The pumpkin pasty was deliciously neutral to her tastebuds—not too salty or sweet, and the flaky layers of shortcrust pastry left crumbs on her lips. It was the first indulgence she'd sought out in a while. Why did she wait so long?

There was a smooth knock of three at her office door, and Hermione nearly jumped. She glanced over her desk calendar to see if she was expecting anyone - she wasn't - and reluctantly set the pastry back down in the Cafe Lupin container it came in. Cafe Lupin opened on school grounds last term after the success of its primary launch in Hogsmeade. Hermione never expected Harry to pursue something like a cafe after everything he'd been through and everything he was. Still, she had to admit that he was doing a great job with it. Hermione had been intermittently taking advantage of the lack of students (and lack of lines) before term began.

"Come in," she called, and the door squeaked open. She made a mental note to spell the hinges after her unexpected visitor was on their way. However, she promptly forgot this mental note as she faced Draco Malfoy, who was standing in her doorway.

"Malfoy?" she stood, immediately on the defence. It'd been at least three years since she'd seen him last, and they didn't talk. It was at Neville and Luna's wedding, and plenty of gossip swept through the reception, wondering why and how Draco Malfoy was invited. Hermione never got a straight answer from Luna when she inquired.

"You know I don't mean to judge, but why was he there?"

"Sometimes it's best to see people for who they really are and not what they were made to be," was all Luna would say on the matter.

"Calm down, Granger, I'm not here to bite," Malfoy practically scoffed, adjusting his green-on-green striped tie.

"Then what are you here for?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost. You know I'm not a ghost, right?"

She gave him a once-over. His platinum hair was similar to their youth, although it appeared slightly darkened with age. He had stubble, like he had forgotten to shave, and dark circles under his eyes. He wore a white button-down to compliment the Slytherin tie and black trousers. He looked tired, but no, he was not a ghost.

"Perhaps you aren't a ghost in the typical sense..." Hermione muttered. "Can I help you with something? I normally only see others in my office by appointment."

"Of course."

"What?"

"Of course, you'd have a color-coded schedule of when people are allowed to talk to you."

"I never said it was color-coded." Hermione crossed her arms. "Again, I beg, what is your business here?"

"Can we sit?" Malfoy asked. He almost sounded polite. Hermione complied, motioning him toward the wooden armchair before her desk. She sat back down across from him.

"I'm here because a little birdie told me that the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor isn't coming back for this fall term and that you are in a bit of a bind."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

"And you, Headmaster Granger, are the best person for me to speak to about my desire to fill that role."

"Absolutely not." Hermione shook her head.

"You haven't even seen my resume."

"I don't need to see your resume, Malfoy. There's no way I'm giving you this job."

"I'm highly qualified."

"I don't care."

"Are you being sexist?"

"What are you talking about?!"

Malfoy cracked a smile then, a genuine smile full of white teeth. Hermione had to look away.

"Please, consider it."

"Look...You have a past that is hard for many of us to swallow. I don't think it's a good idea."

Malfoy looked thoughtful for a moment, pursing his lips. "Please, consider it," he said again. "I've spent the last few years teaching history at a Muggle school in London. I have experience with students, and I'd rather be helping kids with magic. Consider it before you say no. Here," he passed her a folded-up piece of paper from his back pocket. "My resume. I'll be on my way now, Headmaster."

He got up from the chair and needlessly straightened his tie again. Hermione stared at him.

"Cafe Lupin is the best thing that's happened to Hogsmeade in a while. Give Harry my regards."

"Are you being facetious?" Hermione said.

Malfoy only grinned before turning and leaving her office, the door squeaking shut behind him.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, hands over her eyes. Draco Malfoy. As a professor? It was almost hilarious, the thought. She cast a quick spell, correcting the squeaky door hinges, and returned to her cold Pumpkin Pasty with much more on her mind than shortcrust pastry.

✴✴✴

Draco Malfoy walked through the corridors with many weights upon his shoulders. Some of them he was okay acknowledging: his irritation with Granger for not being more open-minded, the way his shirt was a little too small, and the way it made him feel stuffy. Some of them he was not okay with acknowledging: his feelings of abandonment as his mom fled for America, the way she didn't leave the manor to him (and instead sold the entire property), and the way he was soon to be as poor as the muggles who stood on the street corner asking for spare change.

He needed this job.

It was true he had been teaching students in London, but his flat was far too expensive on a teacher's salary. He barely made ends meet when he had a roommate, Rupert, but Rupert left to move in with his boyfriend last week, leaving Draco with all the rent. He never intended to end up at Hogwarts, near-begging Granger for a job. The option of room and board and a stable income was compelling enough for him to face her at all...He hadn't in years.

He'd often pondered what it would be like to speak with her again. Wondered if she hated him. Hoped she didn't.

And there was another thing he was not okay acknowledging: a long-standing soft spot for Hermione Granger.

It was getting dark by the time he exited the school grounds. He'd spent a while lolligagging through the front lawns, reminiscing. Or trying to, anyway. The last time he was here, everything was still in shambles. It was difficult to not draw upon those readily available memories of the wreckage.

He flew home on his broom for free transport and landed an inconspicuous mile from his city flat. Most of Rupert's things were gone, but a few of his herbs remained droopy on the window sill. Draco sighed and undid his tie as he walked over to assess them. Nothing a little water couldn't fix, he thought, throwing his tie on the couch and heading to the small kitchenette for a glass of water.

Since they'd moved in, Rupert had grown basil and rosemary on the window sill. Draco had often borrowed bits and pieces for cooking and the occasional potion. Rupert was always happy to share, although, as a muggle, utterly unaware of the potion brewing occurring behind Draco's door.

Draco quietly attended to the herbs, giving them what he hoped were appropriate doses of water. He looked out the window at the lit-up London night and sighed a little. It was beautiful. He would miss the view when he inevitably became homeless and couch-hopping among old Slytherin friends.

Please, Hermione, he thought, and scuttled off to brush his teeth.

✴✴✴

"Because it would be absolutely mental!" Hermione exclaimed, flinging her hands about. "Draco Malfoy is not Hogwarts professor material!"

"I'm not saying I disagree with you, 'Mione, I just figured you'd have more developed reasoning," Ginny said. "Do you want some of this salad?" She was holding out a large bowl of Caesar salad. They were sat around the kitchen table in Harry and Ginny's cottage. Hermione had flooed there just as the sun set for their weekly shared dinner. She'd forgotten to bring anything. Ginny didn't mind, and Harry ran late to close the shop anyway.

"No, thank you," Hermione smiled but shook her head.

"You have to eat."

"I am eating," Hermione gestured to her bowl of tomato basil soup.

"That bowl looks pretty full to me."

Hermione took a spiteful spoonful to her lips, then said, "Draco was a death eater."

"Was," Ginny said.

Hermione gaped. "I cannot believe you're taking his side!"

"There are no sides anymore, 'Mione. The war was six years ago. He's paid his dues. Turned a new leaf. Repented. Right?"

To that, she had no answer. She didn't know. She'd given him barely any thought since the last day of the war. All she remembered about him from that day was that he seemed more childlike than ever. Scared. Maybe even terrified.

"And," Ginny started, forcefully passing the salad bowl to Hermione, "He knows much about the Dark Arts. He'd probably do well at teaching it. He's kind of a cautionary tale; can explain what happens when you're on the wrong side of magical history."

Hermione set the salad bowl down on the hardwood table without taking any. She chewed her lip and fidgeted with her spoon. Sighed.

"You should at least think about it. Otherwise, you may not have a professor in time. And you can't do it all, 'Mione."

Hermione took another spoonful of tomato basil soup to avoid responding to Ginny. Moments later, the front door slammed, and Harry called out tiredly, "Sorry, wind."

Ginny excused herself from the table to greet Harry in the hallway. Hermione peered down the corridor to watch them engage in a gentle hug, then looked back down at her soup. Their kindness toward each other always pulled on her heartstrings, reminding her of what she thought she had with Ron.

Ron.

Last she heard, he was in Ireland with Charlie, training dragons or something of the sort.

"I can't be here anymore. Please, come with me," Ron begged her the last night she saw him two years ago.

"Ronald, I can't. I can't leave home, and I can't leave my job."

"Can't or won't?"

Hermione shed uncommon tears, standing before him in her driveway. It was snowing, and her nose was cold. "I like my life here. I liked our life."

"Then come with me," Ron pleaded.

"No," she said, with unfortunately thick resolve. It didn't feel nearly as difficult as it should've, ending things with Ron.

But she still remembered how his face fell, the curt nod he gave her, and how he left without turning and looking back.

"Hermione, Ginny says you're doing a poor job at eating your dinner," Harry said, taking an empty seat to her left.

"Ginny needs to stop tattling," Hermione joked, but she still narrowed her eyes at Ginny, who had also returned to her seat. "Ginny also needs to stop telling me I should forgive-"

Ginny kicked Hermione's leg under the table. Hermione's mouth hung open as she glared at Ginny. "What was that for?"

"You need to stop complaining and eat," Ginny said, giving Hermione an intense stare. Hermione clamped her mouth shut and pushed her bowl away from herself.

"You both are lively tonight," Harry said, "Have a pumpkin pasty." He opened a pastry box, revealing no less than a dozen pumpkin pasties.

"I had one earlier," Hermione said. "And I really should be off now. I'll see you both next week." She stood and pushed her chair in. Harry stood and gave her a hug.

Ginny walked her to the front fireplace room. Under hushed whispers, she said, "Don't mention all this about Draco to Harry. He wouldn't have the same opinion as me." Ginny looked back over her shoulder.

"All the more reason I should never talk to Malfoy again. Definitely shouldn't give him the job."

"It's up to you, 'Mione. You may be right. He's not ideal. But he's a warm body who might actually do a good job. Just don't mention it to Harry. He's been in better moods lately."

Hermione sighed. Again. And nodded. "Goodnight, Gin." She hugged Ginny quickly before grabbing some floo powder and going home.

She was up until the late hours of the night, pacing and pondering. Weighing.

She really didn't have anyone else, and there were only two weeks until the start of term.

She didn't have to like Malfoy to trust he could get the job done. But then again, she didn't trust him either. Could he earn it?

She sat at her desk, jotted a quick note, and sent her new owl, Carol, off to find him.