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 III: Tête à Têteby Jenni
It was a bit too hot for cuddling, thought Ron as he tried to loosen the death grip his date had upon his arm. Linda was literally hanging on him as they walked down the street...or was it Laura? Linda. Laura. Lana? Ron's nose scrunched up as he tried to remember. Whatever was left of the inarticulate young boy, who couldn't get a date if his life depended on it had disappeared a good many years ago. Now Ronald Weasley was so busy with women that he could barely find the time to notch his belt.
Harry couldn't understand it. Loyal Harry, who would never intentionally hurt anyone in his entire life, except for that one girl near Brighton. And the other one in Coventry...and then there was Becky in London. Or was she from Canterbury?
"Ron, are you even listening?"
"Of course, Laura." he replied automatically, grinning when she hadn't become offended. He'd gotten the name right.
Yes, Becky had been from Canterbury. Hadn't she been one of Hermione's friends? She hadn't been too pleased with Harry about that one. The memory of Hermione's flushed cheeks and frothing mouth as she berated Harry for hurting her friend brought a huge smile to his face. Hermione was so funny when she was angry.
A twinge of guilt hit him as he thought that perhaps he ought to have called off his date and gone to see her. He had to admit to himself that she had proven herself to be quite a good actress in the past, and although she might have faked being fine, she was probably at home sobbing on the sofa.
But maybe Harry had stopped over. He hadn't seemed too convinced when he had left the apartment.
"You sure she's ok?" he had asked.
Ron vaguely remembered shouting 'yes' as he bolted upstairs to find a tie. He sighed. It wasn't that he cared more about his date than Hermione. In fact, he mused as he glanced the girl beside him who hadn't stopped jabbering since the moment he'd picked her up, that would be pretty much impossible. He was just a little tired of Harry's incessant worries over Hermione. The man was obviously in love with her and had been for some time, but he never did anything about it! Instead of asking Ron if Hermione was fine and refusing to believe whatever answer he gave, maybe Harry should get off his pale ass and go pay her a visit. They weren't children anymore, and Ron certainly wasn't going to go tell Hermione that Harry had fancied her since seventh year.
A shrill squeal reminded Ron of his whereabouts. "Oh, I know!" continued Laura, still thinking Ron was paying attention. "It was a dreadful business, really. Why would anyone hire a person who just stands at the register and stares at the wall?"Ron shrugged dutifully and smiled at passersby as if beseeching their pity. When he found none, he started wondering if he wasn't time to rethink his bachelor's life. Find a real woman and settle down...
As they were about to pass the Leaky Cauldron, they came in sight of another couple, who seemed to create a mirror image of Ron and Laura. The young man spotted Ron and shook his head knowingly and motioned towards his own babbling lady.
Immediately upon seeing her, Ron felt his cheeks go hot, and his eyes darted around in a frantic search for an escape. "Er...Laura, want a Butterbeer? Good, let's get one," he asked and answered for her, hauling her into the Leaky Cauldron as quickly as possible.
"Ron Weasley!" exclaimed the other man's date in outrage, but her voice was muffled by the swinging doors, and to Ron's relief the other couple did not follow them in, but just in case he kept glancing at the door
Laura gave him a perplexed glare. "Who was that?" she asked.
"Er...Linda." he answered. "If I remember correctly."
And that seemed to be an acceptable answer, so Laura said nothing further, nor did she protest as he led her to the a booth, albeit more gently.
"It's so nice of you to take me here, even after dinner and everything. I thought you were going to take me back to your place, except I don't do that sort of thing on the first date, and you have such a horrible reputation, but I don't see why, and aren't these booths nice?" said Laura without pausing for breath. "They're like antiques, but they're not stiff or uncomfortable. And look at this leather; it's vintage, and..."
Ron continued nodding until the sever appeared. "Two Butterbeers." he said, not even bothering to take his eyes from the entrance.
"Mr. Weasley!" cried the server, whom Ron instantly recognized as the proprietor. With feigned patience, Ron turned, wondering why the man was so agitated as he bumbled on.
"Did the Ministry send you, Mr. Weasley? Or is it Captain...or Major? I don't really have time right now, and I'm still paying for the losses, which your office buddies never compensated me for..."
"What are you talking about? I'm on a date."
The man calmed down immediately. "Oh, oh, of course. I'm very sorry. It's just that I lost some business the last time someone from the Ministry was here. They closed me down for an investigation...some sort of illegal magic case, I think. I wish they would have left off; I'm still recovering from the losses."
Unfortunately for the proprietor, this statement only served to arouse Ron's curiosity. He went into instant detective mode, completely unaware that his date was becoming bored. "How long ago was that?" he asked.
"Ron," Laura hissed. "Why don't you let him get our drinks?"
But Ron pressed on. "When was the visit, and what was it about exactly?"
"About two months ago. So you want two Butterbeers?"
He caught the waiter by the wrist and stopped him. "I promise I won't close you down for an investigation, and I'll ask some friends to compensate you for the last one."
The proprietor took back his wrist with a humph, but he spoke. "They said they'd found some residue of Auror magic on the fringe of my grounds, and they closed down the Inn for three weeks while they poked about with their investigating."
Ron wiped his brow with his hand as he processed this new information. Malfoy last seen Leaky Cauldron two months ago. Auror magic two months ago. Malfoy is ex-Auror. This equates...
"I thought you were a private eye."
"What?" He felt irritated by the interruption, especially since he had been analyzing key information. Oh well, he'd need more details anyway in order to make any solid conclusions.
Laura watched him curiously. "You said you were a private investigator, but that guy said you worked for the Ministry."
"Oh." he said. "I don't, but he doesn't know that."
"So you're not going to compensate him?"
"No." answered Ron, absently.
Laura sniffed in irritation and inched away from her date. "That's not very classy."
When Draco awoke, it was not to pain but to the delicious feel of clean cotton sheets beneath his back, and one tucked loosely over his body. There must have been a window open as well, for he could feel the breeze and smell the dewy morning. Fresh sunlight, and not nightmares, had roused him from his slumber.
Slumber? He gasped, and sat bolt up in bed. He was half naked! What time was it! He looked at his arms and chest, feeling horrified, rather than happy at his vanished wounds. Had Hermione treated them? Hermione...
He screamed for her, terrified that she wouldn't come, and furious at himself for fainting. He had been assured that nothing would go wrong, but he didn't know. An evil witch in the middle of Transylvania wasn't exactly what you might call 'trustworthy.' And nothing had worked before. The horrific image that haunted him flickered through his brain again. Hermione's open arms, the silk of her lips, and then the bitter taste ash. Oh God, he shouldn't have come...
There was the scuttle of footsteps outside the door, and Draco panicked again. What time was it? Where had he put the vial?
It was then that Hermione threw open the door, holding a strange stick in her hand. She must have heard the noise he was making. To his horror, Draco saw she was foaming at the mouth.
"What's the matter?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern.
Draco gaped at her.
"I was brushing my teeth," Hermione explained, her concern turning into condescension. She motioned to the toothbrush, and popped it in her mouth again, making exaggerated brushing movements for his benefit. Then, she stopped, and took it out. "Hold on, I've got to spit." She left for a moment, and Draco heard the sound of a running sink. A minute later she returned.
He couldn't stop staring at her. It worked, he thought. "You dressed my wounds." he stated in amazement.
Hermione's eyebrows raised, showing that she thought he'd gone daft. "Of course, I did. I wasn't going to let you bleed all over my floor."
"You're still alive."
She nodded slowly, obviously waiting for him to get to the point.
For the first time in years, Draco allowed himself to smile. It was a genuine smile of pure happiness and relief.
"Kiss me," he told her. But Hermione's eyes only narrowed. She stepped out of the room, and slammed the door shut.
Draco felt his elation vanish.
It was the first time, she realized, that they had been left alone together–both conscious and coherent–since the night he had left for Romania. The thought unnerved her when she compared that Draco to this one, who was sipping his tea as if it were some sort of miracle. She observed the way his fingers cradled the porcelain cup, and how he replaced it on the saucer with such reverence that it might have been a relic. Gone was that frightening specter of a man that had turned up from nowhere. He had been utterly replaced by this gentle image. Still, Hermione found the situation horribly disconcerting. She wanted to speak to him, and ask him so many questions: What happened in Romania? Who had done this to him? ...Why hadn't he come back sooner? But she was afraid of ruining the fragile moment. She still had to shake her head in order to rid her mind of that mental picture, the one of Draco's twisted face. "Don't touch me!"
"Are there any more scones?"
Hermione was startled by the question. "Pardon me?"
Draco licked his lips to clear them of crumbs before he asked again, without a hint of impatience. "I asked if there were any more scones."
"No," she replied quietly. "I gave you the last of them." And then they lapsed into their former silence. A full minute must have passed before any speech was attempted.
"They were very good scones," said Draco. Unfortunately, the compliment did not sound right coming from his lips. Not only had the old Draco never bothered with meaningless small talk, he had also never liked scones. Obviously, he was trying to win back her favor with little compliments, but Hermione would rather see Hell than let him wipe away all the hurt and confusion she had suffered just because he said he'd liked a bunch of lousy, store-bought pastries. But she didn't tell him that.
"Thank you," she replied without any trace of sincerity. Her own breakfast had consisted of a small roll and butter, and she had been finished for quite some time. Draco seemed to noticed this now that he himself was done.
"Aren't you going to work?"
"I have the day off. With you here, there's not really much to do anyway. Our case is sort of closed." She threw him a suspicious look. "Why do you ask? Did you have something more important waiting for you?"
"No!" he anxiously defended himself. "I'm glad you're staying...but I do need to go get something. Eventually."
There was a clatter, as Hermione stood and slammed her chair back under the table. She collected her dishes and took them to the kitchen, making a pointed effort to forget Draco's.
When she came out again, her heart fell. He was not sitting at the table. Had he left?
She took a few steps forward, and ran a hand against the back of his chair before pushing it in. A troubled sigh escaped her lips. At least he came back for a while, she thought.
All of the sudden two arms caught her around the waist and pulled her roughly backwards. Draco had not left at all, and now he was crushing her against the wall, with a frantic gleam over his face. His hands were pressed on the wall, one on each side of her head so she could not escape. Surprise at his violence became shock at the urgency of his rough embrace. Her heart beat faster as his lips descended on hers and kissed her so hard that she could feel the blood rushing to her brain. At first she tried to push him away, but her traitorous hands merely slipped behind his neck and pulled him closer. He sucked on her lower lip, and she groaned. Nothing mattered anymore. It was just like the first time; so wrong, and yet so full of fire. Damn the consequences; Hermione didn't care. She felt his hands push lower, to her hips, but just when she thought he'd take it further, he stopped.
He might have broken away to say, "I love you," but Hermione didn't wait. The pause was just what she needed to come to her senses, and when she regained them she also regained her indignation.
There was a resounding crack as she struck him across his cheek, the same one that bore the scar. Draco cradled his jaw, but he stood tall. "Why did you do that!" he demanded.
"Why do you think you have the right to come back here, and kiss me like that? You haven't explained anything, or apologized, or even asked me if I still want you!"
His gray eyes flashed. "I came back, didn't I? You wouldn't believe what I went through to get here."
"Try me," she challenged. But he didn't answer. No retort, no explanation...nothing, and it made Hermione uneasy. Draco Malfoy was never at a loss for words.
"What happened to you?" she asked in an accusing tone.
"I..." he started, but then he shut his mouth. "I can't tell you." Then, as an afterthought he added, "I don't remember."
Hermione glared at him. "Liar." With that, she brushed past him, and headed to her bedroom.
Draco was breathing heavily as he watched her bedroom door slam shut, feeling worse than a runner who had just run a pivitol race and lost. He supposed it was inconsistent the way he treated her, but why did it matter? After all, she loved him, didn't she? They were together again, weren't they?
God, she had looked at him with such venom. The bile rose in his throat as he thought of how hateful she had been as she backed away from him, staring at him as if he were some vile thing that disgusted her. Staring at him as if she knew what he had done. In all his days of knowing her, he had never seen her look at him like that. Not even in school, or during the war when he had left and he had been stupid enough to tell her why.
He wondered what had happened in this world. Had she ever gazed on the Draco of the past with such hatred, or was he as perfect as he had appeared to be before his demise? No mark on his arm, no scar on his face. If he had been at her flat that night, she would have welcomed him with open arms, and Draco knew because he had seen the happiness wash over her face. He had been desperate to feel her arms around his, but he had stopped her. It was only a precaution, but now that he knew it was safe she wouldn't touch him.
He had spoiled everything. But I'll be damned if I sit around and feel sorry for myself.
Draco took five measured steps toward her door, and banged on it with such a frenzy that it seemed the sturdy oak panels would shatter. "Hermione, let me in!" he bellowed.
"Why don't you just break in? It's obvious I have no control over the situation anyway!" she shouted through the door.
He sighed. "I would rather that you let me in willingly."
"Then I'm allowed to have free will now, is that it? Will I be able to touch you this time, or is that still forbidden?"
"I can explain that!"
"I already gave you the chance," she shot back.
Which was true, of course. Draco remembered now how annoying it was that Hermione was always right. But it didn't matter because he still could never tell her never tell her the details, and if he told her one thing, then she'd want to know the whole of it... "Hermione please! You can touch me. I'm sorry I ever said that. ...I was in a lot of pain!"
Silence. So she's going to play that way! his mind roared. She's going to ignore me! Draco hated being ignored. His fists pounded harder against the door. "LET ME IN!" he demanded with unexplained violence. "Why won't you let me in!"
"Why won't you let me in?" she retorted without a sign of fear.
Draco let his arms drop to his sides, completely frustrated by the knowledge that he'd never win while she was in this mood. Well then, he might as well go get what he needed. Maybe then he could convince her to see things his way. He turned on his heel and marched straight to the front door of the apartment, stopping only to collect his boots and bloodied cloak from the closet. Then he left, letting the door slam behind him. Let her think what she wanted. He'd be back soon enough.