Apricity – Chapter Eleven
Draco avoided her.
He hadn't wanted to. He'd been trying to get her to a place where they could talk about the memory for weeks, so for him to just give up wasn't like him.
Except that it was.
It was in-character for him to give up on people. It was in-character for him to put way too much of himself and his energy into things, only to completely fail and burn out as soon as he reached the finish line. It was in-character for him to try and try and try with his father, only to stuff his letters into a chest on his dresser.
The loneliness had become chronic in the way it pervaded his very existence. Like threads of shadows woven in amongst his snark that he wore like a cloak to shield himself from anything and everyone that could hurt him. Because at his foundation, Draco knew that he was a creature of fear, and that the only reason why he threw so much of himself into his tasks was because he was scared of what would happen if they failed. In contrast, the reason why he only put half of himself into relationships with people around him was because he was scared of what would happen if they left. It was the same reason why he chose Voldemort over Dumbledore.
He was a coward.
So, he avoided her. He kept his distance and alternated the times he left his dorm room so that he didn't have to look her in the eyes and admit that he was terrified. He was terrified of his emotions—of the way his dreams of her had influenced his life for so long. How the dreams simultaneously made him feel more qualified to watch over her than anyone else, and less qualified because he'd watched Bellatrix torture her and hadn't done anything about it.
And when he really thought about it—what was he avoiding her for? It wasn't like he'd kissed her in an alcove after the Yule Ball and avoided her for five years, or anything.
Draco knew the truth, though. He knew it was because he'd gone too far. He'd let his guard down and comforted her. And what was worse: he wanted to. He wanted to go to her and comfort her. He just didn't know why.
Avoiding her meant avoiding the answer.
On the second Tuesday in December, Theo finally approached Draco at breakfast.
The two of them hadn't spoken in weeks, their argument near the bridge having been something that made Draco feel less interested in talking to him. He knew there were people who disliked him or thought ill of him, but having his best friend think less of him was irksome.
It hurt.
When Draco looked up from his egg scramble to see Theo sitting down across from him, he'd raised an eyebrow to cover up the fact that he was Occluding with the quickness. He'd viewed his friend in silence that was stoic, wondering what he could possibly have to say to him after their last conversation.
"I—Well, I apologize," Theo said, grimacing as he rubbed the back of his neck. "For what I—for what I said."
Draco felt the awkwardness stretching between them like a tense band. "Are you?"
"Yeah." Theo's eyes searched his. "I was cruel."
It wasn't like Draco wasn't used to cruelty.
"It's brill," Draco said, shrugging one shoulder as he stabbed eggs with the tines of his fork. "You were being honest, and honesty is key."
Theo pursed his lips. "Yeah, but there's honesty and then there's honesty. I eviscerated you."
"You eviscerated me." Draco rested his elbows on the table and let the fork dangle from his fingers while he chewed and scrutinized his friend. "But you were right. We're best mates, but it's imbecilic to pretend like the war never happened. We had the same choice—you picked the right one."
Theo shifted, looking uncomfortable as he plated up some food. "It wasn't like that. It wasn't a choice for me."
Draco averted his eyes, feeling the tenson increase. He didn't like hearing that. He didn't like being reminded of the fact that he had such a proclivity for darkness that he'd had to choose between a madman and peace.
That shouldn't have been a choice at all.
"I'm rubbish," he said with another shrug. "What else is new?"
"Come off it. You know you're not—"
"Just stop." Draco dropped his fork with a bit of a clatter, his irritation rising. "If you feel like apologizing, so be it. But let's not turn this into a mind healing session. I'm eating."
The two boys held each other's gazes for a moment, engaging in a battle of wills and silence, before Theo conceded. He withered like a flower beneath Draco's icy glare. His hands went up near his chest.
"Whatever you say, mate." He ate a bite of buttered toast and then around a mouthful said, "So what have you been up to?"
They spent the majority of breakfast catching up. Theo's life had been much less eventful than Draco's had been, and he seemed to be unaware of the fact that Draco was keeping his information close to the breast. One thing he found interesting was the fact that Theo did not mention Granger.
". . . and I think I'll just write the essay on the Goblin Wars, or something," Theo was saying as he peeled his orange. "It's not as if it's going to be difficult. The last thing I want to do is write a bloody essay during holiday when I'd rather be eating like, sweets or something. You know what I mean?"
Draco just stared at him. "Theo, when have I ever done homework on holiday?"
"Never. Which is why I know you'll support me writing an Eighth Year essay on a Second Year topic."
They exchanged glances. Theo laughed. Draco hid a smirk, spearing more eggs.
"So, how's things going with Granger?"
Draco sipped his apple juice, stifling the urge to cough as it nearly went down the wrong side of his throat. "There's no things to be going."
"Don't play coy." Theo popped an orange slice into his mouth and grinned. "Just admit you fancy her already. It hurts less."
"I don't fancy her."
"You lie."
Draco narrowed his eyes, casting a few surreptitious glances to the left and right. They had a bit of space between them and the rest of the Slytherin students, but it wasn't much. "I truth."
"You care about her. You care about what happens to her."
"I—" He paused. There was no harm in caring about her, was there? They were friends. They were friends, and friends cared what happened to one another. That was okay. "Yes. I care about her."
"Do you find her like, annoying to be around, or do you think she's easy to sit with? Like, could you—for a second, just imagine you're in a—a library or something. Could you sit and study with her, or would that bother you?"
"Inherently, yes it would bother me," Draco said. Under his breath, he added, "The air of swot around her would become insufferable."
"So you wouldn't study with her?"
Draco looked him directly in the eyes. "If someone told me they'd slit my throat and murder me in my sleep, I still would not study with Hermione Granger."
"Harsh."
"The woman has slapped me in the face three times, Nott."
"Ooh." Theo's eyes went wide and he held the side of his fist over his mouth. "That's—that's not brill."
"Not brill at all."
"Well, do you think she's pretty?" Theo's brown eyes glittered like Slytherin silver. "Because it's okay if you do. I mean, if you think she's pretty, there's nothing wrong with that. She's rather fit these days, and she's got a nice smile."
"Yes, I suppose she . . ." Draco trailed off, fork frozen. What was with all of the questions? And why do they feel like they're wrapped in barbed wire?
Theo said, "What? Why are you—what do you—why are you looking at me like that?"
"Cheeky ponce," Draco said with a sneer. "I told you I don't fancy her. Why do you keep trying to get me to admit something that isn't true and holds no bearing on your life?"
He said nothing, offering Draco only a shrug as he tucked into his porridge. As he ate, Draco watched the way he seemed to keep pushing his wavy hair out of his eyes—his eyes, which he kept carefully averted from Draco's own. He looked uncomfortable.
Why did Theo keep trying to get him to admit it? It held no bearing on his life.
Unless it did.
"Do you fancy her?" Draco asked, feeling a familiar twisting in his stomach.
"Huh?"
"What?" Is he ignoring me?
"What'd you say?"
Draco scowled. "I know you're not going to pretend like you didn't hear me asking you."
"What? I didn't hear you!"
Yeah, right.
Draco said, "Do you fancy her?"
"No."
"Well, neither do I."
Draco's gaze slid to the right, moving on past Theo's head and across the Great Hall. It landed on Granger at the Gryffindor table. She was sitting on one end of it, a book floating in front of her face while she ate from a plate piled high with ham, eggs, a couple of muffins, and assorted fruits.
The amount of food didn't shock him anymore. Her appetite seemed to fluctuate between extremes every day. She was wearing her robes today and her normal school uniform underneath it. It looked a little loose on her, but that could have just been his imagination.
Why did it feel like he and Theo were both lying?
"Hey, Draco. Can I talk to you for a second?"
Blaise entered Draco's vision, breaking his line of sight with a strange expression on his face. He wasn't wearing his robes, and instead had on only a green jumper and black trousers.
"Yeah," Draco replied. He gestured to the spot beside Theo, who scooted aside to let their mutual friend in. "What about?"
"So, you know how Pansy and I went to Diagon a while back?" Blaise said, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Theo's and Draco's faces.
"Yes," Draco said slowly, feeling a bit apprehensive. He pushed his plate away.
"Well, I'm not sure if she told you, but we ended up going to Knockturn for a while and shopping around. There was a concert we went to, too."
"Muggle?"
"Yeah, actually. In Muggle London. I got this because I liked the one on the back of your hand so much." Blaise lifted his arm and pushed his sleeve back. Draco peered down and saw that he'd gotten a new tattoo. Blaise didn't have anywhere near as many as Draco, so the thorned rose stood out against his umber skin. Draco's rose was on the back of his left hand, and while they were the same thing, the art styles were very different.
"Looks good," Draco said. "Did you go to—"
"No, it was . . . Someone else. Okay, you know over by the . . ." Blaise shook his head and pulled the sleeve back down. "You know what, no. That's not important. This is."
Draco's head pulled back on his shoulders, his heart skipping a beat. That didn't sound good.
Blaise continued, "We went to Borgin & Burkes. Did she tell you that?"
Draco frowned, wondering why on Earth Blaise was asking him, and why everyone had so many damn questions for him today. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't remember if she had. He looked at Theo, as though he might know, but received only a shrug from him. Blaise looked at them both with a grimace.
"No, I don't think so. Er—at least, I don't remember." Draco replied. "Why?"
"Let me ask you something." Blaise folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. "Do you like Granger? And I mean, in a general sense. Like, is she your friend or anything like that?"
"I—"
"He fancies her," Theo said, his tone chipper as he ate the final slice of his orange.
"I'm going to shave your head, Theo, if you don't shut the fuck up about that," Draco snarled, baring his teeth in his friend's direction. Then, to Blaise he said, "I don't fancy her, but she's an acquaintance. She considers me a friend, apparently."
"All right," Blaise said, sounding suspicious. "Well, when we went to Borgin's, Pansy was kind-of . . . Well, sort-of ranting a bit. She—"
"Ranting?" Draco cut in. "What do you—'
Theo interrupted. "What do you mean by ranting? What is—what is ranting in this context?"
"Well, you know." Blaise exchanged glances with Draco like the blond knew what the bloody Hell he was on about. "Ranting. Like, angrily spouting off."
"Angrily spouting off," Draco repeated. "Talking shite?"
"Yeah, she was talking shite."
"About—"
"About Granger," Blaise said. "She doesn't like her."
"Obviously," Draco said with a snort. "So, what does that have to do with Borgin & Burkes?"
"You know how they sell fey tea? Like from the Seelie Court fey?"
Theo and Draco were the ones to exchange glances now, both appearing equally interested and confused. What the fuck was he talking about? What did fey tea have to do with anything?
"I mean, I know they sell all sorts of ilk," Draco said, still frowning. "What's it got to do with Granger?"
Blaise shifted, looking more uncomfortable. "Let's just say that Pansy was very intrigued by that tea."
"Very intrigued by that tea?" Draco repeated. He looked at Theo, and their faces contorted with their puzzlement. "What the fuck are you talking about? Why would I give a flying fuck what sort of tea Pansy's into? What does—"
Hoo! Hoo!
Just then, the windows opened and in came the morning post. Hundreds of owls winged into the Great Hall, each carrying something for a different student. Parcels, letters, and scrolls began to rain onto the tables. Draco saw several broom-shaped packages landing in front of Quidditch team members across Houses. An owl dropped Theo a small package that he exclaimed with enthusiasm was from his mother who was on an Auror mission in Brazil.
Eomer landed on the rim of Draco's cup, just like last time, and stuck his clawed foot out. Draco pet the top of his head and gave him a grape. Then, he accepted the small scroll tied to his ankle. He unrolled it, his hands shaking a bit.
He could be holding his future.
"Who's that from?" Theo asked after showing them the glass souvenir his mother had sent.
Draco's eyes scanned the parchment, saying nothing as he read the words.
Draco,
I hope you're well. I bring great news! I apologize for the lack of pleasantries, but I was so ecstatic that I had to write to you immediately.
A representative for the Japanese Prime Minister of Magic has written me to tell me that he has agreed to assess you for their internship program. They have scheduled an interview for you on December 23rd. The representative from the Sector of Secrets will be Portkeying here to Great Britain, and the interview will be held in my home.
Wear your best and remember that Japan is a neutral country. They won't care what you did during the war, nor will they pay heed to what crimes you were charged with as a result of it. The representative will only want to know what you can bring to the program and what you hope to learn from it.
So, looks like you'll be here for Christmas after all! I hope you'll consider staying longer than just for the interview.
I hope you're as enthusiastic about this as I am. Please write back to me with an answer soon!
All my best,
Ryo
"I've got to go," Draco said, swinging his leg around so he could get up from the bench. Eyes still on the parchment, he ignored Theo and Blaise's calls after him and left the Great Hall.
He needed to write a letter.
O
"McGonagall wants you to do rounds."
Draco looked up from his book. Granger stood behind the couch, arms crossed over her chest and her right-hand fingernails tapping her upper arm. She'd just walked in.
Dinner had ended hours ago, which he had finished much earlier. He'd only been able to eat soup, the nervous twisting in his stomach causing him to feel less hungry than usual.
He'd written Ryo, of course, and told him yes to both Christmas at his estate and the interview. He knew that this was his best chance at the future he dreamed of, and even if he was a bit anxious to spend one-on-one time with Ryo and his family, he had a feeling that this holiday would bring good things.
If only he had someone to tell.
Brushing memories of his mother behind a curtain of Occlusion, he stood up from the couch, turning to look down at Granger. Her hair was in buns again, this time with no loose curls. The thin hairs at her hairline were positioned in those same swoops that he remembered seeing in her memory.
"With you?"
She gave him a sour look. "Yes, with me. Is that an issue?"
"Is that an issue with you?"
"Why are you asking me that?" She scowled. "You're the one that's been avoiding me."
Draco hadn't realized that she would notice. Avoiding her was juvenile, especially given that their spat was hardly his fault. But it was difficult to look her in the eyes when it felt like he was sitting on a rather large piece of information, even if the information belonged to her. Even if the information was painful to know.
It wasn't as painful for him as it was for her.
"What did she say?" Draco said, raising his arms above his head to stretch.
"She noticed that you haven't been doing them much, and she wants me to remind you that it's part of your duties as Head Boy. And if you don't do it, then she has to report that you're being uncooperative to your parole Auror."
Draco rolled his eyes and sunk his fingers into his fringe to scratch his hairline. His hair was getting messy with how long it had grown, the ends tickling his earlobes. His father would have made him cut it.
Naturally, he was leaving it the way it was.
"Fine, I'll do it," he said.
"Okay."
Draco moved around the couch and walked over to her, aiming for the area where he set his footwear on a wooden rack against the wall. She watched him with a curious expression.
"Aren't you going to get dressed?" she asked.
"Nah," he said, slipping his feet into his slippers. He was wearing a black tee shirt and dark grey trackies—his typical nightclothes. "I'm going in my pyjamas, or I'm not going at all."
Before she could react, he pushed past her and went out through the portrait.
They started rounds in silence. Draco kept a bit of distance between them, finding that he felt strange. The storm of colorless anxiety that usually kept him on edge seemed to have quieted in her presence. His dreams had continued through the time he'd avoided her, feeling both more draining and hazier than usual. Like she was a figment of his imagination, and not a real person that he shared a common room with.
As they walked, he found that he couldn't stop sneaking glances in her direction. She was still wearing her school uniform but no robes, and her hair buns looked the same as they had that morning. She looked tired—beleaguered, really—however nothing about her gave him any sort of hints as to her mental state regarding what happened in Paris.
It was weird, walking alone with her down dimly-lit corridors like this. It was bizarre knowing what she had experienced and seeing that she seemed unfazed by it. A corridor wasn't much different than an alleyway, and she was alone with an ex-Death Eater.
Was she frightened?
He felt a chill of discomfort running down his spine. He passed the back of his hand across the side of his nose, looking off to the left side of the corridor. He didn't like to think about that. Draco knew he would never hurt her. In fact, the thought made him nauseous. Nauseous and angry, but not at her. Angry for her.
He wondered if the man who'd assaulted her could be located in some way . . .
"I don't know if anyone's going to be sneaking around tonight," Granger said matter-of-factly when they were thirty minutes in and wandering the fourth floor corridor. "Everyone's been so focused on the upcoming end-of-term exams."
"Trust me on this, Granger," Draco said. "Exams won't stop them. If someone wants to snog, they will find a way."
She shot him a look. "You would know. I'm sure you found a way come rain or shine."
"I would know," he said, his lips twitching. "What is that thing you do with your hair? There, by your hairline. Is that intentional?"
"You mean my—my edges?" She reached up as if to touch them, then lowered her hand again. "Yes, I did it on purpose."
"Oh. Is that something people with curly hair do?"
She gave him a strange look. "It's something Black girls do. We lay them flat and shape them."
"I see. Why?"
Another perturbed look. "Because it's cute."
"Yeah, it looks good."
Wait.
Had he just said—
Fuck.
She side-eyed him. "Thank you."
They'd made it to the fifth floor. It was a bit drafty, but not nearly as bad as the second floor had been. Peeves had been bouncing off the walls down there, and the ghost's aura had made it as cold inside as it was outside. Draco didn't care to be doing rounds at all, but he didn't want to walk in complete silence with her. It made things more awkward, and it made it more difficult for him to ignore the way he felt inside.
The curiosity was a mask. What he really wanted to ask her would only cause problems.
"I, um—I like your tattoos," Granger suddenly said, the words tumbling out rushed and quiet. "If we're sharing compliments."
Draco's heart raced for reasons unknown to him. He supposed it was because he didn't get many compliments on them unless he was at the shop in London and it was someone there. He arched an eyebrow down at her.
"Which ones?"
She frowned. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"
"Yeah."
"Good, because you have like, 3500 of them."
"Yeah."
Silence prevailed, broken only by their footsteps on the stone. Then, Granger cleared her throat.
"I guess I have a couple of . . . Favorites," she said, stammering in a way that was unlike herself. "I like the ones on the backs of your hands, especially the rose. And I like the anchor on your forearm. I suppose—Well, I like the—the sort-of extravagant one you have on your chest. With the clock and the wings."
"You were looking at my chest?" he said, his voice coming out in an accidental purr. He hadn't meant it to, but for a moment, he'd forgotten he was talking to Granger.
It felt like they were flirting.
"Not on purpose!" she cried, stopping for a moment. He kept walking, so she ran to catch up. "It was an accident."
"An accident."
"Yes," she said. It sounded like she was bordering on a whine. "I wasn't looking at you, or anything. But when you wear the shirts with the v-shaped necks, then—well, it's hard not to look, Malfoy."
"Don't pout," he said. "You'll get frown lines."
"I'm only eighteen. I'm not going to get frown lines." Another scowl. "Well, that's the last time I ever compliment a—"
"Which is your top favorite?" he cut in, forcing himself to sound nonchalant.
"What?"
"Which tattoo do you like the best?" He looked down at her, both of them coming to a silent mutual decision to stop walking.
"The ones on your neck," she said, her gaze falling down to where he knew both of his neck tattoos and parts of his chest piece were visible. "The chains and the little roses—they're very . . . Well, the art is quite beautiful. What does it represent?"
He took a moment to respond, finding that he'd accidentally been staring at the way her normally honey-brown eyes seemed to look onyx in the lantern light. Then, he had to think about his answer. He didn't want her to know what they represented, given that the tattoo was his response to his failure at the Manor. But the fact that they were her favorites tattoos of all the ones he had?
Hearing her say that made it feel more satisfying to have them littering his body. To have them decorating it like adornments on a Christmas tree. He sort of felt like they were . . .
Worth it.
"They represent feeling strangled," he said, choosing his words as carefully as though he were plucking agates off of the ground. "And trapped—like I'm choking and can't move."
"And the roses?"
You. You. You.
"Just . . . The aesthetic," he lied, feeling the heat of mortification rushing to his cheeks.
"Oh, okay," she said. "That's . . . Well, that's quite lovely, actually."
"Do you have any?"
"Any what? Any tattoos?" She let out a small laugh. "No. Not yet."
"Yet?" He perked up. "So you're not against them?"
"No, I'd get one or two. I have some in mind that I'd do, actually."
"Seriously?" Draco felt his mind whirling with the excitement of finding another magical person who actually liked tattoos. There was Blaise, of course, but it wasn't the same as a witch finding it interesting. It meant Granger didn't see him as a criminal. "Are you being serious right now?"
"I mean, yeah," she said, appearing bemused where she stood. "I would get one on my collarbone, and then I want one on my forearm."
The excitement wrenched into a knot. She didn't have to tell him which forearm.
"Yeah, okay," he said, cracking his neck to try and shake off the shameful memories of himself facing the fireplace and ignoring her screams. "Maybe one day, we could go to my tattoo artist and . . ."
He trailed off into a silence that ensued for a solid three seconds.
"I mean, we could," Granger said before she resumed walking down the corridor. "This floor is clear, it looks like. Let's hurry and finish so we can get back."
Draco stood there for a moment, cursing himself underneath his breath. What was he thinking? He and Granger going to get tattoos? Hermione Granger? It was absurd.
But then again, everything regarding her was absurd now.
