God bless you, water main break! We're getting out early, so I thought I'd get this up now before I leave.
Chapter 11
It was late and Hermione had already gone to bed when Draco stepped out of the floo. Though the lights were off, he easily navigated his way through the living room, down the short hallway, and into her bedroom. A thin shaft of moonlight illuminated the bed and the sleeping woman. Pulling back the blankets, he eased in beside her.
Hermione stirred and rolled over to face him as his arm wound around her waist. "Hi," she mumbled.
"Go back to sleep," he whispered, closing his eyes.
Instead, she sat up. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "I thought you were staying home tonight."
Sighing impatiently, he too sat up and turned on the lamp by her bed. "My mother saw the paper," he told her. "I tried to convince her you were Pansy, but that didn't work."
"They printed our names," she pointed out.
Draco nodded. "Yeah, that's why it didn't work," he replied. "She was really mad. I don't think she's yelled at me like that since I was four and made the china cabinet explode. She was going on and on about when my father gets home and how angry he's going to be. Then she started talking about how I've tarnished the Malfoy name, and how muggleborns aren't worthy to breathe our air. It just got so ridiculous that I had to leave. Sorry that I woke you."
She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. "It's fine," she assured him.
He kissed the top of her head before asking, "You know I don't believe her, right?" Hermione nodded, but didn't look up. "I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad or hope that you regret being with me. I just needed to talk."
"I wasn't thinking that," she replied.
He slipped his arm around her shoulders and held her close. "Then what were you thinking?" he murmured.
"That I feel responsible," she replied, looking up at him for the first time since he had awoken her. "She's upset and it's my fault. I just feel bad that you're the one stuck dealing with it when it's my fault."
Chuckling, he pulled back to make sure she was serious. "You don't really believe that, do that?" he asked. "You can't honestly think that our relationship is entirely your fault. It's preposterous, Hermione. Besides, what she thinks doesn't matter to me."
"Then what's bothering you?" she wondered.
He shrugged and rested his head against the headboard. "I don't know," he admitted. "You know I worry about her. There was one thing she said while she was sobbing. About how Voldemort will punish me when he finds out. She was just holding onto me, begging me to end this now before he finds out."
"Maybe for the sake of her sanity, that's what you should do," Hermione said sadly, though she was more upset for his mother than the end of their brief relationship. He stared at her, shocked, and began to climb out of her bed. But her hands on his arm stopped him. "Please don't run away. I don't want things to end between us."
"But you think we shouldn't be together because of my mother," he retorted. "Is this how things are going to go between us? We're happy one minute and breaking up the next?"
Holding tighter to him, she replied, "No, that's not it at all. I just think it's important to consider your mother's mental health in all of this. I would hate to think we're the reason she gets worse."
Sighing, he laid back down beside her. He didn't want that either, but he also wanted Hermione. They just needed to figure out how to balance the two. "Can we just go to sleep?" he asked. "I don't want to think about this anymore."
Nodding, she let go of his arm and, with a flourish of her hand, shut off the light. They could discuss their relationship in the morning.
But when morning came, Draco was gone.
Hermione awoke alone and disappointed. Slipping out of bed, she listened for sounds of a running shower or the smells of breakfast cooking on the stove, but was met with neither. Padding barefoot down the short hallway to the kitchen, she brewed a fresh pot of coffee and readied herself for the day.
Fed, caffeinated, showered, and dressed, she set the wards on her flat. Most were meant to keep out intruders, but she set a special one to alert her if Draco returned. She didn't expect him to come back, and wouldn't get her hopes up that he would. Glancing once at the empty fireplace, she left her flat for the shop below.
Thinking she would be alone, Hermione was startled to find her shop assistant, Mary, already there. "You made the paper," she said, a self-satisfied grin on her face.
Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored her as she began to stock new inventory. "Good morning to you too," she muttered.
"How did Ron take it?" Mary asked. "Did his head explode? I mean, not literally. That would be messy. But you know how angry he gets. Remember when they discontinued droobles? I thought he was going to put his fist through the wall."
Mary was a young, energetic, recent Hogwarts graduate. With low N.E.W.T. scores, she had had a hard time finding work until Hermione hired the enthusiastic Hufflepuff. She was an excellent worker, but Hermione often felt worn out after even the shortest conversation with her.
"Ron took it well," was all Hermione said.
"So, are you with Draco Malfoy now?" she prodded.
Sighing, Hermione turned to the young witch and shrugged. "I have no idea," she told her. "We were together yesterday. I have no idea where we stand now. He left this morning without a word."
Dark blonde brows furrowed. "What could have changed in the course of a day?" she wondered.
My big mouth, Hermione thought. But before she could answer, her wards alerted her to Draco's presence. "Be right back," she mumbled. She took the stairs two at a time and entered her flat to find Draco seat on the sofa. "Welcome back."
Draco looked up and frowned, confused by the flatness of her tone. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
It was then she saw the bloodshot eyes and red, sniffly nose. By all appearances, it seemed he had been crying. Forgetting her anger over waking up alone, she sat down beside him and took his hand. "What's wrong?" she asked.
He took a deep breath to collect himself. "I went to see my father," he said. "To talk about my mother."
