WARNINGS: I meant what I said, this is a sad story.
MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, BLOOD & INJURY, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, TRAUMA, MENTAL ILLNESS AND DRUG TRAFFICKING.
Reader discretion is advised.
Paris
20 October 2005
She was a ghost.
It came with the job. Technically, it was the job.
Being a part of the Ghost Program within the British SIS was a lonely occupation, but one that she did very well
She was, after all, Hermione Granger
And Hermione Granger worked alone
Up until today.
She pushed open the door to the apartment, dragging her suitcase along behind her. The flight from England had been turbulent and all she wanted was a long, hot shower.
"Hermione. You're here, then."
She looked up to see another ghost.
Instead of the ones that usually haunted her, this one was alive.
Draco Malfoy stood by the dirty window, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto a half-eaten croissant. A cup of something hot sat on the windowsill, steam fogging the glass. Hermione shut the door behind her and slid the deadbolt across. A steadying breath grounded her before she turned back to face the man standing across the room.
He was healthier than when she had last seen him, being led to the headmistress' office after his father's arrest all those years before. She hardly recognised him.
His hair was less styled than it had been at school and he wasn't wearing his trademark sneer.
In fact, there were flakes of pastry stuck to his lower lip in a bizarrely endearing way and it would have made Hermione smile if she wasn't in a mood from dragging her suitcase up the five flights of stairs it took to get to the apartment.
She nodded, tersely. Wary.
"Malfoy."
"Draco," he said, correcting her without missing a beat. "Please. It's Draco."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, a flare of suppressed childhood hostility rearing its head in the pit of her stomach. "You don't mind me calling you by your first name?"
"Mind?" He frowned. "Why on earth would I mind?"
She unwound her scarf and dropped it onto the rickety wooden chair propped up next to the door. His boots sat underneath it. She jabs a thumb at her chest. "I was one of the scholarship kids, remember?"
"I…" Draco swiped at his lip, clearing away the remnants of his breakfast. "That was a long time ago."
Hermione wasn't finished. "What did you call us?" she asked, pretending to think, like it wasn't burned into her memory. "Oh, that's right. Mudbloods. Mud-blooded paupers. Not allowed to address the prince of the school by his first name. Or have you forgotten our entire childhood?"
An audible sigh came from across the room and she turned back to look at him, a challenge ready on her face. He shook his head.
"Things are different now.
"Are they?"
"Yes."
She nodded. "Right."
Draco advanced towards her, dropping the remainder of his pastry onto a plate sitting on the dining table as he passed it. "I'm serious."
Hermione shrugged. "Whatever, Malfoy. I don't care."
His frown deepened and Hermione thought she might have found a trace of regret in his eyes if she looked hard enough.
"You and I, we're…" he started, hesitating, "partners. We've been assigned together."
"Yes, I'm well aware, thanks."
"We have to work as a team. I don't want it to be difficult."
"It won't be." She moved to walk past Draco but he caught her arm, holding her in place.
When she finally looked back to him, his expression was pained.
"Please," he said, and Hermione didn't know what he was asking for.
"I'm not going to get reassigned, Malfoy. Relax," she replied, and his grip on her arm lessened until she could twist away from him.
Walking into the bedroom, her heart plummeted into her stomach to see a solitary mattress lying on the floor.
Maybe the couch would be comfortable.
22 October 2005
The couch wasn't comfortable.
After two sleepless nights, Hermione was in a foul mood. Draco had volunteered the bed several times but she refused.
He was watching her again.
"What?"
His spoon clunked in his bowl of cereal. "Nothing."
Hermione turned from the window and glared.
"I can literally feel you staring at me, Malfoy. Just spit it out, already."
She watched him calculating his options before he resigned himself to his choice.
"Why are you here? Why did you take this job in the first place?"
Hermione walked to sit down opposite him. She folded her hands on the table, interlacing her fingers.
"I had nothing else."
"Bullshit."
She glared. "It's the truth, Malfoy. Sorry it's not as pretty as whatever story you have for why you're here instead of in that manor of yours. What, felt bad about the rest of there world slumming it while you were in your ivory tower?"
There was a silence and then Draco started to chuckle.
"Pretty?" he repeated, mirth brightening his eyes for a brief moment, before he stopped laughing and his mouth flattened into a serious line. "Pretty? Granger, don't you know? I lost everything after my father—after he did what he did."
Hermione was about to retort when she realised that she didn't actually know what happened to Draco Malfoy's family after the dust settled.
She lowered her gaze to the empty tea cup in front of her.
"What happened?"
He shifted in his seat, and she could hear as his breathing changed.
"There's a lot to it, but the main thing is that our entire fortune and property, bar a small portion of money, was taken by the government. Used as reparations for the people that were victims of his schemes."
"How very unfortunate for you."
Draco ignored her. "Because it was white-collar, they allowed him to remain under house arrest until the trial." She watched him press the heel of his palm into his eye, watched the muscles in his jaw tense. "He was the fall-upon-your-sword type and he was smart about it, so they weren't quick enough when he threw himself off the third floor balcony."
He opened his eyes and waited for another quip but she remained silent, remembering the stranger in the papers who looked like a colder, harder version of the man in front of her.
"Mother went half mad because she's the one who found him. Can you imagine? A woman who had a weak stomach in the first place went out to the garden to check on her prizewinning roses and found her husband lying on the path with his body broken and his skull smashed open." He drew in a ragged breath and Hermione felt her skin prickle. "She was a permanent patient at Bethlem Royal until last year."
"And now?" she prompted, fearing his response. He shrugged.
"Now she goes in every month for check-ups but it's not as bad as it was. She reconnected with her estranged sister. That really helped turn things around."
Hermione looked up and watched him staring at his plate with a look of faint disinterest, as if they were discussing the weather or something else truly dull.
Seconds passed. Moments passed.
"Sorry," she said, because she didn't know what else she could say. "I'm sorry."
He shrugged again, catching her eye. "Don't need you to be sorry, Granger. Just wanted you to know that I'm a little fucked up, too."
She knew it was stupid to say it, especially considering that it wasn't true but she opened her mouth anyway. An automatic reflex, really.
"I'm not fucked up."
He didn't bother hiding the smirk on his face.
"I'm not," she insisted again, before pushing back in her chair and walking into the bedroom.
Anything to get away from his stare.
23 October 2005
She gave in.
Her back was killing her but she never had to deal with a situation like this when she was working alone.
He was kneeling by the small chest of drawers they shared, wearing dark track pants that hung low on his hips. While he rummaged for a shirt, drops of water fell from his hair to his chest and Hermione tried to focus her attention on the moth flying by the dim ceiling light.
"I'm sorry I'm taking up half your space," she said, trying to keep the conversation breezy. There was a pause, and the rustling of clothes stopped.
"I'm sorry for a lot of things, Hermione, so don't worry about it."
They didn't talk again for a while and Hermione tucked herself underneath the worn duvet covering the bed, folding her hands across her waist while Draco pulled on a shirt.
Then the light was switched off.
When the mattress dipped beneath his weight, Hermione made sure to keep her breathing as normal as possible. It wasn't that she was frightened of him, but the fact that she was sharing a bed with her childhood bully was enough to make her wonder if fate was out to forcibly make her atone for her sins.
First, her parents. Now this?
As if he was reading her mind, he asked,
"What happened? I heard you were accepted for early admission to Cambridge but then, it was like you disappeared."
Hermione smiled to herself in the dark. "Keeping track of me, are you?"
"No." She could almost picture his scowl. Then he shifted. "Maybe. I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I always hated how good you were at school. Beating me at every test, every exam. After my dad, you know…well, I wasn't about to stroll up to the university of my choice and get accepted so I lived vicariously through news from everyone else."
"Even me?"
"Especially you."
They lay there in silence until Hermione sighed, biting the bullet. "To answer your question," she said, "my parents died. They were in Australia on holiday, and they were going to Darling Harbour for dinner when a drunk driver slammed into them, head on. They died on impact and I was in the middle of an exam when the police came to tell me."
"Hermione—"
She felt a surge of anger rush to her fingertips, saying, "I don't need you to pity me, Malfoy."
"I'm not."
"I went to university for a year, then my parents died and I left to sort out their lives and shut down their dentistry practice. I was about to sell everything and leave to go stay with my grandmother in Florida when the SIS contacted me."
"And you accepted right away?"
"After it happened, I didn't think I had a life anymore. My parents were my whole world."
"I understand that."
"Harry and Ron, you remember them, right?"
He snickered. "Who could forget those two buffoons?"
She ignored him. "They both went into law enforcement after we graduated. Harry wanted to be like his dad, you know? Detective Inspector James Potter."
"The one who was murdered?"
"Yeah. And Ron's brother was killed when a robber got trigger happy during a hold up at their family's store, so he felt the pull towards that career, too."
"That's fucking depressing."
Hermione shrugged. "They had each other. It became clearer as we got older, and I had no place there after my parents died."
"So you joined up."
"Pretty much. Same with you?"
She heard him take a deep breath and waited.
"I had planned to become a politician. I thought…I thought I could do some good in the world after the mess my father made, but the trouble is that everyone knew me. They recognised my last name, so it was impossible for me to even get a foot in the door.
"How did you get recruited, then?"
"McGonagall."
"Shut up."
Draco laughed at the shock in her voice. "I'm serious," he said. "After I went to her to ask for help, she gave me the option."
"Our old headmistress is a recruiter?"
"Something like that."
"Fuck."
He whistled. "I didn't know Hermione Granger knew words like that."
Hermione reached out, found his shoulder and gave it a shove. "I know plenty of words, Malfoy."
Draco spoke quietly when he said, "What did I ask you, Hermione?"
She counted to ten.
"I know plenty of words, Draco."
27 October 2005
Hermione had a headache that was threatening to split her brain in two. She was lying on the couch with a wet flannel across her forehead and her fingers digging into the couch when something—someone—touched her cheek.
Opening her eyes, she watched Draco perch on the edge of the coffee table with a bowl of something delicious-smelling in his hand. He held it out to her.
"Eat and then you can go to sleep. It's just rigatoni with some sugo," he said. She sat up, taking the bowl as the flannel slid off her face and onto the cushion beside her.
"Thanks," she mumbled, her stomach growling. "I love pasta."
She started to eat as Draco settled onto the sofa beside her with his own bowl. When her breath hitched, he turned to her.
"Do you want another tablet?" he asked, looking at her with concern. Hermione shook her head.
"No. Not right now." She put her fork down to chew, before frowning. "Where in the world did you learn to cook?"
"Pardon?"
"This pasta is restaurant-quality. Better than a restaurant, in fact. I was just wondering, because..." she cut herself off, hoping he wouldn't notice.
But he did. "You can say it. Because I grew up with a cook."
She cringed, avoiding his eyes, before spearing another forkful of pasta. "I just thought maybe you wouldn't have had any need to, you know."
He nods, "I had to learn pretty quickly after our assets were seized. Everything went, including the cook, and I could only eat buttered toast for so many days before I went crazy."
"Well, you're better than I'll ever be" Hermione confessed. "My repertoire is pretty shoddy, now that I think of it. How did you make it anyway? Is there a recipe or do you do things by instinct?"
Draco looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time and she squirmed under the attention. With a raised eyebrow, he said, "Not a recipe, per se. You have to fry chopped onions in a lot of olive oil until they've basically disintegrated and then you add some garlic and hand-crushed tomatoes. Season and you're done. If we had some herbs, I'd have added those, too."
"Really?" Hermione peered into her half-empty bowl. "That's it? It has so much depth of flavour."
"Time," Draco shrugged. "It just takes time for things to develop." Their eyes caught for a second and his fork thwacked against his bowl. "For the flavour, I mean. For the flavour to develop."
Unsure where his meaning truly lay, Hermione sank back against the cushions and devoured the last of the meal. It was their unspoken rule that whoever cooked, the other would do clean-up. When Hermione went to take Draco's bowl, he held it out of her reach and snagged hers, instead.
She opened her mouth to protest but he shook his head.
"Rest up, Hermione."
4 November 2005
"The lady at the bakery is in love with me."
"What?" Hermione looked up from her paperwork and rolled her eyes as Draco stepped into the apartment with his arms full of groceries. As he set them down, she stood and walked over to him.
"I'm telling you. I asked for three croissants and she gave me four and then she winked at me."
Hermione disregarded him with a small smile. "Did you find them?"
He fished two wrapped bars of the bags, looking triumphant. "Two bars of Switzerland's finest, as milady requested." Lindt chocolate, her favourite.
Hermione snatched one up and peeled the foil open. She jerked her head toward the table. "Instructions for the first scout arrived ten minutes ago."
Draco went to pick up the message, frowning as he read.
"No weapons?"
"No," Hermione said around a mouth full of chocolate. "Remember, Lydia and Alex Walker don't need to draw any suspicion to themselves on a pleasant walk around the neighbourhood."
Draco pulled a croissant from the pastry bag and started unwinding it in the way he did every morning.
"It's going to be weird, isn't it."
Hermione barked out a laugh. "What, pretending to be married? I'm sure we'll manage."
He shook his head. "Being actual partners out there. I mean, it's all well and good while we're in this place but out there, we're on duty."
Hermione gave him an admonishing look. "I would remind you that we are always on duty."
"But out there," he tilted his head toward the window. "I've only ever worked as a solo agent. Having a partner is twice the risk."
"Twice the safety, too."
"Yeah. I guess." He sighed and Hermione turned away to unpack the groceries.
"If it makes you feel any better," she said, contemplating whether to store the bread in the fridge or the larder, "it's my first mission with a partner as well."
"How in hell is that supposed to make me feel better?"
5 November 2005
They held hands.
It was a simple walk around the neighbourhood.
His wedding band pressed into her skin.
They stopped by the bakery to buy some fresh bread, saying hello to the lady who ran the shop. She spoke in rapid French, and when she complimented Draco on his beautiful wife, he went bright red.
"Are you cold?" she asked, and he shook her head.
"Are you?"
Hermione nodded, and Draco banded his arm around her waist, pulling her close. They continued to walk, body heat shared between them, and she stopped shivering.
Four apartment buildings, several smaller townhouses and a handful of shops. Although they kept talking about nonsensical things like the weather and the traffic, Hermione knew that Draco, like her, was cataloguing every detail he could find about their surroundings.
He guided her down a small pathway and they stopped by the local church, pretending to look at the external architecture while they spoke in hushed tones. Hermione held up her camera and took a photo of her "husband" with a good view of the street behind him.
"Do you think they're here, now?" Draco murmured, his free hand tracing the pattern on the iron railing. Hermione watched as a mother walked by them, the baby in her stroller gurgling happily despite the morning chill.
"Don't know," she replied. She snapped another picture and then put the camera back into her bag. "It's too quiet here, don't you think?"
"Quiet doesn't always have to mean danger."
"In our line of work, it does."
Draco quirked his eyebrow, smiling. "Are you always this paranoid?"
"Yes."
"Ready to go back?"
"Yeah."
10 November 2005
Hermione woke to feel a solid warmth against the entirety of her back.
Something weighed heavily on her waist and she squinted in the early morning sunlight filtering in through the curtain, realising that an arm not belonging to her was wrapped across her torso.
Hermione wriggled, freezing suddenly when she felt something hard pressing against her thigh. Draco was still asleep, judging by the steady movement of his chest behind her. More than that, they were tangled together so tightly, she didn't know where she ended and he began.
Two weeks ago, she would have pushed him away but today, she didn't. Instead, she just shut her eyes and fell back to sleep.
She blamed it on being too tired to care.
12 November 2005
Draco was avoiding her.
Hermione cracked eggs into the frying pan and watched as he paced by the window.
"You've barely spoken to me in two days," she remarked, throwing the eggshells into the bin. He halted, before turning his head towards her.
"I've spoken to you," he managed, before continuing to pace.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "All because we were—"
He cut her off. "Yes, yes. I know. Look, it doesn't matter. We're professionals, and that was just because it was cold."
"Right." She nodded, a flicker of anger lashing at her heart. She focused on keeping her face straight. "Because it was cold."
"Yes, that's it. So can we forget about it, please?"
15 November 2005
It was quiet when she turned on her side to face him. There was a candle in the corner of the room, providing them with a meagre amount of light.
"Is it because I'm not upper-class, then?" she asked, not sure if he was even awake. When he frowned, his eyes shut, she got her answer.
"What?"
She scowled, watching as he opened his eyes to blink at her. "That's why you're being so weird about it. Because I'm not an heiress? Are you not allowed to be in physical contact with anyone who doesn't have a dowry attached to a title, or something?"
There was a deafening silence between them that stretched almost unbearably, until he started to laugh.
"You think," he said, chuckling like she'd just told the funniest joke, "that I'm upset because you're not rich?"
When he said it, it sounded ridiculous. Hermione scoffed.
"Well, what am I supposed to think? We've been getting along well for the past few weeks and you're suddenly sulking around and ignoring me like I've offended you. All because we were snuggling."
"Because you're not rich." She could hear the teasing in his voice.
"Shut up."
"You're so weird."
Hermione sat up, looking down at him incredulously. "I'm weird?" She poked her finger at him. "You're weird. We've known each other since we were eleven, Draco. We're working together. Don't be a dick about it when something is bothering you, just talk to me."
He sighed, running a hand over his face. "I'm sorry. It's not your heiress theory, which, by the way, is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Seriously. So stupid."
"Piss off," Hermione said, but she was smiling now.
He continued. "It's just that… we've got such a bizarre history and now we're partners on a mission. Don't you think it's odd?"
Hermione shrugged and fell back against the mattress, slipping her hand underneath her cheek as she turned on her side to look at him.
"It's odd," she admitted.
He shifted so he was facing her. "And not only that, I bullied you in school. I was a coward and I took out my own insecurities on you."
"Forget it," Hermione said. "It's the past."
"I'm sorry, though. For what it's worth, I'm so sorry for how I treated you."
Hermione heard Draco's breathing catch when she found his hand and held onto it. She tried very hard not to think about how handsome he looked when he wasn't being his pompous, haughty self.
"You're forgiven."
They fell asleep holding hands.
25 November 2005
Hermione sat on the windowsill, balancing precariously with a cup of hot chocolate resting against her thigh. By moonlight, she studied the coded message that had been slipped underneath the front door that evening.
She couldn't sleep so she kept going over it, wondering if they could stop for milky coffee on their next scouting mission.
When she was up to her fourth time reading through the missive, a muffled sob filtered in from the bedroom and she sat up, instantly alert.
"Draco?"
No response, but then she heard a broken cry and she ran.
He was lying in the middle of the bed, deep and drowning inside a nightmare as he writhed. The candle by the bed was still flickering, casting shadows around the room.
Hermione set her cup down on the floor and crept over to him, careful not to touch him as his arms flailed out.
"Draco," she whispered, then again, more loudly. "Draco!"
He woke by the time she was almost shouting his name and she kneeled beside him. Tear tracks fell down the sides of his face and he looked at her like he couldn't believe she was there. One of his hands came up to rest against her collarbone, fingertips pressing against her throat.
It took her a moment to realise that he was feeling for her pulse.
"Was it real?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "Did it really happen?"
Hermione shook her head, stroking his arm. "No," she said, her voice hushed. His hand dropped. "None of it was real, just a bad dream."
He pulled himself to sit upright and sunk his head into his palms as he came back to reality.
"I'm sorry if I bothered you."
She drew closer, placing her palm on his knee. "That's okay. You didn't." She tried to ignore the burning feeling rising up in her body. "I'm here if you need to talk."
"It seemed so real. My dad—" he broke off, breathing heavily. Hermione waited while he gathered his thoughts, the burning flaring up her legs. "Sometimes, I think I'm going mad because it seems so real. " He was still quiet and she had to strain to hear him.
"I know." The burning was getting hotter. Her stomach, her chest. "I know it does."
"I wish I had something to forget them. To erase everything, you know? I wish I could forget everything."
"You can't, Draco," she said, and he looked up at her while she continued, "but you have to heal for the nightmares to go away."
The burning was in her throat and her wrists.
"How do I do that?" His voice was so small, and he sounded so tired. "How do I let go of every horrible thing that has happened? My whole fucking life has been a mess. You know. You saw it."
Hermione shook her head, and started rubbing circles into Draco's knee with her thumb. "Find something to pour your energy into," she said. "Find a release."
"Release?" His eyes were more focused now, more awake. His pupils were dilated and she watched the candlelight flicker in the reflection of his eyes.
"Release," she said. The burning was in her fingertips.
He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "What should I do? Drown myself in alcohol? Take drugs? What do you propose I use?"
The burning engulfed her, and, in a moment of sheer bravery, she caught his face in her hands and whispered,
"Use me."