~Monday, the Fourth~
by The Anonymous Alexa
Draco sat on the stool, the same cold and lifeless expression etched upon his face. He was tired. Tired of all this war shit. Of all this heartbreak. The war shit and the heartbreak.
It had been five years since he last saw her. Five long, agonizing years. And yet he could still remember the times they had with full clarity. He could still remember her face, her hair, her sweet-smelling cologne. The way she talked, the way she laughed, the way she smiled. How she never lets him win in arguments, how she never backs down without a fight.
Hermione.
This stinking war tore them apart. He was forced into hiding, along with his entire family, whilst she remained in the wizarding world, fighting against the Dark Lord's regime. He had to admit, he was an extreme coward through and through. But then again, he was a Slytherin. He'd rather save himself than fight against what he deemed to be a hopeless cause.
Draco sighed. It was Monday again, the fourth. He got up from his seat to leave, his copy of The Daily Prophet still clutched in hand. The waitress, who had been annoyingly flirting with him in a most outright manner for the past half hour, bade him goodbye with a large smile. He pretended not to notice at all as he stepped out of the nondescript diner.
This was his routine. In the desire for thrill and defying his father, and also in the hope of seeing her (her name was becoming an excellent taboo in his book, just like the Dark Lord's) again, Draco left their Manor every Monday for the past year.
This Monday was no exception. He barely made it out of the Manor, what with his father putting up wards every one hundred miles. His mother, however, remained tolerant, and it was easy to bend her into doing what he wanted. He felt guilty for using his mother's vulnerability towards him in order to leave undetected, but he needed to see her again. Needed. Not that he told this to Narcissa.
Draco stepped out into the street, and leaned next to a post lamp. He was in a plaza somewhere in London; he didn't know the exact name of the place. But he did know that this was part of the way to the Ministry if one were to use the Visitor's Entrance. It was a long shot, but he couldn't help but hope that one of these days, she might run out of Floo powder or forget her wand at home so she'll need to use the red phonebooth. Alright, it's an extremely long shot. Draco felt pitiful. Fuck everything.
It came unexpectedly. A sudden flash of warm, familiar brown caught Draco's eye. He stiffened. He knew that color. He knew it all too well.
But could it be? he asked himself.
She was almost halfway across the plaza now, her hair bouncing in soft waves as she walked. She was wearing commonplace work clothes, and in her hand, she was clutching a small red bag and a copy of the Prophet.
Draco couldn't help but ask if it was true. Was he hallucinating? Was it really her? There was only one way to find out. Without realizing what he was doing next, Draco was pushing his way through the crowd, ignoring the contemptuous glared he got from the Muggles.
She was almost gone. And he wasn't fast enough. He wasn't fast enough. She was almost gone.
"Granger!" he found himself shouting. "Granger!"
She turned her head, searching for the caller. She stiffened. She knew that voice. She knew it all too well.
Was she imagining it? She wheeled around and craned her neck, still searching for him.
She met his eye, and at the same time, he cried out her name.
He was running now, running. He went faster, knowing she was only a few metres away. She was so close, so close.
Draco stopped dead a good three feet front of her.
"Draco?" she whispered. He closed his eyes. It felt so good to hear her calling out his name.
"Say it again," he said contentedly.
"What?"
"Say it again. My name."
She chuckled. "Draco."
Without thinking, he opened his eyes and crossed the distance between them. He enveloped her in a tight embrace, and said, "I've missed you. So much. To the point of agony."
He felt her arms snaking their way through his back. "I've missed you too, Draco. To the point of hell." Her voice broke, betraying her silent tears.
"Don't cry," he said simply. He leaned his torso away from her and kissed her cheek, stopping a silver tear in its tracks with his soft lips. Hermione buried her head in his shoulders. "You should be happy," he added.
"I am. Truly." And Draco knew she was.
They stood like that for a moment who knows how long. It could have been a minute, an hour, a day. It could have been forever. Everything could have happened in that modicum of time. The end of the world, the Dark Lord defeated.
But in that moment, everything was perfect. It didn't matter that Muggles from all directions were staring, some even sighing contentedly at 'the utter romance of it all'. It didn't matter that Hermione was getting late for her Ministry trial. It didn't matter that Hermione was caressing a convicted Death Eater, who was exactly the type of person she should be hauling into the Ministry for a trial. It didn't matter that Draco was in hiding as a vagabond, damned to an eternity of being a fugitive. Nothing mattered except them. This moment. Them.
In that moment, everything was wonderful, and nothing could go wrong. It was their moment to savor, and nothing hurt at all.
~END~
AN: Hope you enjoyed that! I sure did while writing it.