Draco paced from one end of the couch to the front grates of his fireplace. The path practically wore into the dark carpet at this point, but it was better than stopping.
Because every time he stopped, his eyes found themselves searching for the bowl of floo powder he hid the night he got home. Every time he stopped, it took every tiny piece of himself to keep from flooing to her flat. Every time he stopped, he saw her.
Laughing, crying, demanding his attention at work, standing outside of his building—this sad and confused look on her face—and it killed him to see her like that. She was everywhere and she had been for a while, longer than even he cared to admit.
He ran his hands through his hair for the millionth time that night and tried to draw his thoughts to anything but her. Couldn't think of work; she was there, couldn't think of staring out his expanse of windows; her figure stood there in her dress watching the skyline that first and only night.
Merlin, what was he going to do?
Draco had never been patient but these last few days had been particularly treacherous. The sudden absence of her presence grated on his nerves more than he thought possible.
Three mornings he had waited for her to come into their office, and three mornings she had failed to appear. It was concerning the first morning, worrying the second, and damn near alarming the third. As he made his way home on this last day, he considered stopping by Potter's office and inquiring, but mercifully , reason had kicked in and told him that that would not at all be a good idea.
So here he stood.
"I should try to call her," he mumbled to himself, resuming another lap of his living room. "No no, she clearly wanted her space."
He stopped and groaned. His hands reaching for the fireplace mantle, despite the lack of floo powder. He should call or maybe just drop by, just to check in of course. He shook his head and started pacing again.
A drink, maybe a drink would help; the thought danced through his head—the first non-Hermione thought all night and he started for the kitchen. Only two steps out of his routine he paused took a deep breath.
No, a drink was what he needed, just not here.
Finally deciding on a sound plan, he walked swiftly to his front closet and grabbed a jacket.
Yes, the Leaky Cauldron would be perfect. A subtle chance of running into her, but not enough of a chance for it to be considered intentional.
With a quick flick of his wand, he was off.
--
He stepped into the crowded inn and dusted off an invisible fleck of dust from his sleeve, trying hard to ignore the noticeable dimming of chatter at his arrival.
Hermione might have helped him secure a job at the ministry but that didn't mean that he wasn't still a pariah. Even after the war, after his and his mother's testimonies, people still sneered at him, and if they weren't doing that, they cowered and made sure to give him space.
The space he didn't mind, the cowering however…
A simple scan of the room told him she wasn't here, and he thought about leaving even as his legs carried him to the bar.
"A fire whiskey please," he said evenly to the older man behind the bar, who only nodded and gave no indication of recognizing who he was.
A small victory, he supposed.
Barely five minutes had passed, and Draco was still nursing the same glass when the door opened. A small group of patrons entered and brought with them an uncommonly cool breeze, causing Draco to shiver as the chill danced across his exposed forearms, even with the one face down on the bar top. A feeble attempt was still an attempt.
It has been warm lately, warmer than usual for this time of year. Though he supposed the breeze was why he brought his jacket, in case he wanted to walk back and the spring air took a turn towards frigid. Or in case Hermione had shown up, and wanted to take a stroll.
Hermione, he needed to put that bloody witch out of his mind.
Since nearly the beginning of their partnership, he knew something had shifted between them. There had been a particular day, she had burst into the room; all fire and defiance, as she roared on and on about the enslavement of house elves. She was mesmerizing, the way her hair seemed to crackle with electricity and her eyes blazed. He found himself longing to touch one of those sparkling curls. He tried to follow her words,her passion. Her need to make a difference chipped away at something in him and that was the moment he knew he would be in trouble if he stayed.
He had tried looking for jobs in other departments, but most were clear about not wanting him around and the more cases they worked together, the more he grew to enjoy her company. He wanted to be like her; to be good and uncompromisingly loyal to the people who mattered to her, but it was hard.
Every day that she came in, complaining about another fight with Weasley made him want to find him and hex him beyond recognition. But the days she came in, happy and overjoyed about something he had done; those were worse.
This was why he couldn't be like her. He couldn't see that happiness and anger and understand why she still wanted to be with Weasley. Couldn't understand why she couldn't see how much better she deserved.
Someone shouldered up to the bar, drawing him from his thoughts and before he could mutter some impolite words a gleaming head of red hair slid into his periphery.
His head nearly snapped as he turned to find Ronald Weasley standing next to him.
Icy dread coursed through Draco like a shot of adrenaline and he cleared his throat before taking a sip of his drink.
"Got something to say Malfoy?" He started with a smug look on his face.
Draco could see the tightness in his eyes and the cold weight behind his stare.
Damn it all, he thought and plastered on the cool mask he had learned and perfected before even starting Hogwarts.
"Surprised to see you here, thought you wouldn't be showing your face for a while after that spectacular let down from Granger." He smoothly arched an eyebrow, "I always thought she deserved better anyhow."
Rage twisted his features until he looked like he had held a lemon too long in his mouth. Words were flying from his mouth at the same rate as the spittle.
Draco only brought one finger to his cheek and wiped away a stray bit of saliva. Rather enjoying the way his smirk was riling Weasley up.
All conversations had halted now and the people sitting closest to them had taken their drinks to watch the show from afar.
"Oi Malfoy, bugger off. Ron's had a tough few days and he just got in, leave him alone." Harry appeared from the crowd, clapping a hand on Ron's shoulder.
Hermione hadn't told him everything about what had happened, so hearing Ron had just got in was news to him. Though that did explain a few things.
He let his eyes drift to Potter and had to fight the urge to punch him. Of course he was standing here defending Weasley, as if that hadn't always been how it was.
"He's had a rough few days?" Draco barked a laugh, "how do you think Hermione feels? Given the state you left her flat in."
Harry looked from Draco to Ron, who was still seething, teeth bared as if ready to attack.
"What's wrong with Miones flat?" Harry asked, wariness creeping into his eyes.
"Ask him."
"Ron… what did you do?"
He only laughed and it was colder and crueler than anything Draco could remember hearing from the boy.
"Obviously she's sleeping with him," he said, jerking his chin at Draco, "if he's seen her flat. Clearly I was right about her. About why she said no."
"No, you absolute tosspot. She told me. We are… friends you know." Draco drawled, trying to look bored but he could feel the satisfaction crawling in.
"Right, I'm just 'supposed to believe that you two are friends. Like she didn't go on and on about your cases all the time. Like she didn't spend hours talking about how you handled this litigation or that debriefing. Like I didn't know she brought you lunch from the canteen at work. Like she didn't deny my proposal and then disappear, just gone. Right… just friends." He took a long sip of beer.
She talked about him. That was all he heard, she had talked about him. Enough that Weasley had been jealous.
"Pretty sure that's part of working together… Weasley. We share cases and occasionally our lunches become working ones. I don't see how that possibly makes someone a cheater?"
"Cheater? Ron what in Merlin's name are you on about? Are you sure you're ready to be back because I can't sign off on—" he was cut off.
"Forget it Harry," he snapped, "I'm only back for the night anyway. Charlie still needs my help. I just needed a few things from home. Thought maybe I'd give Mione a chance to reconsider my proposal while I was home." A dark smile crept onto his face.
"Leave her alone Weasley," Draco said, his voice low. The promise of danger coating every word.
"Or what? You were the one that said she deserved better right?" A guttural laugh ripped out of him. "Better like who? You? You think she wants someone like you? You're a death eater, Malfoy, and you will never be anything more than that. To me, to everyone and most importantly, to her. The only thing you deserve is to be rotting away in a cell in Azkaban like your pathetic father."
His words were daggers, and surprisingly he knew how to use them. He knew his words had hit their mark by the gleam in his eyes.
Draco knew he was right, and had been dealing with those thoughts since the war ended. The only time he felt like they didn't matter—like what he was didn't matter, was when he was with her.
"That might be true Weasel. But she deserves better than someone who can't take no for an answer, better than someone who makes her cry and breaks off their plans, better than someone who trashes her flat, better than someone like you."
"Ron lets go, I think it's time to get home," Harry said, trying to diffuse the situation.
"No." He stepped back from the counter, using his hands to steady his weight, "I think I'll go see for myself what Hermione deserves."
With that god awful statement; he was gone, swaggering towards the exit and slamming the door behind him.
A string of curses spilled from Draco's lips. He needed to get to Hermione before Ron did, before something bad happened.
"Potter, can't you do something?"
"Malfoy I…" he hesitated.
"You have no idea what he did to her place. If he shows up there and she's there… there will be a problem. This isn't some stupid argument Potter."
Harry nodded, "The best I can do is slow him down. Technically he hasn't done anything wrong so my hands are tied."
"Then go. What in Merlin's name are you waiting for?"
He watched his face for a moment before calling for one of the other people they were there with and moving quickly out the door after him.
Draco ran his hands through his hair, cursing himself for not shutting up, for unleashing this on Hermione. Weasley had been right, he didn't deserve her either.