Cold Feet

The following day, Hermione was bleary-eyed as she glanced at the lists of guests who would be interviewed about the dangers of chafing and single parenting on ‘Let’s Talk’ that morning. So bleary-eyed, she didn’t even notice his name, let alone make any kind of connection.



She hadn’t slept much at all. It had turned into one of those nights where you watched the shadows creep right across the ceiling until they disappeared into the dawn before you finally started to lose consciousness. Her face was scrubbed clean of make-up. The only colour to her pale complexion came from the black shadows beneath her eyes. She was wearing her oldest jeans and her scruffiest black Ugg boots. “Is that because they make men go ‘ugh’ when they see them?” Harry asked every time she put them on. She hadn’t washed her hair that morning because, having fell asleep so late, she managed to sleep right through her alarm.



Nathan was organising all the show’s guests, fetching them from reception, endowing them with the neatly printed name badges that would get them past the power-crazed security guard (ex-Auror), sending them to make-up and offering them their choice of disgusting coffee or disgusting tea (they made Ray and Nathan fetch the team’s coffee from a nice little coffee shop across the road). It was quite unusual that she didn’t get to see the guests until the very last moment, just as Nathan was walking them through the shabby waiting area Hermione privately, and rather grandly, called the ‘green room’ while they went to news and weather. Often, Hermione didn’t actually talk to the guests at all, except to ask them to introduce themselves so that Ken Wilson, the studio manager, could check their voice levels. Ken was too shy to ask them himself unless he really had to. Hermione thought he would have preferred not to have to deal with other people ever. He reminded her of a Hobbit.



She had her head down, counting down the seconds of the weather report, casting her eye over the schedule, as Nathan led that morning’s guests into the studio. So, the first she saw of him was when she looked up to see him sitting next to Nancy on the orange couch that she presented the show from.



It was so strange. For two and a half years, she had seen him almost every day. She went to sleep next to him. She woke up with her nose on his shoulder. He knew everything about her – her childhood, her family and friends, her fantasies and her phobias. He knew who said what to whom in the restaurant where she’d worked at weekends, what her university tutor thought of her latest essay, her hopes and fears for the future, what drove her mad, what turned her on… and she knew everything about him. Well… not everything, of course. Hermione sincerely doubted there would ever be a person who would know everything there was to know about him. Probably not even his own mother. But he had told her more than he had ever told anyone, and that had been enough. She had known about the house he grew up in, the Quidditch team he supported so zealously, the origin of all his scars…



Then, all of a sudden, he wasn’t a part of her life anymore. They woke up together for the last time. They argued for the last time. She moved out of the swish penthouse they had once shared because it belonged to him anyway. She moved to another part of town. She stopped seeing the friends they had in common. Six months later, she thought of him around his birthday but she wasn’t really sure any longer whether it was on the tenth or the twelfth. Then, six years on from the moment when she thought she would never, ever be able to stop that one particular person from being the first thought to enter her mind upon waking, he popped up in her workplace. She didn’t immediately recognise him. And he had a child she didn’t even know was born.



“This morning, we’re going to be talking about the latest Ministry report into the state of the modern Wizarding family,” Nancy began in the studio, totally oblivious to Hermione’s sudden discomfort. “Draco Malfoy, you’re a single parent…”



Elle nudged Hermione as Nancy launched into her spiel. “Hermione, are you okay?”



She was not okay. She felt as though she had been slammed in the stomach by a wooden plank. She ducked under the desk and started choking on a mouthful of coffee.



“Hermione?”



They had all said back then that it would never, ever last, she and him, and they had been right. For months after she and Draco split up, the mere mention of his name had a visceral effect on her. There were a couple of occasions when, walking down the street in some town he had probably never visited, she caught a glimpse of someone who looked a tiny bit like him and had to lean against a wall until her heart stopped thudding and her breath came back. It passed, of course. She had to get over it just to get into work. But that morning, she felt winded all over again, almost as badly as the first time.



Perhaps it was just seeing him on her territory that did it, reawakening the small part of her that had drawn a new map of London in the aftermath of their break-up and avoided whole swathes of the city for a year or so to prevent any such unexpected meetings.



What the hell was Draco Malfoy doing in her studio?



“Draco is a representative and the main benefactor of the Single Parents Network for Wizards, an organisation that supports the ever-growing number of parents, witch or wizard, who find themselves bringing up children alone. You have one daughter,” Nancy continued. “Alexandra, aged three. Is that right?”



“Actually, she’s three and a half,” Draco drawled charmingly in the manner Hermione remembered so well, though there was a tone in his voice as he spoke of her – pride, even joy – that had been altogether far too rare once upon a time. “She would be very upset if we didn’t get that right.”



Nancy laughed. “Girls know how important those few extra months can be. Particularly on the wrong side of thirty. Isn’t that right?” Nancy looked towards Elle and Hermione. But Hermione was busy mopping up the coffee she had spluttered all over the desk, and Elle and Ken were still too busy staring at her, wondering whether she had just had a seizure.



*



Over the next three minutes, all the questions Hermione had secretly hoped she might one day find answered through an old mutual acquaintance, maybe, were answered right in front of her, live on air.



“Tell us about Alexandra,” Nancy asked.



Three-year-old Alexandra Rosa Malfoy was the only child from Draco’s short-lived – very short-lived, apparently – marriage to a rich young French heiress called Sophia Valier.



Marriage? MARRIAGE? How strange that word sounded, coming from his mouth. Even stranger was the thought that his snobby family would allow him to do something so disgraceful as get a divorce!



“And where is Sophia now?”



Sophia had been unhappy from the start; she had been pressured into marriage with the ridiculously wealthy and powerful Malfoy heir by her family, and motherhood had only made her feel more trapped. So, she had decided to return to her mansion in the south of France. On her own.



'SHE left HIM?' Hermione was still reeling from the fact that she’d captured him at all.



“How did that make you feel?”



Understandably, Draco found the whole thing quite distasteful.



“And how did it affect your work?”



After Luke Malfoy had been thrown into Azkaban after the fall of Voldemort and locked away for the rest of his life, Draco had come into his inheritance and owned a vast range of firms and businesses, the value of which Hermione couldn’t even begin to estimate. Now, he had handed most of the day-to-day running of those businesses over to others, though he continued to sit on several dozen boards and had made arrangements to work from his home at Malfoy Manor in order to be able to look after Alexandra, with the help of a part-time nanny, until she started Hogwarts.



“And how has that arrangement been working out?”



Draco felt honoured to be able to spend so much time with his child – he was in a far, far more fortunate position than most, he knew – but though Draco had never *had* to work for a living, he enjoyed it, and at first, he had been worried his career would never fully recover from the time he spent away from his businesses. He used to be a workaholic, which was another reason he thought Sophia might have chosen to seek a divorce.



“I’m incredibly fortunate because I am the boss, and I’m in the position where I could walk away from my job tomorrow and it would never affect my financially,” Draco said. “Yet, I’m aware that there are many companies who find it difficult to believe that you can be committed to a family and your career simultaneously. It’s an issue many face. I’ve certainly brought in more family-friendly policies in the businesses owned by the Malfoy Corporation.”



“Do you think that lone fathers get more sympathy than lone mothers?” Nancy asked.



“I come up against a lack of comprehension more often than sympathy,” he told her. “It isn’t often that a woman walks away from her child. There’s a false myth that motherhood comes naturally and women who choose not to stay with it are somehow wicked.”



“That’s an interesting observation.”



Hermione didn’t know where to look. She felt like a six-year-old again, watching a horror movie from behind the couch. As it was, she had both her hands to her forehead, shading her face as she sneaked another small peek. He hadn’t actually glanced her way for a second so far and was keeping his attention firmly on Nancy.



'Perhaps it isn’t him,' she told herself. How likely was it that her ex-boyfriend would turn up on ‘Let’s Talk’?



Very likely.



The platinum-blond hair Draco had worn long when she knew him – just like his damn villainous father’s – was short and serious now, and clearly not so torturously styled to perfection, though he still looked impeccably groomed. But his strong, chiselled jaw line and white alabaster skin was unmistakable, as was his patrician nose and sharp grey eyes. His perfectly shaped lips. The refined, upper-class baritone of his voice. And, of course, there was the fact that the name ‘Draco Malfoy’ was neatly printed on her schedule in black ink. Not exactly a common name, by any means.



“Choosing a nanny was another tiresome task,” he continued with all the ease and grace of an emperor. “My own mother passed me on to a succession of live-in nannies, governnesses and House Elves when I was a child and I didn’t want the same for my daughter. But you see, I assumed that all witches were somehow born with the right temperament and skills to look after any child. Just about anyone without a criminal record would be suitable, I thought… Nothing could be further from the truth. Allowing someone else to look after your child requires a huge amount of trust.”



“And money,” Nancy chipped in.



“Well, yes, though fortunately, that was never really an issue for me.” Draco exhaled. “It was while I was looking for a reliable, responsible nanny that I came across the Single Parents Network for Wizards.”



“How did you find them?”



“A small advertisement in The Daily Prophet.”



“And what do they offer the parent who finds him or herself alone?”



“They hold weekly meetings in cities all over the country. Social events. With crèches, of course, so you can take your child along. And they offer a sort of local buddy system whereby new single parents can contact people who have been parenting alone for a while and find out how they cope.”



“And you liked them so much, you joined the committee.”



“I felt I had to. They helped me in those early days, and with my particular experience – being in the position where I work only for myself and am very financial secure – I knew I had something to offer that might help someone else in my position later on.”



Draco was as fluent and charismatic as he had ever been. Nancy had been chosen to front the show for her ability to improvise when the interviews she conducted got sticky. But Draco was good, too; no wonder he had been chosen as a spokesperson. He always had been a man who relished the spotlight, after all – even at Hogwarts. Then, he glanced away from Nancy and finally caught Hermione’s eye. The glass of water he had been about to pick up toppled over onto the smooth pine surface of the table.



“Shit,” he hissed.



Nancy’s eyes widened.



“What do I keep saying about drinks in the studio?” Ken groaned.



“This is live, isn’t it?” Draco asked, giving a contrite, charming smile.



“I’m afraid so! Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen. Something of an accident here in the studio. Not the first time, Mr. Malfoy, I can assure you,” Nancy lied. “I imagine you’re well used to mopping up spills with a three-year-old.”



Ha! The only ones who’d be mopping up spills in his monstrosity of a mansion would be the House Elves, Hermione thought harshly. In the studio, Draco looked towards Hermione again and his eyes narrowed, making him look disturbing like the spoilt, calculating little brat he had been at Hogwarts. Cursing herself for being such a coward, Hermione ducked under the table on the pretence of looking for something in her bag.



Nathan dashed into the studio with a handful of napkins he had thoughtfully stolen from the coffee shop while fetching altogether better coffee for Hermione and Elle.



“All under control now,” Nancy was saying. Her voice was calm, but when Hermione lifted her gaze back up, Nancy’s eyes were still asking frantic questions of her. As were Draco’s.



“What’s going on?” Elle hissed. “Do you know that man in there or something? You do, don’t you?”



Hermione shrugged at her in reply.



“Tell me the truth.” She gave her a pinch on the arm.



“Let’s go back to the Single Parents Network for Wizards and your experiences,” Nancy the Professional continued. “What would you say has been the hardest thing about being a single parent? I know it’s not really the done thing for a man to admit he ever sheds a tear about anything except England winning or losing the Quidditch World Cup, but has there been a moment that really brought tears to your eyes?”



Hermione raised her eyebrows and scoffed inwardly. Draco Malfoy, admitting to ever crying or showing any kind of weakness – in front of thousands of viewers? But Draco Malfoy really must have changed an incredible lot with the arrival of his daughter, because he surprised her yet again with the next words out of his mouth.



“Well, there have been many,” he said cautiously, pulling himself back into the conversation. “As I said before, I’m in an extremely fortunate position. But the hardest thing… well, the hardest thing is witnessing the milestones in Alexandra’s life on my own. My wife left us before Alexandra even took her first step. She hasn’t seen our daughter walk, except in the photographs I send her. She hasn’t heard our daughter talk, except when we receive a call on the Floo Network from her once a month. She certainly hasn’t heard Alexandra sing,” Draco explained. “Every time Alexandra does something new or exciting, it’s a double-edged sword – I’m happy because she’s turning into this wonderful, individual little person, and yet, it grieves me that Sophia is missing it all. Sophia’s definitely missing out by not being in Alexandra’s life.”



Nancy picked up one of the coffee shop napkins and dabbed at her eyes theatrically. “Oh, Mr. Malfoy. You’re making my mascara run.”



On the other side of the studio, at the specially installed fireplace, the Floo-calls were already coming in, as were the owls, all bearing letters from interested viewers. Elle and Hermione hurried over and began filtering the nutters and deciding who might be safe to put through. They moved without pause from one Floo-call to the next, one head popping through after another. Hermione was clearly not the only witch a little bit touched by Draco Malfoy’s story that morning. Not that she’d ever admit it.



“Well, it looks like we’re getting some viewers with their own opinions on Draco’s situation,” Nancy beamed. “Mr. Malfoy, there are some people coming through on the Floo Network who would like to ask you a few questions about life as a single parent. Do you mind?”



*



Nancy normally ended the show with a Jerry Springer-style round-up of the ‘issues’ raised by the topics discussed in the previous hour, but that morning, she didn’t even get around to it. They had been worrying that Nancy would have to talk for longer than usual because the professional Quidditch player booked to talk about the calendar and his unorthodox ways with a banana skin hadn’t made it to the studio, stuck on a broken-down train somewhere between Brighton and London (“Why didn’t he take his fucking broomstick?” Elle asked). But the viewers kept Flooing in, the owls kept arriving and their questions kept coming.



“Alison Birch from Hull wants to know what you think about pre-Hogwarts tuition…”



Alexandra saw a tutor at home two days a week, naturally. As if a Malfoy would be anything less than fully educated to the extent of their abilities.



“Hannah Reeves from Penzance would like to ask whether you’ve tried to find another female role-model for your daughter since Sophia left…”



“Beth Hallam from Newcastle says she would like to fill that vacancy,” Nancy laughed, reading one letter that had been owled to the studio. “As would Jilly Clapp from Glasgow, Cheryl Vega from Kent, Saskia Harding from Southampton and Adele Wilkins from Cardiff.”



Hermione Granger from London just wanted to know what the hell Draco Malfoy was doing walking back into her life on a Friday morning four months before she married his former archrival.



Draco handled the questions with perfect grace and charm, and accepted the sympathetic murmurings of several more witches who sounded as if they would only be too happy to step into the recently vacated position of Lady Malfoy.



“I think I’m in love,” Elle sighed, watching him. “He’s stinking rich, refined… and he’s so bloody handsome.”



“Hmm…” Hermione replied. There was that old touch of roguishness to his face when he was smiling, as he was right then, speaking to the head of Clara Huston from Bristol in the studio Floo-network fireplace, who was inviting him around for coffee to exchange ‘parenting tips.’



“That’s kind of you,” Draco smirked, arching an amused pale eyebrow.



The woman gave him half her address on air before Nancy could stop her.



At last, the show came to an end.



“Well, thanks so much for coming to speak to us, Draco,” Nancy said eventually. “It’s been wonderful to hear the single-parenting story from a man’s perspective. Alexandra’s a very lucky girl to have a father like you.”



“No, Nancy,” Draco contradicted. “I’m the lucky one. Every wizard should get the chance to know his child so well. For years, I was lost, struggling to find my purpose. Alexandra has brought meaning to my life.”



Elle clutched at her heart and Nancy gave a mock-swoon for the benefit of the audience. She just about managed to introduce the news and bid her viewer’s “good afternoon” without blubbering for real. The red light went off and the crew prepared to leave for a quick coffee-and-cigarette break before beginning the business of planning the following show.



“That was unbelievable,” Elle gushed when Draco emerged. “We’ve never had so many people owl or Floo in. At least it proves it isn’t just my mother who watches this show.” She clasped Draco’s hands between both of hers when she shook it, but his eyes had already moved on to Hermione.



“Hello, Granger.”



“Malfoy.”



“You two know each other?” Nancy asked, wide-eyed.



“We were classmates at Hogwarts. And we attended the same university afterwards,” Hermione said reluctantly.



“That’s correct,” Draco nodded. “In Coventry.”



“You’re kidding! You didn’t mention it to me,” Nancy said accusingly, turning to Hermione.



“When would I have mentioned it?” she said defensively. “I didn’t make the connection between the person and the name on the list this morning. It’s been a very long time.”



Draco nodded as he looked her straight in the eye. “It certainly has. Six years.”



“Well, it won’t be so long next time,” Nancy smiled. “Hermione, we have to get this man back on the show.” She grabbed his arm. “Perhaps we can have a dating call-in with Draco as the prime catch! What do you think of that?” She gave him an exuberant kiss on both cheeks, leaving behind a smear of the signature scarlet lipstick she had just reapplied. “Fix it, Nathan.”



Nathan darted forward with a coffee shop napkin and dabbed at Draco’s cheek.



“Not his face! I mean, fix a dating show. Honestly, he’s so eager, that boy.”



Nathan blushed and went back to his notes.



“Got time for a decent coffee with us, Draco?” Elle asked coquettishly. “I’ll send Ray out for some cappuccinos. Or are you more an espresso kind of man?”



“I would love to join you, but Alexandra finishes with her tutor at twelve,” Draco said graciously, before Ray could protest at being cast into the role of manservant again. “I’ve got to be home before her tutor leaves. Her grandmother’s attending a charity event this afternoon.”



“I’ll walk you to the Apparition point,” Nathan told him.



“No, I’ll walk you to the Apparition point,” Hermione interjected firmly.



“Of course. You two must have a lot to catch up on,” Elle nodded.



She didn’t know the half of it.



*



“God. Well, this is…”



“Strange?” Draco suggested, cocking an eyebrow.



They crossed the lobby, collected his wand from security, and then moved to the Apparition point. He turned to look at her when they came to a halt. His face was inscrutable, just like she remembered.



She wracked her brains for something to say. “You look…”



“So do you.” Draco nodded in what Hermione hoped was an approving kind of manner, though she knew she looked as though she had dived into the laundry basket.



“You’ve got a—”



“Little girl. Yes. Alexandra.”



“I had no idea.”



“I didn’t know where to contact you when she was born. I considered sending an owl, but I doubted it would be appreciated.”



Hermione nodded as if she thought she might in a million years have been on the list of people to whom he would send a birth announcement.



“It’s a beautiful name,” she said.



“Thank you. She’s named after her grandmother. On Sophia’s side,” he added unnecessarily. Hermione knew very well that his own mother was named Narcissa.



“Well, I…”



She didn’t know what to say next. Neither, it seemed, did he. It would have been amusing at any other time – the two most intelligent, eloquent, opinionated students of Hogwarts, class of ’98, both completely at a loss of anything to say. Hermione nudged at a piece of gravel on the pavement with her toe.



“What have you been doing with yourself?” Draco eventually pushed the conversation forward. “You work on this new Wizarding network. Obviously. Why did you leave the Ministry? I thought you would have been Minister of Magic by now.”



“It… just wasn’t for me,” Hermione shrugged, snatching at his question with relief. “I’m a producer. Second in command, after Elle.”



“That’s impressive.”



“Yeah, I suppose it is. And you… you’re still a professional millionaire, I see. It must be a hard life.”



He smirked, not reacting to her barb; he had always had quite an appreciation for her scathing wit. “Indeed it is. But believe me when I say having five palatial homes, two luxury yachts and your own business empire is far more difficult than it sounds.”



“Well, I’m not exactly poor myself these days, you know.”



“Really? I seem to remember you being hysterically paranoid about getting into debt while we were attending university,” he smirked.



Hermione found herself chuckling at the memory. For more than a year after their break-up, she had planned for this moment at least once a day, and in her plans, she was going to be strong, acid-tongued and icy. She was going to be looking her best and feeling invincible, and she was going to sweep straight past him to her limo. Yet, there she was, standing on the pavement outside work, wearing no make-up and scruffy Ugg boots, laughing with Draco Malfoy. She was just marvelling at how easy it was for him to make her smile again when the following words came out of her mouth.



“Yeah, well… Harry’s got all that inheritance from his parents…”



“Harry?” Draco’s eyebrows dipped in the middle. “Finally got yourself a new cat to replace that ginger monstrosity, have you?” he asked dryly, though they were both well aware of whom she was referring to.



“No,” she told the ex-love of her life. “Harry’s my boyfriend.”



Her boyfriend? Harry was her BOYFRIEND?



Why had she said that? Why didn’t she say ‘fiancé’? Since Harry had asked The Question at the top of Paris’ biggest hunk of metal, Hermione sometimes felt like she couldn’t stop saying the fucking word. Fiancé. Fiancé. Fiancé. But to Draco, she said “boyfriend.” She might as well have said Harry was her roommate, someone with whom she shared nothing more than a kitchen and a phone bill. Draco’s momentarily surprised expression was soon replaced by a slow, almost predatory smile that told her he didn’t feel threatened by the thought of Harry Potter being her boyfriend at all.



“I was aware that you’d finally taken pity on that miserable, scarred excuse of a wizard. After all, one can hardly turn a page in the Daily Prophet without stumbling over an article about his favourite colour or paparazzi photos of him buying underwear,” he said in cool disdain. “Merlin, it’s why I never bother to pick up a newspaper anymore. It’s all nonsense.”



Which would explain why he didn’t know that he was, in fact, her fiancé, and not a mere boyfriend. As he stared at her with those terrifyingly intense grey eyes, Hermione felt the heat rise in her cheeks, as it always did when she was caught in a lie. So, she looked away from him and shoved her hands in her pockets. It was cold for the time of the year. Why wouldn’t she? And when Draco handed her his card, she reached out to take it with her right hand. The diamond as big as a peanut stayed safely out of view.



“You should owl me,” Draco said languidly as Hermione admired the tasteful dark green calligraphy decorating the expensively thick, cream coloured card. “It would be nice to catch up when we have a little more time.” He paused. “Get reacquainted properly,” he added then. His mouth curled up at one side wolfishly.



Had he meant that to sound flirtatious? He must have known how much his sudden reappearance in her life had thrown her. Was he only playing with her? 'You can take a boyout of Slytherin but you can’t take the Slytherin out of the boy,' she thought to herself bitterly. Still as tight-lipped as a marble statue.



“Yeah, some time soon,” she said instead. “I’d better get back to the office now. I daren't even go to the bathroom for fear that Nathan will use the opportunity to steal my job.”



“He seems rather ambitious. In fact, he reminds an awful lot of a certain Gryffindor Head Girl I remember.”



“I know, and I can’t believe I was ever that annoying. Now, don’t you have to be home before your daughter’s governess leaves?” Hermione urged, glancing at her watch and seeing with relief that it was almost twelve.



“Ah, yes, of course. I suppose I’ll be going, then.”



Hermione nodded. “I suppose you are.”



Draco hovered in an almost uncertain way that was entirely un-Malfoyesque.



“Thanks for coming in,” Hermione said eventually.



“My pleasure.”



“Bye.”



He seemed to sway towards her as though thinking about giving her a kiss farewell and she stuck out her hand like a barrier coming down in a car park. Right hand, of course. Well, again, why wouldn’t she? They shook hands instead.



“It was really nice to see you,” she told him.



“Yes. A very nice surprise.”



Hermione watched as Draco stepped into the large circle painted on the floor which indicated the studio’s Apparation point. He immediately turned back around to face her to continue their conversation.



“Granger, do send me an owl. I mean it. I’m back at Malfoy Manor these days – it’s Unplottable, but the location is there on the card, so you should have no problems getting to it. And it would be safe for you to come there now. I got rid of all those wards my father put up – the ones that prevented you from entering it before because…” He trailed off and frowned.



'Because I’m Muggleborn,' Hermione silently finished for him. She shook her head to show him she’d taken no offence. “Of course I’ll visit,” she said brightly instead. Too brightly.



He gazed at her for a lingering moment. “Potter’s a lucky man, Hermione,” he said quietly.



And then, at last, he raised his wand and Disapparated away.



*



Hermione made her way back through the lobby on shaking legs. She was a betrayer, a fickle Judas. She instantly began the process of beating herself up, running back through the conversation and cringing at her moment of betrayal. Disgusted with herself by seeing so dishonest by omission, she paused by the big silver dustbin at the entrance to her strictly non-smoking workplace and tossed Draco Malfoy’s card inside. It felt like throwing salt over her shoulder to blind the devil. She exhaled with relief as soon as the card left her hand.



She took two more deep breaths.



Then, having made sure no one was watching, she gritted her teeth against the thought of God knew what else might be in that dustbin and fished the card back out again. She cast a swift “Scourgify!” to clean it of ash and coffee dregs, took her wallet out of the back pocket of her jeans and tucked the card in there.



Why did she do it? Why didn’t she just leave that card in the bin? At the time, she told herself that Ginny and Draco had single-parenting in common now, and they had got on quite well at university before the split forced Ginny to take sides. That was water under the bridge now. She should give Ginny the opportunity of reconnecting with him again if she wanted to. She might be interested in calling him.



Hermione was sure *she* never would.