Chapter Text
Watching Draco fall out of love with her was a torture Hermione didn’t know that she would have to experience.
They used to joke about la petite mort and how he was so eager to bestow it to her every night before they fell asleep, arms and legs wrapped in each other, sweat drenching their skin, her wild dark curls and his silky platinum hair tangled together like they were one.
But now, the little deaths he gave her night after night weren’t from the fleeting surrender to pleasure, but of her heart cracking endlessly until it was so fragile, a simple breath would have shattered it into pieces.
Hermione watched as his texts grew sparser, as his conversations grew shorter. She watched as his tone grew colder and his eyes grew more distant. She watched as he stopped waking her up in the early morning to walk with him when he took the dog out. She watched as what was at first his back turning to her in bed slowly evolved into sleeping on the couch. She watched as he made up excuses she had never heard before – that he liked to fall asleep watching the television, that the bed was suddenly too small, that it was too warm, that it didn’t mean anything and if she could quit making a big deal out of nothing?
She watched as his love faded before her eyes.
So when she heard the fateful words – “I think we should break up” – spill out of trembling lips and bloodshot eyes, she wasn’t surprised.
And when Draco burst into tears, apologizing because this would mean she would have to move out of his apartment (not theirs), because she would have to say goodbye to his dog (not theirs), because he was so, so sorry that after five years of whispered promises of rings and cradles, of a future together, that this was how it all ended, she wasn’t surprised.
What Hermione was surprised about was that even though she saw it coming, it couldn’t take away just how fucking devastating all of it was.
She was surprised at how badly she cried.
Hermione wanted to move on, but she couldn’t do that until she moved out, until she packed every last book that graced their – no, not their, his – shelves, stuffed every last cardigan and jumper into cardboard boxes, wrapped the mugs and the ceramic bowls and the wine glasses in bubble wrap and packing paper.
But she couldn’t do that until she found a place to stay. And if she didn’t find one, she would be stuck in the same apartment, sleeping in emerald-green silk sheets, showering in a bathroom that had his sandalwood and musk-scented body wash.
One night of this was already one night too many.
Hermione scrolled through her iMessage as she walked down the sidewalk just outside Draco’s apartment and gnawed on her lip nervously.
Pansy Parkinson. Theodore Nott. Vincent Crabbe. Gregory Goyle. Blaise Zabini. Millicent Bulstrode. Marcus Flint.
All Draco’s friends. All silent even though it had been twenty-four hours since the breakup, even though it was clear that they all knew.
You didn’t just lose a partner during a breakup.
She tapped on her contacts and scrolled until she found Harry’s name, tapped again, and hovered her finger over the phone icon.
When was the last time she had even spoken to him? Three years? Four? What had they even talked about?
She didn’t even want to think about the last time she spoke to Ron. They hadn’t spoken a word to one another since the moment he realized she was dating Malfoy.
Since he had called her a golddigger and a sellout who turned a blind eye to a man who he claimed was racist and classist – despite her insistence that Draco had truly changed for the better, that one shouldn’t punish people for mistakes they made when they were a teenager.
Hermione gnawed on her lip even harder as she swiped out. What could she possibly say to Harry?
Hey, sorry I’ve abandoned you for my boyfriend who you despise. Sorry I became friends with people whose politics you abhor. It’s been years since we’ve spoken but Draco and I have broken up now. Oh, can I crash at your place because I have nowhere to stay? Also I'm not sure how long it would be because I technically don't have a job since I quit mine to become a full-time, aspiring author.
Who was she kidding? She couldn’t call Harry.
Hermione choked on a half-sob, half-cackle and leaned against the building to her right, resting her head against the grime-covered windowpane, noticing the dirt and dust but uncaring. She looked up, recognizing the menu plastered against the glass.
She sniffed. She could really use a bowl of pho.
The internet declared that the best place to grab a bowl of pho was if the restaurant name had the word “Pho” and then a two-digit number next to it.
Never go to a place with a name like Pho Shizzle or Pho King, a food blogger Hermione followed had tweeted. They only attract a…certain…clientele.
But Hermione found that the best pho spot in London was the one that was closest to where she lived, the one where the owners recognized her on sight but didn’t know her name, the one where they offered free orange slices at the end to her and not any of the other customers.
Yummy Yummy met neither of the criteria that, according to the internet, made an excellent or poor Vietnamese restaurant, having the misfortune of not having a number in its name but also the fortune of not having a silly pun. But they had the kindest smiles and served a mean bun bo hue. Hermione had discovered this type of noodle soup a year ago when she asked for something with a bit more flavor and the waiter recommended this dish instead.
She had been a little miffed that he had failed to mention the coagulated pork blood, but besides that, it was her favorite dish.
Hermione noisily slurped her noodles, uncaring that the red-tinged broth was splattering against her cream-colored shirt, one hand holding the chopsticks, her other hand still holding her phone.
It had been twenty-four hours since the love of her life, Draco Malfoy, had broken up with her without giving her a definitive reason and no one had texted her.
Her hand started to tremble as she realized a more chilling thought.
She had no one to text about it.
Her life had been consumed by Draco. Draco, Draco, Draco. Doing everything to make Draco happy. Avoiding everything that could make Draco sad.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had called her parents, who had moved to Australia nearly a decade ago and were so technologically inept they didn’t know how to use WhatsApp. But she remembered the last time she had called Draco’s mother, Narcissa. It had been just last week, talking about the latest Broadway show that was playing on West End.
She didn’t remember the names of her aunts and uncles and cousins, but she knew Draco’s extended family as well as the back of her hand. They were proud, rambunctious, wild, half-mad, always fighting, yet always forgiving because blood was thicker than water.
She loved them. All of them
Hermione was even marked by them. Draco’s coolest aunt – her favorite aunt – was renowned celebrity tattoo artist Bellatrix Lestrange. On her left forearm was a custom, one-of-a-kind tattoo of a jagged knife dripping with both mud and blood. It was something Hermione wore with pride, that even though it wasn’t quite her style, she knew she was one of the lucky few in this entire world who wore art from Lestrange herself, permanently inked on her skin.
Bella…
Hermione pulled up her messages with Bella, placed her chopsticks down, and started texting.
Hermione: hey bella <3 I’m not sure if you know but draco and I broke up. It wasn’t mutual and I’m devastated because it feels like I’m not just losing him, but losing everyone around me as well. I’m not sure if we will ever see each other again but just know that I’ve always seen you as part of my family and am grateful for your kindness and love to me. I’m not sure what’s going on in Draco’s head and I’m not here to ask for it or talk about how the last few months have been with him because I know he needs your love and support. I’m just here to say I’m thinking of you and wish you and the rest of your family all the best. <3
Five minutes passed until her phone buzzed. She picked it up, sliding the message open – and then froze.
Bella: hey! not sure if you were planning on doing this, but please don’t send draco’s mom or anyone else in my family anything like this.
Hermione stared at her screen in shock and horror, waiting for something else, a follow up text, a response, an acknowledgment, of just a simple I’m sorry this is happening and I wish you all the best as well.
But nothing.
Five minutes passed.
Nothing.
Ten minutes passed.
Nothing.
Hermione’s lip started to tremble.
Was what she sent inappropriate? Had she been clouded by emotions and crossed a line? Had she done something wrong?
All she wanted to do was not leave the people she loved in the dust, to acknowledge how much they meant to her, to not be cold and callous and distant. She wasn’t asking them to pick a side, didn’t have any intention of turning Draco’s family against him, didn’t even want emotional support, all she wanted was…was…
A sob burst out of Hermione and she slapped her hands against her mouth, but she couldn’t hold it back. Soon enough she was sobbing into her now-room temperature bun bo hue, her tears mixing with the satay-like broth, making it saltier than it already was, her snot dripping past her knuckles, screaming and heaving, the other customers in the restaurant nothing but a faded image in the backdrop.
You didn’t just lose a partner during a breakup.
It was over. It was truly, truly over.
And she was all alone.
All those years, wasted. All that time, gone. And for what? For her to be alone, utterly alone in a Vietnamese restaurant with no one to call, no one to turn to, no one to –
A gentle hand rested on her shoulder and Hermione jolted at the touch, whipping her head to the right.
“Oh, M-M-Ms. N-N-Nagini,” Hermione blubbered.
The elderly owner of the restaurant was holding out a plate of sliced oranges, her wrinkled face furrowed with concern. She placed the plate of oranges on the table and slid into the seat next to her.
“Are you crying over the rich boy?” she asked softly.
The rich boy. Of course she meant Draco.
Hermione didn’t want to know what moniker she had for her.
She couldn’t speak so all she could do was nod.
Ms. Nagini tsked and shook her head. “No use crying over someone like him,” she scolded. “I never told you this before, but I never liked him. He was not very nice to me or my workers.”
Hermione blinked rapidly, her tears blurring the image of the silver-haired woman before her. Draco…not nice? That sounded impossible, like how he used to be, not how he was now.
But the Draco she thought she knew would have never treated her like this or left her.
Hermione shuddered and started to choke on her sobs again, grabbing a napkin to blow her nose into it. The force from her nose ripped through the paper-thin cloth, blowing her snot onto her fingers. She sniffed, folded the napkin in half, and blew her nose again, wiping her sticky fingers against the already-drenched napkin.
“Oh, my sweet thing,” Ms. Nagini murmured, rubbing her hand against her back. “You know what I think would help?”
Hermione forced her grimace away. She knew exactly what was going to be suggested.
A vacation.
“A vacation,” the woman said predictably. “To Vietnam. It is beautiful and so affordable! You think my food is good, you better go there.”
Hermione sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, the napkin already shredded and nearly destroyed.
“I know a very good travel agency, they’ll give you a very good deal if you say my name. Why not escape the rich boy? Leave London for a bit?”
What Ms. Nagini was saying wasn’t wrong. A vacation and an escape from both Draco and London sounded fucking amazing. She also had nowhere to go and hell, Vietnam was the cheapest country in the entire world.
Maybe she’d live there, like how digital nomads lived and traveled all over Southeast Asia. Maybe she could teach English, find some sort of job, get inspiration for her book, do this for as long as she could renew her visa.
Maybe she could start over.
Ms. Nagini had spent years trying to get Hermione and Draco out to Vietnam, shamelessly peddling this travel agency that Draco had rolled his eyes over, saying that when he had searched it up there was no trace of it on the internet, to which Ms. Nagini responded that they didn’t have a website, just relied on word of mouth like many Vietnamese businesses.
Draco always, always turned her down.
But Draco wasn’t here.
And Hermione? Well, her life wasn’t about Draco and what would make him happy. Not anymore.
She sniffed again and rubbed her bleary eyes. “What’s the travel agency again?” she croaked.
Ms. Nagini brightened. In an instant, she had a pen in her hand, and was scribbling a name and a number on a piece of paper she used to take food orders.
Hermione looked down at the piece of paper, blinking away her tears so she could properly read it.
Horcrux Travel Agency.
+84 7777777777