Hermione shuffled into her flat at dusk with a weight the size of an elephant sitting in her stomach. Today had been even more horrifying than she had imagined. She had completely forgotten about her lunch date with Viktor after learning Malfoy would be working with her. As it wasn't already completely awkward between her and Malfoy. And Viktor would no doubt ask her over and over again if Malfoy was behaving himself. It was just-it was going to complicate things.
And Pansy. Her stomach lurched. What had happened since they saw each other last? According to the files, there had been no recent arrests or anything to suggest that Pansy had even existed for the past three years.
She took another sip of wine and set the glass down on the counter. Realizing the only place to start was Pansy's arrest in Sweden, she slipped her flats back on, grabbed her purse and her wand and set out to the bookstore.
It had started to rain on her short walk to the bookstore. Six blocks. She had six block between home and her current destination and it decided to rain now. Hermione was never one to believe there were invisible forces impacting the course of one's life, but today it felt as though the world was against her. As if life was playing a game. How many curve balls could it throw her in one day before she lost it?
The answer was waiting for her just inside the bookstore. In the form of the very last man she wanted to see. His platinum hair was plastered to his face and neck; he must have had a longer journey than her. She stood in the doorway and watched little droplets of water fall from his sleeves to the stained carpet.
She attempted to shuffle to the right and sneak into the nearby stacks, but her movement must have caught his eye. He was calling out to her. Shit, shit shit.
"Gr-Hermione!"
Her body froze. Her eyes slammed shut. She clenched her fists, her shoulders hunched. Shit. Shit. Shit. Seriously?
She could feel him standing there. Right behind her. Breathing. Waiting. She turned around slowly, forcing her features to relax.
"Funny how when I'd rather you disappear, I can't get rid of you." she drawled, not caring about the hurt that flashed across his pale, pointed face.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, completely ignoring her jab.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Buying a book, obviously."
Draco frowned. She had every right to hate him, but Gods did she have to be such a bitch every time she opened her mouth? He said nothing to her sarcastic retort and instead ruffled his hair, spraying water everywhere. Including her.
"Dammit, Malfoy!" she nearly shouted.
He said nothing and she huffed, wiping away the stray droplets on her face. Her face was red and screwed up in anger now. Her chest felt tight and her socks were wet and fucking Malfoy was still standing right in front of her.
"You came to get a Swedish dictionary." he said flatly.
She could have slapped him then. But she was never one for causing a scene in public. The stupid prat knew exactly why she was here and he still had the nerve to waste time with ridiculous questions.
He shuffled his feet. The silence was tense between them. The rain pattered against the roof above them.
"After you buy the book, do you want to work on the case?"
She scoffed.
"Not that I want to do anything that involves you, but where do you suggest we do just that? We can't exactly work on it here."
They both looked around. The bookstore was small, cramped, packed with too many books and wobbly chairs. The lighting was dim and there was far too much chatter. Madam Pince would be blue in the face right now.
Draco shrugged. He didn't look at her. "The office."
"I just came from there." she said.
"Right." he muttered. And then, "I passed a diner on my way here."
Hermione sighed and squared her shoulders. For the sake of Pansy's life, she couldn't say no. And what was she going to do at home? Sit and stare at her notes as her thoughts formed a life of their own? Drown in her worry and fear for an old friend? At least working with someone, she might be able to concentrate.
"Fine, but you're buying." she muttered as she pushed past him towards the non-fiction section.
The rain had lightened considerably in the seven minutes it took them to locate the dictionary they needed, pay for it and walk out of the bookstore. The little bell tinkled over their heads as they stepped onto the sidewalk. Hermione stopped, causing Daco to bump into her from behind.
"Fucking hell, watch-"
But his scold was lost as he watched her draw out a cigarette and quickly light it with what he assumed was a muggle contraption that contained fire.
"I didn't know you started smoking." he said, more shocked than anything.
Hermione began walking again. She took another drag and watched the puff of smoke travel slowly through the air before it thinned and disappeared.
"Well I suppose there's a lot of things you don't know about me." she countered slyly.
"Are you going to throw this in my face every chance you get?" he asked, drawing out his own cigarette.
He, however, discreetly used the tip of his wand to light his. Hermione arched an eyebrow and took another drag. Her throat stung but her nerves had calmed and her hands had stopped shaking. It was the only thing she had kept from Rose. It was her filthy secret.
"You were gone for seventeen years. And you've been back in my life for not even a week. So for now, yes." she took a large breath before saying that final word.
Draco nodded. He exhaled. The smoke spiraled up, up, up. They walked along the sidewalk slowly, and he wondered if she noticed they had slowed their pace. But then, if she smoked cigarettes for the same reason he did, she had only slowed down to make the most of it.
"So you won't be this horrible to me at some point?" he asked.
She barked out a laugh. Bitter. Still genuine. Still as pretty as he remembered
"If I still have this much anger and resentment boiling inside me a month from now, I'll have already exploded."
"Fair enough."
His heart hurt. The rest of his cigarette tasted like shit.
The diner lights were bleak and dreary, horrible for reading tiny print and translating languages. But they were already here and wet and hungry, so they stayed. The waitress asked them booth or table, and Hermione had immediately said table. Draco had said booth but after a moment of awkward silence and a perched eyebrow from both women, he resigned and mumbled table as well.
When they were seated on horrible metal framed chairs with plastic seat cushions, and the waitress had gone to fetch them their coffee, he finally asked, "Why table?"
She glanced at him quickly then immediately back down at the files already spread across the table.
"Booths make me claustrophobic." she muttered.
He didn't need her clarification. He understood just fine. She didn't want to be so close to him. Tables made for quicker exits. She was on full guard.
The waitress returned with two mugs and a steaming pot of coffee. They said their thanks and told her it would be a few minutes before they were ready to order. Hermione wasn't quite sure she even had an appetite; her stomach kept tightening every time she looked up. Why had she thought this wasn't a terrible idea?
"I'll translate if you want to write it down." she said, her voice sounding much more confident than she felt.
"Sounds fine to me."
His handwriting was shit but he wasn't about to argue with her. Despite being gone for seventeen years, he knew her. He could read her like a book. Letting her be in charge was her control, and she needed that right now.
They worked in silence and never ate. Their mugs were refilled countless times. It was around the fifth cup of coffee that Hermione could work no longer. She was beginning to sweat and her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"I need a cigarette." she mumbled as she stood hastily from her chair.
Hermione wanted to scream at him to stay inside, but her mouth was clamped shut. And so he trailed behind her, already rolling a cigarette between his fingers before they even reached the door.
The cool night air hit her face as she stepped through the doorway. She stepped to the side, just enough to gain shelter from the small overhang and enough that Draco would at least have to walk around her if he wanted to stand next to her.
Hermione pulled out a cigarette and closed her eyes as she took her first drag. When she opened her eyes, she frowned when she noticed Draco had not moved around her. He was standing in the rain.
"Why are you standing there?" she asked curiously.
He shrugged, took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly before saying, "I figured you didn't want to me standing next to you."
She cocked her head slowly, her eyes narrowed into slits. She studied his features, which had matured since she last saw him, but as usual, his expression was blank. She forgot that he always used to wear this mask-that made nearly impossible to tell when he was hurt or angry. She took another drag before ashing it.
"Thanks."
"So," he said. "How have you been?"
"How have I been?" she repeated, her voice high-pitched and off key.
Draco nodded.
Hermione took one long drag from her cigarette before throwing on the ground and stomping on it with the toe of her boots. She laughed, shaking her head; smoke billowed around her before fading.
"You're a fucking piece of work, Malfoy." she spat before she stalked back in to the diner.
Draco stood dumbfounded for a moment. He watched as she packed her things, toss a few bills on the table and stalk back out. She pushed on the door as hard as she could, and stopped right in front of him.
"I only paid for my coffee." It was petty and small, she knew that. But it was the best she could do without slapping him.
Hermione sneered at him one last time before turning on her heel and practically running down the street. She made an unnecessary left turn to throw Malfoy off, just in case he tried to catch up with her. Or follow her home. Her blood was still boiling as she took another out of the way turn before stopping in a small alley. She peeked around the corner and sighed in relief when she saw nothing but an empty street. A dark empty street. She gripped her wand for reassurance.
She could just apparate home but she was upset and the rain and cold air calmed her. She ducked out of the alley and set off at a steady pace towards her flat.
How has he not apologized yet? Surely that would have been the first thing he would say. But he's been back for a few days now and they've been alone more often than she would prefer under the circumstances. So he's had his chances. Hermione shook her head. She shouldn't even be upset about this. She shouldn't care at all. Because she had Viktor and Rose. She had a boyfriend who loved her, who loved her daughter. A boyfriend that was there for her daughter.
Thinking of Rose brought on a wave of guilt. She looked down at her cigarette before tossing it on the ground and stomping on it as she continued walking.
I don't care about Draco.
I don't care that he hasn't apologized.
I don't care at all.
She repeated all of this to herself the rest of the way home, and again when she tried to fall asleep that night.
Draco crushed his cigarette under his loafers angrily as he watched her walk away. He thought about following her, to demand she just fucking talk to him about what she's feeling. But it would only lead to yelling and arguing and that's not what he wanted. He wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness but what good would those do? How does someone even apologize for something like this? Draco knew he had messed up—no, he had fucked up. And no amount of apologizes were going to change what he had done.
He decided on just returning home to his flat and calling it a night. There was a slim chance he would have any luck with Pansy's case tonight. Hermione had probably taken the Swedish dictionary with her, and he couldn't do much without it.
Draco returned to the diner and went back to their table. He threw down money for his coffee plus a tip. As he was gathering his belongings, he caught sight of a book buried underneath a couple of his folders. He pushed the folders aside and he swore his heart skipped a beat. She had forgotten the dictionary. He let out a small laugh and packed it in his briefcase. With of all the papers, files and dictionary safely confined in his briefcase, Draco left the diner with a slow sinking feeling in his stomach.
At this point in his life, he had no one. Hermione hated him, and with good reason. Pansy was missing. Blaise had stayed in Italy with his fiancee—his mate was irrevocably in love with this woman and over the past few months, it was almost as if Draco didn't exist. His father had been furious that he had left him without any sort of good-bye, and his Mother had made it clear that she did not approve of his actions. Even if he wanted to, which he never would, he couldn't even approach Potter or Weasley without them trying to hex him, because they would. He was alone. In every sense, and it was all his own doing.
He took his time walking home, letting the rain dampen his tousled hair and pressed suit. His feet dragged along the pavement as he drew closer to his flat. The door felt heavy and the metal handle was cold. The ground floor was empty. He met no one as he climbed the four flights of stairs. The hallway was barren and quiet. He sighed, pulled out his key and stepped into his pitch black one bedroom flat.
With a wave of his wand, he flicked on the lights. He kicked off his shoes, changed into his pajamas, poured himself a glass of firewhiskey, and sat down with Pansy's file and the dictionary Hermione had left behind.
He made notes in the margins of the report. His hand was starting to cramp and his eyes were growing heavy. He set down his quill and took a moment to scan his progress. They already knew the reason for Pansy's arrest, the potions ingredients had been listed in English...and then, he saw it. The two names of the suspects who had been arrested with Pansy. He hadn't realized what they were at first.
Feeling confident that he at least had something productive to tell Hermione tomorrow, Draco tucked away the file once again and headed off to bed. He tossed and turned for a while, trying to get comfortable. It was somewhere in between letting his thoughts drifts to his time spent with Hermione tonight—despite the sourness of it all—and reminding himself that it was no use, she would never take him back that he fell asleep.
Draco plastered on his best fake smile the next morning when Hermione entered their office, looking completely apathetic.
"Good you're here," he said, rising from his chair.
She looked up at him curiously while taking off her coat and setting down her briefcase.
"Elaborate."
"You forgot the dictionary last night." he stated.
She huffed irritably. She leaned against the side of her desk and folded her arms over her chest.
"I'm aware. This still doesn't-"
"There were two male suspects with Pansy when she got arrested in Sweden."
Hermione cocked an eyebrow, undoubtedly impressed. She let out a long slow breath.
"Okay, so what? We figure out where those two are now...see if we can talk with them, get some answers. This is all hypothetical of course, we don't even if they're alive or in Azkaban or-"
"Hermione," he said calmly.
Hermione winced. It had been a long time since he said his name that way. It partially irked her that he still knew her so well. The prat knew what tone to use to get her attention. And she hated the part of herself that missed hearing him say her name.
"Right. Sorry." she paused, looking troubled. "How do you suppose we track these two down?"
Draco had been excited up until this point. He hadn't really thought about it. He had been so excited to tell her...so hopeful that they had a place to start, that it would lead to somewhere, that he hadn't thought at all about how they'd get to that point.
"Contact their Wizengamot?" he asked.
Hermione pondered for a moment before nodding in agreement.
"I'll go talk to Kingsley. I'm not sure if it's the Wizengamot we want exactly or their general Law Enforcement Department—I think that's who we need-"
"For Salazar's sake, Hermione!" he cried, dragging his hands down his face. "Go."
She scowled at him before marching determinedly to Kingsley's office. Draco hid his smile as he watched her leave. And just like last night at the diner, the familiar wave of regret and guilt and loneliness washed over him—reality crashing over him. They would never be together again, she would never want him back. Not when she had Viktor now; who never abandoned her and helped take care of his daughter. But Merlin he wanted it all to work out somehow. To be with her, and Rose. He was ready, he was sure of it. He knew this was what he wanted. He just had to make them see it too. He had to make this work, he just had to.
A/N: The chapters for this fic aren't going to be very long. Thank you for the love and feedback xx
