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 VI: Only You…
by Jenni
Narcissa Malfoy had not paused once to let the effect of her declaration to sink in. Her wild gesticulations had continued in sync with her convoluted sputters. Her entire being had taken on a maniacal appearance reminiscent of Mr. Hyde. But her incoherent babbling inevitably came to an end, as she gathered her thoughts. "He is some sort of impostor!" she rambled on. "He has fooled all of you!"
Yet, with her haphazard looks and radical declarations it was difficult for anyone to take her seriously. Her words, that is. To Ron it seemed that her condition was extremely serious, and immediately recommended that Mrs. Malfoy be called a doctor. The others, though silent, were unanimous in their agreement.
Quite aware of this Cassandra effect which she was creating, Narcissa turned back to accost the man claiming to be her son, who was frozen in Hermione's office in a stance so still and fearful that he seemed a broken statue. She hissed something at him, which neither Harry nor Ron could hear, and certainly not Hermione, whose ashen cheeks showed that she had been completely lost at Narcissa's first outburst.
Ron was himself sputtering for an answer; however, he was more terrified by Narcissa's sudden transformation into a harpy than he was by her words. No, it was Harry who spoke first, and whose authoritative tone made it seem as if his were exact sentiments of everyone else.
"I think you're overreacting." he stated, calmly and darkly.
Narcissa met his gaze. "I assure you, I am not." But when she saw his dubious expression, her indignance grew. "A mother knows her own son!" she asserted more emphatically, growing hotter by the moment at his doubt.
Harry's jaw twitched, then he looked instinctively to his partners, who merely stared back with blankly. "Let's take this downstairs." he finally said, but when Ron moved to follow him, suddenly Harry cut him off from the stairs. "Take care of Hermione." he said.
Ron blinked. "But she's fine." he said, indicating that she had regained her composure, and in fact looked just as irritated as Ron did at being excluded.
Harry shot him a pointed look. "Then take care of Malfoy." he said, and it was obvious to Ron that he would not let him in on the upcoming conference with Narcissa.
Ron's eyebrows were raised in a challenge, but before he could say anything, Hermione touched his shoulder. Harry didn't even wait, but hastened down the stairs to his office, where Mrs. Malfoy awaited him.
Though he wasn't watching what was happening in the hallway, Draco could hear the muffled sound of a disagreement. He waited for it to escalate, dreading Hermione's reaction to his mother's outburst. Already he felt himself becoming angry at the doubt she had yet to show. He was composing answers to her forthcoming questions in his mind. He had little faith that she would defend him.
When the voices subsided, and he dared a glance when he heard the sound of feet descending down the stairs. Weasley and Hermione remained, eyeing him from their position beyond the door. The former was glowering, and as a result had turned a vibrant shade of red, which during their school days might have presented to Draco a perfect opportunity for ridicule. Out of reflex, he almost took it, but wisely refrained. He was completely at their mercy, and as such he knew it would be best for him not to speak. But he didn't bother to suppress his resentment at the protective way with which Weasley clutched Hermione's shoulder–almost as if he expected Draco to attack her. He resented the whole situation, and even Hermione for tricking him into this meeting with his mother. He hadn't wanted to come with her this morning, but for some reason she had insisted.
"Please, Draco. I don't want to be without you for a minute." she had begged. But now that he thought on it, he saw that she could have stayed at home and been with him. But she was still trying to get answers from him, wasn't she? After all, this was Hermione. She wouldn't give up after a few kisses and a heartfelt 'I love you.'
And his mother...Narcissa Malfoy. "A mother knows her own son!" He almost snickered at the irony of her words. Of course she would have been the glitch in his plan.
Hermione was drawing closer, and Draco glowered at the floor. He was still waiting.
"What did you say to her?" asked Hermione at last. At that moment Draco was astonished by the lack of malice in her voice, and he looked up. Her expression registered a playful curiosity. It was then that he noticed Weasley was not glaring at him, but rather in the direction of the stairs where Harry had gone. And since Hermione didn't seem in the least accusatory, Draco's courage rose.
"Something about my work." he said, honestly. "I didn't know what she was talking about."
Weasley humphed an agreement, and said, "That makes two of us." But he offered nothing further, and instead kicked absently at the carpet.
Hermione watched both of them, wearing an oddly hesitant look on her face, seeming unsure of who needed her attention most. Draco was annoyed by this indecision, and on impulse reached for her hand. Hermione jumped a little at his touch, but smiled at him. At last she offered a weak, "Does your mother always behave this way?"
Draco paused, wondering how exactly to answer that. At last, he chose a flat out lie. "Yes. Life with father made her a bit paranoid." It sounded good.
Hermione remained silent for a while. Then, "I'm certain she had good reason."
"What does that mean?" he inquired.
She started a bit at the question. Then she nudged him a little, "You do remember your father was a Death Eater, right?" Then she laughed as if it was some great joke that he could have ever forgotten.
Draco's jaw clenched. "Of course."
Hermione nudged him again. "Don't look so grim." Then she stepped in front of him, and made her hands into claws and pretended to scratch at him. Her upper teeth stuck out over her lower lip, which she had curled under for effect. "I'm a Death Eater. I'm coming to get you." she chanted.
Weasley was pretending as if he was ignoring both of them from a distance, but to Draco's chagrin he began to laugh at his friend's act. This was most unwelcome, and his continued presence irked Draco, who merely slapped Hermione's hands away. He didn't want to be teased in front of people.
"Stop it." he commanded.
But she didn't. She continued to hulk around him. "Join me, and we will rule the world. Together with our skeletal like builds, and our decaying, evil buck teeth we will be unstoppable!"
Draco batted her away again. "Good God, Hermione, we're not vampires."
Draco saw Weasley stiffen across the room, suddenly paying far more attention to the conversation than he felt was necessary. And even Hermione seemed suspicious. Her hands had dropped, and her eyebrows were raised at that curious angle. "'We?'"
Draco almost panicked. He almost babbled out some horrifying and completely unbelievable excuse before his quick thinking saved him. Instead, he seized her around the waist and pretended to bite her. "But we are flesh-eating zombies!" he exclaimed. " Death Eaters unite! Together we will devour Ms. Granger."
Weasley coughed from across the room. Then he stepped outside, and Draco followed his retreating form with narrowed eyes over Hermione's shoulder.
When Harry found Narcissa, she was pacing by the chair. Harry quietly shut the door, and walked to his own seat behind the desk. "Now," he began, adopting his most professional tone, "You have some complaints?" When she didn't answer he stood, leaned over the desk, and straightened the chair. "Feel free to have a seat."
Narcissa plopped dutifully into it. "I was so excited when I got your message." she was shaking noticeably, but Harry had resettled into his own chair, and was not about to move in order to stop her. "I came as quickly as I could...ruined my hair apparating too quickly...I wanted so much to believe..." she broke off into a wail. "What could have happened to my Draco!"
Harry merely folded his hands. "What makes you think he isn't Draco?"
"Can I have a tissue?"
Fighting the desire to sigh, Harry pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. It was a good thing Sirius had warned him about the necessity in this business of carrying one at all times.
She took it from him with a muffled 'thank you, ' and proceeded to blow her nose as slowly as possible. She sniffed. "He certainly looks like him, and talks and moves like him." And she stopped to dry her eyes.
"But?" Harry could barely hide his impatience with her now, feeling as one does when he reaches a pivotal moment in a novel and finds a missing page. He felt as if Narcissa was attempting to set him up, trying to pique his interest for some reason that he didn't understand. Somehow, this must be a set up that Malfoy had planned well in advance just to mock him. It couldn't be true that he was being given another chance. Harry didn't want to believe it, but just to be done with the whole thing. He had lost; Hermione loved Draco. He wanted to let things be.
But he also wanted to know what Narcissa did. "But...?" he urged her.
"Well," she said, meekly. "...he didn't know things."
"His memory could have been wiped."
"But he knew everything else."
"You weren't in there very long, Mrs. Malfoy. I'm certain you didn't have the time to ask him everything."
Her eyes flared at this. "Are you suggesting that I am lying to you, Mr. Potter? I, who have more reason to suspect you than anything else. How am I supposed to know that you haven't concocted this false Draco in order to collect on your payment a bit early?" She threw the handkerchief onto his desk, unconsciously issuing her challenge as her eyes bored into his. Harry felt himself effectively silenced, knowing she was studying him. Finally she spoke. "No, I choose to trust you, although you must swear you will keep what I say strictly in the office."
"I swear." he hastened to reply. When Narcissa's eyebrows arched in disapproval at his too-rapid reflexes, Harry became aware of how unprofessionally he was behaving, and moved to correct himself. "What is said in this room will only be repeated to my two partners. Everything in these meetings is kept confidential, Mrs. Malfoy, but if you need me to give my word then you have it."
"None of your other connections must hear. Especially not your Ministry connections."
"Of course not."
"All right." She folded her hands in her lap, nervously, before beginning. "Have you ever heard the Liber Gratiae?"
Harry's cheek twitched in recognition, and he smiled. "It was in the Ministry Archives last I heard."
"What about the Catalogues of Counter-Curses?"
"I studied that in school."
"History of the Dark Arts?"
"Yes..."
"What about the Logoi Ergon?"
Harry paused. "No. What does this have to do with anything?"
"Draco was obsessed with that book." she answered. "All of those books, but that one in particular. He did everything he could to get it."
"Everything?" repeated Harry, growing more interested despite himself.
"Yes. When Draco returned from Romania, he was obsessed with these books, particularly with something called the Logoi. He wouldn't tell me what he needed it for, but he was desperate. One day I walked in on his private study; it used to belong to Lucius, so I knew the passwords. I don't think Draco was aware of that. I saw maps of Muggle London sitting on his desk. At first, I didn't think anything of it; we've traded on the Muggle stock market ever since the end of the war."
"Why?"
Narcissa stared up at him as if he was stupid. "Unlike you, Mr. Potter, my son and I lost everything in the war. It was the only way for us to maintain our image." She rearranged her dress and sat straighter so that she resembled either a cultivated lady or a badly assembled mannequin. Harry wasn't sure which was closest.
"At any rate," she continued, "It was then that I noticed he had one particular address circled. When I examined it further, I found the number of a Muggle pawn shop. It was then that I forced him to tell me that what he was doing was illegal. It didn't matter. I couldn't stop him. But two months ago his search seemed to have ended. He told me he was leaving to find one last thing." She stopped to whet her lips, and then looked directly into Harry's eyes. "When I saw him today I asked him about it...he didn't know what I was talking about."
Harry leaned back. "That still doesn't mean anything. Maybe he thought we were listening. Maybe, despite what you think, he memory was wiped."
"Why are you so anxious to close this case, Mr. Potter?" she asked, suddenly more self-assured than Harry would have liked. "Is the money so necessary?"
His eyes narrowed. "It's not about the money, and it's not about me. Your son is upstairs. Whatever ordeal he has or hasn't been through in the past two months doesn't matter because he's happy, and you don't have the right to destroy that..."
"Since when have you cared for my son's happiness, Mr. Potter? I've been told on more than one occasion that you despised him."
Harry shot from his seat, and walked to the window that overlooked the street. Narcissa, however, didn't stop for breath.
"You don't understand Draco." she cried. "No one in the Ministry does, and that's why we've been stepping on glass ever since his father died. You don't know what sort of obsession it would take for Draco to go against the law like he did. For years all he's wanted is the sort of approval you receive in a heartbeat. But he got that book on the black market; I'm sure of it. Anyone could have caught him...like Arthur Weasley. He's wanted revenge for years because of my husband."
"That's not true." warned Harry. "We don't have that sort of cold, calculating manner."
Narcissa huffed. "Listen, I'm not really concerned with old grudges. But Draco wanted that book for something. He wouldn't tell me the details, but he was obsessed. There were weeks when I didn't even see him because he'd be sitting in his private study, trying to think of leads." She folded her hands tightly over her lap. "How is it that a man can forget something so important?"
Harry stalwartly refused to face her, but kept his eyes on the street outside. He heard the sound of Narcissa scooting her chair back, and knew she was getting up to leave.
"That man is not my son. You can look for the real Draco or not. I'll give you the promised sum when you find him, but you can forget my good reference."
Harry said nothing in reply, but waited until he heard the click of the door unlocking. "Good bye, Mrs. Malfoy." he said, as if nothing had happened.
The door slammed at her departure.
The musky scent of the evening air was refreshing after a day of long briefings and claustrophobic camp life. They were sitting near the water line, on the slope with the old willow tree, enjoying their peaceful moment. Nevermind that the lake was supposed to be off limits. Nevermind that they were missing dinner at the officers' mess, or the fact that they weren't supposed to be together.
Hermione leaned into Draco, who sat behind her with his legs splayed about her own. He in turn reclined against the trunk of the great willow tree that stood sentry at the head of the lake. It was not yet sunset, and therefore not yet time to retire. Nor was the closing day of any notice to them, for they were busying themselves with talk of wars and the patterns of history.
"Muggle wars are very different from this." said Hermione, responding to Draco's earlier comment.
He smiled against her hair, worn down at his request. "How would you know?" he asked. "Have you ever been in one?"
"No, but that doesn't make it any less true."
He considered this. "The only problem I have with your statement–and it's a big one–is that I don't believe wars are ever different. They're all over the same petty causes. Territory. Resources. Power."
She poked him. "Draco the Pacifist." she teased. "Surely you don't believe all wars are petty."
"This one is."
Hermione shook her head. "I don't want to believe that. I want to be fighting for a good reason."
"We are, but the entire struggle began with one man's thirst for power. See? It's the same as it always is."
She turned a bit so she could look at him, but the angle was wrong, and she could only see the top of his head. Draco laughed a little before he bent low to kiss her on the forehead.
"If we were in a Muggle war, we wouldn't be sitting together right now." she said.
He gave her an odd look as if to say, 'Of course!'
"No," she began to clarify, "I mean we wouldn't be allowed to be together. You'd be stuck in a trench or something, and I'd be sewing socks. Or perhaps they don't do that sort of thing anymore..."
"Sew socks or fight in trenches?"
"Both."
"How is it you don't know?" he wondered aloud.
Hermione was quiet, but the silence was not sad. Her voice took on a wistful quality as she answered, "I haven't been home in a while. I've forgotten how to be a Muggle." she reached up to touch his golden hair with her hand. "It's funny. My parents don't know anything about You-Know-Who. The war hasn't so much as touched them."
"A good time to be a Muggle." commented Draco, dryly.
"But not a Mudblood."
Draco's posture stiffened against her back, and Hermione regretted what she had said, though she couldn't help feel satisfaction that the term was now more upsetting to him than to her. As if to reassure him, she wiggled a little, and pulled his arms closer around her. But the tightness of his muscles did not change. His breathing felt almost pained against her back, and she knew he was thinking of the attack three months before. The one in which Seamus had died...and had been horribly mutilated.
"I would kill anyone who touched you." he swore. Yet Hermione, uncomfortable with the solemn mood that had smothered their outing, merely pushed her hand under his, where it lay against her outer thigh.
"You touched me. Guess you're out of luck, Malfoy. My boyfriend's going to murder you."
He didn't laugh. "Don't joke! This is serious."
"I know." she retorted, "But that doesn't mean I have to spoil our evening over it."
She wrested herself from his arms in order to turn around and face him properly. His gloomy face only served to amuse her, and she cupped a hand over his cheek. "Such dreary looks." she reprimanded him. "You brood like a Death Eater."
"Stop playing, Hermione!" he warned, trying his hardest not to raise his voice.
"You're right, I'm sorry." she apologized. But she couldn't help herself. "I wonder, would you have loved me as a Death Eater?"
Draco was shocked, as his grey eyes met hers. "Would you have loved me as a Death Eater?"
Hermione was stunned by the coldness in his eyes, and her hand sprang away. But he caught it. "I'm not a Death Eater. I'm here now, and I love you."
"Do you?" she asked, still teasing.
"I could never not love you." Then he looked far away, and added, "I would never hurt you. Not in a million years. Not ever."
Hermione smiled. "I'm sorry I said that. I should know better."
He didn't contradict her. "I could have been one, you know."
"You told me that."
Draco kissed the top of her head. "No, not during Hogwarts. They came a few months after my father died. They still wanted me, or at least You-Know-Who did... He seemed to think it was funny that I'd turned traitor."
Hermione remained silent, uncertain of what to say, but touched that he was opening up to her. This was new information.
Draco continued, "But the really funny thing is that I actually considered it."
"What?" she exclaimed suddenly, bolting up so quickly that she almost tore herself from his arms. "Why?"
However, he knew her well enough not to take offense. He merely smoothed a few strands of hair back from her face in order to tuck them lovingly behind her ears. "When you first saw me in uniform, what was your initial reaction?" he asked, redirecting the conversation to a clearer path.
She didn't quite understand, but answered anyway. "I was a little surprised, but that's only because you had said once that you didn't believe in causes."
He smiled a little at her innocence. Hermione was so trusting of everyone. "Well," he said, "every other person thought it was some horrible mistake. I've proven myself now, of course, but there was a time when I didn't think I ever would. You-Know-Who caught me at that moment."
"But he didn't succeed." Hermione kissed him softly on his smiling mouth.
"No." was his content reply.
Hermione was watching Draco nap on the couch in her office when she heard the beginning of an argument downstairs. Or perhaps it was the climatic conclusion of one. Ron and Harry, of course. It had been roughly two hours since Mrs. Malfoy's abrupt departure, but obviously not enough time had passed for Ron to calm himself. She rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the paperwork sitting on her desk. Except there wasn't very much paperwork, and so Hermione was at a loss for what to do. She could stare at Draco, perhaps.
So she did. And found herself troubled.
His face was buried into one of the couch pillows, with one arm splayed over the back, and the other hanging on the ground. Something about this position annoyed her, but Hermione couldn't explain the reason. Nor could she remember why she had asked him to come with her...oh yes, because of Harry. Poor Harry, she thought to herself. But she forcibly pushed him from her mind, and concentrated instead on Draco's handsome features. His silvery-blonde hair, and his chiseled nose, and the eyes were closed, but she knew they were gray, and then his hands were nice, and so were his feet, and... Hermione stopped when she realized her study resembled an inventory list.
Item #1: Draco Malfoy
"Poor Draco." she said aloud, without knowing why.Her hands fiddled a bit with her quill, and then she put it down, and then flopped onto her desk, leaning her head against her folded arms. Her head was on its side, so she could still see Draco lying on her couch. Her ears were uncovered, and so she could hear Harry's muffled voice from below. What was he saying to Ron? Were they discussing what Narcissa had said? Had they felt as alarmed as she had in that moment? It's so ridiculous to worry, she reassured herself. He can't not be Draco! It's impossible. Hermione thought they wouldn't have even considered reopening the case. After all, Draco was lying on her couch. He was flesh and blood, and here. It occurred to her that Harry might be suspicious, but Hermione knew he could never be so vindictive. They won't reopen the case. ...But what if they did? Hermione couldn't help but feel curious if they could find anything concerning the mysterious events Draco refused to relate to her.
Still, Harry wouldn't do that to her, and so she dismissed the thought. Even if Harry was in love with her, he would rather die than cause her pain. He would see this case as something from which she needed protection, most likely because he suspected Draco himself. Those were just the sort of warped heroics she expected from Harry.
But this time she would let him protect her.
It had occurred to her that there was something wrong with equating the re-opened case with losing Draco. It implied that there was another Draco to be found. But Hermione chose to concentrate on something else. Anything else. Consequently, she found her attention drawn to the growing debate downstairs. She released a trembling sigh, which was stifled against her arm. "Poor Hermione." she whispered.
She heard Ron scream something inaudible, followed by, "I'm leaving!" A door slam from downstairs made her wince.
I had better go see, she thought. A quick glance at Draco and she saw that he hadn't been disturbed by the argument. She stood up, and headed for the door, when she stopped. After hurrying back to her lover, she leaned over him in an attempt to kiss his cheek, but at that moment his eyes opened. He blinked once or twice, before he focused on her.
"Good morning." she smiled.
His eyes widened a bit. "What time is it?"
Hermione pointed at a clock hanging from the wall. "Just a little past noon. Have a good nap?"
"I've got to go to the bathroom." he said, and stood so hastily that Hermione almost felt slighted. And also confused... "You just went an hour ago." she half stated, half-asked.
Draco merely shrugged, and headed for the door.
She watched him walk out, curious, and left for Harry's office.
"You're not a dictator, Harry, and I'll be hanged before I let you ruin this business!"
"I'm not ruining it, Ron! I just don't..."
Ron cut him off. "But you're dictating, and it's a bad habit, Harry. You're not the hero anymore, Harry; and you're certainly not my boss!" He opened the door in an exaggerated fashion, and took an even more exaggerated bow. "I'm leaving!" Then he was out, and the Harry's door was slammed for the second time that day.
For a long time Harry remained motionless at his desk, unsure of whether he should lash out or retain his demeanor. After a minute or so passed, Harry felt he could do neither. He wasn't angry, yet he wasn't calm. Ron had posed a good argument, if not a quiet one. Narcissa's stamp of approval was vastly important for the business. And supposing they complied to her wishes, they could at least discern from further investigation what might have caused Draco's disappearance. Perhaps an interrogation of the man himself might work, although if Harry knew Hermione he knew she had probably already tried that.
The real reason that he didn't want to reopen the case was that he strongly suspected Narcissa was telling the truth. And how would he possibly explain that to Hermione?
After a minute or two of restless finger drumming, Harry saw that he could get nothing more done in his office. He decided he'd be better off brooding at home. Grabbing, his briefcase and suit jacket, Harry exited his office quietly and slipped out the back door of the building. The gloominess of the alley, left over from the Industrial Revolution era, had never bothered him until today when the darkness and isolation seemed to creep in through his skin. Nevertheless, this way was closest to his flat, so he ignored it.
Harry was halfway down the back alley when he heard Hermione's voice. "Leaving already?"
He halted, and turned to find her standing on the steps that led up to their office. He noticed with dismay that the shadows covered her too. He could barely see her face. "Yes, well, Ron and I decided to call it a holiday," he shouted, before coming back.
"Don't I get one too?" she joked.
He regarded her with accusation, thinking of her staying up late to nurse Malfoy back to health. "You've already had one."
Hermione didn't permit an uncomfortable silence. "Were you and he arguing over what Narcissa said?"
"Oh, it's the old argument resurfacing again. You know how Ron thinks I leave him out of things."
"Well, you do..."
"Not this," he interrupted her. "Or what I mean is that I don't mean to disregard his opinion. I simply don't see that there is any more we can possibly do to find someone we've already found."
Hermione took a moment to prepare her argument, or perhaps she was just considering the wisdom of continuing the debate; Harry wasn't sure.
"It doesn't matter whether he is or isn't Draco Malfoy," she replied at last. "We can always find more evidence that he is Draco, even if we already know. You could work on convincing his mother. We do need her patronage, Harry. Ron and I don't have gigantic inheritances."
"Neither do I anymore," he snapped. "I've put just as much into this as you two have. Maybe more. My entire inheritance!"
"But we're partners. You can't disregard us every time you think there's no hope following a lead."
"But Ron is in the minority. It's him who shouldn't disregard us. He thinks we should keep looking, and we don't."
Hermione stared at him, and her cheeks turned a bit red, and her mouth moved without producing sound. The way she played with her hands when she was trying to lie. Then it hit Harry that maybe she wasn't entirely sure of Malfoy's identity either.
"Surely you don't agree with Ron!" The thought of Hermione doubting her lover and turning her back on him was almost too much to hope for. It was a bright, shining beacon pointing to a future that in the past Harry had all but given up. It was too much. She would dash his hopes; she would break his heart.
"No!" she protested. "But we could at least pretend to look."
But Harry knew what she was really thinking. Hermione never could lie to him, and yes, he could see her doubts. He could feel the happiness threatening to burst over him...and so he did the only thing he could. He got angry.
Harry glared at her. "It's a waste of time, Hermione." he warned.
"No it's not." she urged. "We could still find something that's been missed...some small detail. I don't know! I need answers to my questions that Draco won't provide. I don't understand him, Harry. Why won't he trust me? He won't...he won't even speak to me in a way that I can remember why I loved him so much."
She looked lost to Harry, but at the moment he was indifferent. She loved Malfoy? She wanted more proof that he was Malfoy, so she could be free to love him more. And then he would have to stand by and see them flirt with each other. He have to go to their wedding and watch over their children. Maybe take them to the park or the Quidditch Pitch and see them grow up to be exact copies of their mother and father; all the while knowing, feeling in his gut that they should have been his. And he would put up with it, and not abandon Hermione. He'd change her children's diapers and drink beer with that stupid bastard. And why? Because he loved Hermione. And he wanted her to be happy; and she would be unhappy if her best friends wouldn't accept the love of her life.
He wanted to scream at her. How dare she ask him to reopen the investigation? Didn't she have enough as it was without dragging him into it. He could be content to watch from the sidelines, but now he was supposed to help. Harry Potter was supposed to play matchmaker between Hermione and Draco Malfoy. Impossible!
How could she have left the other day without talking about what had happened between them? How could she have forgiven Malfoy so quickly, after everything he had did...after she had told him a thousand times that she wouldn't? She had lied to him!
"Harry," Hermione came to him, placing her hand on his chest to try to bring him back into reality. Harry peered down at her beautiful, familiar features, and for the thousandth time tried not to kiss her. Her breath didn't smell like muggle toothpaste, and her lips didn't look kissable and her perfume wasn't intoxicating. And most importantly, she was not the most beautiful creature that he had ever laid eyes on.
"So he didn't tell you anything about why he left, did he?" he asked, suddenly curious.
"He said he was going on a mission. I assume it was Romania, but I never was certain." She was moving closer, maybe even standing on her toes to reach him. Did she feel it too? The heat between them, and the potential for something grand.
"No, I mean, did he ever tell you who er...well...nevermind," Harry stammered and broke the mood. Hermione lowered herself onto the flats of her feet again. An inch further away than before.
But she was still too close, so he pushed her away. "Maybe if you doubt him no, then you're in love with a ghost. Maybe the man upstairs isn't the Draco you loved and you know it, but I can't be a part of this mess. I feel too much..."
Their eyes met as he trailed off, hers desperate and his storming. "But I'd rather not lose you to a memory," he finished.
Hermione released him. "I love Draco, and I always will." she said. "I'm sorry, Harry."
For an endless second he searched her melancholy face, thinking such a pronouncement ought to have seemed more joyful on her lips. Instead it was tinged with regret, and perhaps disappointment. He shook his head. "I don't believe you," he declared, and swept away and down the dismal alley. "But do what you will. I'll be here when you decide."
Hermione didn't bother to chase him, nor did she follow his retreating form with her eyes. The muffled laughter from the neighboring offices assaulted her; she was insulted that they were amused by her drama. She felt like shouting at them, 'Why is it funny!' But she turned to reenter her office, instead, eyes focused on the ground. I'm not in love with a memory, she assured herself, before ascending the couple stairs.
It was then that she noticed Draco guarding the entrance. He was positioned under the doorway, with the shadows cloaking his face. It was quite possible that he had overheard everything.
Hermione was afraid.