Desperately seeking forgiveness

This is a little ficlet I wrote about a year ago which I put on fan fic. All thinking is put in brackets, couldn\'t get italics to work.

Disclaimer – I do not own anything but the plot. J.K.R does.

Chapter one


It was 4 years after they had left Hogwarts. Hermione didn’t know what had happened to Ron or Harry. They were working at the Ministry of Magic, but it had been such a long time since she had seen them, they could be doing anything by now. She, however, was working in a muggle shop until she decided what she really wanted to do.

It was a good job really. The shop sold a little bit of everything, which coincidentally was also the name of the shop. Hermione rented the surprisingly spacious flat above it from Mr Johnson the shop owner, which she had made all her own with a few bunches of flowers and a lick of paint. It was home. She had lived there for the past 2 years, almost as long as she had been working in the shop, and at the moment she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Hermione awoke at 7.30 every morning and jumped into the shower as she waited for the kettle to boil. Dressed in clean clothes and with a mug in her hand, she would sit happily with her nose in a book until it was time for her to open up.

Monday mornings weren’t very busy, but when the sky turned dark and the heavens opened she found that people were coming in to keep dry from the rain. (This is going to be a good day,) she thought. (Mr Johnson is going to be so pleased.) Hermione smiled pleasantly at her customers who felt that they ought to buy something in return for their shelter.

The rain only lasted for 10 minutes before the sun came out again, and a bright rainbow seemed to fill the sky. As soon as everyone in the shop saw that the rain had stopped, they filed out into the street to continue their shopping. “Oh well,” Hermione said to the empty shop. “It was nice while it lasted.”

She looked down at her watch and saw that it was 5 minutes to 12. “5 minutes early won’t hurt,” she said getting her jacket from the hook and the shop keys from the desk in the office. “Time for an early lunch.”

Stepping out into the street Hermione turned the sign around, locked the door and put the key safely into her pocket, before heading for her favourite café, The Crusty Cob.

The place smelled delicious. Practically everything on the premises was made on the premises, from the bread and pastries to the freshly ground coffee. It was a bit pricey but well worth it, and it was a little treat Hermione allowed herself once a week or whenever the takings were good at the shop, whichever came first.

She ordered a cheese and ham sandwich and a mug of coffee, paid the girl at the cash register and went to choose a table to wait for the waitress to bring it over. Hermione found one right next to the window. She liked to sit there and watch the world go by. She got caught up in the lives of everyone, wondering where they were going or where they had been.

She looked up abruptly as the waitress snapped her out of her daydream. “Ham and cheese with coffee?” asked the girl. “Yes, that’s me,” Hermione replied and smiled at the girl, thanking her, as the 2 items were placed on the table.

Breathing in the fresh aroma. She blew across the top of the mug and took a hesitant sip. She then moved her attention to the sandwich. The roll was still warm and doughy and it slightly melted the grated cheese.

Heaven, she thought taking a large bite and sighing deeply. She wished she could stay longer than a mere half an hour, and silently cursed the clock for every passing second.

With an empty plate and a cold mouthful left in the bottom of her mug Hermione stood, weaved her way between the tables and left The Crusty Cob, hoping that it wouldn’t be quite so long before she would be able to return.

She reached ‘A Little Bit Of Everything’ and opened up, wondering if she was going to get anymore custom that day. It didn’t matter if she didn’t, there was plenty of time during the week to make it up.

As it was, a woman did come in. She was pushing a pram laden with shopping bags and Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the sleeping 6 month old, completely oblivious to his mothers aching legs and flushed cheeks, but she left without buying anything. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to The Crusty Cob after all” she said to herself. “Never mind”.

By 5 o’clock Hermione was ready to close for the day. She locked the door, turned the sign and made her way upstairs, her stomach growling. After putting a frozen pizza in the oven she went into the living room and picked up the book she had been reading that morning.

30 minutes later an alarm alerted her to the fact that her pizza was ready. Hermione wasn’t stupid. She knew that if she hadn’t set her alarm then she would have kept on reading until the food had burnt. She wasn’t known as the bookworm for nothing.

After a slightly limited meal, Hermione decided to go for a walk. She put her umbrella in her bag in case it rained again, checked she had her purse and left using the back stairs that lead to the alleyway behind the shop.

She hadn’t gone very far when she noticed a man huddled under some blankets. He looked up at her his eyes full of sorrow and pain. Hermione just shook her head and kept on walking until she reached the main street.

She couldn’t remember seeing anyone there before, and she hated just leaving him there, but what could she do? Invite him in for a cup of tea and a sandwich? She took one last look at him before rounding the corner, and noticed he was just staring at the damp floor. Hermione made a mental note to bring him a hot drink on her way home. (Just because I’m not rich doesn’t mean I can’t spare 85 pence,) she thought.

An hour later Hermione stood at a late night drinks stand and ordered a regular coffee. Changing her mind she made it a large, and decided on a cold chicken sandwich to go with it. As she rounded the corner to the alleyway she noticed that the man had his eyes closed like he was asleep. He must have heard her approach him because as she got close, he slowly opened his eyes and looked up at her. Once again she saw the suffering behind them and it made her heart ache.

She placed the coffee and the sandwich on the floor in front of him and said, “I thought you might be hungry.” The man looked at what she had given him then back up to her face. With tears threatening to cloud his vision he nodded. “Thank you,” he said in a small voice, and he picked the cup up to warm his hands. “You’re very welcome,” Hermione replied, not failing to notice the emotion in his eyes.

She turned away from him and walked the small distance to the steps, glancing once to see him taking small bites out of his sandwich, probably trying to make it last as long as possible, before climbing up and entering her flat, letting the warmth envelope her.

It was 25 past 11 before Hermione felt tired enough to go to bed. All she could think about was the man in the alleyway outside. She kept checking the windows to make sure it wasn’t raining again. She didn’t know why she cared so much, I mean, she had seen homeless people before. Maybe it was just because he was sleeping outside her home.

She couldn’t forget the look in his eyes, and wondered what had happened to him. He looked so grateful to her, it made her wonder how often he ate. There was also something familiar in those eyes, though she couldn’t for the life of her guess what it was. She couldn’t see what colour they were because the light was too dim in the alley to see properly, and his hair was so dirty she couldn’t tell if it was brown or blonde.

Hermione told herself that if she kept this up she would never get to sleep, and would feel terrible in the morning. She undressed and got into bed, the coolness of the sheets against her bare skin made her shiver.

It wasn’t long before Hermione was asleep, her dreams flooded with thoughts of the man in the alley.


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The following morning Hermione awoke the same time as she always did. After taking her shower, she put some meat and vegetables into a stewing pot and put it into the oven on a low heat, knowing that by the time she finished work it would be done. Just as she was about to sit down with her book, she remembered that the floor in the shop would need mopping after the downpour yesterday. “Mucky footprints, lovely,” she muttered, thinking how nice it would be to, just once in a while, be able to use her magic.

Taking her book with her, Hermione went downstairs in search of a mop. It wasn’t as bad as she thought and it only took 10 minutes before the floor was shining again. She opened her book and began to read until she opened up at 9 o’clock. Sometimes, on slow days, Hermione wondered why she bothered to open up at all. Lunchtime came and went, and still there were no customers.

By 5 o’clock she had finished her book and was busying herself by re- arranging the items on the shelves. Looking at her watch she sighed and went over to lock the door and turn the sign. She pulled herself up the stairs and dropped her book onto the coffee table, thinking she would put it away later.

Hermione walked to the kitchen and opened the oven door. Immediately the room was filled with the aroma of stewing meat and vegetables. It made her mouth water. She ran her arm across her forehead where the steam had made it slightly damp, and closed the oven door. (It’s ready when I am,) she thought happily.

A few minutes later, she felt rather than saw the room get darker, as large rain clouds loomed overhead. She didn’t know what made her think of it, but she wondered if the man was still sat outside. She hadn’t thought about him all day, and wondered why he had suddenly popped into her mind. She ran to the window and looked down but she couldn’t see him. Maybe he’s gone to sit under the steps? She thought. Or maybe he’s just gone? She had to know.

“Hello?” she asked timidly as she crept down the stairs. There was no answer. “Hello?” she asked again a bit louder. Starting to feel a little foolish she turned to make her way back up, but stopped when she heard a sound coming from beneath the stairs. She continued down and stopped when she got to the bottom. (What am I doing?) She thought. (What am I going to say?) It was too late to turn back now.

“Hello,” she said, walking round to face him. “My name is Hermione.” The man just looked at her. Hermione looked around but there was no trace of the sandwich from yesterday. Without thinking she said, “Are you hungry?” (Stupid Hermione, stupid Hermione,) she kept telling herself. (What do you think you are doing?) He looked down at his feet and nodded slightly. “Erm, I’ve made some beef stew if you would like some? There’s plenty.” The man raised his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He nodded a little more quickly and mumbled a thank you.

Hermione held out her hand to him. “Come on,” she said softly. “It looks like it’s going to rain again.” The man looked at her outstretched hand for a moment before taking it in his own, allowing her to help him to his feet.

As the man stood, she looked into his eyes, once again getting the strange feeling of familiarity as she stared into the sadness. Fat droplets of rain brought her out of her trance and she dropped his hand. “Follow me,” she said, and led the way up the stairs to the flat above.

The minute Hermione opened the door the man was greeted with the most wonderful smell, and he felt his stomach growl. God he was hungry. “You go and sit down and I’ll be with you in just a moment,” Hermione said. The man did as he was told and sank down into a chair, sighing deeply and closing his eyes.

(Hermione,) he thought. (I knew it was you. I just hope to god you don’t remember the things I’ve done. Please give me the sense to get out of here before you realise who I am.)

He didn’t know how long he had been sat there when he heard Hermione’s gentle voice. He opened his eyes to see a bowl of stew, steaming happily on the table. He warily got to his feet and made his way over.

“Be careful,” Hermione said, “It’s still quite hot. I’ll be back in a minute.” He sat down and picked up the spoon. Taking a large scoop he blew on it to cool it down before tasting it. It was delicious. He took another scoop, then another, and before he knew it the bowl was empty. Placing a hand on his stomach he leaned back, a tiny smile of contentment playing on his lips.

“That was quick,” Hermione said as she came back into the room. “You must have been hungry”.

“I was,” said the man, “thank you.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she smiled.

(She has a beautiful smile,) he thought, (kind and genuine. I wonder if she will still smile at me that way when she realises who I am.) The wonderful feeling that surrounded him began to disappear and he looked down at his hands.

“Would you like to get cleaned up at all, a shower maybe?” Hermione asked.

He looked up at her once more. “That would be nice,” he said.

“Okay,” said Hermione. “Come with me, I’ll show you where everything is.”

The man followed Hermione into the bathroom and stood there while she told him how to use the shower and where the towels were. “Oh” she said as an after thought, “wait here,” and she hurried off. Moments later she returned with a pile of clothes. “These are mine,” she said. “I know they are men’s clothes but I find them really comfortable to lounge around in.” A small blush crept to Hermione’s cheeks. “They’re clean and they look as if they might fit you. Leave your clothes outside the door and I will wash them for you, you can wear these in the mean time.”

“Thank you,” said the man again.

Hermione smiled, “I’ll leave you to it then, use anything you want.” And she walked out of the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

The man just stood there for a moment, gazing around. He then walked over to the sink and placed his hands on either side of it. Raising his head slowly he caught sight of his face in the large mirror. The first thing that caught his attention were his eyes. Eyes that once sparkled with vitality and mischief, now looked dead and hollow. His face that was once youthful and handsome now looked old and haggard. He had a beard. “When did I get that?” he asked himself, running his hand over it. It felt rough and grubby.

Looking down at the sink he saw a bar of soap. He picked it up and gave it a sniff. He closed his eyes trying to remember what the smell was. “Vanilla” he said triumphantly and opened his eyes. The next thing he saw was a new packet of disposable razors and a can of shaving foam. “Use anything you want,” Hermione’s voice came back to him. (Did she get these just for me?) He thought. (Why? I don’t deserve such treatment.)

Never the less, he found himself turning on the hot tap and holding his hands under the running water. He then splashed it onto his face. It felt good. He turned on the shower and stepped out of his clothes. He hadn’t realised just how dirty they were until now, and he felt ashamed as he left them outside the bathroom door.

Taking the soap with him he stepped into the hot shower. Feeling the water pound on his head and run down his neck made him feel more alive than he had in years. He looked down at his naked body. How had it come to this? He shook his head, trying to rid it of those thoughts. He didn’t want to think, he just wanted to enjoy the moment while it lasted.

Realising that he still held the soap in his hand he began to wash himself. His hands sliding over his weak and fragile body. He couldn’t believe the change in himself. 3 and a half years ago he was so strong and confident, ready to take on the world and win, but now? The scent of vanilla was threatening to overwhelm his senses, making him feel sleepy and light-headed.

He reached down for the shampoo and began to wash his hair, trying to rid himself of the feeling of hopelessness and despair. Feeling a little more invigorated he rinsed it, realising that it came to below his shoulders. (Another surprise,) he thought.

Finally clean and pink, he emerged from the shower and tied a towel around his thin waist. He walked back over to the sink and opened the cabinet looking for a small pair of scissors. Finding what he was after, he trimmed his beard back as far as it would go, a razor on its own wouldn’t have worked. He then picked up the can of shaving foam and squirted a small amount into the palm of his hand. Once the lower half of his face was covered, he reached for the packet of razors and took one out. He hesitated, looking at himself in the mirror. If he did this Hermione would surely recognise him. What if she recognised him anyway? He had trimmed the beard down, he might as well do the rest.

Starting at his right cheek he made his way across his face, only pausing to rinse the razor. Finishing, he slowly put it on the side of the sink, splashed his face with clean water, and patted it dry. Lowering the towel he stared into the face of a man he hadn’t seen for 3 and a half years.

The face of Draco Malfoy.
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To be continued.................