Common Ground

It's the second time in her life that she finds herself attending Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington's Deathday Party. She's listening to musical saws in an ice-cold dungeon and avoiding a table covered in rotting food while surrounded by the dead. At least she brought a peacoat and mittens this time, but its not much of a bright side. She's coming to the realisation that she's more comfortable being around souls long dead than she is around the living ones upstairs.

She does feel a bit closer to the dead now, after it all.

She thinks that Fred and Remus would tell her to run along upstairs, that she doesn't belong in this smelly room with these people who are forever stuck in between. Feels sure that Dumbledore, at least, would understand that she's one of them right now. She wonders where she and the boys were at this time last year, but can't remember. It's all a blur of hunger and cold bones and bickering.

Even now, there's bickering. Harry's always trying to get her to leave school after Christmas and take up Kingsley's job offer at the Ministry. Ron's still trying to persuade her to rethink things, to give him another chance. Ginny's trying to set her up with Anthony Goldstein. The Healers keep trying to persuade her to let them cease efforts on her parents' memory restoration. Don't they all know by now that her answer will be "no"?

She's startled out of her thoughts when a member of the Headless Hunt tosses his head through her midsection as if she were a bowling pin to be knocked over. It certainly feels like she's been knocked over when the ice feels her bones and her body reacts with violent shivers. So much for the peacoat and mittens.

Hermione glances down at her watch as she moves out of the way of more flying heads. 8:22 p.m. If she leaves now, she can probably get back to the Heads' dorm and enjoy an hour or so of solitude in the common room before Michael Corner, Matilda Davies, and Malfoy come back from the feast.

Nearly Headless Nick is busy tossing heads into the fray, and he looks so childishly joyful about this that she hasn't the heart to interrupt him to say goodnight. Instead, she creeps slowly around the perimeter of the room, avoiding Peeves' tripwire near the food table (much to the disappointment of the ghosts who have been waiting all night for the only corporeal being in the room to set it off).

She's just managed to avoid a conversation with the Fat Friar and slide out of the room into the dark hallway when she lifts her eyes and sees Draco Malfoy stopped dead a few feet away, holding a tray laden with food, plates, and cutlery. He takes two steps forward and peers past her into the dungeon, the mournful sound drifting out and making him cringe as the band strikes up again.

"Granger? What the bloody hell were you doing in there?" he asks, his voice incredulous, as if he can't understand why anyone would hold such dreadful company. She glances over her shoulder and sees the Bloody Baron twirling Moaning Myrtle around in the center of the dance floor as the Headless Hunts' heads roll gleefully around them.

Hermione turns back to him and meets his eyes again. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she shrugs before answering with a small shake of her head. "I was hiding." They both turn as a wave of laughter and chatter echoes down the hallway from the Entrance Hall, and she notices that it makes him cringe just as much as the saws did. "What are you doing down here, then? I thought you'd be at the feast." She gestures at his tray of food. It's clear he's been in the kitchens, and the sight of so much food for one person reminds her of Ron. Despite all the bickering, her heart hurts a little.

He shrugs back at her and nearly spills the flagon of pumpkin juice on the tray with the jerking motion. "Same as you." He doesn't even bother to give her his trademark smirk, and it gives her pause.

The eerie screeching noises emanating from the room behind them begin to remind her of the background music in a cheesy horror film. She manages to control her laughter at that thought, instead giving Draco a weak smile so he won't think she's mocking him for what he's just admitted. After all the horrible things he's said to her over the years - all the nasty things he's done - he deserves a bit of mocking. But that's not her way. "Cheers," she says with a cordial nod, and takes a few steps toward the Entrance Hall.

Draco calls out after her. "Granger – don't go back up to the dorm just now." When she turns back to toward him, the conspiratorial smirk he gives has her cocking her head in question. "Corner and Davies are… busy," he answers.

Hermione exhales in an annoyed huff. "Merlin's pants, again?" she mumbles, choosing to ignore his chortling reaction to her expletive. "I've walked in on them at least three times in the last fortnight!"

"Yeah, well, just be glad Corner can't get up your staircase. Having the two of them in the room next door most nights doesn't allow for much sleep."

The thought of having to listen to their fellow Head Boy and Girl moaning all night makes her slightly nauseous, but she chuckles along with him. "We should stage an intervention."

"A what?" he asks.

He looks genuinely interested, her smile falters as she contemplates explaining the concept of an intervention to Draco sodding Malfoy of all people. She shakes her head. "Nevermind. Thanks for the warning. Good luck with the hiding." She moves to leave again.

"Have you ever been in the Slytherin common room?" he asks, forcing her to halt halfway along the hall.

She hesitates. Harry and Ron would never believe her, but she and Malfoy have learned to communicate without insulting one another since returning to the school - she's found him surprisingly easy to work with. On occasion, they've laughed together over the ridiculous exploits of Michael Corner and Matilda Davies or over stupid things the first years get up to during class breaks, and they usually spend evenings studying at the same table in the Heads' common room. Once, at the weekend, she'd insisted that he take a break from making repairs to the Quidditch pitch to get some food because he was looking paler than usual. Still, she wouldn't call them friends – she doesn't ever seek out his company if it isn't to do with schoolwork or Head duties.

"Granger?" he presses.

"No, I haven't," she mumbles, leaning against the cool wall.

"The elves gave me entirely too much food, and I'm sure the ghosts didn't have anything edible in there." He glances at his feet a moment before meeting her gaze, the way he tilts his chin making him look arrogant. "Want to join me? We've got at least an hour of quiet before the feast begins to wrap up…"

For a moment, she wants to just walk away just to make him feel like a fool for even suggesting it. There's been too many years of cruel jabs at her pride and too many tears shed in the girls' bathrooms afterward. Too many "mudbloods". The last one is forever on her arm and he'd done nothing. There are too many things between them.

She lifts her chin up, too, so that she can confidently tell him no, but that action alone makes her reconsider. Had he been steeling himself, too?

"Alright." She hopes she's not making a big mistake.

Draco exhales and his eyes brighten a bit as he nods in the direction of the Potions classrooms. Hermione pushes off the wall and follows him down the corridor, the terrible scraping melody still echoing through the halls. She hopes she's not walking into a trap. It feels unlikely, at least. He's been decent. He hasn't said anything horrible since they got back to school. He's kept his head down and kept to himself, focusing on his classes and his duties. Always the first on-the-job during the continued clean-up efforts at weekends, he's usually one of the last to stop working, too. She's noticed that much.

No, she doesn't think they're friends, but that doesn't mean that she can't be friendly - especially since he's trying, which is so unlike him that it makes her wonder briefly what he's playing at. The thought is fleeting, though.

Things change, she reminds herself. People change.

He stops near the end of the hallway in front of a nondescript section of the wall and whispers "frogspawn". The stones slides upward without a sound, granting them access to the room beyond.

Malfoy walks straight to the back of the room, setting his tray down on a tea table in front of a green leather couch. There's a fire crackling in a large hearth to the right side of the table and across from the couch are floor-to-ceiling windows. Hermione studies the room as the door slides shut behind her. Pleasantly shocked by the aesthetic, she instantly prefers it to that of her old common room upstairs. This room is all calm, dark woods and muted tones - the dim lighting encouraging tranquility. She tries to banish any snide thoughts about the Slytherins needing a little peace as she walks through the room, admiring the heavy oak tables with study lamps and the shelves that seem to hold basic reference books for all subjects.

When she reaches Malfoy, she sits on the edge of the couch cautiously so as not to disturb him as he splits the food onto plates. The windows in front of them look out into the lake. Alongside the gentle clink of silverware against china, Hermione can hear the gentle swish of the lake's currents beyond the thick glass. Its soothing, and she can see why he'd want to come down here when exiled from their own common area.

He scoots a plate along the tea table toward her, and she smiles in thanks as her stomach rumbles at the scent of warm roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie. Sometimes its still strange to her after all that time of scavenging, to be able to have food whenever she wants it.

They eat in silence for a while, watching schools of tiny fish swimming past the windows. She's surprised that she doesn't feel awkward being alone with him. The quiet feels nearly comfortable; familiar.

With a jolt of realisation, she acknowledges it is familiar. Nearly every night for two months, they've sat on the same sofa or on opposite ends of the study table in the Heads' common room, saying very little to one another aside from "evening" or "goodnight", or occasionally comparing answers on their homework. Maybe it's time to try having a conversation with him that doesn't revolve around Transfiguration essays or Prefect patrol schedules.

"Do you get to come down here often, anymore?" she asks, setting her fork down on her plate and turning to face him.

He's just closed his mouth around a forkful of mash, and he stiffens as she looks away to allow him some sort of privacy in which to chew. "Not often, no," he finally answers, setting his fork down, too. "What about you? Do you spend much time in Gryffindor tower?"

She shakes her head no and wrinkles her nose slightly at the thought of being up there now without Fred and George trying to sell Skiving Snackboxes in the corners. Without Lavender Brown gossiping behind her back. Without Harry and Ron there beside her at their favorite table by the fire. "No… it was always much too loud for my tastes, anyway." She hopes she's not as transparent as she feels. "This is much better."

He lets out a laugh. A real laugh. She realises that she's rarely ever seen him in a moment of real amusement. His hand comes up to his face as if to cover the way his lips are turning up at the corners.

"Really? The Snake Hole is better?" he scoffs, in disbelief. It's the most similar that he's been to his old self all night, and for some reason that makes her more comfortable instead of putting her on edge.

"Well, yes. It's relaxing… reminds me of the library a bit. It's certainly a much better place to study than in a raucous tower. And there's a built-in aquarium! No other common room has that."

She gestures at the windows, turning her head to look back out at the schools of fish just outside them. Her mouth opens in a bloodcurdling scream when she sees a huge, gaping eye staring in at them from just outside of the windows instead of fish. All logic and control are immediately gone and suddenly, it's six months ago in the Great Hall, and she's just reacting. Scrambling backward and reaching for her wand, she throws up a Shield Charm in front of them and takes offensive aim.

"It's alright!" Draco calls at her, repeating it over and over again as he steps carefully between her and the window, protecting the contents of the tea table from spilling over due to her flailing legs. "Granger! It's just the squid!"

Her hand is shaking and she can't keep her wand steady. Why can't she keep her damn wand steady?

He places his hand over her arm, stepping forward to block her view of the window. "It's alright, Hermione," he soothes, and it's the sound of her Christian name and the feel of his cool palm on the ever-burning scar on her forearm that wakes her up from the haze of panic. He seems to recognise that she's back in her mind - that she's no longer just a creature of instinct caught between fight or flight. He's careful to keep her view blocked as pushes her wand slowly down and away from the glass, and releases his grip on her as she sinks back onto the couch.

She takes in a deep, gasping breath, pulling air into her lungs as she fists her hands into a throw pillow. Simultaneously trying to control both her breath and the bright pink embarrassment that's crawling persistently into her cheeks, she groans. Sod it all, she thinks, not wanting to believe that she's just lost her shit in front of Draco Malfoy.

"It's just the giant squid," he murmurs, "you're alright. It can't hurt you." He sits next to her and watches as she continues to take long, controlled breaths. He seems genuinely concerned and it makes her cheeks flush more.

Hermione flicks her wand, removing the Shield Charm. She notices that she'd somehow managed to blast two armchairs and a blanket rack aside in casting it. Fighting off further embarrassment, she springs off the couch and moves to lift the chairs from the ground. Malfoy follows her lead, retrieving cushions and throw blankets from where they'd landed.

Their hands bump as they both reach for a serving spoon that somehow got caught in the melee, and she pauses, staring down at the plush green carpet that's now sprinkled with bits of mashed potato. "I'm sorry, Draco," she whispers.

"Don't be. It happens to me all the time. Theo Nott, too. But don't tell him I told you that." He shrugs, nonchalant, and smirks. "Of course, neither of us has managed to make such a spectacular mess in the process, so you're excelling as usual."

She bursts into laughter, her hand shaking on the floor as she continues to collect herself. For a moment, she thinks he's going to grab it, but then he moves away to continue straightening the area. She watches him fluffing a throw pillow and wonders who he is now, because he's obviously not the Draco Malfoy she thought she knew. Not anymore. That boy would never have admitted weakness in front of her, and certainly not for her benefit.

When she pulls herself off the ground, she finds him standing in front of the glass with his arms crossed, glaring at the creature floating outside the window and shaking his head. The eye still stares unblinkingly, horrifically large and blank. "Bloody fish," he curses under his breath.

"Cephalopod," she whispers, glaring up at the eye as well.

"Huh?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at her again.

She swears she can hear a crescendo in the musical saws from down the hall as the squid begins to float upwards, its massive tentacles with their creepy suckers dragging along the glass as it moves toward the surface.

"It's a cephalopod, not a fish."

He laughs again, and somewhere in the back of her hazy mind she wishes that he'd smile like that more often - big and wide, with a dimple in one cheek and his eyes bright. He looks like a completely different person when he smiles like that.

"Leave it to you, Granger," he says, "to recover from a great shock like that by spouting off a scientific classification."

She closes her eyes rubs at her temples. "I'm never eating calamari again," she mumbles begrudgingly, allowing herself to smile along with him at her own unintended comedy.

When she's finally controlled her scalding cheeks, and he's finally got his chortles under control, he sits back down on the couch and casually drapes an arm over the back of it. "You okay, then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be alright. Just wasn't expecting to see a great big eyeball staring at us, is all."

The half-smile he gives her makes her stomach flop around like a fish on land. "So you were saying that you enjoy the built-in aquarium…?"

She makes a noise of disgust as he burst into laughter again. "Yes, well, the little trout are quite nice. I could do without that monstrosity peering in, though." She shakes her head emphatically. "Can you imagine being a little first year and waking up to that looking through the window at you?" she asks, incredulous.

"Yeah. First time is happened, I screamed my bloody head off, and I'm pretty sure Goyle wet the bed."

She wasn't anticipating that. "Seriously?"

Draco nods, scowling. "Seriously. The whole room was all dark and there was this great creeping eye looming out of the darkness at us. We'd only been here about a week? Not enough time to know there was a squid in the lake. It was a complete shocker. We woke up half the house that night." He grins at the memory. "Snape was furious that no one warned us about it in advance. The older students thought it was a good laugh." He shakes his head and then waggles his eyebrows. "The Merpeople come and have a look in sometimes, too. Perverts, some of them, trying to catch a glimpse of you changing…"

When a comfortable silence spreads between them once more, she reaches for her pie plate and takes a large bite. Hermione hopes he won't bring up her panicking at the sight of the squid to anyone else, especially not McGonagall or Madame Pomfrey, or even herself. If she's being honest, especially herself, because she hasn't allowed herself to lose control like that since the end of the war, and she doesn't want to allow it to happen ever again.

"Hermione?"

He leans forward toward her, and she pauses mid-chew. Here it comes, she thinks. But he doesn't say what she expects. Instead, he places his palm over her forearm again, over the scar that's still hot and swollen six months after its creation.

She's not allowed anyone else to touch it all this time, except the Healers at St. Mungo's. Is careful to wear long sleeves so that no one will see it except those who already know about it; Bill and Fleur, and the people who were there when it happened. She takes a sharp breath and catches his gaze, and she's surprised by the sadness and regret she sees there - surprised by the way he grips her arm tightly and by the fact that his cool skin against her scar seems to sooth the ache in a way no salve has been able to do for all these months.

"I'm sorry," he says firmly. Sincerely. "I've been wanting to say it for months. I should have done something." It seems that he can't hold her eyes long, like he's struggling to keep his grip on her arm gentle instead of desperate. "I'm sorry."

She thinks of all the things between them - all the things preventing them from really knowing one another. All the fights, the hateful words. Her beaver teeth. His broken nose. Her scar, and his tattoo. She thinks that for the first time, it's different. Instead, tonight, they share laughter.

Things change. People change.

"Draco," she says, allowing the weird to hang between them. She won't tell him it's okay, because it's not.

It's not okay, but maybe it really is over now.

"I'm sorry," Draco says again.

"I know," she whispers. She lays her other hand on top of his left forearm - the one he always keeps covered these days. They've got that in common, now.

He hasn't asked for her forgiveness, but she thinks she needs to offer it. Thinks about what he'd said about needing to say it for months. She thinks about all the nights she's caught him watching her from across the table as they write out Transfiguration essays or complicated proofs for Arithmancy, and she finds it comes freely. "I forgive you, Draco."

He bows his head, putting his elbows on his knees and head in his hands, and she gently squeezes his arm. She turns away and starts to clear up their meal as a courtesy as he puts himself back together. Out in the lake, she can see the shadow of the squid as it twirls lazily above the seaweed that reaches up from the lake bed toward the weak moonlight above.

Its shadow keeps growing fainter until she hears the grating sound of the dungeon door sliding open. The two of them turn toward it to find Theodore Nott entering the common room alone.

He stops and glances between the two of them, and she can't tell what he's thinking as he shoves his hands in his pockets, his tie loose around his neck. He pauses in the doorway that leads to a descending set of stairs to the right of the main fireplace. "Pudding's nearly done, Draco," he says clearly. "Might be a good time to clear out." Nott nods his head to Hermione. "Evening, Granger."

Hermione doesn't have time to respond before Theo is gone down the stairs. Draco is composed again, already retrieving the tray that Hermione has stacked with their used dishes. "Hopefully the rabbits are done shagging all over our common room," he says bluntly, trying to bring some levity back, and she squeezes her eyes shut in disgust as they move toward the exit.

They keep up a steady and cheerful discussion about Scourgifying every surface and following up with Magical Mess Remover just to be safe all the way to the kitchens. After they drop off the dishes, they walk back toward the Grand Staircase and the entrance to their dorm. She hasn't noticed it before, but the way even the Slytherins scowl at Draco as he passes makes her think that there's a reason he doesn't spend much time in his old common room anymore.

They sneak inside the heavy oak doors tucked under the Grand Staircase and down the hall into their small common room. It's empty, and everything looks innocent enough, but she can hear Matilda's giggles through the door of Michael's room just down the hall. Malfoy rolls his eyes and walks toward his bedroom.

Hermione takes a few steps after him and points her wand at Michael's door. The giggles cease immediately with a well-placed Silencing Charm, and Malfoy turns back to smirk at her. "Happy Halloween, Granger," he says, pushing his door open with a little wave of farewell.

"Hermione," she says, smirking back. He's already said it tonight, and there's really no reason to revert to old habits.

He turns around to search her face, and then he nods, his smirk relaxing into a genuine smile. "Alright, then. Hermione," he agrees.

She heads for the girls' staircase. "Happy Halloween, Draco." As she enters her room, tossing her wand down on her bedside table, and readying herself for bed, she considers the ghosts downstairs and how they are neither here nor there, stuck in between for eternity. She and Draco have a chance those ghosts will never have again - a chance to forgive, even if they can never forget. They have a chance to lay what has passed to rest, move on, and start anew.

Maybe after breakfast she should drop some toast in the lake as a thank you for the squid.

I'd like to offer a massive thanks to PartyLines at AO3 for doing the beta edit on this one-shot. Her suggestions were so thoughtful. I can't thank her enough for taking the time to give me focused feedback, encourage me to cut the unnecessary bits, and to offer suggestions on transitions that made the emotional impact much stronger. Thanks to the mods at DFW for letting me jump into this Halloween Trope Fest on a whim during the trope announcement video, and to the mods at Strictly Dramione for dealing with me when I got my fests confused and accidentally did a two-for-one. Such a newb, I am. This is the first piece of fanfiction I've posted in nearly 8 years, and my first for the Harry Potter fandom. I'm very pleased with it, so thanks to everyone involved!