First proper Dramione scene that doens't involve a lot of shouting. This had been bouncing around in my head for a while, tell me what you thought!
I had become used to the notes that would appear once a week on my window sill, always delivered by a midnight blue colored owl who flew off the second I untied the thick, expensive red ribbon attached to its leg. It was always the same. The thick, heavy parchment was folded in half, the writing ornate and small, in a careful but confident hand. And there would always be a small, pressed flower tucked inside the sheaf of paper- a rose, every time, without fail, always red. That was what he called me. Little Red. Sometimes, there would be a passage from one of my favorite novels enclosed. Other times, the notes would be brief, only a sentence or two. Always frustrating. Always beautiful. Much, I had decided, like him. But today was different.
"Red,
You asked me why I will never meet you in person. I know it frustrates you. Why don't we fix that today? Three pm. The café on the corner. Bring a scarf."
A shiver ran up and down my spine as I re-read his words. This was a first, and it was rather scary, on many levels. This man had kept me awake more nights than I cared to admit, turning his smooth, secretive words over and over in my head until they became a senseless lullaby. My eyes flashed to the clock for the fourth time in as many minutes. Two thirty-eight. I swallowed hard, and resisted the urge to crumple the paper away, to rid this man from my life. But I couldn't. I couldn't shake him off, he always re-appeared, under my skin, frustrating and intriguing me. We had come into contact when I did curse-breaking consultancy for the firm he worked for, and something about his words on the paper had sparked something else inside of me, something that made me want to know him more, something that made me willing to write back, to volunteer tentative pieces of information about myself to him.
His words, at first, once the subject of our discourses was no longer work-related, had been a delightful dichotomy, and perhaps that was what drew me to him. That somebody could be so careful yet so careless in their writing, so eloquent, yet simple…It was magnetizing. There was a strange yet beautifully heart-breaking aura of sadness around him that I wanted to know more about, needed to know more about. So it was decided. I would meet him.
The heels of my sensible, sturdy shoes clacked on the floor as I walked to my door, then hesitated, staring into the mirror at myself with apathy. They say you can tell a lot about a person by the kind of shoes they wear. My shoes say very simply the way I had always been. And always will be, a voice whispered in my head. Sturdy. Sensible. Steadfast. I needed to do something absolutely crazy, something that scared me and left me vulnerable but at the same time feeling more alive than I had since the days of the Battle of Hogwarts, over four years ago now. After momentary indecision, I clacked back into my room, exchanging my long skirt for a pair of muggle denims, my button-down for a snug white turtleneck, yanking my unruly mass of curls from the bun on top of my head, throwing on a black wool coat. Without allowing the logic-dominated part of my brain to protest, I shoved on the beautiful pair of red heels Ginny had made me buy over a year ago, and, as an afterthought, remembering his note, grabbed my old Gryffindor scarf that was lying on my neatly-made bed.
Once again, I paused at my door for a moment to think about what could possibly happen the second I stepped outside my door. My instincts were conflicting, but they didn't foretell any outright danger. I had a strange, somehow panicked feeling that if I didn't go through with this, I would live to regret it. Come on, I scolded myself. You're Hermione Granger, for Merlin's sake. You aren't afraid of anyone. Let's do this. Without a further thought, I exited my flat, noting with pleasure the daintier, more sophisticated clack of my shoes as I walked downstairs, and towards the quiet café.
It was an unusually quiet day when I got to the small, chic yet classic café that took up a full corner of the street. Stepping inside, out of the cold, drizzly weather, my favorite waiter flagged me down, a beaming smile on his face.
"Afternoon, Miss Hermione. You've got to come with me."
"Wait-where are we-"
"He booked this room for you two," he informed me solemnly, a twinkle in his blue eyes.
"Who is 'he'-" I started, feeling more frustrated than ever before as the waiter shut the door of the small, ornately decorated room, decked out in subtle vintage pieces of gold and silver. A smile tugged at my lips. That had always been my favorite colour combination. I wondered if I had told him this, but then shook my head, recalling that I hadn't. Perhaps he had just known me so very well, or perhaps it was a fluke. The waiter appeared once more, this time with an even bigger smile as he waved his wand and silver cups appeared on the table. He produced a letter from his pocket in the same handwriting as before, although this time, it was addressed simply to 'Red', rather than Ms. Granger. Curious, I slit the envelope, and frowned when my fingers touched two different textures. I shook two objects out, the first making me stare incredulously.
"No way, I said aloud," rather firmly. "That's ridiculous." In my hand, I held a long, thick piece of red silk, and knew immediately its desired function. Gritting my teeth, I unfolded the note, which bore only three words.
Humor me, Red.
"The bloody hell I'll humor you," I seethed to myself, twisting the ribbon between my fingers. Ugh, fine, I thought eventually, and, feeling very, very foolish, tied the ribbon around my eyes and waited. I knew this was a test of my trust in him, and of my interest, and I was determined to play this game just as hard as he would. Once the world was dark, I waited, my breathing quickening as my other senses seemed to intensify, causing me to shift nervously in her chair. Suddenly, I became aware of another presence in the room, and tensed. A quiet laugh came from the doorway.
"It's alright, Red. Don't hex me now, will you?" His voice was low and husky, but strangely familiar in a way I just couldn't put my finger on.
"No promises," I replied, falling with strange ease into a familiar, comforting pattern. I tugged at the end of the ribbon. "This is ridiculous." I could almost hear his smile, his footsteps soft as he came closer.
"Not ridiculous," he murmured back. "Humor me, remember?" I sighed impatiently, and he laughed softly once again.
"But now that you mention it-" I felt him lean in closer towards me- "it does look a little loose. Wouldn't want it coming off, would we?"
"Why?" I asked again, feeling very silly. He ignored the question, rare from him, and secured the piece of silk over my eyes once more. He was so close I could have reached out and touched him, but I didn't, and instead stayed frozen, every nerve in my body alive and on fire, intoxicated by his scent. It was spicy, yet sweet and fresh, completely natural, completely…him.
"Exactly what, may I ask, was so affronting about the Gryffindor scarf that made this necessary?" I asked, and was rewarded with a laugh.
"It was just so very typical of you, Red. And you're anything but typical," he whispered. A new wave of unease washed over me as I inadvertently leaned closer towards him.
"Take it off," I whispered. "I want to see. I want to know."
"It scares you, doesn't it?" He murmured. "That you don't have to do this. That you could just rip off this flimsy bit of cloth and see me, know who I am. But you know, somewhere inside of yourself, that that would be a very bad idea. You know, Red, I think that somewhere inside of you, you already know who I am," he whispered. "What I am. You just don't want to admit it just yet."
"W-what if I figure it out?" I said quickly, breathlessly.
"Then everything will change," his voice replied, sounding almost sad. "What are names anyway, Red? What do they matter? Names, faces, titles…In the end, what good do they do anybody?" His voice was light, but I could tell he was serious. I pursed my lips.
"Well…They help you to know somebody."
"There are other ways of doing that," he whispered. "You're smart, Red. You have four other senses. Tell me who I am, based on them?" He said quietly, a touch of humour in his tone. "And blindfold or not, I know you're rolling your eyes," he teased, and I couldn't help but laugh, because I was.
"Alright, as you wish. Hearing. I…I know your voice, it sounds familiar…Like I knew it once, but that you've changed since then. I like it," I found myself whispering. "Y-Your voice, I mean."
"Thank you, Red," he said gently, his tone full of warmth and sincerity, but still laced with the same sadness.
"T-Then there's…Touch," I whispered, and instinctively, my right hand reached out, smacking into what I presumed to be his face. He made an amused sound but didn't comment as I let my hand trail over the angular bones of his face up to his sleek, soft, slightly wavy hair, then back down until I felt the slip of an expensive button down under my fingers.
"What color is it?" I whispered. He hesitated for a second, as if the personal detail scared him.
"White," he replied, and I nodded.
"Tie?" I know for sure he tensed that time.
"Green," he whispered, and I arched an eyebrow, storing that information away for later. But for now, I had other things to do. I let my hand fall from his shoulder as my nails raked very gently down his arm, feeling muscles beneath my touch tense, then relax. I felt him take a deep breath in, and then groan.
"Jesus, Red. You're killing me, here," his slightly strained voice said. I smiled slightly, continuing my fun until I reached what I realized was his left hand. His skin was smooth, but warm, slightly rough yet his fingers were soft, and as I began to trace my fingers back up the inside of his left arm, his hands caught mine firmly, intertwining them.
"You still have two left," he reminded me. I frowned at the interruption, deciding that that was another curiosity I'd have to explore, but let him move things along.
"Smell," I whispered. "You smell…nice," I decided, leaning in again to bring my nose up to his jawline. "You don't use cologne or aftershave, though."
I felt his hand come down on the table with a thump as he gripped the corner, his breathing becoming more erratic.
"Red, I swear to God, you are driving me insane."
"Fair's fair," I said slyly, my nose still tickling the hollow where his jawbone met his neck. "After all this time…Me wondering who you were, what you looked like…It's only fair you know what it feels like." I could feel that his jaw, under my fingers, was clenched tightly, as if, if he loosened it, he couldn't be able to control his words or actions.
"I still have one left," I whispered. "But you're going to have to help me," I said breathlessly, leaning into where I guessed his lips to be, meeting warm, firm ones. It started very tentative but soon snowballed and became more as my hands locked into his hair and his tilted my chin up, careful to never touch my eyes. It was breathless, tinged with fear and mystery and vulnerability, and was, without a doubt, the best kiss I had ever had in my very limited kissing career. After a few seconds that passed all too quickly, the contact was gone, replaced by the sound of his erratic breathing- or was it mine?
"Y-You're good at that," I stammered. His hand reached out for mine.
"You aren't terrible yourself, I suppose," his voice said teasingly, and I stuck my tongue out at him.
"Red," he said softly. "I'm sorry, but I…I have to go, now." My heart sank unpleasantly as I felt him rise, then move towards me.
"Thank you," he said gently. "For-for, you know. Putting up with that." I nodded.
"Will we-Will I ever be able to-"
"Maybe one day," he said quietly. "Not soon, but one day." I bit my lip.
"Why won't you at least tell me your name?" The pads of his fingers reached out to outline my cheek, raising a slight blush there.
"Because, Red," he whispered. "If you knew my name, there would be no way this could ever happen. If you knew my name, you would never want anything to do with me again. If you knew my name, there would be no way this could end happily. Trust me on that." I took a shaky breath, but then sighed my defeat.
"Alright. I'll wait a few minutes."
"Someday," he whispered, pressing a kiss to my forehead, and then was gone, leaving me alone in the cool afternoon sunshine.
Three minutes later as I exited the coffee shop, my head was still spinning. And as I made for home, coffee and groceries in hand, I briefly caught a flash of a tall, blonde figure walking fast in the opposite direction, and frowned, rubbing my eyes.
For just one split second, I could have sworn I saw Draco Malfoy.
This took ages to write, please review it if you liked it or you have some feedback. Thanks!