carefully unfolds the overlapping flaps. “Aw! Are these for me?” Her eyes glow in delight as she unboxes small terracotta pots, the scent of damp soil tinging the air like a rainy day in Wiltshire.
“Mother and Jolly, her fairly compensated house-elf,” he clarifies, “were tending the greenhouse yesterday. Had them propagate a few trimmings for you. And don’t worry, I did some research and all of them exist in the Muggle world.”
She coos over her new plants, holding a Philodendron Brasil up to the light. “They’re perfect, just in time for spring. Thank you, Draco.”
He was hoping he’d earn a Draco for this one.
APRIL
Draco springs off his stool to catch two boxes from the leaning tower of pastries in Granger’s arms. She peeks at him from behind the lemon-yellow stack. “Thanks. You can leave them on the counter.”
“Any luck with your aunt?” he asks as she lowers the rest of the boxes.
“She says if I pay her a cash deposit up-front then the café’s mine.” She pulls out a pedestal cake-stand from the empty display and uses tongs to fill it with berry tarts.
When he tries sneaking one out of the box, she swats the back of his hand. “Those aren’t free.”
“I’ll pay for it, Stubborn Witch.” He picks it back up and takes a generous bite. Sweet, creamy custard and tart blueberries burst against his happy taste buds. “Not bad. New supplier?”
“I found a patisserie student who works out of his flat. He charges the same as the caterer we sourced the biscuits from, and gave me a discount for repeat orders.”
He shudders, remembering the horrendous cardboard-flavoured biscuits. “Well, I for one approve of the change.” After licking his fingers clean, he circles the conversation back to her plans. “You have a deposit?”
“Taking my gold to the pawnshop later. Then I’ll finally start renovating.” She wraps a fist around her tree necklace. Draco can’t imagine her without it. Granger’s always fiddling with that thing. An anniversary gift, she’d told him once, that her dad gave her mum when they were her age.
He doesn’t have high hopes for the place, but if anyone can make miracles happen, it's Granger. “So, talk me through the layout.”
Her face glows with excitement. Abandoning the tarts, she walks around the counter to stand at the centre of the room. He doesn’t see her entire body often since they’re usually on opposite sides of the bar, but when he does, it’s always a pleasant surprise. More than pleasant. She’s wearing a black denim skirt and matching stockings, flat knee-high boots, and a signature Granger jumper, this one charcoal grey.
“This atrocious art is the first thing that needs to go. I’ve been meaning to do it for a while.” She presses her finger to her lower lip, glaring at the drawings crammed on the wall. Mismatched frames. No rhyme or reason behind any aspect of the design or layout.
“Then do it.” He hops off his seat and walks past her to unhook one near the top. A drawing of a white teapot that says I ❤️ tea on its belly. He places it on an empty table, leaving in its place a bare strip of copper brick wall.
When Granger doesn’t say anything, Draco peers over his shoulder, wondering if he upset her, but she’s rushing past him to remove another. “I don’t know why I didn’t have the balls to do that.”
“You’re too nice,” he says. “Your aunt’s not coming back anytime soon, and who cares if she does? She has ghastly taste.”
She laughs. “You’re right.” A playful look flashes across her eyes. “Want to see who can take off the most frames in three minutes?”
He wags a finger at her. “You’re sneaky, Granger. Trying to bait free labour out of me.” Then smiles. “You’re on.”
MAY
The Prophet crinkles in her fist, creasing right at the centre of a moving photograph she can’t unsee.
Hermione’s heart drums so violently her fingers begin to shake and the double espresso she chugged down twenty minutes earlier threatens to make a comeback. She tosses the paper in the bin, shoving it as deep down as it will go, as the door rings open and he walks in.
Draco’s eyes seek hers the instant he’s inside, fingers combing back rain-slick hair. The chatty women at the third table go mute. In a navy-blue raincoat, cream trousers and chestnut brown boots, Draco looks like he stepped off the runway at fashion week and strolled straight into her cafe. Parkinson ought to be proud of herself.
He smiles at her, pale fingers descending to the polished buttons of his coat, undoing each one with fluid grace. “What’s got you all fussy?”
“Nothing.” She neutralizes her expression, turning around to start his latte. “You’re trying a new flavour today.”
“Am I?” There’s a smile in his voice. “Don’t I get a say?”
“No.”
He chuckles. “I have good news.”
Her shoulders tense.
When she doesn’t respond, he continues, “I met someone, and I like her a lot.”
A lump forms at the back of her throat.
“What’s up with you? Would you look at me?”
She turns around, jaw clenched, heat simmering beneath her skin. “Not her.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Claudia Zelensky. I saw you two on The Prophet.”
Squinting as if he’s genuinely confused, he asks, “What’s with the hostility?”
“She owns a zoo, Malfoy. She takes innocent creatures and shoves them into glass boxes to make a profit, and tries justifying it in the name of research. I hate that woman!”
Draco looks around, flushing at the volume of her outburst.
Hermione takes a deep breath to collect herself. Lowering her voice. “Dragons are incredibly protective of their offspring, and she goes into the wild, and steals them from their mothers. I ran an investigation into her company. Saw her employees distract a protective mother and snatch her baby while she was gone, and then gloat to the press that they rescued an orphaned dragon.”
Draco sighs. “Look, that’s shitty. I agree with you. And maybe we can talk to her about it, but I’ve met someone I get along with who gets me. Do you know how rare that is? I have half a year to find my own match.”
Hermione goes cold. “Leave.”
“You’re joking.”
“If you’re going to be associated with her, I don’t want to see you anymore.”
His eyes turn glacial, a bleak reminder of exactly why she and Draco were never friends, and never should have been in the first place. Wordlessly rising from his stool, he gathers his things and doesn’t look back.
JUNE
“These are going to look wicked,” squeals Ginny, on her knees, tearing plastic wrap from the chairs that were just delivered to the store. “Great call on the dark red.”
Hermione’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s quite fetching against the copper walls,” she agrees. “I’m installing the floating shelves tomorrow. Does Harry have any Muggle books he doesn’t need anymore?”
“I’m sure we can box up a few.” Ginny reaches the counter as Hermione sets her latte down. “Wow! Is that a flower?” she asks, admiring the espresso art in the foam.
“I just learned how to do it.”
Taking a careful sip to ensure it’s not too hot, Ginny makes a humming noise and smacks her lips together. “Certainly different. What is that, green apple?”
Hermione stares down at her bare hands. “It’s our spring special.”
“What’s going on with you?” Ginny’s brows draw together. “You should be happy that all of this is finally happening.”
“I am happy. And so grateful you guys are here to help.” Ron and Harry slipped out a few minutes ago to toss the old furniture into the dumpsters at Apparation Alley. Just the thought of the stupid little alleyway dampens her mood, beady-eyed rats, oozy rubbish, and all.
Ginny appraises her with a knowing look.
Hermione averts her gaze to fiddle with a strand of her hair, noticing a split-end she’ll need to snip off later. When was the last time she had a haircut? No wonder Malfoy’s spending all his time with that woman. She looks like she’s been peeled out of a cosmetics ad and re-adhered to his arm. “Bet Claudia Zelensky doesn’t have split-ends.”
Ginny snorts and Hermione blushes, realizing she spoke out loud. “Wait, is that what this is about? I didn’t realize you liked him like that.”
“I don’t!” She shakes her head, but wonders if she’s convincing herself or Ginny. Not that it matters anymore. “Could you go see what’s taking the boys so long?”
Ginny doesn’t move, pinning Hermione with a long, speculative look. But even she must realize that there’s nothing to be done about the Malfoy situation. At last, she squeezes Hermione’s shoulder, her expression brimming with sympathy, and heads out the door to fetch the others.
JULY
One glimpse, that’s all, Draco tells himself as he leads Claudia down the crowded cobblestoned street.
The day looks dim through his sunglasses, but a rare cloudless sky screams heat and spits sunburn at his pale skin, making him eager to return home. Though he’s a wayward moth in the Muggle world, in this neighbourhood that he once occupied nearly every day, her shop is the flame he’s hopelessly drawn to.
The plan is to pass by, steal a quick peek, and walk away, but then Claudia’s high-heels go mute.
“Is that Hermione Granger?” She sounds gleeful as she moves past the door, which displays a sign saying Full Steam Ahead is closed for renovations, to get a better look through the window. “Ha! It is her.”
Macrame plant hangers are suspended from the ceiling above the window; familiar ivies from his mother’s greenhouse have turned from buddings to strong vines, blooming with summer life. Typical Granger. Leave her with something that needs care and attention to grow, and come back to find it thriving.
But he doesn’t dwell on the plants for long because Claudia’s reaction to seeing her niggles a curious nerve. She’s no longer watching Granger. Eyes fixed on her own reflection as she tightens her silk scarf around her flaxen ponytail.
At brunch last weekend, when Claudia learned that the scarf around Pansy’s neck was a gift from Draco, she insisted he take her shopping for one of her own. Partly because she liked it, but mostly because she can’t stand having Draco buy a gift for another woman when he hasn’t bought her one too.
“Do you know her?” He keeps his voice casual.
Her gaze darts back to Granger, who’s dodging an obstacle course of shiny new furniture as she sweeps the floors. Her back is to them, and judging by the way she’s swaying her hips, there’s music playing in there, keeping her distracted. He can’t help but grin at the way she twirls the broom around like a dance partner.
Claudia says, “She started snooping around my company. Could’ve really screwed me over if I hadn’t gotten ahead of it.”
“Gotten ahead of it?”
“I had her fired, of course.” She bears a devilish grin, teeth white as tiny pearls. “Told you I’d have been a Slytherin.” When Draco doesn’t respond, she continues to gloat. “Getting the Hermione Granger fired presented a challenge, war heroine bullshit and whatnot. They tried convincing me to let her off with a warning, which obviously wasn’t good enough. But, know what the Ministry values more than heroics?”
“Galleons,” he says dryly, glancing back at Granger, who has no idea they’re there, talking about her. There’s a curdling sensation at the base of his gut like he swallowed a glass of expired milk.
“That’s right, darling.” Her hand on his cheek smells like rose. Intoxicatingly sweet. Suffocating. “Told them I’d withdraw my donations if they didn’t get rid of her. Naturally, I’m a very generous benefactor to the DRCMC, and they’d much rather have my money than Hermione Granger’s fat bushy head.”
She shrugs in an all-in-a-day’s-work sort of way and reaches for his hand to lead him down the footpath. “Don’t you love it when everything’s right in the world? I keep my company, the Ministry gets their pathetic donations, and Hermione Granger’s among her own people again, sweeping trash.”
AUGUST
Hermione fills a tray with two macchiatos, coffee, a miniature jug of milk and a sugar bowl, and balances it on her palm as she rounds the counter. Stopping first at the high-backed armchairs that form a tiny nook where the hideous teapot art used to be. Two suited men sit there now, calling her love and thanking her politely for their drinks. Then she drops by the two-top table behind them, where a spectacled young woman has her nose in a book.
Hermione glimpses the title on the header. “Is that Jane Eyre?”
The woman sets the book face down, making room for her coffee, milk, and sugar. “I pulled it off your shelf. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Books are meant to be read. You’re welcome to borrow it and bring it back next time.” This earns Hermione a huge grin and a profuse promise to do so.
When she heads back to her workstation, a shock of white blond hair catches her eye, sitting beside the register since his usual seat by the espresso machine has already been claimed.
Her heart skips a beat. Surely his presence is a white flag? “How long have you been here?”
“A while,” he admits, appraising her as she rounds the counter. “Like what you’ve done with the place.”
“See that mural on the wall behind you?”
“The one that looks like the Hogwarts Express?” He grins coyly. “But far cooler.”
Of course, he noticed. Draco notices everything. “I had a popular street artist do it for me. Thought the exposed brick made sense with spray paint art. Fitting for the times, too. Had it photographed and mailed to local papers and magazines. We were featured in eleven best of… lists! The power of the written word.”
Books are the first thing people associate her with, besides the volume of her hair, they’re a part of her DNA. But she never would have predicted that an article in a magazine would turn her entire business around, that there were so many readers out there, hungry for local news and community recommendations. Some mornings, she can barely keep up with the traffic.
“Hermione Granger strikes again.” He doesn’t sound surprised, but there’s an admiring glow in his eye. “You really saved this place.”
She shrugs. “Had a New Year’s resolution to see through. Latte?”
“Yes, please.” He shows her the loyalty card that’s still in his wallet. Three empty slots away from a free drink.
“I had new ones made.” She gives him another card with the same image as the mural. A white haze of steam forms the front of a passenger train with a thick cloud of exhaust that turns into the words Full Steam Ahead. “Here, take it. This one’s on me.”
The door chimes open and a crowd of teenagers spills inside. She offers him an apologetic look. “I’m closing in an hour. Will you stick around?”
Draco ends up staying until the very last guests leave. After flicking the door locked and flipping the sign to closed, Hermione slumps down in an armchair. Exhausted.
Draco takes the seat beside her. “You work seven days a week?”
“Someone has to.” She yawns. “Can’t miss out on a day of business.”
He whistles. “You need a vacation.”
“I can’t until I hire someone trustworthy who can take care of the place on their own.” She draws her legs beneath her on the seat. “It’s alright. This is what I wanted.”
She takes in his styled back hair and fitted dress shirt, tucked neatly into dark trousers, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Draco looks casually handsome, in that anything-I-pull-from-my-wardrobe-looks-good sort of way. She’s missed him terribly.
“Sorry for being so harsh about Claudia,” she tells him, glad to finally have the chance. “I mean, I can’t stand Lavender, but I didn’t cut Ron out of my life. Granted Lavender’s not a baby dragon-napper.”
He snorts. “You were right.”
“About?”
“Claudia—” The guilty expression on his face makes her tense. “She got you fired after finding out you were investigating her company. Paid them to get rid of you.”
“Those corrupt bastards!” She sits up, startled.
“Look, I’ll come with you to the Ministry, tell them I know what they did, that Claudia told me about it herself. I guarantee my family donates more than the Zelenskys. We’ll make them hire you again.”
Through the haze of betrayal, Hermione takes a moment to consider his offer. It doesn’t take long to make a decision. “I appreciate it, but… it would feel like moving backwards. Working there doesn’t interest me anymore.”
“The offer stands if you change your mind.”
Her heart beats a little faster. “If you’re telling me all this, I assume you and Claudia are…?”
“I broke up with her.”
“Because of what she did to me?”
“In part,” he says and when she pins him with a knowing look, he caves, “Fine, it was a deal-breaker. You’re my friend and I didn’t like how she spoke about you. It made me realize I didn’t treat you right. What she’s doing to those creatures is important to you and I brushed it off.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She stands to stretch, spine popping as she folds over to touch her toes, concealing a smile as her hair waterfalls over her neck. Five-minute break over, she begins flipping chairs upside down on tables.
Draco follows her. “You work too much.” His gaze slides down her figure. “You should cut your hours.”
“Now’s not the time to downsize.” She shakes her head. “I don’t have savings to fall back on. Everything went into the remodel.”
“You’re going to burn out,” he says. “Leave the chairs, I’ll do it.”
She nods appreciatively and grabs the broom from the closet in the back. “I’m young and strong. Now’s the time to hustle.”
“Hire someone then. How are you going to devise your next brilliant plan when you’re swamped with menial labour? You’ve done great work here but I know you’re meant for bigger things than this.”
“I’m not going back to the Ministry,” she repeats more firmly. Especially now that she knows why they forced her to resign, not that it helped save face in the papers. Even Draco had known they’d terminated her.
Her boss at the DRCMC had listed her investigation of the Zelensky Zoo as the principal cause for termination; she’d gone behind their backs to build a case on an issue that was important to her. But she hadn’t known it was because Zelensky had found her out and bribed them to get rid of her. Maybe she’d still have her job if the carnivorous woman hadn’t shoved galleons down their throats.
“To hell with the Ministry.” He meets her eye between inverted chairs. “There are other ways to make a change without working for someone else. But you need time to figure out what that could be for you.”
She nibbles her lower lip in deliberation. Draco’s attention darts to her mouth, eyes going dark like a silvery moon in eclipse.
She wonders what he’s thinking. If he ever looks at her and considers the possibility of them. Their untapped potential.
Tonight, she got him back, but she isn’t sure if their friendship is enough anymore.
SEPTEMBER
Eager to monopolize as much of her time as he can, Draco has gotten into the habit of visiting Hermione just before closing time. This afternoon, there’s a small package under his arm, meticulously wrapped in red glossy paper.
She rounds the counter, pushes up to her tiptoes, and greets him with a kiss on his soft cheek. “What’s that?”
“Hello to you, too.” His face lights up. “Happy birthday.”
She takes the package from him, smiling. “You didn’t have to.”
He beckons her with his hand, urging her to get on with it.
The last couple in the café leaves, saying goodbye to her by name, each with a borrowed novel beneath their arms. Hermione waves at them and locks the door once they’re gone, so she and Draco are fully alone. Then returns to the present she left on the table.
Tearing the wrapping paper open reveals an intricate mahogany treasure chest with her initials HJG engraved on its golden clasp. She brushes her hand along the hump, fingers dipping over thick handmade grooves in the wood. “It’s marvelous.”
“Open it,” he says, pulling back a chair and taking a seat, watching her with a shy grin.
Undoing the latch, she eases the lid open and, nestled in the red velvet lining, finds rows of gold jewelry—necklaces mounted on hooks against the inner door, rings and earrings wedged neatly between dividers. She plucks a necklace from the top, the one she’s reached for countless times only to remember she doesn’t wear it anymore. Delicate branches that stretch outwards as if reaching for the sun, gilded golden-hour yellow.
“When you said you were selling your gold—pieces passed down from your parents, gifts from friends—I tracked down the pawnbroker and bought it all back the next day.”
“This is too much,” she rasps, voice thick with emotion.
He leans forward, catching her eye. “Hey, none of that. I merely bought back what was already yours. Not even a present, really.”
“Not even a present,” she scoffs. “This is the most thoughtful… I can’t even… my hoops!”
He chuckles. “You were supposed to bully me into helping you renovate the café. But since I wasn’t around, I thought this might help make up for it.”
One by one, she puts on her old jewelry. Pinning hoops into her naked earlobes, clasping on her tree pendant without assistance, hooking the charm bracelet Harry and Ginny bought for her birthday years ago through the third link. It’s as if Draco has pooled her history into one box and given it back to her to experience all over again.
When she looks at him, his expression unleashes a cluster of butterflies at the base of her stomach. Standing, her head is taller than his for once and she can’t resist kissing his temple. “You’re the best friend anyone could ever ask for.”
His skin goes warm beneath her lips. Arms curling around her, he clutches her close, breathing a sigh into her shirt.
She draws back before doing something silly, like threading her fingers through his hair and reaching for a proper kiss. She only just got him back, and he might not feel the same way. If he did, wouldn’t he have asked her out already? They see one another nearly every day, opportunities have been ample.
By now it’s obvious Draco favours powerful business women. Lucky for him, there are plenty Claudia Zelenskys out there who will gladly have him. Why would he ever go for anyone else?
“I need to change,” she says. “Harry and Gin are throwing me a party at theirs.”
He nods, rising from his seat.
“Would you like to come?” she asks with a hopeful grin. “They know we’re friends… I’ve told them you’re my regular.” And other things… Ginny asks every day if they’ve shagged out the sexual tension yet.
He hesitates. “Think I’ll pass. Don’t know if I’m ready to be ravaged by a herd of pesky lions.”
She tries her best to conceal her disappointment. If she was his girlfriend, maybe he’d make the sacrifice, but she knows this is her place in his life—a strong coffee and a smart conversation.
“I’ll make you a latte before you go,” she offers. “On the house.”
OCTOBER
From behind the counter, Draco has a tremendous view of Granger’s fine waist and hourglass hips. It’s not that he never noticed before, he’s been noticing her since early adolescence, but it’s different when those hips and that waist belong to a woman he considers his best friend, a woman he misses terribly when he’s not visiting her at Full Steam Ahead, a woman who’s come to mean as much to him as his own family.
Which gets him thinking, Hermione Malfoy has a nice ring to it. Knowing her, it wouldn’t be a simple victory. She’d want to go the modern route and hyphenize.
But as far as his family’s concerned, the only thing worse than not getting married is marrying a Muggle-born witch. To their credit, his parents aren’t as bad as they used to be, open-minded even about listening to Pansy’s fashion advice. Mostly to keep up appearances, but still a step up for them.
“The last thing I do before I leave,” Granger’s voice pulls him from his thoughts as she leads her new employee, a wiry young woman named Stephanie, around the bar, “is put up the chairs and give the floor a good sweep, empty the bins at Appara- erm- the alley out back, and turn off the lights.”
Draco swivels around on his stool, always keen to see her legs when she’s not working behind the barista counter. Today, she’s in tight blue jeans and a cream long-sleeve, gold bracelets jingling around her wrist again. It’s a welcome sound. Something he got right for once.
Leaving Stephanie to practice closing on her own, she joins him for a breather. “How’s the Halloween special?” She juts her chin towards his drained cup. “I use real chocolate bars.”
“Delicious.” He’s flattered to be the original taste-tester of her coffee medleys. Something Full Steam Ahead has become known for. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
“You missed the spring special,” she says, taking a seat beside him and turning the chair so their knees knock against each other. “Green apple.”
He tilts his head. “Really? Because of me?”
“June’s your birthday.” She looks away, pink washing across her freckled cheeks. “You were on my mind, even though we weren’t speaking.”
Gods, he regrets it. If he could, he’d jump back a chapter and scratch out the entire footnote that was Claudia from his life. An abysmal mistake*.
He tries to apologize, but she smiles at him warmly and shakes her head. Her focus shifts to Stephanie emerging from the back with a broom. “She’s taking a gap year from school, so her availability is wide open. We’ve agreed she’ll work afternoons and every other weekend.”
“About time you hired someone.” He’s relieved she’s finally taking care of herself. Of course he is. Mornings and every other weekend, he mentally notes. This weekend, or next?
“How’s your love life?” Her voice always turns flat when they talk about his dating life, even though she’s usually the one to bring it up.
“Improvable. Might need to let Mother give it a go.”
“You still live with them.” It’s not a question, merely a fact posed as one to prove a point.
“I do.” His voice carries a sharp edge.
“Why?” She doesn’t flinch from his gaze. “I understand the manor is large enough to accommodate a small village, but you don’t need to live there. As a grown man, you should make your own decisions.”
Initially, he doesn’t reply, weighing her words and deciding whether to be offended or to listen to what she has to say.
It’s Granger, he reminds himself.
He sighs. “It’s too late. Any woman she’ll choose for me will want to live at the manor and I’d just end up moving back.”
“Why does she have to choose? I mean, haven’t you received your inheritance already?”
“There’s more than just my Gringott’s vault,” he doesn’t expand, but he’s certain Granger knows this already. She’s making a point, and he still walks into it. “I’ll inherit the rest once they’re gone.”
“How much money do you need?” She looks perplexed. “I’m sure you have enough to last you three lifetimes over, if not more. Is having money and land more important than your own happiness? The freedom of your own choice?”
“Suppose not,” he allows, not telling her there are limitations to such things. The loss won’t be worth it if he doesn’t gain what he wants in return. “I can’t break their hearts,” he adds, realizing it’s still a factor after everything. Their happiness remains a priority. “I’m their only son.”
“What about all the times they’ve broken yours?” She hops off the stool, her knees no longer touching his. “What they’re doing now is unfair. It’s your life, Draco. You should live for you.”
As Hermione joins Stephanie in the final steps of closing, showing her the security alarm, and how she keeps her community library shelf organized, Draco reflects.
He imagines his future. Living in the manor with a wife like Claudia, possibly kinder, possibly more cutthroat, taking over his parents’ day-to-day tasks. Passive aggressive luncheons with vultures in their Pureblood circles, raising a lonely heir who will follow in his footsteps.
Then he looks at Granger, shoving her curls into a beehive bun, skin glowing after a whole day of work. He imagines her closing shop at the end of the day, another man sitting here in his place, kissing her on the lips, knowing what she tastes like, promising wine and dinner ready at home. Someone else’s future set alight by her sheer brilliance.
The images invoke a sharp stab of jealousy in his chest. She should be his in all the ways he’s been hers for months now. He should be on her mind, driving her insane. He should be the one she comes to when she’s in a slump, unsure what the next step is in her career. When she needs someone to have her back, to make sure she isn’t hurt by corrupt business people who value galleons over passion and drive, it should be him.
There’s no dismissing the matter of his parents, however. He can’t stomach the thought of losing their approval, especially not when they’ve been doing so well. Sometimes, he almost thinks they’re happy.
And who’s to say Granger feels the same way? It isn’t worth jeopardizing their friendship. Having her in his life as a friend is better than not having her at all, a lesson sorely learned after the Claudia fiasco.
But what if Granger is interested?
He imagines waking up to an explosion of peachy curls, touching those hourglass hips whenever he wants, seeing her outside café hours—he wants it. Fiercely.
He leaves Full Steam Ahead that evening with a roadmap of paths laid out ahead of him. Navigating his life without his parents hovering over his shoulder, telling him which way to turn is unfamiliar. Intimidating. But that’s just it. It’s his life, like Granger said, not his father’s or his mother’s and they shouldn’t be the ones making decisions for him.
For the first time in his life, Draco has a chance to choose for himself.
NOVEMBER
Hermione waves goodbye to Steph as she leaves the café, wearing an elegant burgundy peacoat and a luxurious cashmere toque that keeps the tops of her ears toasty warm. The business is doing well, and she’s learned from Malfoy that prioritizing quality is often worth it, so long as you know what to look for.
The door chimes as she leaves, and a gust of stinging air shoots into her eyes, blurring her surroundings.
She doesn’t see him, and they collide like lonely magnets. Only she wobbles on her heels to stand upright, and Malfoy remains steady and tall.
He’s carrying an extravagant autumnal bouquet from the florist next door. There’s a spike of envy as she envisions the stunning woman he’ll take out tonight who will put it in a priceless vase in her spotless, house-elf-maintained home.
“Glad I didn’t miss you.” He clears his throat. There’s something off about his expression. His eyes have a deer-in-headlights look to them, like he wasn’t expecting to find her in front of her own café. “Do you have time to talk?”
Even if seeing him with flowers for another woman fires her up, she won’t sacrifice a minute that belongs to them. After he’s married, who knows how many minutes they’ll have left. If his wife would approve of this odd friendship and all the hours he spends at her café, just hanging out with her. “I think a table was about to leave inside,” she offers.
“Not at Full Steam,” he says quickly before thrusting the bouquet into her arms. “Could I take you out?”
She glances down at the flowers assaulting her olfactory senses. Dreamy sunflowers yawning with big black mouths. Peach snapdragons and orange lilies. The rich, intoxicating fragrance of clementine roses. Rounded petals luxuriously soft against the side of her jaw.
“Take me out on a date?” Certainly, she heard him wrong. The flowers are for someone else and he’s asking for her opinion on them. He’ll take them back, appeased by her approval, and hand them off to another woman.
He leads her down the stony footpath, away from disgruntled pedestrians who are forced to walk around them, and down Apparation Alley. But he doesn’t Disapparate or try taking the bouquet back. “When I walked into your café a year ago, I was hopelessly lost. But I suspect you knew that.”
“You mean your flexible schedule?” She smirks.
He shushes her with a stern look, but the glimmer of amusement is there in his eyes, and it seems like he needed the jab because his shoulders glide back and his posture grows broad, looking larger in his cinnamon brown coat.
“This entire year, I thought I needed to find a wife to feel successful. I even made it my ‘New Year’s resolution’. But then I watched you transform that soupy business into a real success, and it made me realize two things. One, that I was selling myself short. Glad to let my father handle the family business. Job shadowing him now and again. Completing odd tasks. Feeling like I earned my keep because they told me I was being a good son. Because they told me they were proud of me.”
The frustrated expression in his eyes softens when he looks at her again, focusing on her face in a way he hadn’t been before.
The fluttering at the base of her stomach returns every time he looks at her this way. It’s rioting now.
He steps closer. “And two, I’m in love with a brilliant woman who makes me want to do better. Be better. And if you tell me you don’t feel the same way, I won’t let it affect our friendship because I need you in my life. Your tenacious energy, Granger, I starve for it. You were right, I have galleons. Too many of them. But without a cause. I should have had personal goals this year, ways in which I’d become a better man, grow as an individual. You made me realize that.”
The smile on her face is so huge that he stops to stare at her. Mouth hanging ajar, speechless.
“Draco,” she steps forward, still beaming, “I am so proud of you.”
The corners of his mouth stretch wider than she's ever seen them. He lowers towards her. “What do you say, Granger?” His breath is warm on the curve of her lip. Peppermint sweet. “Will you go out with me?”
DECEMBER
At Full Steam Ahead, the doors are locked, lights dimmed, two steaming lattes on the table beside Draco’s armchair. He’s twice as warm with Hermione nestled in his arms, her legs draped across his legs to hang over the armrest.
“What about this?” He raises a listing from the thinning pile his real estate agent sent him this morning, most already poached for not suiting his tastes. This one, however, seems promising. “It has a library.”
“I think you’re trying to make me jealous.” She presses a smiley kiss on the edge of his jaw.
“Or maybe I’m looking for a place my girlfriend will like so she’ll move in with me next year.” He waggles his brows, eyes glittering.
Her hesitation before responding ignites hope. “Continue being this amazing the next few months and we’ll see.”
Fine, he’ll try again next week.
Hermione clicks her pen and jots something into the journal on her lap. “I have next year’s resolution. Want to hear it?”
“Does it involve moving in with Draco?”
She ignores him. “I’m going to hire another employee to watch the shop so I can go back to school.”
“School for what?” It’s the first time he’s hearing of this.
“Journalism,” she says and cuts him off before he makes a bad joke about her relationship with Rita Skeeter. “Real journalism. I’ve been thinking a lot about the power of honest news reporting. There’d be no democracy without journalism, and I’m going to make it my mission to tell the people the truth.”
“Ambitious.”
But she’s not finished yet. “Once I’m licensed, I’ll investigate corruption in business. With special focus on those who disguise their crimes as acts of philanthropy,” she says, with more steel in her voice. “And the Zelensky Zoo will be my first exposé.”
“That’s my vindictive girl.” He chuckles, having realized where she was going with it the moment she said corruption. “Show them hell.”
Her eyes are about to spark flames. She’s so excited. “Have you made a resolution yet?”
“I’m going to tell my parents about us,” he holds up a finger, and then two more, “and then I’m going to tell them I’m moving out and changing career paths. Which reminds me, Gelbard got back to me today, said he’ll mentor me so long as I can prove I’m competent with a cauldron and pass his IQ tests.”
“Which you will,” she says confidently. “That’s incredible, Draco. Imagine school textbooks teaching potions you’ve created. You could go down in history as one of the greatest potioneers of our generation, if not all time.”
“Your confidence in me is terrifying.” He laughs, squeezing her tightly to his chest where she fits so perfectly, he’s convinced they were made for one another. “Promise you won’t let me give up? Even if I’m begging you to.”
“Do you know who you’re speaking to?”
“Yes, and I love her, and am never letting her go.”
Her eyes soften, how they always do when he tells her those three words, which is so often you’d think she’d be sick of it by now. But Gods, he really does love her. Too much, probably.
Clutching the front of his jumper, she tugs him down and kisses him on the mouth. Over and over, murmuring “I love you” between each one, until they’re both gasping for air, lips swollen, hair thoroughly mussed.
Outside, the first snowfall ignites the indigo sky and lays a pure white slate over the city.
