Chapter Text
Desiderata (plural noun) - something that is needed or desired.
Midnights are a time of solace.
Everything is quiet.
Peaceful.
Still.
Each night, Hermione Granger sneaks to the library. It was her sanctuary. Her comfort zone. Her kingdom. The books are alive. They keep her company and tell her stories. They also bear witness to a series of fights, stolen kisses, and intimate moments with a blond Slytherin who treats the library as his refuge too. The world has been too noisy for both of them after the war.
Hermione Granger, a war heroine. Draco Malfoy, defected DeathEater. Two words to describe them both. Inaccurately.
Survivor. That is the word that should be used.
Curt.
Direct.
Precise.
Just two people on different sides of the war, doing what they can to survive. But in the library, the lines blur. It becomes nonexistent should they wish it to. And most of the time, that’s what they do. They erase the line and join each other in the grey.
Here they can be anyone they want to be. He can be someone good. She can be ambiguous. He can be a priest and her a sinner confessing. She can be Death and he could be Life. But what they like most is that they can be just themselves. Just Hermione and just Draco, without their sins and good deeds. Just two people who seek comfort and offer it in return.
Funny how books can transport you to different places without physically traveling but within the library, in between bookshelves, Hermione and Draco found their home. In each other’s arms.
It all started in September, the night of Hermione’s birthday. She just wanted to escape all the noise from the party the returning Gryffindors threw for her. She was thankful, but like all previous gatherings before the war fully started, most are ruined by attacks from Voldemort’s side. The paranoia still eats at her. Scratching its way from the end of her spine, up to her neck, till it engulfs her head like a helmet.
She mumbled an apology and quietly made her way out of the common room after casting a disillusionment charm on herself, making her way to the library through the darkness. She quietly goes to her safe place by the restricted section when she notices something amiss. The window nook she has resorted to many times is occupied.
Draco Malfoy’s hair shimmered beneath the moonlight. He was staring outside the window, drowning in his thoughts. One of his legs was tucked behind a folded one up on the seat, his left arm resting on top of it. She can see it, his mark. Tainted by fresh cuts that looked like tally marks.
Standing still, she looked down. She knew it all too well. The desire to erase an imprint of a bad happening. To change what a brand represents. She knew it all too well. Her mark looked the same. Under the glamour charm was the “mudblood” scar struck out by countless slashes.
Maybe he needed the peace too. So she turned to leave him, but when she did, she heard him speak.
“Vervain” he mumbled in a low voice, breaking the silence. His gaze still focused outside the window.
Hermione turned to him, her brows furrowed in confusion.
“You’re the one who smells like vervain,” He turned his head to look at her. “Happy birthday, Granger.”
With her lips agape, she slowly approached him. “I—what? How?”
“I spend early mornings here in this nook and it always smells like vervain. I was wondering who leaves the scent, but just a minute ago, it filled the air fully. Then I noticed your unruly hair.” He reached for a bottle of Firewhiskey on the floor and chugged a bit. “And your birthday is announced everywhere. It’s even in the Prophet this morning.”
Her throat was dry but she still tried to swallow. It hurt. Malfoy was talking casually to her as if he did so when they were younger. Before the war. As if they were civil.
“Thanks. I should just go.” That was all she could muster. She can just find a quiet alcove by the hallways or even go to the Quidditch pitch for some solace.
“I don’t mind company,” Draco said in almost a whisper. He then turns to look outside the window again.
Going against her logic, she joined him, copying the way he sat, their socked left foot touching. He offered her the bottle and she took a swig. “You’re escaping too, aren’t you.”
He nodded once, looking at her. “Everywhere is noisy. Even the silence is deafening.”
She agreed. “It is a scary sound.”
No words came after that. Just the passing of Firewhiskey and their sock-covered toes touching.
The following midnights were spent in comfortable silence. Reading books under the moonlight, sometimes seated on the floor, sometimes on their usual window seat. There was always something touching. Their feet, knees, sometimes arms.
Accompanied by Firewhiskey—or sometimes tea—each other’s presence felt like a life vest, keeping the other afloat. Until one time when he suddenly took hold of her right arm, seemingly upset at the slur scratched out by cuts in different directions. The wounds were not fresh and it has been a while since she added a tally to it, she forgot to put a glamour over it that time though.
“Hermione,” It was the first time he said her name without spite or anything other than loathing.
She took his arm and pulled the sleeve up. “Don’t, Draco,” she stopped him. “Not when you do the same thing.”
“I chose mine. You didn’t.”
“Should I wear it as a badge of honor then?”
That made him wince. His jaw clenches and he looks at her pointedly. She doesn’t know why he seemed more upset for her than she is for herself.
“Don’t punish yourself for something that’s not your fault.”
Hermione slapped him the moment the words came out of his mouth. “You have no right to tell me that!”
“And your friends do, don’t they?!” He glared, rubbing his stinging cheek. “But that doesn’t stop you from cutting.” Draco stood up to leave.
“It’s something. To inflict pain towards one’s self,” she said huffing, expecting tears to fall but her eyes remained dry. She was numb now. She had been for a long time. “When you hurt yourself, you control it. The pain is current. It is now. I wanted to hurt in the present, not just because of something horrible that happened in the past.”
He was listening to her, unmoving. But she heard him take and let out a deep breath before he turned and sat back, leaning against the windowpane. For the first time in weeks, no physical touch was present, and instead of paranoia, it was a numbness that is taking over Hermione’s being.
Like a tether severed, she was starting to drift into the void.
And he was starting to drift away.
But then he spoke.
“We’ll be forever haunted by our past.” He said and she was slowly swimming back, the tether connected again. “We were just kids, Granger. Too young to witness the horrors of the war. Too young to live in it. Too young to fight in it. But we’re still quite young right now.”
His words definitely meant a lot more than what he said. What remained unsaid was a plethora of emotions, thoughts, words that he may be terrified to say. To convey.
Hermione listened but his words seemed to be directed for them both and not just her. She wanted to ask but decided against it.
The silence deafened them that night.
The truce came in the form of white dagger-petaled tulips. And the first edition of Much Ado About Nothing.
Hermione looked at him and he could hear her thoughts without Legilimency. “The ones in the Muggle Libraries are facsimiles.”
“Draco—I”
“I don’t accept returned gifts, Granger.” Popping off the cork of the Firewhiskey, he sat down by the window seat. He tipped the bottle back as he drank then gave her a smug smile.
She looked at him rather fondly. He’s quite odd when expressing himself. But that’s how he is. And this is who she was. So she went and joined him to read the book, but this time, her feet were in between his.
He was reading a Muggle Bible this time and his eyes flicked up to look at her when she approached him. Draco was sitting by the window but she decided to sit down on the floor.
“You’re reading the Bible.”
“Good eye, Granger,” he mumbled with a smirk that made her smile.
“What passage are you reading?” Hermione asked, leaning back against her hands on the floor.
“The book of John.”
“Oh,” she nods, pouring him a cup of tea from a thermos she brought. “I like the passage from Job 30:29,” she hands him the cup. “I am a brother to dragons, and companion to owls.”
He takes the cup and he smiles. “Very fitting.”
“If I were to ask you to compare me to a woman of the Bible, who would you say?”
“Granger,” he started, “You are remarkable, I can't narrow you down to just one woman. You can be as feisty and cunning as Delilah, or as clever and as Esther, or someone as rare as Deborah who faced 900 Chariots of Iron, or the first rebel, Eve.” His eyes were on the page but he wasn’t reading anymore. “It is hard to compare you to only one when you have been all in different phases.”
He had called her remarkable. Hermione appreciated the compliment.
“If I asked you about me, who will I be compared to?” Draco closed and put the book away.
“Job, who lost everything,” she started. “Or Moses, who had a fall from grace. Or better yet, Saul. An oppressor… who then finds the light and fights for faith.” That sounded like a metaphor.
“Do you believe in this, Granger?”
“No.”
“But you read it still?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I believe in you though.”
He moved to sit beside her. “Believe in me…”
Hermione nodded. “I believe you’re doing what you can to do what’s right.”
Draco quietly sipped his tea. When he finished, he put the cup down at his side and rested his head back on the window seat.
Hermione stared at him all the while. Draco Malfoy felt like a galaxy yet to be explored. A collection of universes combined in one being. She can’t help but marvel at the wonder, however, it felt like being sucked into a vortex.
It was almost November and she was the first to arrive in their spot. She sat on the floor this time, facing the window as she read a Muggle book her mother gave her.
Oh, how she missed her parents. She wondered how they’re doing right now, living life without any memories of her. Sighing and glancing at the note on the preface, one of the few reminders she has of them. ‘Whatever it is, if you’re afraid; do it scared’ it says.
She let her fingers trace the scribble when she felt his chin rest on her shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but he read what was written.
The first time they fell asleep together was after a hissing debate. She doesn’t even remember what they were fighting about but she gave up and laid on the floor, glaring back at him as he shot daggers through his eyes. Hermione then rolled her eyes at him before closing her eyes, covering them with her other arm.
The nightmare came.
Bellatrix was carving the word mudblood again, this time on her other arm.
She tried to scream but her throat was dry and rough. She hears the mad woman’s delighted shriek and she looks at her just in time to see Bellatrix holding the dagger above her face, aiming and then stabbing her in her eye.
She woke up with a gasp, cold sweat running down the side of her face. Hermione tried to look around for Malfoy, eyes adjusting to the dark. She took a deep breath and glanced at her side. And there he was, lying in the opposite direction, asleep, but holding her hand.
She can’t help but smile in relief.
Their traumas and nightmares may never leave them. But at least they were not facing those demons alone.
He was running late. Or maybe he wasn’t coming at all tonight.
Hermione said. She had figured out how to make her Discman work and would’ve wanted him to listen to some music if he’s willing to try. Guess she only has herself to spend with tonight, so what she did was put in a CD and wear the headphones.
Pressing play, she approached the window as The Beach Boys’ Don’t Worry Baby started playing.
Well, it's been building up inside of me for
Oh, I don't know how long
I don't know why, but I keep thinking
Something's bound to go wrong
But she looks in my eyes
And makes me realize
She didn’t sit. Just listened as she looked out. She remembered how her parents listened to the same song every Sunday morning, dancing as they make breakfast.
And she says (Don't worry baby)
"Don't worry baby
(Don't worry baby)
Everything will turn out alright"
(Don't worry baby)
Don't worry baby
(Don't worry baby)
Hermione closed her eyes and suddenly she is in the kitchen of her childhood home. Dancing along with her parents albeit alone, knowing one day she’ll have her own partner. She could see them clearly as she softly sang along.
Her mother’s eyes were shining with so much love as her father twirled her and held her in his arms, his eyes reflecting that same love if not more.
“Don’t worry, baby,” She sang, feeling tears fall even with eyes closed.
She stopped.
She wasn’t at home.
She’s at Hogwarts.
In the library.
Alone.
However, when she opened her eyes, all she could see were pink lips. Looking up a bit, Malfoy was looking at her curiously.
“Don’t worry baby?” He asked, eyeing the device she was wearing.
“Oh, it’s from a song I’m listening to.” She hoped he didn’t see her dancing.
He did.
“I figured out how to make it work. Would you want to listen?”
He eyed the Discman suspiciously. “How?”
“I have an extra pair of headphones,” she said and took them out of her satchel. Hermione tugged him to sit across her on the floor. “We can always listen to it out loud, but it sounds better this way. You can hear it clearly—in my opinion at least,” she smiled and helped him wear the headphones.
Draco seemed wary but trusted her enough to let her have control. Something she appreciated. Especially since they weren’t so trusting to anyone anymore at all after the war.
“It’s best to listen with your eyes closed. You feel the song flow through you.” Hermione nodded, pressed the play button yet again, and once the intro of Wouldn’t It Be Nice started, closed her eyes. She hoped he did the same.
He did not.
Wouldn't it be nice if we were older?
Then we wouldn't have to wait so long
And wouldn't it be nice to live together
In the kind of world where we belong ?
Unbeknownst to her, Draco Malfoy sat there, listening to the song as he took in her features.
Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up
In the morning when the day is new?
Granger looked perfect. Her face was framed by a halo of wild hair and only the moonlight from the window to illuminate her. But she was glowing to him.
And after having spent the day together
Hold each other close the whole night through
Draco watched as her lips curled into a smile, bobbing her head softly to the song.
Happy times together we've been spending
I wish that every kiss was never-ending
He’d noticed how long her lashes truly were. Or that even when her lips are a bit chapped, it still seemed soft, sweet—to touch—to kiss.
Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray
It might come true
Baby, then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do
Oh, we could be married (oh, we could be married)
And then we'd be happy (and then we'd be happy)
Oh, wouldn’t that truly be nice?
He watched her closely as she sang along, softly singing the words.
His full attention was focused on hers.
And she doesn’t even know.
You know it seems the more we talk about it
It only makes it worse to live without it
But let's talk about it
It. What was it? Draco wondered.
But seeing her like this. He understood.
This was it. She is it.
So he leaned in and kissed her softly.
The first kiss made sense.
And those that followed.