Hermione reached blindly for a chair and sat. The parchment that was clutched between her fingers trembled. He wasn't there. The thought of his warm embrace and his soothing words had been all there was getting her through the day; and he had left her. She reread the letter, more slowly this time. She was trying her hardest to be absolutely furious with him, but it was impossible.
Writing's always been his strength, she thought fondly, smiling as she read his words for the third time. Somehow, in such a brief note, he managed to convey the same feelings he would if he were there in person. He was apologetic, placed all the blame on himself, and still managed to get in a bit of wittiness. There was no way for her to be mad at him. She loved reading his letters.
The shock and frustration caused by his absence was fading away, and she began feeling empty. Loneliness tended to be one of her Achilles' heels; she would mope around and stew and become a miserable wreck of a person, and she knew it. She automatically looked around for Crookshanks, then remembered, and smiled wistfully.
"I should get a new pet," she said aloud. She stood up, stretched, and meandered out into the half-unpacked living room. She carefully folded Draco's note into a small, tidy square, and reached up and took a small wooden box from the top shelf of the bookcase. She lifted off the delicately carved lid and placed the note inside, adding to a large collection of letters and fragments of parchment, all in the same slanted handwriting. She replaced the box in its niche. She walked back into the messy kitchen, took awhile locating the teakettle in a large cardboard box, and heated the water with a tap of her wand. She found a box of teabags in one of the cupboards, and set about preparing a cup of tea.
She sat at the table with the steaming cup, breathing in the peppermint scent. She glanced up. It was five o'clock.
"Here's to you, Draco Malfoy," Hermione said quietly, raising the teacup to an invisible person. She sipped, and then sat, cradling the cup in her hands, staring off into space. The first tear trailed its way down her cheek and fell into the sweet tea.
- - -
Her second morning at Curatio Validus was no less hectic or confusing than the first. She was swept upstairs with a rush of Healers and went to Jenna's office, unsure of what she was supposed to do.
Jenna led her to a large room in the staff hallway of the department, explaining along the way that there were many workers in the hospital who weren't technically Healers, and that they all worked in one room. Hermione was assigned a small cubicle on the end of a row of many more cubicles.
"You can put anything on the walls, as long as it isn't permanent," Jenna explained, "and I'll send you copies of patients' files as soon as I can." She looked around conspiratorially and whispered, "I'll try to get you into potions work as soon as possible. Sorry you're stuck here." She gave a sympathetic smile, ignoring Hermione's attempts to apologize. "No, don't, I know exactly how you feel. You shouldn't be working here. I'll tell you what. Why don't you spend the day setting up in here?" She gestured around Hermione's small, empty cubicle. "You can go home to get photos and things, and you should look around at some of the other cubicles for inspiration. Have fun. I'll either be in Pittiman or my office if you need anything." She grinned and walked off.
Hermione felt a bit guilty about spending the day decorating, but reluctantly began walking down the row of cubicles, glancing inside to see how their owners had designed them. Not many people had arrived yet. It seemed as though no one cared if you actually showed up on time or not. Hermione resolved to be a model worker so that she could get into her real job as soon as possible.
Most of the tiny workspaces had the same basic setup: a large desk, filing cabinets (they depend an awful lot on files, Hermione thought), shelves, and many personal touches. The decorations ranged from photos of happily waving friends and family, to a small dining table complete with goblet, place setting, checkered tablecloth, and vase of flowers, to lingerie advertisements ripped from Muggle magazines. Hermione was grateful that this last cubicle was empty of people as she hurried away, cheeks flaming. Still feeling a bit guilty that she wasn't doing any real work, she spent the rest of the day setting up and went home early, with Jenna's permission.
- - -
On Friday morning, Hermione woke with a yawn, sleepily donned her robes, looked at her clock, swore, and rushed to her fireplace. Only by sprinting through the hallways of the hospital was she able to arrive at her cubicle at nine o'clock. She collapsed into her chair, breathing heavily. After finally regaining her breath, she noticed a neatly written parchment lying on her nearly empty desk, and she picked it up and scanned it quickly. As her eyes took in the last few words, they dulled. She dropped the parchment on the floor and heaved a sigh. There was no work for her yet. She spent the rest of her workday rearranging her photos of Draco.
Hermione stepped out of the fireplace into her apartment at five o'clock, dazed. She hadn't spoken a word to anyone all day, not even to the kind witch across the passage who always said "Good morning." She had never felt so useless in her life. Hermione walked slowly through her apartment, hardly knowing where she was going, feeling her way along the wall. She banged her hipbone on the back of a chair, and bit back a cry of pain and frustration. She realized that there was a door in front of her, grasped the doorknob, and found herself in her bedroom. She looked around vaguely at the sick yellow walls and the worn carpet, and at her furniture, which seemed overly large. She caught sight of herself in the mirror hanging on the wall; she looked at her blotchy face and swollen eyes, and turned away quickly. She sat on the bed and stared out the window, watching the pigeons waddling around on the fire escape.
She didn't feel his presence at first. Then, suddenly, she knew. She didn't know how—maybe she had noticed a slight draft, or caught the faint scent of his cologne—but she knew for certain that he was standing in the doorway. She whirled around and there he was, solid and inviting-looking, leaning against the doorframe and grinning.
"Have you developed a fascination for pigeons in the time that I've left you here?" Draco asked, smiling broadly, and she rushed into his arms. He was strong and warm and very much there.
"You left me," she accused, her face buried in his chest. She pulled back to look into his eyes. "You left."
He sighed. "Yes, I left. And I feel horrible for it." He put on expert puppy-dog eyes. "Forgive me?"
Hermione hit him on the chest in frustration. "Yes."
He spread his arms wide. "Hit me as much as you want."
She sighed. "I have." She put her head down on his chest and breathed in his faint cologne, closing her eyes as his arms went around her again. "I missed you."
His grip tightened. "I missed you too."
They stood for a few minutes, content to savor the moment. Eventually Draco broke the silence.
"Get dressed. We'll go out for dinner."
"Where?"
"I don't know yet." He shrugged. "Where do you want to go?"
"I don't know. I don't know anything about the city," Hermione complained. "All I've done is gone to work and tried to fix up the flat."
"Speaking of," Draco said, looking genuinely interested, "how is work?"
Many things flashed through Hermione's mind, decisions and consequences. She put on a smile that felt horribly fake, and said through gritted teeth, "Work's lovely."
- - -
"See?" Draco said contentedly, laying his chopsticks down. "I told you it would be perfectly fine."
Hermione looked around the dingy interior of the Chinese restaurant and heaved a sigh. "You were right. As always."
He smiled. "I told you to trust me."
"Even you lose some of my trust when you're leading me into a place that looks like it's infested with cockroaches," Hermione muttered.
"I heard that."
"I know."
They sat in silence for a few moments, Hermione's bleak mood hanging over them both like a thundercloud. Draco absentmindedly ran his finger around and around the edge of his water glass, and Hermione occupied herself by attempting to pick up single grains of rice with her chopsticks.
"How's work?" Draco said finally, looking at her. "Honestly."
Hermione's throat closed up, and she swallowed hard. "I told you, it's lovely. My boss is very nice." It's true, she told herself. It's not Jenna's fault they're overstaffed.
"Mm-hmm," Draco said, a suspicious look in his gray eyes. "What are you doing exactly?"
"I'm not sure yet," Hermione said, which was, essentially, the truth. "It's only my first week, after all. I haven't really been given an official assignment yet."
"Alright," he sighed, standing up. "I'm not sure what or why you don't want to tell me, but okay, I'll respect that. Are you done eating?"
Hermione nodded, unable to speak. He helped her into her jacket, left some money on the table, and guided her out. They walked down the sidewalk in silence, his arm around her shoulders, as a few raindrops began to sprinkle down.
Hermione was lost in thought, which Draco could clearly see as he glanced down at her lovely face, and he chose to let her be instead of attempting another awkward conversation. Something in her had changed since Monday; she was restless and fidgety, which was understandable, as she was getting used to a new environment. But there was a terseness playing around the edge of her being, something which he wished he could take away and let her be herself again. It was that curtness which had put invisible barriers between them, so he couldn't even talk to her as he used to be able to. He wished she would just tell him what was wrong; but until she did, being with her was going to be very awkward.
Hermione's thoughts closely resembled his, although she didn't know why everything felt different between them. Is it my fault? she wondered. Maybe she should have told him the truth about work. But she had never been a good receiver of sympathy—it made her feel as though her problems were entirely her fault, and the sympathetic person was merely trying to point that out. She heaved a sigh, and Draco's arm around her tightened.
"Cold?"
"No, I'm fine," she answered.
"I can hold my jacket over your head," he offered, looking up at the ominous sky, which was beginning to let go of the rain a little more freely, "so your hair doesn't get messed up."
Hermione snorted. "The rain might be an improvement, actually, if you hadn't noticed the massive ball of frizz sitting on top of my head."
He gave her hair a calculating look. "I'm not seeing a massive ball of frizz."
"You're just being nice," Hermione said, smiling a little despite herself.
He saw victory. "I can be nicer." He moved his hand to trace her cheekbone gently.
She giggled. "Very nice, but quite inaccurate." She swatted at his hand. "People are looking at us funny."
"And you care why?"
Hermione shrugged, jolting his hand away from her face.
"Oh, come on," Draco joked, now toying with one of her curls. "You can't tell me that you care more about what they think than about me."
"I suppose not," she said, a smile creeping onto her face. "You're about to walk us right past my flat."
"Oh," he said, looking up at the building with a startled expression. Hermione laughed softly.
"Why don't you let me steer now?" she suggested, walking up the steps and taking out her wand with a furtive glance around. She placed the tip of it on the doorknob, muttered something, and watched in satisfaction as the door swung open. "That's only the second time I've used that spell," she admitted happily, leading him into the lobby. "I love it when they work."
"Ah," said Draco intelligently, never having experienced the feeling. He followed Hermione into the large fireplace, braced himself as they swirled around in green flames, and emerged, blinking, into her disheveled living room.
"I think it's gotten worse since you left," Hermione said apologetically, tossing her jacket on the couch. "I haven't had much time to care about how the place looks."
"I can help you with it tomorrow, if you want," he offered. "I can stay until Sunday night. You don't have to go to work tomorrow, do you?"
Hermione shook her head wordlessly.
Draco opened his mouth, decided it would be better to leave his comment unspoken, and shut it again.
"What?" Hermione asked suspiciously.
"Nothing."
"Okay." Wanting desperately to avoid another awkward silence, she cast around for something, anything, to say, and ended up with, "How are things back home?"
"Not bad."
And there was another silence.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said eventually, still trying to regain their old familiarity. "It's my fault. And after you went to all that trouble to cheer me up, too." He was standing near the fireplace with his arms folded, looking tense, and she went over to him and wrapped her arms around him. After a moment he relaxed, and unfolded his arms and rested his chin on top of her head.
"It was that obvious?"
"Mm-hmm." She breathed in his scent, remembering that they had stood the same way when he first arrived, and pressed herself closer to him. "But I forgive you. It worked."
She could feel him smiling into her hair. "Good."
They stood quietly for a few minutes, but this time, the silence, instead of being hard and uncomfortable, allowed the unspoken sentiments to be made clear.
"Draco?"
"Mm?"
"I'm sorry."
He exhaled into her hair, running a tentative finger up and down her bare arm. "It's alright. I understand."
That was all she needed. She knew it was silly, but with Draco's forgiveness, she felt as though everything would turn out all right. She suddenly felt horribly guilty for not telling him the truth about work. She looked up at him. "Draco, I—"
"Shh," he told her gently, placing the finger on her lips. "I know. It's okay, Mya. You can tell me when you want to."
"Thank you," she whispered. Her head suddenly felt too heavy to be upright, and she let it relax onto his shoulder with a sigh. "You make me happy," she whispered into his shoulder.
He placed a gentle kiss on top of her head. "I'm glad."
They stood for a few moments, simply savoring the feeling, until Hermione suddenly shivered.
"Sure you aren't cold?" Draco asked in a teasing tone.
"Oh, fine," Hermione grumbled, "I'm cold."
"Here," Draco said, taking her by the hand and leading her over to the sofa. He unfolded the fleece blanket that had been hanging over the back and wrapped it around Hermione's body. "Are you tired, too?"
She nodded. He stretched himself out on the sofa, and motioned for her to join him. She snuggled in next to him, resting her head on his chest, and exhaled contentedly.
"Thank you," she murmured as he switched off the light. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed gently.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Draco."
Within minutes, all that could be heard within the apartment was the soothing sound of soft breathing. A beam of moonlight shone in through a gap in the curtains, illuminating Draco's pale hair and casting a soft glow on Hermione's features.
- - -
Just some slight changes—I kind of wrote myself into a corner with the way it was before. I felt like I needed to fix some things, so hopefully it's a better chapter now. I'll try to get the next one up as soon as possible, promise.