Disclaimer: The situations presented in this story are based on concepts and characters owned by J. K. Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money off this story, nor will I ever.
Chapter II: The Prodigalby Jenni
She felt the blood rush from her face, and her fingers that grasped her wand were holding it so tightly that her hand had gone numb. Her entire body was quaking with the sheer joy and apprehension and fear of it all.
Many months ago, when it had first occurred to her that her liaison with Draco had been nothing more than a heated fling, she had begun to prepare speeches in the event of his return. Her revenge had been planned out to the smallest detail. She had planned to greet him with a casual 'hello,' and then, after he had professed his undying love, she would tell him it was over, and that she had gotten over him in the long interval. Her thoughts had been so detailed over this matter that she had the entire scene scripted in her mind even down to the hand motions and body language she would use.
But as he stood before her, staring at her with eyes so haunted that it seemed he had come back from the dead, Hermione could not find the words to say, "I've forgotten you." Instead, she wanted to run to him and enfold him in her arms–he looked so lost with that disheveled hair and sunken face. His figure was so thin, a fact she could tell by the way his thick robes hung so loosely about his frame, and by the tightness of the skin on his hands that were grasping at the wall for support.
Crookshanks, sensing his impending danger in the trembling arms of his mistress at last put forth the effort to escape. Automatically, Hermione set him on the arm of the couch, and stood straight without ever realizing she had moved. "Draco..." she whispered again.
At last she could not contain herself, and she went to him, arms ready to embrace him.
"Don't touch me!" exclaimed the prodigal in a voice too raspy to be recognized. He drew back too quickly and stumbled in his weakness, but he caught the wall and manged to right himself.
Not listening, Hermione went to him with arms outstretched, prepared to lift him up. Still he rebuffed her, raising his hands to ward of her touch.
"I mean it. Don't come near me."Hermione halted immediately. "Why?" she repeated in shock. Suddenly all her intentions came flooding back, and the euphoria she had felt was replaced by two years of rejection and resentment. She swallowed it down in light of this more pressing situation. "You're not well," she told him, as if he hadn't known. A small gesture towards his pale features, caused him to shoot to his feet and further away from her. He seemed to stifle a gasp of pain.
In response, Hermione raised her hands, palms upward in surrender, and backed away. "I won't touch you," she assured him. "Just don't move again. You're obviously in pain."
"It's not safe." said Draco in a voice half-crazed. He was staring at her as if she were a phantom, and yet...he was definately staring at her and not through her. His eyes were focused despite how wild he looked.
"I..." his lips tripped over whatever it was he wanted to say. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.
"What?" Hermione folded her arms over her chest, rubbing her trembling shoulders to warm them. She sat down on the arm of the couch and watched her former lover gasp and wheeze against the wall as he fought to stay conscious. "Please, Draco, let me help you."
For a moment he seemed willing, but then he shook his head. "It's not safe," he said once more.
He brought his hand up as if to touch her cheek, but he was standing five feet away and couldn't reach her. Hermione just sat there and let him caress her form in mid-air. She shook her head at the pathetic sight. He's gone daft, she realized. That's the only explanation.
"Why are you here, Draco?" she asked him, trying to keep him sane. Perhaps that was impossible, but she could try. And when he did not answer her question, she continued as if he had.
"I suppose you're here because of your mother. She came to my office today with a missing person's report."
"My mother?" he asked, his eyes oddly growing brighter. His hand that had been reaching towards her he now placed against the wall.
Hermione shook her head in confusion, but blustered on anyway. "Yes, your mother. She said a funny thing today. She mentioned that you might be coming back, and well...here you are."Draco sank to the cold floor and pressed his forehead against the clean plaster of her wall. Tears fell freely down his face, but he did not offer a single word in response.
"You promised to come back, you'll remember. I believed you, even though I said I didn't." Hermione dared to move from her safe position on the couch. She came closer and knelt by Draco, still two feet away. "I read in a newspaper article that you had returned from the war. Up until then I had just assumed you were dead."
Her throat clenched tightly around her words as she explained to him her dismal existence of the past two years in one glorious, cathartic release. Her eyes were hot with unshed tears. "I stopped believing you cared until your mother came. Is it true what she said?" asked Hermione, hardly daring to hope.
"Is what true?" said Draco, still not facing her.
"Did you come back for me?"
Then, miraculously and without any hesitation, he faced her. "Yes. God, yes I came back for you."
She shuddered with happiness, and once again moved to embrace him. And once again he stopped her.
""Hermione, don't."
The hurt must have showed on her face, because he looked away again, unable to bear her pain. But he was smiling and stable for the moment.
"I suppose my mother had hysterical fits in your office because of me."
She ignored his question and got up. "I'll get you a glass of water," she said with ice in her voice. "Since it's not safe to touch you, it's all I can do. I assume you'll explain yourself."
"I won't," he declared with eerie certainty. "I just needed to see you."
Hermione pulled a glass from the cabinet and nearly slammed it on the counter. She was angry that he had come back to her and still seemed so far away. Their reunion was just a pale substitute for all the ones she had imagined before. And he was withdrawn from her. The loss of intimacy grated on her mind so she was no longer sure of how she ought to receive him. Right now she wasn't even so sure she wanted him in her flat.
She ran water from the tap and eventually thrust the glass his way.
You've got some nerve, she thought as she watched him carefully take to glass so their fingers did not meet. Everything is YOUR way, and what does it matter who else is inconvenienced?"I don't think I want you to stay here tonight," she told him. "I think you should go to the hospital. You're ill, but since you won't let me help you I can't do anything for you."
When Draco didn't move, Hermione felt two years of pent up wrath boil inside her. He never listened.
Except that this time he did. He took a few sips of water and then set the glass on the floor. Slowly, almost reverently, he pushed himself to his feet and stood. "All right," he said. His tormented eyes searched hers, and then their feral nature seemed to die. Hermione gaze up at him, realizing how close they were when she felt the heat of his breath on her lips.
"There's the door," she pointed towards it, ruining the moment before he could, but her arm shook violently. Suddenly it came to her that he might never come back once he left. And certainly he would not return after such a cold reception. Her arm fell back to her side of its own accord as she waited for him to go. But when he still did not move, something desperate took over inside, and Hermione could no longer control herself.
"What do you want from me?" she cried. "Did you just come to see me? If that's all, then just go!" She nearly threw herself at him, nearly struck him just to get a reaction from him. She only needed one sign, just one, that he still loved her. Otherwise, she wanted him out. This agony must end! "Leave if you want to!" she shouted. "The door is right there! Please, I need you to go...I can't do this again. Get out...I can't...I can't..."
Without realizing what she was doing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held herself to his chest. Her words came out in strangled sobs muffled into his cloak, and all the time Draco struggled to set her on her feet again. The effort was taking its toll on him, and his efforts grew weaker and weaker.
"Hermione," he let out a pitiful gasp. "You have to let go." And suddenly it was no longer Draco who was supporting Hermione, but Hermione who was supporting Draco. He had fainted.
Horrified, Hermione saw the blood on her sleeves where Draco had grabbed her in order to push her away. He was wounded...
Reality set in.
"Oh bugger," she cursed, lowering his heavy body to the floor and trying to think. "Bugger bugger bugger," she chanted as she searched about the floor for her wand, finally finding it on the couch cushion where she had set down the cat. Pointing it at Draco she muttered the charm, "Mobilicorpus" and pushed him through the air in the direction of the bedroom.
What a silly thing, she told herself, although she didn't find the situation silly at all. Every time I have a crisis, he always has a bigger one.
Harry chewed thoughtfully on his quill as he and Ron brain stormed at the kitchen table of Ron's apartment. Chewing on his quill had become a bad habit, which Hermione always corrected when she could. Except she wasn't here, so Harry felt it necessary to make up for extra time by chewing even harder.
Ron was pacing up and down the adjoining great room, apparently bent on making his friend collapse from dizziness. However, Harry had rectified the problem by removing his glasses so he wouldn't be forced to watch Ron's endless treks back and forth across the room.
"So..." he spoke for the first time in five minutes. "Thought of anything yet?"
"He could have been kidnapped." answered Ron.
"We already wrote that one down."
"But!" interrupted Ron as if he had some brilliant idea. "If he wasn't kidnapped, he could have just went into hiding."
Harry tossed his quill aside and dropped his head to the table in exasperation. "We've got nothing. I should have asked better questions."
He heard the shuffle of Ron's feet against the rug as he approached from across the room. "Well, you can go see Mrs. Malfoy in the morning." said Ron, patting Harry reassuringly on the back.
"Me?" exclaimed Harry.
"You have such a way with her!"
"You're the ladies man!" argued Harry. Then pouting like the school boy he no longer was, he sank lower in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "I think we should send Hermione. It's her turn." But before Ron could answer 'no,' Harry had already reached the same conclusion. With a sigh, he set his glasses back over his nose, and took up his pen. "I'll go. What will we ask her?"
"Why he might have wanted to disappear. Why anyone would have wanted him to disappear."
"Maybe we should ask what his business is. It's funny, but I've never heard anything about Malfoy starting a company."
Ron gasped. "That's it! There's our lead!"
"What is?"
"I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner!"
Harry's eyes rolled again. "What?" he demanded.
"Malfoy's business. My father mentioned something last year about a black market trade with some Muggle corporations. A few wizards have been suspected of sending magic objects to Muggle warehouses. Malfoy's name was on the list!"
"How does that have to do with disappearing?" asked a frustrated Harry.
Ron shrugged. "Well, if my father knows, so does the Ministry. It's just a hunch."
Smiling, Harry began to scribble on his sheet of paper. "All right, so you think that maybe Malfoy is hiding from the Ministry?"
"Disappearing sounds more like something he would do than getting kidnaped."
"You know, Ron," replied Harry with a grin, "Most people don't have control over whether or not they're kidnapped. Just because Malfoy would find it more dignified to disappear, doesn't mean that's actually what happened."
"He was a spy; he was trained to disappear. Who would want to kidnap him? No one kidnaps grown men."
Hermione could have screamed as she surveyed the mess that was Draco's dressings. She hadn't had any bandages, so she had been forced to rip up a few dresses and towels to stop the bleeding on his arm. It was only half an hour later that she discovered the wound was cursed to remain open, which seemed odd since only Aurors were supposed to know that spell. Of course, after the war most wizards remaining in Britain were ex-Aurors, but why would they have been after Draco? More importantly, why hadn't Draco used the counter curse?
His leg presented some problems as well, mostly because Hermione couldn't see what was wrong with it. She had consulted her library of medical books which she had collected years ago in preparation for any action she would see at the battlefront. To her dismay, she had not only failed to memorize all the material, but she even had trouble locating the correct section in which she might find a solution for his leg.
She discovered that it was an isolated stupefaction curse that froze whatever region of the body was hit, and also disguised itself as a small wound–like that a Muggle bullet would cause–in order to make it even more difficult to diagnose.
Meanwhile, it was hours later and Draco was still unconscious, but at least he was on his way to recovery. As for avoiding physical contact, Hermione had been unable to grant his request since she had been forced to undress him and bathe him, and then check his pulse. The only thing she hadn't removed was the tightly woven bandage he had wrapped around his forearm. It seemed charmed so that it could not be removed, but since it had been clean Hermione had decided to let it be. She hoped he wouldn't be too angry when he awoke, but in truth she didn't care. If he had the audacity to be angry over her administering to his many wounds, then she'd be more than willing to toss him out into the street and let him fend for himself. Hell, she'd even wear oven mitts while doing it, if that was what he wanted.
But as her eyes wandered over his face, she softened. He looked so tired, and so much older than she remembered him. There were lines on his face, and...
Since when did Draco have a scar on his cheek? Had that been there earlier?
Hermione squinted, and leaned forward to examine it more closely. It was a ragged line from his nose to his ear, and so prominent that she was baffled as to how she had missed it before. Her hand went out to touch it...
"DON'T." A very alert Draco caught her wrist, and then, realizing what he had done he released it instantly. His eyes were crazed as they locked onto hers, and just as soon the intensity faded.
Hermione jumped away. Her mouth opened with a retort, but saw it was no use. Draco had slipped back into unconsciousness. Go ahead and sleep, she thought bitterly as her heartbeat continued to register the shock he had given her. But what had she expected, a thank you? Ha! A 'thank you' from Draco Malfoy! Some things never changed. Yet, this new Draco frightened her; she didn't understand him. He wasn't the considerate or selfassured lover she had known, nor was he the petulant and offensive brat she remembered from Hogwarts. There was an air about him that reeked of danger and darkness and...insanity? She wondered whether the war had done this to him. He was not like Harry or Ron or herself: He had been fighting his friends and family. He had never seen the conflict as black and whiteevil and goodonly layers upon layers of gray. Perhaps it had twisted him in a way that she and her friends could never be twisted. But why hadn't he come to her? And how could a crazy man do all the sensible, practical things Narcissa had mentioned?
Why wouldn't he let her near him?
As her face lay buried in her hands she attempted to collect herself, and when she had succeeded her first thought was of her friends. She would contact them; they would come, and then... Well, she wasn't sure what they would do, but whatever it would be, she would feel better.
"You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. They're so clear, I can see myself in them."
Hermione raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Ron, I think that's one of the worst openers I've ever heard."
"Ok, how about this one..."
"No no!" she flung her hands up, exaggerating how annoyed she really was. In truth, she was just happy to see her friend acting so cheery. "I can't take any more. Go ask Harry for advice."
He looked at her pleadingly. "But you're a girl! Anyway, Harry doesn't know any lines. He just moves his hair so everyone can see his scar."
"Hmmm. Well...be modest, but aggressive."
"Modest? You think that'll work?"
Hermione pondered her own statement for a moment, feeling especially thoughtful. "With some girls." Her gaze drifted off to the young man whom she knew to be hidden in the shadows by the wall of the Officer's Club. Handsome and daring, and oh, anything but modest! She'd been trying to shoo off Ron for the past fifteen minutes because she knew Draco wouldn't come until she was alone. Then he'd sit down, and stare into her with those pewter eyes of his and say something so delightfully smooth that the tremor of his voice would creep up her back and make her shiver. "Let me buy you a drink," he'd say. And tonight she had decided to let him. Of course, he didn't know that. He would be expecting her to refuse his offer...again. Maybe throw an insult his way before getting off the fancy barstool, bidding farewell to her friends, and directing herself back to headquarters. But he would expect to see her stop at the exit, and flash him a smile before she left. She had stopped every single time she had run into him, driven at first by caprice, and later by the overwhelming desire just to see Draco once before the dawn of the next uncertain day.
Draco...damn! Only a moment's distraction and she had lost sight of him. She searched the dance floor, then the bar, only to find the back of his head disappearing through the exit. Hermione jumped to her feet, quickly excusing herself from Ron, who was counting on her to rate yet another one of his pick up lines.
"I've got to go." she muttered as she raced for the door, tackling a young lieutenant and a captain on her way. "Sorry!" she shouted without turning around.
She flung herself through the exit, and stumbled into the alley, her eyes darting about. At last, she caught sight of him, leaning against the brick near the door, screened by a steady stream of officers just entering the club. However, once they disappeared through the door Hermione found herself alone with her one-time nemesis. The moonlight reflected in his silver hair, and she could see his breath puff out with slow, even exhalations in the cold November air. He was gorgeous.
"You're supposed to buy me a drink," she stammered, without realizing how ridiculous she sounded.
He merely shrugged. "You already had one."
"I missed getting to insult you."
Casually, he shifted his weight onto the other leg. "I don't think that's why you came to find me," he told her with conviction and a smirk.
"No." she said without pretense, and was pleased by the flicker of surprise on his face. As fun as it was to play with him, Hermione couldn't deny the attraction any longer. The flirting, the innuendos that had passed between them at every meeting weren't enough anymore. It was time to surrender...except Draco wasn't moving. Instead, his initial confusion was replaced by his usual smug confidence. He was going to force her to make the first move. Forgoing pride, she walked toward him until they were standing quite close. Her gloved hand reached out to touch his arm that was covered by the thick, gray Auror's coat. But her simple gesture was not enough, and they moved even closer, undaunted by the layers of clothing between them. He bowed his head; she raised hers until their lips were almost touching.
"What would your friends say, Granger?" he asked suddenly, as if completely unaffected by their closeness. However, the question failed to ruin the moment, for Hermione put up her rose red mouth and kissed him. Her hands pulled him lower, and wrapped themselves in his hair as he pressed her full against his body. The collar of his coat scratched her chin, and her ears were cold in the winter wind, but none of that mattered as she lost herself in the swell of his embrace. Deeper and deeper they fell together into an abyss where only he and she existed. Hermione let out an impassioned moan, as Draco's lips pulled from hers to suckle the curve of her neck. He called her name; she answered with another kiss, and they were gone.
When they broke apart she laughed at his shocked face. "My friends are inside," she replied finally. "But I'm out here."
Harry didn't know quite what to make of it. In fact, his first question had been, "Are you sure that's Draco?" His second had been, "Do you think all our cases are going to end this quickly?"
"It was a bit anti-climatic." sniped Hermione, who couldn't help but still be angry over Draco's cold greeting.
They were in Hermione's bedroom, where Draco was currently lying. He had not moved once so that he resembled a statue more than a man. A very battered statue.
"He looks too old to be Draco," said Hermione, examining the ugly scar that ran from his ear to his nose. It was not age in years that she was counting, however, although that was an issue as well. This man looked over thirty, whereas he shouldn't be over twenty-four. It seemed strange to her that she had not noticed any of this when she first saw him.
Harry had seen all the changes after one glance, and he had not known Draco even half as well as she had. Somehow that made her feel cheated, but rather than blame Harry for his quick eye, she cursed Draco for his spitefulness. It was all his fault, after all, and he wouldn't even wake up to explain everything. He had pursued her for months, had won her, and then he had dropped her. And he hadn't even answered those few letters she had sent him upon learning of his return. Letters into which she had poured her soul: I love you, Draco. Where are you, Draco? Why don't you come to me, Draco?
Hermione mentally kicked herself. He doesn't need to explain anything. It's all perfectly clear that he only came back to leave again. She didn't really stop to think why he had been wounded. To tell the truth, she didn't want to think about it because then her anger would dissipate. Her anger was the only shield she had against the whole situation, and it was vital to her sanity that it remain intact.
She had just started to get on with her life. Happiness hadn't seemed so unattainable, and here he was again. Wounded and helpless, lying in her bed with a peaceful countenance that belied her own turmoil. Hermione felt at that moment that she had never hated anyone so much as this man, who could play with her mind and her heart so easily and make her love him just by walking out of her kitchen. But when he woke up he would be that frightening intruder again, and he would tell her why she couldn't touch him, and why they couldn't be together. Perhaps to finish the job and make it really painful, he would apologize. Then he would leave, and she would never see him again until the next time he felt like stomping on her heart.
"Does it hurt?" asked Harry quietly, as he watched Hermione glare at Draco's still form.
"How would I know? They're not my wounds."
He shook his head, and took her unsteady hand in his to strengthen her. "No, I mean do you hurt?"
Hermione was ready with a firm negative, but she could not utter it. Instead, tears welled up in her eyes, and her jaw trembled so that she could not speak. But Harry gazed back at her with all the love and sympathy he could project before he took her into his comforting arms. He held her as she struggled not to cry. Gently, he ran his hands through her hair. When he pushed her away, it was only a few centimeters so that he could face her. Hermione was started by the love she saw in his face. She didn't think Harry had ever looked at her like this before. His closeness was overwhelming. Her breath came in little gasps as her heart fluttered.As for Harry, at this moment he felt that Hermione had never been more beautiful. He longed to say something wonderful that would make her pain go away instantly, but he was at a loss. The flesh of her cheek felt smooth against his roughened palm, and Harry was surprised to realize that he now held her face his hands. They were so close; he could feel her breath against his chin. Her eyes were focused on him, and shining with tears. Her lips were slightly open...he felt himself leaning without knowing what he was doing until their mouths just brushed. Oh, the sensation was wonderful! His whole world was wrapped up in Hermione.
But he stopped. What halted him was not a lack of desire, but rather the look of fear on Hermione's face. It brought him back to reality, and made him remember that the timing was horrible; he needed to sort out his own feelings; and above all, asleep or not, Draco was still in the room.
"I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath, before he brushed past her and out the door to the sitting room. Hermione followed him.
"Harry..." she called after him, and he stopped momentarily to collect his wallet and keys that he had left on the coffee table.
"I wasn't thinking. It's not you. Just the timing."
"I know," she said.
"I think I might have made things worse."
From the other side of the room, Hermione tried to smile at him as he hastened to tie his shoes and fumbled with the knots. Harry didn't seem to be hurt, just agitated and confused. As for herself, she didn't quite understand what had happened back there, but some part of her had wanted to take the chance to get revenge on Draco. More than anything she had wished he would have woken up and seen them. She felt a wave of pleasure at the thought of his shocked face. And how Harry would defend her, and tell Draco to go to Hell, and...Harry! He didn't deserve to be used that way. She felt ashamed by her behavior. Had she only invited Harry over because of some subconscious desire to piss off her ex? No, that couldn't be it. Maybe she did want Harry. He was nice and they were close, and it was only natural that they might feel some attraction. It hadn't been planned...did Harry know that? Ugh! she screamed at herself. Stop thinking so much!
"Harry," she called after him as he stood, now finished with his shoes. Hermione felt the need for some sort of closure. "I love you, but..." Hermione couldn't say the rest because she saw the way Harry was watching her: like his only purpose in life was to love her. And at that moment she didn't feel as if she could never reciprocate the emotion.
In the end, Harry finished for her. "But this will never happen again," said he, shrugging it off so lightly that Hermione was disappointed by the speed of his withdrawal.
"Will I see you at the office tomorrow?" he asked.
"Give me a couple days," she answered, without really thinking about it. Her response had been automatic, yet it seemed to be a wise one. "Come over tomorrow if you want. Bring Ron if he doesn't have a date."
He nodded and pulled his wand from his pocket. "Well, good bye," he said. And he was gone.