DISCLAIMER:
All the Characters are rightfully owned by the mighty JK Rowling. The basic storyline - the brilliant world of magic, Hogwarts, the beauty of it all that enchants us - is all JK's property. I only own the plot to this particular thing called 'Conundrum'. Rest, the Characters, along with their names, houses and grades at the OWLs, belong to JK. Though, my heart happens to be a property of Tom Felton, but that is besides the point.
Hello.
The only reason why this isn't a One Shot is that I'm uncomfortable posting One Shots that touch 20K mark im number of words.
Be warned:
- Secondary character death.
- Fred/Hermione to some extent, in the beginning.
- Depressed and snappy Hermione.
{Rated 'T' mainly for the next one - or at most, two - installment(s). This part has mere mild swearing. No F-bomb, I guess.}
Note: Ron lovers are advised to steer clear of this fic, sorry.
One
Hermione watches in numb concentration, as the human sized, bright red wooden box is lowered into the earth, a few shades darker. She thinks of the relevance of having a red coloured death-box for him. She sees no point. There isn't any, actually, other than - she belatedly squints through the foggy whiteness of the pelleting raindrops - the possibility of this being the twins' last attempt at making their affections known to him. Or their affection for him, known to others. She knows that they haven't done it to prove it out, despite the fact the latter makes much more sense.
Though, she feels ridiculous at the aspect, he would never be objecting if they put him in a green and silver coffin, instead. He cannot, she corrects. Without prior warning, her eyes burn and she feels her vision getting blurrier than moments ago.
She doesn't know why they've chosen a person as emotionless as Kingsley Shacklebolt to read out eulogies. But then, when had she ever expected herself to be listening about the person he's currently going on about? She knows tears are trickling down her face, and also that no one can see them - given that she chooses to stand in a Muggle raincoat and no covers for her head. She's drenched, inside out.
Distinct, shrill whines tear through the rhythmic rain showers. She doesn't have to look at Ginny to know that she has been held back by Charlie and Harry - who are both no brilliant themselves - from diving into the pit made by digging much deeper than what the coffin's height requires.
Wretched sobs escape a noticeably tightened throat, and then she looks up. She flinches slightly, to find Molly's weeping, red eyes trained upon her. She realises, with a sigh, that her own eyes are possibly red too, and that has given her away. But does it matter? She figures that it doesn't, when her eyes scan the entirety of the Weasley clan's shaking shoulders.
Angelina Johnson is standing close to George in telltale. There wouldn't be any element of surprise for Hermione if they get married within a year. After all, Bill and Fleur's wedding had happened pretty much close to Dumbledore's demise. Although, of course, this loss is way deeper than Dumbledore, but she knows that it doesn't make much of a difference for most; it's just the Weasleys and herself that would mourn more. Not even Harry. He was much too close to that old headmaster of theirs, in comparison to the others.
She feels sick when the next coffin is raised, and Shacklebolt clears his throat for the next eulogy. It is nothing that she didn't already know, but their professionalism over him unnerves her. He fought Voldemort alongside her and Harry, for Christ's sake!
She hasn't seen him move, and jumps when Fred Weasley's hand comes to rest over her shoulder. She takes a breath, clearly reading the lines over his dried face beneath the umbrella. She is certain she has never wished to see what she does. She hadn't expected to see it so soon, either.
The way he gives her a tight smile makes her grimace. She knows he doesn't notice, and she lets him when he pulls her into a reassuring side-hug. She accidentally meets Arthur's eyes over a sobbing and embracing Harry and Ginny. The old man, against her expectation, gives her a reassuring nod. She looks away, not willing to decipher the gesture to what her subconscious knows it is. Percy is giving her a reassuring smile when Fred leads her past him - she shivers, and she knows it is not from cold; she is beneath an umbrella and pressed into a warm body.
She is reeling over how soon had the world forgotten about one Ronald Weasley's grave, as she walks out from the Public Cremating Ceremony, and wonders how long would it be before they forgot about his person.
She cannot decide what the hand over her back makes her feel. Reassurance isn't it, at least.
ooo
She knows Fred would never force her, but his not too subtle disappointment at her pulling back from his advances irritates her. She is more than irritated, actually.
It has been a month since she has allowed him to shift into her flat. He is a good person, undeniably. But their relationship is, rather, merely his unrequited love.
She was infinitely surprised when he first told her. But later she realised that the huge support they were getting - Merlin knows why - from the Weasleys accounted for more of the emotion.
She hasn't really come out from her brooding shell, she knows but doesn't seem to able to have a control over it. When she looks back, she thinks she can count the number of sentences escaping her in the past five months - since the end of the War.
She doesn't actually know why she's pulling along in this extremely weird relation. She does respect Fred, and cares enough to not injure his feelings, but she is aware that it is just a matter of time before her patience snaps and she stomps off his life.
There was a glimmer of hope that she would eventually fall for him, when he first held her hands and told her that he would be by her side no matter how she felt about him. That hope, however, has faded since it became obvious to her that she isn't going to like any physical advances from him.
She realises that she is more not into Fred, than she is over Ron.
Again, she cannot decide why she is putting up, to one fine day walk out and hurt him anyway.
"It's raining."
She looks up from her clasped hands in her lap to Fred. He has a little, half smile over his face as he leans to forward her a mug - which she expects to be coffee but finds out to be hot chocolate - and he seems to have refreshed. All the apprehension he had shown when she flinched away from him cupping her cheeks, ten minutes ago, has left his demeanour. She shrugs off that one out of many similar incidents, too.
She nods, looking out of the window to acknowledge what he had said.
He sighs and sits down across from her - on the carpet too, looking out of the window too. She sips at the sweet, heavenly liquid without a word. She knows he doesn't expect her to say anything. She never does.
But she looks up when he doesn't, either. He mostly does.
His face is thoughtful as he glances at the scenery before them. "I'm going out to the Bookstore, next street, tomorrow."
She stiffens. She knows what that means, and she isn't ready. She doesn't want to go out to such places with him. Their presence together at the places of the Magical World is a different story. That is about keeping up with appearances. But going off somewhere in the Muggle environment with him - where there are no spectators, as such - would mean that they are hanging around, with each other for company. It would mean they have something, which they don't.
She has overanalyzed this, but she thought he knew that. But, it seems he doesn't. She is surprised when he chuckles.
"Oh, Hermione, you don't have to go, of course." Her eyes widen as she looks at him in confusion. He shrugs. "I just meant that I am going out, and that if you want me to bring you something, you may tell me."
She blinks at him for moments, before an involuntary relief floods through her. She feels respect for him creep up her spine, and she decides to award him with at least a smile.
She tries, unsure whether the muscles on her face still remember to twist into the peculiar expression. He grins right back, and she knows she has succeeded.
Fleetingly, she thinks she does know, why she puts up with him for so long. She's selfish, that is why.
ooo
She sees him, for the first time in almost half a year, at a forced visit to Flourish and Blotts with Fred. At first she doesn't recognize him, in spite of his flash of blond hair and the distinctive paleness of his face. He's in Muggle clothing, and she's certain that that is something she had never imagined relating to Draco Malfoy.
She gives a questioning look to Fred, jerking her head to the general direction of the blond. Fred squints over her shoulder and frowns. She is slightly surprised at how easily the redhead has taken up to understanding most of her gestures, because she lacks heavily in the speaking department.
Then his brows shoot up. He leans slightly, eyes trained upon the very same spot past her shoulder, and speaks in hushed tones.
"Last I heard, his wand was confiscated and he was made to exile into the Muggle World for a year - if he was to avoid the alternate three months sentence to Azkaban. I wonder what he must be doing here…"
She is so stunned that she doesn't breathe for a second. Wand confiscated? She cannot think of the prospect. For a moment, she forgets that it is Malfoy she is hearing about and her heart floods with compassion.
She turns back to the shelf she was browsing through, when Fred's eyes fall back to hers. He might have been waiting for a response. But she knows he knows better than that.
It is when her eyes accidentally clash with the contempt filled grey ones, that she finally registers the extent of Malfoy's punishment. It is nothing, actually, but she cannot begin to think how much it serves him well.
Without her realising, her face has contorted into a scowl. She is taken aback, though, when he moves away and she doesn't find the usual, expected sneer plastered over his lips. He simply turns away and walks out.
She realises he looked dejected, and she probably added onto it, a bit too late. She doesn't care, however. All the worst she can do to him, would only serve him right, she tells herself.
Though she doesn't understand why she needs that bit of self-explanation.
ooo
She thinks she might cry or be sick, if nothing else. She had known all along, exactly how it would be to reveal her inability to reciprocate Fred's feelings to him. But she never thought of the aftereffects.
He gave her too much of himself, actually. She feels uncomfortable by the mere acknowledgement.
The front door slams and rattles on it's hinges. She starts at the echoing thud. She knows that he doesn't have a reason to be patient anymore.
She tries, but cannot feel guilty.
ooo
It's Christmas, and roughly a month since her breakup with Fred. Breakup? Hardly. But that is what the headlines on the Daily Prophet read, and that is what the world pays attention to.
She doesn't go to the Burrow. She cannot get herself to face Fred Weasley, just yet.
Instead, she spends the day alone at her flat, pumping herself up about the prospect of getting a job at the Ministry. She has practically sat idle and mourned since last six months. She feels she has wasted enough time, already.
The old, forgotten Gryffindor spirit seeps in, finally. Or, is that the spirit of being Hermione Granger - the Brightest Witch of Her Age? It doesn't matter, and she doesn't care. All she knows is that she will be pursuing her deep down stifled desires of being an Interrogator for Wizengamot.
She owls Harry to set up an appointment with Minister Shacklebolt for her, in a haste.
Later, she realises that she didn't mention Christmas greetings.
ooo
She doesn't know whether to find comfort in it, or consider it arrogancy on his part, when Kingsley Shacklebolt owls her about how she doesn't need an interview to pursue any job she desires.
She feels he is trying to flatter her, and that gives her a moment of pride. He has replied late, though, and she is frustrated that she cannot visit the Ministry tomorrow. It is going to be the first day of year 1999, you see.
She decides to trick Harry into spending the New Year's Eve with her. She owls him about some necessary discussion she needs to have about the Minister's response to Harry's letter.
An hour later, Harry and Ginny have flooed into her Muggle apartment, with a cake and bottles of champagne.
"You're not too subtle, don't make faces, Hermione," Ginny is smirking as she pulls her into a hug.
She isn't making faces, if you leave out standing open mouthed for a minute and then scowling in confusion for another.
"Fred is going out with Alicia, you know."
She looks at Harry, considering her response. Meanwhile, she sees past his nonchalant facade, and realises how nervous he is about her response.
Then, she smiles. "It's a good thing. He's an amazing person and deserves to be loved, Harry."
He visibly deflates in relief, while Ginny stands frowning at her side. Then the younger witch nods, as if deciphering some hidden meaning to her statement. When she speaks, Hermione realises she actually did find out.
"You're a good person as well, Hermione. And… the rest of it… you do too."
Hermione almost laughs at how careful and held back Ginny still is around her, despite being her best friend's girlfriend for more than two years now. Then she is reminded of her words and she holds back.
She never noticed when others grew up fast and she was left behind. She does, now.
ooo
She isn't surprised to see Arthur smiling at her from being seated at his position of Chief Warlock. She isn't surprised at his position, that is.
She doesn't really know what all has been going on around everyone's life, actually. She was cocooned in her shell at her Muggle flat, and Fred cared too much about her to tell her about things that could cause troubles to her brain.
Now, her mind still unfocused due to the two-floor elevators ride, she is nervously looking around at the Members of the Wizengamot. They are, to her utter relief, mostly unknown faces. She recognises Roger Davies, though, and wonders how long he has been working here. In her current state, she cannot even clearly recall the number of years he was ahead to her.
Huffing out a breath, she sends a weak glare to Shacklebolt who is sitting with Arthur, with that ever present calm over his face. She is really pissed at the man.
She was summoned into intimidating court environment to witness the proceedings over a case, today morning. After surviving through the three-hour long hearing, Hermione wanted nothing more than to head home and sink into a warm bath - rechecking and rethinking her decision of what she has gotten herself into. But no, the Minister had other plans.
She is made to sit among nine other Members, rather than the earlier fifty, as they all wait for Draco Malfoy to arrive.
She'll be Interrogating his hearing next week - the Half-Punishment completion milestone. She feels nauseated at the aspect.
ooo
She is at the verge of pulling her hair out at her indecision over considering Draco Malfoy human, and requesting for a private meeting with him before she would strike him left and right with humiliating queries at the hearing.
This treatment is what she had always planned to give her targets. But now, she regrets considering this particular person a normal category.
He rolls his eyes again.
"I say, Granger, " he sounds resigned, yet she doesn't miss the patronising undertone to his voice, "come up with a better excuse."
She throws her arms up in exasperation.
"I don't want to be questioning what you're uncomfortable answering, Malfoy!" She yells out in frustration. "Why is that so bloody difficult for you to accept?"
He shrugs, ghost of a smirk appearing over his battered, withered face. "Try, I'm Draco Malfoy and you're the Gryffindor Princess. Since when does your kind show empathy to me?"
She growls, getting up with a stomp. Her chair falls back, and she thinks of the pristine white paint of her office walls that it may have marred in it's wake. "Get. Out. Now. This very instant."
His brows begin to rise as he nods. "Giving up already, Granger?"
She takes his challenging stance about the nerve he has mustered up to ridicule her in her own office in the Ministry building. The Ministry which hasn't granted him freedom in spite of the letters and testaments that Dumbledore and Snape have left behind. She makes a quick decision.
"Right." She crosses arms over her chest. "You would be doing better with all the jabs made to your Azkaban residing father and raped, tormented and killed mother, won't you?" His jaw has clenched, and eyes hardened. "Hmm," she hums thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes at the Ministry marked paperweight over her desk, "then so be it. You deal with the shit, I don't give a damn."
His forehead crinkles in what she supposes is confusion. But she will be adamant over the decision she has made, a minute back.
"Don't be so pensive, Malfoy," she sneers at him, "I wouldn't be the one taking it out on you. I'll sit back and watch the show."
His face clears in understanding as disbelief slowly takes over. She doesn't think he would state out the obvious, now that she has put it out crystal clear. But then, when has he ever not surprised her?
"You… You're withdrawing?"
She is so much greatly satisfied by the quiver of horror in his voice that she feels almost wicked. She knows how he must feel about this. She is an all-morale-and-compassion human being, after all. He's certain that she won't go harsh over him, because she can't. He's right, of course.
"Yes. That's right."
Surprising her yet again, he shoots up from the chair across her desk and makes his way out of her office over shaky legs. She smirks.
ooo
She is heavily disoriented as her eyes peel open. She was certain that she is waking before time, even before she registers the absolute darkness of the street from across the window at her bedside. And she also knows that some sound - or movement - is what has woken her up. She can bet she was having a dreamless sleep.
Gingerly, she extracts her wand from beneath her pillow and yawns.
Thump. Thump.
She is startled at the sound. Not because it is a sound, though, but because she recognises what the sound is. Someone is banging at her front door.
Her clock reads half past three of the morning and she is more curious than scared as she finds her way to the door. She hasn't switched on lights for better measure.
She peeks through the eyehole and physically jumps back at the tousled blond head she sees. She is more than shocked to see him, even when she knows why he is here, and has practically set the entire play up to make this happen. It is safe to say that she has waited for him to show up before her, with an apology and the tamed behaviour she requires of him, daily for the three days that have gone since she kicked him out of her office.
She guesses that this was the last place and time that she had supposed he would choose to see her at. But he has, and now she has to continue playing her part.
Gulping, she unlocks the door and opens it a crack, leaving the chain lock still latched..
"What the hell, Malfoy?" she grunts, because she is annoyed for real.
He sighs. She unconsciously notices that he wears a Muggle hoodie with ragged, worn out pair of jeans. She cannot make past the light colouring of the hoodie and the multiple shades darker trousers in the dimly lit corridor.
"I'm sorry, Granger," he mumbles.
She thinks she has misheard. But the way he avoids her eyes, focussing hard at somewhere near her feet, assures her that she hasn't. She blinks, shaking her head. Straightforward much?
"What?"
He sighs again, combing fingers through his hair and resting them against the back of his neck. She notices his eyes are closed. "I'm sorry, I said. For being difficult. Please don't draw away from my case."
She is stunned. She didn't think she'll live long enough to find out that Draco Malfoy is capable of apologizing and pleading in one single sentence. She didn't think he'll be capable to do either of it at all, period.
"And… I'm supposed to accept this. Why?"
She unlatches the chain and the door flies open to rest with a dull throb against the adjacent wall. He hasn't moved, and she believes he hasn't planned the conversation to this limit. He may have practiced his apology, alright, but not everything going with it. And she has merely asked the most obvious question right now.
When she is certain that he won't speak at all, she sighs.
"You know, you're disturbing a Ministry employee in the dead of the night for a weak, reasonless plea, and apologizing for something that you feel totally not sorry about-"
"No!" He looks up, bewildered, and she is taken aback at the desperation shining in his eyes. "I am sorry about that, Granger, and not just that actually…" He looks away and she shuts her open mouth and clears her throat. He follows suit. "I'm sorry about everything else, too. The childhood things, I mean."
Things? Things! How dare he call all of the humiliation he has caused her for the better part of her life as things? He is looking up again and has probably noticed the burning rage in her eyes because he flinches. He should, actually, because she isn't sure that she'll be letting him off without slapping him tonight.
"Alright, not things, maybe." She holds back a gasp at his too accurate assumption of what has buggered her. But, hasn't he been accurate always? That is probably the reason why no one has ever been able to humiliate her the way he has. "I'm ashamed of the things that I've done to you in the past."
Now she snorts. This is a blatant lie. He looks hurt when she looks back at him after rolling her eyes. She snorts again. "Give something believable, Malfoy."
He closes his eyes, and sighs for the third time in the almost fifteen minutes he has been here for. "I am telling you the truth, believe it or not. I've spent six months between Muggles, Granger. Sure I know what they are like and what they are not."
This is a logic that she would have believed with anyone but him. Anyone but Draco Malfoy. She sets a sharp glare at him. "Oh? And exactly what is it that you've realised they aren't? Did you see someone bleed and not find the redness smeared with mud?" He flinches again, and she prefers to take it for the hiss of her words rather than the jab she has aimed, "Did you happen to find that, Malfoy?"
He shakes his head, slowly, and she has to look away to not be unnerved by the extreme dejection emanating from his eyes. "Not that, no. But enough to get over the prejudices from my past life."
The sincerity in his voice makes up for her avoiding his eyes. She feels exposed. Regardless to say that she has believed him. But then, she is reminded of the actual reason he is here for. All thoughts of sympathy and understanding fly right out of the window. She fumes as her stance hardens again.
"You're saying this so that you can receive me back as your Interrogator, isn't it?"
He looks past her elbow and she crosses her arms tighter. "Right now, yes. But I would have done it anyways, sooner or later."
She scoffs. Ever heard of a Malfoy - and a Slytherin; all of them are Slytherins, actually - committing a generous deed without personal motives? She hasn't.
"Yeah, right. And, what else? You were planning on sending me a bunch of flowers and asking me out for a date, right? Sooner or later."
He grimaces and she can't blame him. The words have left an ugly taste in her own mouth, as well. But she doesn't fool herself when she knows that it is more because of the actual realisation of not having received flowers since more than a year, and has less to do with the idea of Malfoy doing what she has mentioned of. The idea is too far fetched to even affect her.
"As I said, believe what you want, Granger. I am ashamed of what all I did in the past and I know that my being a kid and Father's blind follower does little to cover up. I would be gratified if you turn up with the Interrogators' badge, tomorrow."
She watches his retreating back as he walks away with a bent head. She isn't going to be there at all tomorrow, if she has to stop herself from wearing the said badge. She has too many Morales for her own good.
ooo
She tries forgetting about his praising, hopeful eyes that were trained upon her for the most part of the session. Most part of the five-hour long session. But with the current scenario, all she can think of is that very look at his face.
Rubbing at her temples she growls when another announcement in her office tells her that Draco Malfoy would like to see her whenever she's available. She isn't bloody available! Has that man no sense? Her head is pounding with fatigue and instead of being thankful and quietly sodding off, the git is trying to see her. Wow.
She has cancelled all of her meetings, and all of the appointments with people who want to question her about how come has she been able to convince the court about the fact that her sworn enemy has proved himself worthy enough in the world of Muggles and can be released from his punishments after another month. She herself doesn't know how that has happened.
The person defending Malfoy at the session was, to her surprise, Andromeda Tonks, herself. She had proposed the plea of reducing his punishment to a month instead of the span of another six.
All Hermione did was question him about things of the Muggle world that were actually not known to people here, if they hadn't been in close proximity with the Muggles. He told them the name of three brands of shirts, the best supermarket in London, the ingredient used in cappuccino, the prices of linen, silk and cotton bed covers - she questioned only about linen and silk, he argued that most common people preferred cotton instead - three different variety of cheese, names of a famous International player each from Soccer, Rugby, Tennis, Golf, Badminton, about Independence struggle in Vietnam and about Mahatma Gandhi and Nelson Mandela. She had been slightly impressed herself with his smooth and unamused responses.
Another thing she did was not letting the other two Interrogators continue when they began with irrelevant things that related to his parents or his childhood or his broken betrothing to Astoria Greengrass because of his punishment.
The thankful smile Andromeda had sent her way, when Arthur announced that people wanting him out of punishment had overruled the number of those wanting him in it, made it worth her efforts - and her irritation - over the entire past week.
She sighs and looks at the grandfather's clock sitting at the far off corner of her office. It is past 4 of the evening and her thoughts are back to a long soak in warm bath.
She is collecting things to seal them into her beaded bag, when the door barges open with a hasty knock. She looks up, startled, at the exasperated, black haired, golden eyed man. She recognises him as the one who was appointed by Shacklebolt to serve as her Assistant but she had denied the requirement of any.
"Miss Granger… Ma'am…" He is bending over the couch sitting between the door and the clock at the corner, panting heavily.
She is concerned. "What is it, Andrew?".
He shakes his head, takes deep, long breaths and straightens. "Draco Lucius Malfoy is having a fit, outside in the lobby, blaming us to be lying about your denial to see anybody. He's-"
"Right, " she barks through barred teeth. "And why does that feel like something he wouldn't do, huh?"
Andrew's face has positively paled from its tan. He gulps twice before stepping forward into her office. "Of-of course, Miss Granger, that is something he would do… He is doing it, right now."
She scowls at the seemingly daft man, adjusting his broad framed specs nervously, and thanks Godric for giving her enough sense to deny taking him as an Assistant.
"Does this conversation have a point?" She huffs, rolling her eyes when he stutters.
"Ma'am… Minister had requested me to ask you to write a note to Draco Lucius Malfoy and testify him of your presence, and unwillingness over seeing him," he finishes in a breath and drags in another, quickly,."Will you do it?"
"Do I have an option?" She cocks an eyebrows, scowling darkly.
He clears his throat. "Well… No?"
She snatches a parchment from the stack at her table and pulls out her Muggle pen to scribble about how she is busy relaxing her mind from the overly exhausting session and Malfoy can shove it up his snobby ass and sod off.
She has almost forwarded the piece to the idiot before her, after finishing her signature with a plop over the i, but falters. No. What is she doing?
Feeling immensely embarrassed at her childish behavior, she crumples the note in her hand, stuffing it into her robe pockets to Incendio later. The gasp released from her room-sharer brings her out of the self-chiding act.
"Oh, sod it!" she groans when she hears the distinctive enraged drawl of the last person she wishes to see at the moment. "I'm leaving anyway,Andrew, so you may just deal with the devil yourself, no?"
Andrew's horrified face is the last thing she sees and Malfoy's shut it, the last she hears, before she is being pulled away by the emergency portkey she has been provided with - as is every other worker, ever since the fall of Voldemort.
She thinks that being pestered by a dumb idiot, and about to being done by a another, insane one, is an emergency enough. She smiles, shaking her head as she steps into her room - the image of a hot bath pasted firmly over her neurons.
ooo
It is a quarter to six when she has finished brewing coffee, and when a brief knock sounds at her door. She knows it is one of the people from Housekeeping, because they have a peculiar style of clicking their knuckles against the wood.
But, she cannot put it past Draco Malfoy for having bribed one of them to knock the door for him. Especially when she has blocked her Floo connection and hasn't turned up at the Ministry yesterday, and the day before. But, he lives a few blocks away and can come over to bugger her whenever he feels like. Not that he has, as of yet.
She clicks the door open - all confident and determined to face even the biggest git of century - and starts at the sight. A member from Housekeeping, indeed, is standing before her with a huge bouquet of the most beautiful Coral roses she has ever seen. Her mouth falls open.
The man clears his throat, making her look up at his plain brown eyes - similar to her own.
"These arrived an hour ago for you, Madam Granger. We thought it would be wise enough to not disturb your sleep. Our deepest apologies if this was possibly important and our act has offended."
She smiles, endlessly grateful at not having disturbed for something so stupid, and nods.
"That was actually very thoughtful of you, really. Thanks you very much."
Bowing humbly, the man hands the basket over to her before sauntering off. Not that she watches him retreat…
Hermione stands mesmerised at the beauty of what seem like two dozens of roses. Then she notices a card and holds her breath. Though she majorly knows who can be behind this, her heart flutters in dread as she thinks of the possibility of Fred making a way back into her life. Startled, she realises she hasn't thought about him for more than a month now. Ever since the New Year's Eve, actually.
Shutting the door, she impatiently pulls out the card without bothering to rest the heavy bunch at some place. The piece of green, Muggle scrapbook book paper makes her gasp. Her uncertainty and doubts are squished as her eyes fall on the immaculately, silver glitter pen written note.
This was all I was wanting to see you for. You have a way with being arrogant, you know. Going out of the way and avoiding people, yeah?
Corals to thank you for what you did at the session, and I'm not on about only the well plotted questions you asked to lead me to relief. You saved me from deep rooted and planned humiliation, and I cannot thank you enough, really.
Not that you haven't figured already,
-Draco.
And - this is a 'bunch of flowers' coming 'later', but not a proposal for a 'date', mind you.
Her sniggering turns into full blown laughter as she reads the last sentence. She proceeds to put the beautiful set of flowers at the windowsill in her living room that houses more of potted plants. Then, on second thought, she redirects to her bedroom and places it on the window there.
Spelling it with an unwithering charm, she smiles in satisfaction and places the card in the topmost drawer of her bedside chest. Then her smile falls as her heart thunders
She is smiling and laughing like silly over a gift from Malfoy. She gasps. Since when did their venomous blows turn playful?
ooo
It is Alicia and Fred's wedding, day after tomorrow. Cliché, Hermione thinks with scorn. She feels that people marrying on Valentine's day are actually pathetic, of not plainly ridiculous. And then, the two in question have only been dating since two months. Ginny goes on to explain that Fred doesn't actually understand true love and is merely rebounding with Alicia, but shuts up when Hermione reminds her that she doesn't need any explanations because she was the one who broke up and not him.
She knows she has been called in by Harry at the 12 Grimmauld Place that he now resides in, but she can't get herself to get up from her bed. She is too much tired after a day of nearly walking into Malfoy at the Supermarket and sneakily finding her way back home in two hours, than the usual one half.
But, she knows that tiredness isn't the only thing keeping her. She doesn't really want to be with Harry on the day she has been informed about her ex's wedding by his girlfriend. He must surely know that Ginny came over to see her that morning, and she fears the sympathy that only Harry can dare to regard her with.
She makes her decision and write him a note about feeling off colour. She doesn't expect, but a reply comes within five minutes, stating that it's okay, and he understands and that it'll get better.
Hermione groans. Just what she didn't want.
ooo
The marriage - quite unbelievably - turns out to be a quiet affair, including only the family members and Harry and Neville and Andromeda and Percy's girlfriend. At least that is what the Daily Prophet says.
She doesn't go, of course, because she feels that she must respect Fred's emotions so much as to not be obvious about how unaffected she is by him getting married. The irony isn't missed by her.
ooo
She is walking over the freshly fallen February snow when she hears rustling behind her. Some lethal, war-induced instinct in her tells her that the biggest git she knows alive, is following her. She weighs the pros and cons of busting him and being embarrassed if it turns out to be someone else. And, rightly so, the pros of busting him outweigh all else.
Taking a breath from the frosty, fogged air, she hunches her shoulders around her ear muffs and stops. Interestingly, the rustling stops too. She smirks to herself.
Turning her neck as casually as possible, to a side, she raises amused eyebrows. "Good morning to you too, Malfoy."
A gasp sounds and she turns in time to see him climb out from the bushes marking the boundary to the park which was once covered in Australian grass but now displays a beautiful sheet of soft, fresh snow.
"Hello, Granger," he mumbles, put off, as he dusts himself clean from all the twigs, leaves and snowflakes gathered over him. He is more disheveled than she has ever seen him but looks, strangely, pretty much more nicely dressed than their previous meetings since the beginning of his stay in the Muggle world.
She cannot keep in her amusement as he mutters oaths under his breath and feels about his hair for twigs that aren't there. She knows she is grinning even before he pouts at her. Wait. Pout?
She blinks, and he is indeed pouting like a child who cannot reach over to some shelf at a height, to extract the jar of his favourite candy. She guffaws, then.
He huffs, furiously rubbing at his already mussed hair with both hands. She can bet that the best quality conditioner won't tame the porcupine shell he has created over his head. But she knows that he'll somehow be able to do that… And, no, she isn't jealous. Or even envious.
She distracts herself. "Care to explain why you were following me, Malfoy?"
His expressions morph into those that she would give off to people that ask most obvious questions. She wonders what she has done to receive them. "Are you serious, Granger? What else choice have you left me, if I may ask?"
She actually likes the deep blue cargo pants he is wearing, despite the overly greased mud and leaves on it. Then she looks up to ensure that he's still busy with rearranging his hair, before she admires the beauty of the black, corduroy jacket that she can bet is a Timothy Everest. She wonders what he's done to be donned with such fine clothing.
"No, well," she responds when she finds him frowning at her while her eyes rake over his jacket. "But there's no need to, either. Is there?"
He nods, and she feels like laughing at his impossible attitude. "I wanted to properly thank the one prosecutor who didn't participate in the slaughter of me, with her partners - doing quite the opposite, actually - and you didn't so much as give me an opportunity, Granger. I was so-"
"I didn't need you to," she mutters but knows he wouldn't pay attention.
"-irritated by the time that silly example of a human being - supposedly your Assistant, or something - came up to inform-"
"He isn't my Assistant. Nor something." He doesn't pause, and she knew he wouldn't.
"-me that you've actually left. I mean - heck, Granger, what the hell are you running away from?"
She is uncertain at first, about whether he has finished, but then he releases a white puff of breath and she knows he has. Then she is uncomfortable. Running away? She isn't doing that. Well, not exactly. That is what she tells him.
"I'm running away from your incredulously generous behaviour, Malfoy. It is just so strange that it becomes eerie at times." She thinks she sees his face contorting into hurt, but he rolls his eyes so soon after, that she may have imagined it altogether. "And you did send me flowers, which I accepted."
He nods, shutting his eyes concedingly and she wants to punch his arrogant, pointy nose. "I'm talking about before that."
Of course he is. But - has he lost his mind? "You see, the word before holds as much significance as you've given it. However, what is the point following me around now? Sure you've thanked and I've accepted."
Malfoy shrugs, pushing his gloved hands into his jacket's pockets. Hermione realises that she's gloveless. "I was just curious about what was happening in your life that was keeping you so bloody busy."
She gapes for full five seconds at him. What?
"Do-" She clears her throat as her voice cracks, "Don't sneak around me, again, and stop being privy. There's nothing other than the fact that I don't want to be associated with the likes of you."
Her nose held high, she blatantly overlooks the hurt layering his face as she turns and walks off - thinking about the day she broke up with Fred. The sense? It feels almost the same - the annoying, sick feeling in her stomach at having willingly hurt an individual - and different as that day, at the same time.
The difference being, she feels guilty today.
PLEASE Review if you find this any good. PLEASE Review if you don't. Whatever it maybe, Review.
The rest to be up sooner than you'd think. This is technically 2/5th of the story done. The remaining 3/5th maybe up at once - or if Writers' Block caught up, it would be divided into two.
xoxo
Aishwarya.
Obviously, this shall continue. Would you rather I left it at this? Uh, sorry, lame joke. Don't let your opinion of the story be affected by the jerk writer, okay?
