The streetlamps went out easily enough. One click and the warm pools of light drained away. It took a moment for Draco's eyes to adjust, and when they did the much cooler glow of the full moon wrapped around each curve of the old cobblestones. It wasn't hard to see.
The windows of the bookshop still gleamed, golden and filled with the promise of Shakespeare and New & Used and also Coffee. Hermione looked about the same as she had the last time he'd seen her, or wholly different. Time did that to a woman. Draco supposed time had done it to him as well, but the years looked better on her. Her schoolgirl's bushy hair had been tamed into an elegant twist. Her legs went on forever. Long, narrow fingers turned the pages of some part of her own stock. If she'd been anyone else, he'd have turned on his charm at the sight of her. Asked her if maybe she had a copy of some book she was sure to lack. Give himself an excuse to come back, time after time, until a quick stop became an excuse to linger for coffee. Until coffee became the bed. He'd like to see that hair down, like to see the red painted lips that pursed together over something she was reading open up and gasp.
But she wasn't someone else, and he was here on a job.
His shoes made no sound as he crossed the dark street. When he opened the door, she didn't even look up. "We're closed, mister," she said. "Come back tomorrow."
"Well, now," Draco said in the drawl he knew she'd recognize, "that's not what your sign says."
Hermione's head jerked up, and for a brief moment, shock entered her eyes, and maybe a tiny bit of fear, though he could be imaging that, could be seeing what he wanted to see. Or, knowing her, seeing what she wanted him to. "Malfoy," she said. Her hands didn't tremble as she set down the book, marking her place with a strip of old parchment. He could see the writing on it in her neat, measured letters. Could see the brand on her Muggle cigarettes as she picked up the package, pulled one out, and lit it with a murmured charm. She took a long drag, and he let her steady her nerves. No point driving her to run.
"That sign," she said and took another drag. "I told Lavender to turn it when she left. Serves me right for not checking."
"You never can know what the cat will drag in," he agreed. He leaned against the counter and watched her. Smoking was ugly on most women, but on Hermione, it drew his eyes to her mouth
Another drag. "How've you been, Malfoy?" she asked. "Still married?"
"Disappointed or pleased if I'm not?"
"Unsurprised, more like. You never struck me as the faithful sort."
"How about yourself? How's Ronald?"
Ronald, who Draco knew lay in a shallow grave outside Hogwarts.
Hermione stubbed out the cigarette and rose to her feet. "I haven't seen Ron in years," she said. "Since you were last sniffing around, if you must know. What can I help you with, Malfoy? I can give you his sister's address, if you're still carrying that torch."
"I wouldn't turn it down," he said. Her high heels clacked on the wooden floor of her shop as she brushed past him and bent down under the counter to fetch paper and quill. She seemed to search around for a rather longer bit of time than Draco'd expect her to take to find something so simple. He inhaled the scent of her perfume – French, he thought – and admired the curve of her arse while he waited. When she straightened, scrawled out an address on the torn bit of parchment she'd scrounged up, and handed it over, he let his fingers brush against her wrist.
"I've missed you, Granger."
Her brows lifted.
"I have a reason for stopping by, though," he said, pocketing the address he'd never use. Hermione's smile curved up knowingly. She always had thought she could read people. Always thought she knew everything that was going on. Time hadn't improved that about her. "Ministry asked me to help them out on a little problem they're having. Something they can't do through regular channels."
"Naturally, if they asked you."
"You aren't curious what it is?"
"I assume since you've come crawling back, looking for help, you'll tell me."
"Potter's gone missing."
. . . . . . . . . .
A/N – Terribly short, and I'm not at all sure I'll go on, so in all ways this is a hateful posting, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
