Trust

Hermione Weasley walked into the crowded Three Broomsticks. It was a late Friday night and the place was filled with witches and wizards. She pushed her way through the crowds to sit at the bar. The ordered a Firewhiskey and looked around the room. A heated game of poker was going on at one of the tables; at another, a few friendly looking wizards drank beers and chatted; at one, a group of goblins scanned their beadie eyes around the room; a few dark faces witches were whispering at another.

Hermione sighed, taking a sip of the strong alcohol. It was seven years after the war. Seven years after Lord Voldemort was defeated and Harry Potter died to save all of the wizarding world. Dark lashed eyelids closed over chocolate colored eyes as she remembered how broken up Ginny had been at the funeral. Hermione had to admit that she didn't think anyone close to Harry would ever get over his death. She knew Ginny never would, nor would she or Ron. It was one of those deaths that you think you will get over if you don't think it actually happened because then there would be nothing to get over.

"Is this seat taken?" a silky voice broke her from her thoughts. She turned to look at the speaker. He was tall, and wore a long black cloak with the hood covering up his face.

"No, go ahead," she replied, and he sat, ordering a Firewhiskey for himself. She stared at him, as if she were trying to see through that dark cloak. Something about him seemed very familiar.

"I know the war is over, but a pretty woman like yourself shouldn't be out alone so late," the man said after taking a sip of his drink.

Hermione blushed, thinking that the man had to be blind. She was twenty-four, had the same brown eyes, unruly hair as she had always had and already had worry lines. She was a married woman, already had three year old twins. "Thank you for your concern," she decided was a safe option to go with.

"Not at all," he said. "What is your reason for drinking so late?"

She let out a rye life. "I'm married and have twin three year olds. I'm just taking a few minutes for myself before I have to go deal with the circus that is my home."

"Oh I see," he said, with a hint of a smile on his voice.

"And you?" she asked, taking a sip of Firewhiskey.

"Just taking some time off of life," he said, leaning his elbows on the bar. "I don't have the best reputation and I try to keep to myself. It's hard doing that sometimes so I go out like this and no one would think of my as anyone but some man just having a beer...maybe with an unhealthy body disfiguration or something."

She smiled, looking into her drink. "Seems like a good enough reason. It makes mine seem pitiful."

"No, not at all. I couldn't imagine dealing with two three year olds."

"They are a handful. And their father is more of a child than both of them."

"Mmmm, us men can be a handful, I won't deny it."

She chuckled, the thought of knowing this man nagging in the back of her head. Where did she know him from? "Excuse me, I don't mean to sound pressing, but do I know you from somewhere?"

"Possibly," the man answered. "Did you go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"Did you fight in the war?"

"Yes."

"Then that's two things we have in common," he said, before pulling down his hood. Hermione couldn't help gasp. It was Draco Malfoy. He was her age, but already looked at least thirty. His right eye was glazed over white, blind a special punishment from his own father right before Draco killed him. This was the Draco Malfoy that had double-crossed Lord Voldemort and helped Harry to kill the evil wizard.

"Malfoy," she said in a voice that didn't sound like it belonged to her.

"Granger...or should I say, Weasley?" he said, leaning towards her.

She nodded slowly, her mind wheeling back to that night before the Last Battle. That was the night when Lucius had blinded his own son resulting in his own death and leaving Draco alone at a school that thought he had been a spy for Voldemort all these years. That was the night that Hermione had found him and taken him to the Room of Requierment and fixed his eye as good as she could. That was the night when he had kissed her and that was the night when she had found the human side of Draco.

"Where have you been?" she finally asked.

"Hiding," he told her. "Even though I helped destroy Voldemort, no one trusts me."

Hermione's thoughts flashed back to that night, remembering how his lips felt on hers and how soft he had carressed her, and she wondered if he could still make her feel that way. Not caring if it seemed like having these feelings was cheating on Ron, she reached for his hand and put her hand on his. "I trust you."

He looked over at her with his good eye, remembering that same night. He turned his hand over so it was palm up and wrapped his fingers around hers. The light in the room lit up her face and he didn't care if she was married; he leaned forward and kissed her. She was shocked at first but kissed him back, relishing in the feeling he gave her and wondering why she ever married Ron. Of course she loved him, but he had never made her feel like this. Knowing it was already wrong, she pulled away and shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking at him one last time before grabbing her purse and pushing her way out of the door, heading towards her home, her husband and her children. They were the reality, Draco Malfoy was just some dream of hers that she wished were true.