lay upon me our dreadful truth.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Draco Malfoy & Hermione Granger
Prompts: 260. once upon a december & 42. theft & 12. choices
Word Count: 4087
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Notes: Written for 500themes & fanfic50 & quill_it. Prompt tables are here & here & here.
-
“You’re never really alone, if someone’s there in your heart.”
“...You’re a fool.”
She looked as if she was going to rebut, but merely shrugged her shoulders in response, silent. The bitter December breeze was nipping at her exposed skin, and she honestly had no energy left to fight with the eccentric man currently propped against the stone wall. He quirked an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic behaviour, and brought the cancer stick back to his lips. She couldn’t help but notice the perfect arch of his aristocratic nose as he did so, or the immaculate shape of his angel-bow, almost feminine lips. But the illusion was ruined as soon as he inhaled another drag, the cancerous fumes entering and exiting his body.
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “That’s going to kill you one day, you know.”
“I know,” he replied absentmindedly, his gaze already gone from her person. She watched, transfixed as his unreadable gray orbs trailed along something in the sky, something she was sure probably wasn’t there. “Why is it your business anyways?”
She flinched slightly. “You’re right. Keep smoking. Keep smoking until your lungs collapse.”
His lids fluttered shut as he blew out another cloud of smoke, and she resisted the urge to cough. “Go away, Granger.”
“Give me back my necklace, Malfoy, and I’d be happy to comply,” she practically hissed, her patience waning dangerously thin. The unforgiving weather had seemed to drop twenty degrees in the past week, and her thin jacket was simply not strong enough against the greater forces fighting against it. She could think of about a hundred more things she’d rather be doing at this time than this, including bungee jumping off a god damn cliff.
“I don’t think so, Granger,” he cracked open an eye at this, and she could see the smallest hint of amusement floating in his desolate eye. “It’s mine now.”
“I should’ve known better - that’s the Malfoy way of doing things, right?” she hissed, the last of her patience evaporating. “Steal it? That’s-”
“Enough, Granger,” he cut in, his voice suddenly tired. “Come back here tomorrow and perhaps I’ll feel like returning it then.”
“What-”
But he was already gone, the slight flicker of his wand the last thing she saw.
- - - - - - -
She blew into her cupped hands in a desperate attempt to bring warmth, but to no avail.
Today was even colder than the previous night, and he still showed no signs of showing up. That arse, she thought. With a frustrated groan she pulled the hat further down on her head, but it did little to alleviate the biting pain in her ears from the cold.
“Cute, Granger,” his voice rumbled next to her ear, eliciting a surprised squeal from the woman. “You know, you sort of resemble a mouse when you do that.”
“Charming as usual, Malfoy.”
The blond shrugged, and she noticed that he hardly looked cold at all in his pea coat, shaded plaid scarf and leather gloves. Huh. Gloves, she thought. Would’ve been smart to bring. By contrast, she was sure that he was right and that she probably looked rightly sorry, cooped up in her thin jacket and hat.
“It’s freezing tonight, Malfoy,” she sighed. “I’m not in the mood for this. Give me back my necklace so we can both leave.”
“I don’t think so, Granger,” he paused, looking up at the gray night. “Come back tomorrow night. Maybe tomorrow’ll be the day.”
“No,” she hissed, but her words fell on deaf ears, for the alley was once again empty.
- - - - - - -
She was late.
Of course, they had never really set a time for this, whatever this was. But the first time had been 10:30, and every night after that, they had unconsciously followed that timeline. The fact that she had broken their unspoken truce unsettled him somewhat, but he shrugged it off. She would come. Her silly sentimental, Gryffindor self would never let someone like him make do with her precious necklace.
When she finally appeared ten minutes later, it was impossible for him not to notice the look of absolute misery on her face. To his amusement, she had finally remembered to bring gloves after two weeks of this silly game, but despite it, she still looked halfway to hypothermia. When she spoke, her voice was tired and exasperated, but he thought and perhaps hoped, that he wasn’t the reason behind her dreary tone of voice.
“My necklace, Malfoy.”
He looked past her, at something beyond their alley. He was oddly thoughtful for a moment before he said in an almost comically accusatory tone, “it’s Christmas Eve.”
A familiar light entered her eyes for a moment, before it died out again. “Yes, Malfoy. It comes around every 365 days.”
He still wasn’t looking at her when he said rather nonchalantly, “Let’s go for a drink.”
“Why in the world would I ever go for a drink with you?”
He shrugged. “It’s Christmas.”
Hermione paused, considering her options. Finally, she sighed, figuring it worth the venture. “Only if you give me back my necklace.”
Draco nodded, and proceeded to lead the way out of the desolate alley. All of a sudden everything seemed to come to life, as the lights decorating each store burst into their senses. Hermione actually winced slightly, already accustomed to the darkness of the alley. Draco seemed perfectly unaware as he led them into a small pub a little distance away. It was close, but far enough to be away from the festivities of the holiday season. He pushed the door open, and the distinct feeling of musty air washed over them.
Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“This is where you usually come, Malfoy?” she commented rather snidely.
He shrugged. “It’s quiet.”
Draco raised two fingers to the bartender, who seemed to already be making the drinks. Hermione wondered briefly how often the blond frequented this questionable establishment before she shook the thought from her mind. It was none of her business what the pureblood did in his free time. It was none of her business if he wanted to waste his life away smoking and drinking. Absolutely none of her god damned business.
But she found that she couldn’t help but mind. When the bartender set down a cocktail for her and a noticeably larger one for Draco, her hands moved of their own accord as she pushed it out of his reach. Malfoy arched an eyebrow at her behaviour, slightly amused.
“Didn’t know you still cared, Granger,” he drawled.
Hermione tensed at the modifier. “I don’t.”
He shrugged disbelievingly, stretching his fingers out towards her expectantly. It was a challenge, and though Hermione bit her lips and considered letting him do away as he pleased, she realized to her dismay that she couldn’t. When she didn’t return his drink after thirty seconds, something flashed through his eyes. It was so quick that she thought she had imagined it, but it had been there. What was that? He can’t still - no - she cut her own thoughts off. She refused to allow herself to go there again, knowing how long and hard it had been to get away the last time.
He was a vortex, and she refused to be sucked into his insanity once more.
“Why do you care so much about the necklace anyways?” he asked suddenly. Hermione was surprised by the sudden emotion in us usually stoic voice. It was gone when he continued, “Just ask the Weasel to give you another one.”
Hermione felt herself being tugged back into his abyss with his words, but she steeled herself in time. It doesn’t mean anything more, she told herself. Nothing’s changed. Despite her inner words, she remained rather unconvinced, the devil on her shoulder whispering bittersweet acknowledgements. He’s just jealous of Ron! the devil encouraged, and Hermione couldn’t help but feel slightly swayed.
“It has sentimental value. Another one would be different.”
Draco flicked his left hand out then, and out twinkled the familiar, delicate silver chain. The fragile chain glistened even in the dark bar light, and when the dainty little pendant on the chain reflected that light, they were both mesmerized for a moment. Hermione had half a mind to make a dive for the chain, but knew it would be futile. It was wrapped firmly within Draco’s fingers, and lunging for it would probably do more harm than good.
Then, Draco did something rather unexpected. He placed the necklace down gingerly on the bar top, exactly between them. When he turned his face back to her, she was disconcerted to see a smirk playing confidently there. “What’re you hiding, Granger?”
She froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s a good charm, really,” he continued, his lazy drawl back. “I’ve been trying to crack it this whole time, but nothing works. So, let me ask again. What are you hiding?”
The blood rushed from her heart as it beat out at nearly two hundred. She couldn’t very well tell him that the pendant actually held numerous photos of them, charmed to fit inside the little face. And she definitely couldn’t tell him that the reason he wasn’t able to break the charm was because this particular charm had been tailored so that people in love with her would not be able to open it. The protective charm had been for Ron’s benefit - the last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt Ron like that, by finding her secret stash of photos with her secret ex-boyfriend-something.
Still, she refused to believe that Draco was unable to release the charm for the same reason. It’ just because he’s a bloody lousy wizard, she tried to convince herself. But she knew that Draco was the furthest thing from a lousy wizard - he had been second to her at everything in school, and had even, on some occasions she pretended to forget, beat her.
Hermione shook her head. “It’s none of your business.”
Draco was silent for a moment, contemplative and oddly thoughtful. Just when Hermione thought he actually looked quite serene, he suddenly turned towards her with a level of emotional turbulence he rarely showed.
“There’s really nothing you want to tell me?” he asked in all seriousness. Hermione shivered despite herself and despite the fact that she was now warmer than ever. From the look in his eyes, the only thought that coursed through her head was oh god, he knows. But the Draco Malfoy she knew would never play a coy, reclusive game like this. Whatever he wanted, he took.
Hermione relaxed slightly. Slightly.
“Really, Malfoy,” she reassured. Liar, she hissed in her head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.”
With practiced agility, she swiped the necklace from the space between them while rising from the stool. In another fluid motion, her coat was on as well. “Goodbye, Malfoy.”
Then she was walking away, as fast as her feet could humanly take her.
Watching her retreating back, Draco felt the now-familiar wrenching in his gut. Though it had taken him a while, he now knew to associate the feeling with three things; heartbreak, nostalgia and her. It wasn’t so uncommon anymore, so he simply ignored it. That had been the last straw, absolute last attempt from him to reconcile.
He also ignored the annoying voice in his head that was saying it was also the first attempt, and you barely tried at all, arsehole. He also ignored the truth that the reason behind his lack of persistence was probably fear. Fear that she would be stubborn until the end, fear that everything had changed. Even though it had, technically.
Everything had changed because reality had finally caught up with him. To think even for one moment that he could be able to break the bindings of reality had been foolish. This whole endeavour had been silly, really. She was with Weasley now, anyhow. Draco had heard just a while ago that the idiot had finally popped the question, and had set the date for June 5th. He almost snorted at the irony.
She deserved better than a cliché. Weasley seemed to be writing the book on clichéd romance, but when Draco thought about it, he wasn’t that far off the mark himself. The thought alone was enough to make him sick.
Draco raised two fingers at the bartender.
He really needed another drink.
- - - - - - -
Blaise looked up in surprise when the familiar popping sound reverberated through his living room.
“Christ, Draco!” the Italian called out, startled. “What are you doing here? It’s 3 in the morning!”
When Draco didn’t reply, only looking far beyond the other man with glossy eyes, Blaise suddenly understood. Sobering from his momentary shock, Blaise walked over swiftly, grabbed the blond by the arm and led him to the leather sofa. Blaise tried to ignore the fact that his best friend would probably end up upchucking all over his new couch.
When Draco finally seemed settled and steady on the couch, Blaise turned towards him. “What happened?”
Draco waved him off, but the action was as wobbly as he felt. “She’s gone.”
“What?” Blaise replied incredulously. “She denied it?”
The Zabini man nearly snorted with disbelief. Granger was entirely too stubborn and seemed like more trouble than she was worth sometimes, and he thought his best mate absolutely nuts for falling in love with her. Draco seemingly agreed with Blaise’s verdict, but remained irreversibly infatuated.
Blaise sighed. This was so fucking complicated. “So you confronted her about it and she said no, she wasn’t still in love with you?”
Draco murmured something unintelligible back. It took a moment for Blaise to discern some of the words, but when he did, he nearly punched the drunk man in the face. If he’d heard correctly…
Sobritus, Blaise said as he aimed his wand at Draco. Immediately, Draco’s eyes cleared of their cloudiness. He blinked a few times before sitting perfectly straight. Then, he scowled.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Draco growled. “Do you know how much I had to drink to get that drunk?”
“I have an idea,” Blaise replied sourly. After a moment’s pause, he continued in a deadpan. “Did I hear correctly when you said you didn’t ask her about it?”
Draco paled slightly, but remained defiant. “Yes,” he snapped.
This time, Blaise did aim a punch at Draco, which the latter dodged just in time. “You moron, Malfoy.”
“What the hell?”
“I’ve been here, watching you mope for months. Finally, this opportunity comes along for you to fucking take her back, and you didn’t do anything about it? You just let her go? That isn’t like you, Malfoy,” Blaise let out in one breath. In a calmer tone, he added. “If this is what you’re really like, then hell, Granger probably deserves better.”
Draco looked at the Italian, fully shocked. Never in all their years of friendship had the former ever spoken to him like that. Draco was too surprised to fathom a coherent response. Blaise took this opportunity to rise and turn away.
“Do whatever, Draco. I’m going to bed.”
Only when Blaise’s door slammed shut did Draco break out of his shock. And when he did, it was impossible to ignore the truth behind his best friend’s words.
- - - - - - -
Draco sat there, dreadfully sober and in a trance for the next few hours, staring at a spot on the wall. What Blaise said had hit home, deep at the heart of the problem. It was true. Cowardice wasn’t like him. Being a Malfoy, he had always taken what he wanted, scruples be damned. So why had this time been different?
It had all been a misunderstanding, after all. A damned, stupid misunderstanding propelled by the stubborn personalities of them both. Somehow, unlike all their other arguments, this one had been blown way out of proportions, and they simply never recovered from it. Somewhere between the mess, she slipped between his fingers and Weasley was only too eager to snatch her up.
Where the hell had his determination fled to?
Draco found that he had no adequate answer for this question. Which, consequently, meant that he couldn’t answer the next question: why he was sitting here alone, wallowing, instead of trying to get her back. Something changed in that moment, in the air or perhaps simply within Draco himself. I want her back, Draco realized. Bloody Granger. I need her. And realize he did, also realizing that Granger must be pretty amazing to force his subconscious into acquiescing to acknowledging the idea of needing someone.
As if his chair had been scorched, Draco shot out of it. Without another second wasted, he Apparated out. The quick pop was the only evidence that anything had happened at all, before he appeared halfway across town.
- - - - - - -
Draco realized quite belatedly that he really had not a clue where to Apparate to. He’d heard a month back that she’d moved in with Weasely, and since he had taken their old apartment after their split, and he had not the foggiest of clues where Weasley’s flat was, Draco was at a loss. He cursed his rash actions; he had really only been thinking of Granger when he Apparated, and not a specific place. It was risky, and had he been a teenager, or even five years younger, he would definitely have spliced himself. Yet, he’d made it in one piece, thanks to his experience.
However, where he’d made it to was another question entirely.
Nothing around him seemed familiar in the least. The building that he’d appeared before was cute, he supposed. Roughly fifteen floors, perfectly symmetrical, with identical streetlamps illuminating the street every three metres. The trees and flowers surrounding the building, too, were neat and trim. Draco resisted the urge to scrunch his nose in distaste. It was one of those neighbourhoods.
Despite this, when he looked up to get a better view, he was suddenly hit with a sense of déjà vu. Some fuzzy image of something flashed through his mind insanely quick, too quick for him to grab. When he tried to retrieve the image from his mind, he found that it had dissipated as if it’d never happened. Draco was about to Apparate back when he paused. Oddly compelled, he lowered his wand again, blinking slowly at the building. The ring of familiarity struck again as he took a step towards the building. This convinced him to keep walking, and with each step, some of the haze in his mind seemed to lift away. By the time he reached the staircase and began his trek upstairs to god-knows-what-floor, Draco was beginning to regain the coherency in his memories.
The neat spiral of the staircase, the pristine state of the walls - it all equated one thing in his mind. Granger. When her name followed, a flush of memories flooded his consciousness - late night dinners, lazy mornings in, all here. Oddly, no anger followed this revelation, even with the knowledge that she must have tampered with his memory at one point. It had probably been for both their benefits, and her safety. Remembering all this, Draco scaled the steps two at a time.
When he reached the fifth floor of the quaint building, he came face to face with the door on the south, painted a generic gray. Although it was like the two other doors on the floor, he knew this was the one. 503, the ornate lettering indicated. Without thinking twice, he knocked on the door. Too late he realized his knock came out as more of a scary pound. Wincing slightly, he tried again, this time softer.
Still, no answer.
Draco hesitated, wondering if his instinct had led him astray. When staring at the door yielded no obvious result, he heaved a sigh and turned to leave. He was back to square one, although it was debatable if he’d ever really left that stage. He was already down the first few steps when a quiet click stopped him dead in his tracks. Sharp reflexes allowed him to turn instantly.
The sorry sight that greeted him broke his heart. His fists clenched of their own accord, and before her shellshocked self could slam the door shut again, Draco had angled himself through the doorway.
“Granger,” he breathed out, grabbing her out of instinct. “What the hell happened?”
Hermione flinched away from his touch, though it did her no good, for he held her tightly. She did the next best thing and twisted her face away from his view; Draco retained enough sense to ignore his instinct to pry her face towards him. Eventually she turned back to face him, and he saw the steeled resolve in her creamy orbs. “What are you doing here, Malfoy? How did you even find this place?”
“You obliviated me.”
It wasn’t an accusation, and it wasn’t a question. At this point in their pointless dance, it was simply a statement, and Hermione nodded once to affirm. “Yes.”
Draco opened his mouth to retort, but shut it again after a moment’s consideration. An odd look came over his face, and after a second, he nodded. A feeling of understanding washed over him, and he felt oddly peaceful, just holding her in his arms, though their predicament was still far from ideal. It was simply part of the effect she had on him, and he had learned to reconcile with the fact.
They stayed like that, in a tense, yet serene silence, just looking for what felt like hours.
“What happened to us?” Draco whispered finally. A slight sniffle was all he got in reply at first, but when she regained control over herself, her turbulent gaze met with his own, unbelievably strong even amidst her angst.
“Stupidity.”
Despite himself, Draco couldn’t stop the laugh that followed her comment. But after a moment, he grew morose again as his eyes trailed over her body. “But more importantly… what on earth happened to you?”
Automatically, the shackles rose around her as she scrambled for an answer. “Nothing. Just a little sick. Seasonal flu, that sort of thing.”
The tear-stained cheeks, bedridden hair and dark circles she bore indicated otherwise, and Draco said as much. Suddenly, the fury rose within him in a fury as the cause occurred to him. “Did Weasley do this? What did he do to you? I’ll kill that bastard-”
Hermione waved away his accusations with a tired gesture. “It’s no one’s fault but my own.”
That statement roughly translated into it’s your fault but I’m too much of a sweetheart and much too tired to say so in Draco’s mind. His heart clenched at the thought, and he had to will himself not to look away. But those dark pools of hazel held no accusation within them as she stared at him, and without thinking, Draco pushed her against the door.
It wasn’t rough, and it wasn’t sweet, but the moment their lips met it was as if nothing had ever changed between them. They hadn’t broken up over some trivial matter, and he hadn’t spent many miserable months without her, and she hadn’t cried herself into oblivion.
When they finally broke apart, the tears were once again in her eyes, and she looked at him with quivering lips, not quite able to say anything. For once, Draco was able to supply the words when she was silent.
“I’m sorry, Granger. I’m sorry. Tell me it’s not too late.”
The small smile that widened across her face was more than enough, but when she also began to nod her head, hesitantly at first and then with more vigour, Draco felt his heart rest. As she nodded, the small chain around her neck jostled with the movement, catching Draco’s eyes. Quick as lightening, his fingers reached out to grab the small locket.
Hermione froze as Draco removed it from the confines of her shirt, and held it gingerly within his fingers. Silently, Draco mouthed a spell, and Hermione could only watch, breath held as she waited for the locket to do something. But it did nothing, and Draco looked as if he was going to do no more than gaze longingly at the trinket.
After a moment, Hermione said quietly, “You knew?”
“Yes,” Draco said with a smile that resembled the smirk she loved so dearly. “Yes, I knew.”
Then his lips were on hers again, and she knew that all was well in the world again.
Characters: Draco Malfoy & Hermione Granger
Prompts: 260. once upon a december & 42. theft & 12. choices
Word Count: 4087
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Notes: Written for 500themes & fanfic50 & quill_it. Prompt tables are here & here & here.
-
“You’re never really alone, if someone’s there in your heart.”
“...You’re a fool.”
She looked as if she was going to rebut, but merely shrugged her shoulders in response, silent. The bitter December breeze was nipping at her exposed skin, and she honestly had no energy left to fight with the eccentric man currently propped against the stone wall. He quirked an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic behaviour, and brought the cancer stick back to his lips. She couldn’t help but notice the perfect arch of his aristocratic nose as he did so, or the immaculate shape of his angel-bow, almost feminine lips. But the illusion was ruined as soon as he inhaled another drag, the cancerous fumes entering and exiting his body.
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “That’s going to kill you one day, you know.”
“I know,” he replied absentmindedly, his gaze already gone from her person. She watched, transfixed as his unreadable gray orbs trailed along something in the sky, something she was sure probably wasn’t there. “Why is it your business anyways?”
She flinched slightly. “You’re right. Keep smoking. Keep smoking until your lungs collapse.”
His lids fluttered shut as he blew out another cloud of smoke, and she resisted the urge to cough. “Go away, Granger.”
“Give me back my necklace, Malfoy, and I’d be happy to comply,” she practically hissed, her patience waning dangerously thin. The unforgiving weather had seemed to drop twenty degrees in the past week, and her thin jacket was simply not strong enough against the greater forces fighting against it. She could think of about a hundred more things she’d rather be doing at this time than this, including bungee jumping off a god damn cliff.
“I don’t think so, Granger,” he cracked open an eye at this, and she could see the smallest hint of amusement floating in his desolate eye. “It’s mine now.”
“I should’ve known better - that’s the Malfoy way of doing things, right?” she hissed, the last of her patience evaporating. “Steal it? That’s-”
“Enough, Granger,” he cut in, his voice suddenly tired. “Come back here tomorrow and perhaps I’ll feel like returning it then.”
“What-”
But he was already gone, the slight flicker of his wand the last thing she saw.
- - - - - - -
She blew into her cupped hands in a desperate attempt to bring warmth, but to no avail.
Today was even colder than the previous night, and he still showed no signs of showing up. That arse, she thought. With a frustrated groan she pulled the hat further down on her head, but it did little to alleviate the biting pain in her ears from the cold.
“Cute, Granger,” his voice rumbled next to her ear, eliciting a surprised squeal from the woman. “You know, you sort of resemble a mouse when you do that.”
“Charming as usual, Malfoy.”
The blond shrugged, and she noticed that he hardly looked cold at all in his pea coat, shaded plaid scarf and leather gloves. Huh. Gloves, she thought. Would’ve been smart to bring. By contrast, she was sure that he was right and that she probably looked rightly sorry, cooped up in her thin jacket and hat.
“It’s freezing tonight, Malfoy,” she sighed. “I’m not in the mood for this. Give me back my necklace so we can both leave.”
“I don’t think so, Granger,” he paused, looking up at the gray night. “Come back tomorrow night. Maybe tomorrow’ll be the day.”
“No,” she hissed, but her words fell on deaf ears, for the alley was once again empty.
- - - - - - -
She was late.
Of course, they had never really set a time for this, whatever this was. But the first time had been 10:30, and every night after that, they had unconsciously followed that timeline. The fact that she had broken their unspoken truce unsettled him somewhat, but he shrugged it off. She would come. Her silly sentimental, Gryffindor self would never let someone like him make do with her precious necklace.
When she finally appeared ten minutes later, it was impossible for him not to notice the look of absolute misery on her face. To his amusement, she had finally remembered to bring gloves after two weeks of this silly game, but despite it, she still looked halfway to hypothermia. When she spoke, her voice was tired and exasperated, but he thought and perhaps hoped, that he wasn’t the reason behind her dreary tone of voice.
“My necklace, Malfoy.”
He looked past her, at something beyond their alley. He was oddly thoughtful for a moment before he said in an almost comically accusatory tone, “it’s Christmas Eve.”
A familiar light entered her eyes for a moment, before it died out again. “Yes, Malfoy. It comes around every 365 days.”
He still wasn’t looking at her when he said rather nonchalantly, “Let’s go for a drink.”
“Why in the world would I ever go for a drink with you?”
He shrugged. “It’s Christmas.”
Hermione paused, considering her options. Finally, she sighed, figuring it worth the venture. “Only if you give me back my necklace.”
Draco nodded, and proceeded to lead the way out of the desolate alley. All of a sudden everything seemed to come to life, as the lights decorating each store burst into their senses. Hermione actually winced slightly, already accustomed to the darkness of the alley. Draco seemed perfectly unaware as he led them into a small pub a little distance away. It was close, but far enough to be away from the festivities of the holiday season. He pushed the door open, and the distinct feeling of musty air washed over them.
Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“This is where you usually come, Malfoy?” she commented rather snidely.
He shrugged. “It’s quiet.”
Draco raised two fingers to the bartender, who seemed to already be making the drinks. Hermione wondered briefly how often the blond frequented this questionable establishment before she shook the thought from her mind. It was none of her business what the pureblood did in his free time. It was none of her business if he wanted to waste his life away smoking and drinking. Absolutely none of her god damned business.
But she found that she couldn’t help but mind. When the bartender set down a cocktail for her and a noticeably larger one for Draco, her hands moved of their own accord as she pushed it out of his reach. Malfoy arched an eyebrow at her behaviour, slightly amused.
“Didn’t know you still cared, Granger,” he drawled.
Hermione tensed at the modifier. “I don’t.”
He shrugged disbelievingly, stretching his fingers out towards her expectantly. It was a challenge, and though Hermione bit her lips and considered letting him do away as he pleased, she realized to her dismay that she couldn’t. When she didn’t return his drink after thirty seconds, something flashed through his eyes. It was so quick that she thought she had imagined it, but it had been there. What was that? He can’t still - no - she cut her own thoughts off. She refused to allow herself to go there again, knowing how long and hard it had been to get away the last time.
He was a vortex, and she refused to be sucked into his insanity once more.
“Why do you care so much about the necklace anyways?” he asked suddenly. Hermione was surprised by the sudden emotion in us usually stoic voice. It was gone when he continued, “Just ask the Weasel to give you another one.”
Hermione felt herself being tugged back into his abyss with his words, but she steeled herself in time. It doesn’t mean anything more, she told herself. Nothing’s changed. Despite her inner words, she remained rather unconvinced, the devil on her shoulder whispering bittersweet acknowledgements. He’s just jealous of Ron! the devil encouraged, and Hermione couldn’t help but feel slightly swayed.
“It has sentimental value. Another one would be different.”
Draco flicked his left hand out then, and out twinkled the familiar, delicate silver chain. The fragile chain glistened even in the dark bar light, and when the dainty little pendant on the chain reflected that light, they were both mesmerized for a moment. Hermione had half a mind to make a dive for the chain, but knew it would be futile. It was wrapped firmly within Draco’s fingers, and lunging for it would probably do more harm than good.
Then, Draco did something rather unexpected. He placed the necklace down gingerly on the bar top, exactly between them. When he turned his face back to her, she was disconcerted to see a smirk playing confidently there. “What’re you hiding, Granger?”
She froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s a good charm, really,” he continued, his lazy drawl back. “I’ve been trying to crack it this whole time, but nothing works. So, let me ask again. What are you hiding?”
The blood rushed from her heart as it beat out at nearly two hundred. She couldn’t very well tell him that the pendant actually held numerous photos of them, charmed to fit inside the little face. And she definitely couldn’t tell him that the reason he wasn’t able to break the charm was because this particular charm had been tailored so that people in love with her would not be able to open it. The protective charm had been for Ron’s benefit - the last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt Ron like that, by finding her secret stash of photos with her secret ex-boyfriend-something.
Still, she refused to believe that Draco was unable to release the charm for the same reason. It’ just because he’s a bloody lousy wizard, she tried to convince herself. But she knew that Draco was the furthest thing from a lousy wizard - he had been second to her at everything in school, and had even, on some occasions she pretended to forget, beat her.
Hermione shook her head. “It’s none of your business.”
Draco was silent for a moment, contemplative and oddly thoughtful. Just when Hermione thought he actually looked quite serene, he suddenly turned towards her with a level of emotional turbulence he rarely showed.
“There’s really nothing you want to tell me?” he asked in all seriousness. Hermione shivered despite herself and despite the fact that she was now warmer than ever. From the look in his eyes, the only thought that coursed through her head was oh god, he knows. But the Draco Malfoy she knew would never play a coy, reclusive game like this. Whatever he wanted, he took.
Hermione relaxed slightly. Slightly.
“Really, Malfoy,” she reassured. Liar, she hissed in her head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.”
With practiced agility, she swiped the necklace from the space between them while rising from the stool. In another fluid motion, her coat was on as well. “Goodbye, Malfoy.”
Then she was walking away, as fast as her feet could humanly take her.
Watching her retreating back, Draco felt the now-familiar wrenching in his gut. Though it had taken him a while, he now knew to associate the feeling with three things; heartbreak, nostalgia and her. It wasn’t so uncommon anymore, so he simply ignored it. That had been the last straw, absolute last attempt from him to reconcile.
He also ignored the annoying voice in his head that was saying it was also the first attempt, and you barely tried at all, arsehole. He also ignored the truth that the reason behind his lack of persistence was probably fear. Fear that she would be stubborn until the end, fear that everything had changed. Even though it had, technically.
Everything had changed because reality had finally caught up with him. To think even for one moment that he could be able to break the bindings of reality had been foolish. This whole endeavour had been silly, really. She was with Weasley now, anyhow. Draco had heard just a while ago that the idiot had finally popped the question, and had set the date for June 5th. He almost snorted at the irony.
She deserved better than a cliché. Weasley seemed to be writing the book on clichéd romance, but when Draco thought about it, he wasn’t that far off the mark himself. The thought alone was enough to make him sick.
Draco raised two fingers at the bartender.
He really needed another drink.
- - - - - - -
Blaise looked up in surprise when the familiar popping sound reverberated through his living room.
“Christ, Draco!” the Italian called out, startled. “What are you doing here? It’s 3 in the morning!”
When Draco didn’t reply, only looking far beyond the other man with glossy eyes, Blaise suddenly understood. Sobering from his momentary shock, Blaise walked over swiftly, grabbed the blond by the arm and led him to the leather sofa. Blaise tried to ignore the fact that his best friend would probably end up upchucking all over his new couch.
When Draco finally seemed settled and steady on the couch, Blaise turned towards him. “What happened?”
Draco waved him off, but the action was as wobbly as he felt. “She’s gone.”
“What?” Blaise replied incredulously. “She denied it?”
The Zabini man nearly snorted with disbelief. Granger was entirely too stubborn and seemed like more trouble than she was worth sometimes, and he thought his best mate absolutely nuts for falling in love with her. Draco seemingly agreed with Blaise’s verdict, but remained irreversibly infatuated.
Blaise sighed. This was so fucking complicated. “So you confronted her about it and she said no, she wasn’t still in love with you?”
Draco murmured something unintelligible back. It took a moment for Blaise to discern some of the words, but when he did, he nearly punched the drunk man in the face. If he’d heard correctly…
Sobritus, Blaise said as he aimed his wand at Draco. Immediately, Draco’s eyes cleared of their cloudiness. He blinked a few times before sitting perfectly straight. Then, he scowled.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Draco growled. “Do you know how much I had to drink to get that drunk?”
“I have an idea,” Blaise replied sourly. After a moment’s pause, he continued in a deadpan. “Did I hear correctly when you said you didn’t ask her about it?”
Draco paled slightly, but remained defiant. “Yes,” he snapped.
This time, Blaise did aim a punch at Draco, which the latter dodged just in time. “You moron, Malfoy.”
“What the hell?”
“I’ve been here, watching you mope for months. Finally, this opportunity comes along for you to fucking take her back, and you didn’t do anything about it? You just let her go? That isn’t like you, Malfoy,” Blaise let out in one breath. In a calmer tone, he added. “If this is what you’re really like, then hell, Granger probably deserves better.”
Draco looked at the Italian, fully shocked. Never in all their years of friendship had the former ever spoken to him like that. Draco was too surprised to fathom a coherent response. Blaise took this opportunity to rise and turn away.
“Do whatever, Draco. I’m going to bed.”
Only when Blaise’s door slammed shut did Draco break out of his shock. And when he did, it was impossible to ignore the truth behind his best friend’s words.
- - - - - - -
Draco sat there, dreadfully sober and in a trance for the next few hours, staring at a spot on the wall. What Blaise said had hit home, deep at the heart of the problem. It was true. Cowardice wasn’t like him. Being a Malfoy, he had always taken what he wanted, scruples be damned. So why had this time been different?
It had all been a misunderstanding, after all. A damned, stupid misunderstanding propelled by the stubborn personalities of them both. Somehow, unlike all their other arguments, this one had been blown way out of proportions, and they simply never recovered from it. Somewhere between the mess, she slipped between his fingers and Weasley was only too eager to snatch her up.
Where the hell had his determination fled to?
Draco found that he had no adequate answer for this question. Which, consequently, meant that he couldn’t answer the next question: why he was sitting here alone, wallowing, instead of trying to get her back. Something changed in that moment, in the air or perhaps simply within Draco himself. I want her back, Draco realized. Bloody Granger. I need her. And realize he did, also realizing that Granger must be pretty amazing to force his subconscious into acquiescing to acknowledging the idea of needing someone.
As if his chair had been scorched, Draco shot out of it. Without another second wasted, he Apparated out. The quick pop was the only evidence that anything had happened at all, before he appeared halfway across town.
- - - - - - -
Draco realized quite belatedly that he really had not a clue where to Apparate to. He’d heard a month back that she’d moved in with Weasely, and since he had taken their old apartment after their split, and he had not the foggiest of clues where Weasley’s flat was, Draco was at a loss. He cursed his rash actions; he had really only been thinking of Granger when he Apparated, and not a specific place. It was risky, and had he been a teenager, or even five years younger, he would definitely have spliced himself. Yet, he’d made it in one piece, thanks to his experience.
However, where he’d made it to was another question entirely.
Nothing around him seemed familiar in the least. The building that he’d appeared before was cute, he supposed. Roughly fifteen floors, perfectly symmetrical, with identical streetlamps illuminating the street every three metres. The trees and flowers surrounding the building, too, were neat and trim. Draco resisted the urge to scrunch his nose in distaste. It was one of those neighbourhoods.
Despite this, when he looked up to get a better view, he was suddenly hit with a sense of déjà vu. Some fuzzy image of something flashed through his mind insanely quick, too quick for him to grab. When he tried to retrieve the image from his mind, he found that it had dissipated as if it’d never happened. Draco was about to Apparate back when he paused. Oddly compelled, he lowered his wand again, blinking slowly at the building. The ring of familiarity struck again as he took a step towards the building. This convinced him to keep walking, and with each step, some of the haze in his mind seemed to lift away. By the time he reached the staircase and began his trek upstairs to god-knows-what-floor, Draco was beginning to regain the coherency in his memories.
The neat spiral of the staircase, the pristine state of the walls - it all equated one thing in his mind. Granger. When her name followed, a flush of memories flooded his consciousness - late night dinners, lazy mornings in, all here. Oddly, no anger followed this revelation, even with the knowledge that she must have tampered with his memory at one point. It had probably been for both their benefits, and her safety. Remembering all this, Draco scaled the steps two at a time.
When he reached the fifth floor of the quaint building, he came face to face with the door on the south, painted a generic gray. Although it was like the two other doors on the floor, he knew this was the one. 503, the ornate lettering indicated. Without thinking twice, he knocked on the door. Too late he realized his knock came out as more of a scary pound. Wincing slightly, he tried again, this time softer.
Still, no answer.
Draco hesitated, wondering if his instinct had led him astray. When staring at the door yielded no obvious result, he heaved a sigh and turned to leave. He was back to square one, although it was debatable if he’d ever really left that stage. He was already down the first few steps when a quiet click stopped him dead in his tracks. Sharp reflexes allowed him to turn instantly.
The sorry sight that greeted him broke his heart. His fists clenched of their own accord, and before her shellshocked self could slam the door shut again, Draco had angled himself through the doorway.
“Granger,” he breathed out, grabbing her out of instinct. “What the hell happened?”
Hermione flinched away from his touch, though it did her no good, for he held her tightly. She did the next best thing and twisted her face away from his view; Draco retained enough sense to ignore his instinct to pry her face towards him. Eventually she turned back to face him, and he saw the steeled resolve in her creamy orbs. “What are you doing here, Malfoy? How did you even find this place?”
“You obliviated me.”
It wasn’t an accusation, and it wasn’t a question. At this point in their pointless dance, it was simply a statement, and Hermione nodded once to affirm. “Yes.”
Draco opened his mouth to retort, but shut it again after a moment’s consideration. An odd look came over his face, and after a second, he nodded. A feeling of understanding washed over him, and he felt oddly peaceful, just holding her in his arms, though their predicament was still far from ideal. It was simply part of the effect she had on him, and he had learned to reconcile with the fact.
They stayed like that, in a tense, yet serene silence, just looking for what felt like hours.
“What happened to us?” Draco whispered finally. A slight sniffle was all he got in reply at first, but when she regained control over herself, her turbulent gaze met with his own, unbelievably strong even amidst her angst.
“Stupidity.”
Despite himself, Draco couldn’t stop the laugh that followed her comment. But after a moment, he grew morose again as his eyes trailed over her body. “But more importantly… what on earth happened to you?”
Automatically, the shackles rose around her as she scrambled for an answer. “Nothing. Just a little sick. Seasonal flu, that sort of thing.”
The tear-stained cheeks, bedridden hair and dark circles she bore indicated otherwise, and Draco said as much. Suddenly, the fury rose within him in a fury as the cause occurred to him. “Did Weasley do this? What did he do to you? I’ll kill that bastard-”
Hermione waved away his accusations with a tired gesture. “It’s no one’s fault but my own.”
That statement roughly translated into it’s your fault but I’m too much of a sweetheart and much too tired to say so in Draco’s mind. His heart clenched at the thought, and he had to will himself not to look away. But those dark pools of hazel held no accusation within them as she stared at him, and without thinking, Draco pushed her against the door.
It wasn’t rough, and it wasn’t sweet, but the moment their lips met it was as if nothing had ever changed between them. They hadn’t broken up over some trivial matter, and he hadn’t spent many miserable months without her, and she hadn’t cried herself into oblivion.
When they finally broke apart, the tears were once again in her eyes, and she looked at him with quivering lips, not quite able to say anything. For once, Draco was able to supply the words when she was silent.
“I’m sorry, Granger. I’m sorry. Tell me it’s not too late.”
The small smile that widened across her face was more than enough, but when she also began to nod her head, hesitantly at first and then with more vigour, Draco felt his heart rest. As she nodded, the small chain around her neck jostled with the movement, catching Draco’s eyes. Quick as lightening, his fingers reached out to grab the small locket.
Hermione froze as Draco removed it from the confines of her shirt, and held it gingerly within his fingers. Silently, Draco mouthed a spell, and Hermione could only watch, breath held as she waited for the locket to do something. But it did nothing, and Draco looked as if he was going to do no more than gaze longingly at the trinket.
After a moment, Hermione said quietly, “You knew?”
“Yes,” Draco said with a smile that resembled the smirk she loved so dearly. “Yes, I knew.”
Then his lips were on hers again, and she knew that all was well in the world again.