Disclaimer: I'm not making money off this, and these aren't my characters.
Author's Notes: This has been sitting around on my computer for months now, while I tried to break my writer's block. But since it's been so long, I'll post it now and write the rest of the flashback later. Even if later is next summer…
Dedicated to IcyStormz because without her this most likely would have sat around on my hard drive for a few more months.
Chapter X: All in the Past II
by Jenni
*****
Hermione didn't know whether to be angry or thankful that Harry had insisted the she be relocated to the spell-cracking division. She was certainly at home here, and had already devised a counter curse for the elusive finger-meld spell. She'd seen that before, and it wasn't pretty. Nevertheless, she would have preferred to be with Harry and Ron. They had never been separated before, and the thought that one of them might...might die without her being there was simply unbearable. But it was Harry's unit, and he had kicked her out. Her latest accident seemed to have rattled him past the point of reason, for although she was a soldier and had accepted the consequences of war, it seemed perfectly logical to Harry to force her to leave the battlefield, where she might possibly and unexpectedly die.
"Punter," she mumbled.
The Auror working to her left seemed offended.
"Not you," she clarified quickly.
He hurumphed and went back to his proofs. But just then a shadow appeared over her desk.
"Granger?" it addressed her.
She looked up to see a pair of large, hairy nostrils looming over her, and over the bridge of an enormous beak nose were the thick-rimmed, plastic spectacles of her supervisor, Amos Finkle.
"Yes, sir?" He held no rank, but she called him sir anyway. He looked like a "sir."
"This just came in for us. It's a new curse. Never been heard of," he explained.
"You want me to crack this all by myself?!" She leafed quickly through the folder.
"Of course not. Assemble your team by tomorrow morning."
And that was that. There was no hope of getting to the officer's mess tonight. No hope of seeing Harry or Ron or Ginny before they left for their latest mission. Not with this new batch of work.
She stayed until it was lights out, and then she stayed until lights out was past. Only when the clock displayed 23:12, did she emerge from the office, drunk with exhaustion. She stumbled over the step on the way out, attracting the attention of the guards, whom she ignored. They were probably trying not to laugh.
She looked around for Harry, wondering if he would come this evening as he sometimes did when work took too long. But he was not there. Nor was Ron. They were most likely in the barracks, preparing for whatever it was they were preparing for. So she tucked the folder under her arm and headed to the women's barracks on the eastern side of the camp, all the while thinking. The list of names had been written up. The owls had been sent...was there anything else?
Once again she tripped, but this time over a person. A flurry of papers were scattered, and Hermione realized as the second person–a man–shouted "Accio papers!" that she had not been the only late worker.
"Watch where you're going!" ordered the gruff voice of...Draco Malfoy? She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him. Perhaps the end of seventh year at Hogwarts? He was taller, it seemed, and broader in the shoulders. His hair was still slicked back, but she could tell from its slightly mussed nature that he had been running his hands through it during the day. But most importantly, he was wearing the uniform of an Auror. She could see the red shoulder insignia as he bent over to collect the papers that he had dropped once more in his agitation. It seemed strange to her that she didn't feel more surprised by this, but indeed, the sight of Draco Malfoy in an Auror's uniform was vaguely familiar to her for some reason.
But immediately after he stood to face her, he seemed regretful for his tone when he saw her. "Oh," he said, without any particular inflection, rude or otherwise. "It's you, Granger. I'm sorry...they're just important files."
"Then you should be keeping them hidden," she snapped out of habit or perhaps in order that she might not be overwhelmed by his presence. "Honestly, the status of security here is far inferior to that in the Muggle world. People can just walk in and grab whatever they want..."
But Draco Malfoy didn't seem to be listening. Instead, he fumbled with his folder, straightening its contents. "Can I buy you a drink?" he interrupted.
Hermione was put off. Her face turned red, but something about the urgency of his voice made her feel amenable to his offer. She almost accepted, but then she remembered that she was tired, and it was late, and...
"Well, not now, of course," he announced. "But when the mess is open." He was nervous, and Hermione could tell. But Draco Malfoy didn't stammer when he was nervous as other people did; his tone became callous and irate. But she felt somehow that he didn't mean it.
She smiled, not unkindly. "Maybe."
Malfoy's delight seemed genuine, but it was hidden all too quickly behind a confident smirk that she could barely see under the floodlights. "You know, you're quite attractive when you're not covered in mud."
Hermione blinked once before her ire got the best of her. She couldn't understand what he meant by that. Mud? Was that supposed to be some sort of play on 'Mudblood?' "Excuse me?" she inquired.
Malfoy lost a little confidence at her tone. "W..well, I suppose you don't remember, do you? But..."
"Oh, just get out of my way, you poncey little ferret. I'm tired and I want to go to bed."
She ran away before she could see him kick the dirt in disappointment.
*****
The night had been so distressing to Harry that he had barely registered Hermione's absence at the mess. The reason for his disturbance was Ron.
"You can't ask me to do this, Ron," he had said. "It's suicide!"
"He was my brother, Harry. I've got to do something."
Harry shook his head. "Well, it's not as if you're not already fighting evil. You don't need to do anymore."
"But this was his mission!" Ron continued to argue. His voice was raised, and was also jarringly sober. Too sober for the mess. People were beginning to stare because of his lack of levity, which was unwelcome in such a setting. Harry, motioned for his friend to quiet down.
"There's no guarantee that I'll have any influence over who they pick to go to Romania."
Ron fumed. "You're the Great Harry Potter. Everyone listens to you."
He was furious; he was unreasonable, and Harry knew from experience that nothing could change Ron's course of mind except for time that they did not have. Sooner or later Ron would do something stupid for the sake of revenge. Sooner there was tomorrow's mission. Later there was the mission to Romania. It was supposed to be top secret, and how Ron had discovered it was beyond Harry's ability to guess. But Fred had asked to be one of the team members, and now Ron felt duty bound to take his place. If he could pull some strings, Ron could have his wish. And then he would have something to live for...some sort of purpose that might keep him alive longer than tomorrow. But Romania was just...well, it was suicide... Straight into the Death Eaters' claws. How could he send his best mate into that?
"Ron," he pleaded, "I can't do anything."
"You'll do it if you're my friend," warned Ron. "For seven straight years of school I followed you around like a lost puppy. I fought by your side! I still follow your every order. Why won't you do this for me?"
"You're not trained!"
"I'll GET trained."
Harry sank into his chair, took a quick shot of fire whiskey and looked away. Anywhere but Ron. "I don't want to be the cause of your death. Not like Sirius."
"You wouldn't be."
Ron leaned forward to place his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Look mate, I'm a grown man. I can make my own choices. I just need a little help with this one."
When Harry merely shrugged, Ron sat back down. Yet he was undeterred. He was determined to be heard.
"He was my brother, Harry. And they…...they practically mutilated him. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I just want to finish what he started."
"You want revenge," corrected Harry. He longed for another shot of whiskey as he shuffled in his chair. "Oh Hell, Ron."
"Think about it at least."
Harry sighed. He couldn't do this for Ron. He'd do anything for him, but he couldn't send him to Romania. Ron wasn't capable of it...Ron wasn't trained. Ron was hasty; he was going for the sake of a vendetta; he couldn't work undercover. He would compromise the entire mission. He would die.
Harry was aware of his friend's impatience, which was being hidden only under a mask of necessary camaraderie. He had never seen Ron this way: coldly calculating. Even headed towards manipulative, but Harry understood. Nevertheless, he wished Hermione was with them. Even the sound of her banter with Ron would be more welcoming to him than Ron's steely anger.
Hermione? Where was she? Probably still at work.
"Harry, you're not answering me," Ron pushed.
"It's out of the question."
He remembered how Hermione had begged him not to go to the Ministry. He remembered how he hadn't listened.
"Ron, it's not as if what we're doing now doesn't matter..."
"There's got to be a Weasley on that team. THAT team, Harry. It was Fred's work! It was his research, and when this mission succeeds, I want his name to be remembered." But when Harry rolled his eyes, Ron shot up from his seat, letting his chair clatter to the ground. "And as God is my witness, Harry, if you don't help me, I'll find some other way to go."
"You're asking too much, Ron."
"Yeah, too much for you," he spat before stalking towards the exit.
*****
The officer's mess was nearly empty due to the recent increase in offensive activity or something to that effect. Yes, even the officers were gone. Juniors to the front, seniors to the board room. Hermione felt the distinction acutely. Although, she knew no lack of valor, she felt like a coward, sitting here spooning her over-boiled peas into her mouth, thinking about how she'd rather have carrots while her compatriots--possibly her dearest friends--were dying in droves. Goddamn Harry, she thought. If she had been less angry she might have been able to understand his reasoning, but she could not. She felt only that she had been left behind, and that Harry had no cosideration at all for her concerns and desires. But by Jove she wasn't going to cry. Crying was for children. No...she wouldn't...
"Are you all right, Granger?"
Hermione knew the voice immediately this time, but if she had not, she nevertheless would have recognized the initials embroidered upon the proffered handkerchief, which he held in front of her.
"Fine," she snapped, more harshly than she had intended. It was embarrassing that he had caught her crying. It was even more embarrassing that he had refused to ignore it, yet she hadn't meant to sound hostile.
"You don't look fine," Draco answered as she struggled to say something more civil. However, his genuine concern irritated her. She couldn't help wondering why Malfoy had such a hard time staying out of other peoples' business, hers specifically. After all, he wouldn't have walked straight up to oh, say...Major Stanton and handed him a handkerchief.
"Why should you care at all?" she asked, meaning to convey that she felt his concern to be unnecessary, and was about to continue with a lecture on sexism in the military, when she saw the brief flicker of injury in his eyes.
His handkerchief was quietly retracted.
"I don't know," he replied. "Why should I care about a filthy Mudblood?"
Hermione leapt from her seat with her arm raised to slap him. Yet he caught it within an inch of his cheek and did not release her wrist.
"I'm evil to the core, aren't I?" he said. "I couldn't be seen with someone of your pedigree, can I?"
Hermione was almost exhaling flames as he finished, completely oblivious to the longing that Draco restrained as he stared at her lips. She was oblivious also to the way he held her wrist: so gently that she could have pulled free at any second. She was oblivious to the fact that she had not done so. Her hand was now in his, and he had lowered it away form his face. Now he was pressing the soft cloth of his handkerchief into her palm. Only then did she realize that she had not pulled away.
"I'm not all bad, Hermione."
She blinked with sudden understanding. "You stupid ferret, that's not what I meant."
He smiled. "Let's go to the club. I'll buy you a drink."
For a moment she considered it, but finally could not bring herself to say either "yes" or "no."
"You said you'd think about it," he urged her gently.
"Malfoy, you just called me a Mudblood."
"I didn't mean it!" he cried, looking exasperated. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking somewhere between perturbed and hurt. "You must know I didn't mean it."
Hermione sighed before grabbing her purse. "No I don't," she replied curtly before ducking around him and exiting the mess.
As soon as she passed through the door she looked down to see that her hand still clutched his handkerchief.
*****
Hermione did not use the handkerchief, nor did she try to sniff the cologne, nor did she carry it with her always...nor did she throw it out. Far from being aggravated by Malfoy's persistence, she found it rather flattering. What's more, her sessions of banter with him had become the only reason for getting up in the morning. She found work dull even though spell-cracking was a worthy mental challenge. To a former field officer, desk work was impossible. She badly wanted to be doing something.
It took her only a few unscheduled meetings with Malfoy—she was hesitant to call them 'dates'—for her to realize that he felt the same way. They were linked by one common feeling of uselessness. Draco had never said anything explicit, but she could recognize it in the way he would sigh as he picked up his papers. In the tone of voice in which he spoke of his superior officers. In the way he did not try to console her as she complained about how Harry had simply cast her out of his unit, but listened attentively.
While at first she had felt uncomfortable speaking to him, for there were times when his gray eyes would meet hers, and he would refuse to look away. She had found herself blushing, even a little irritated by his confidence. Yet she had found herself unable to keep from confiding in him. Perhaps it wasn't so much that she found him trustworthy as the fact that she was lonely. But as time wore on, she confided in him more and more, until she began to have imaginary conversations with him in her head when the real Draco was unavailable.
And once when he had dared to stare at her with those un-deterrable silver eyes, she allowed herself the pleasure of staring back. What had followed was a comfortable silence of a full minute. A comfortable silence.
It was at that moment that Hermione realized there was no good reason not to let Draco buy her that drink. It had become something of a joke, in fact. He would always appear at the club, and make his offer. She would refuse with some sort of witticism, which she had spent an entire day concocting, and then he would sit beside her anyway. Unfortunately, the day she decided was also the day when Ron and Harry returned from the front. Needless to say, she forgot all about the club in her excitement.
But over the few weeks when her friends had been gone, Draco had become something more than an old acquaintance. She found that even when she was arm-in-arm with her two best friends that she missed him. His rare smiles, his cocky gaze, his ready ear…his understanding.
The next time she went to the club, she searched for him with her eyes. Ron was right beside her, behaving awfully cheery considering his recent tragedy. Hermione recalled seeing Harry charming his friend's Butterbeer earlier, and laughed at the inherent implications. Well, Ron was being rather amorous…
"You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen," he said, "They're so clear I can see myself in them."
"Ron, I think that's one of the worst openers I've ever heard."
"Ok, how about this one…"
But Hermione threw her hands up. She didn't want to listen to this. Wasn't that Draco standing in the back? Why didn't he come to her like usual?
She told Ron to go ask Harry, but Ron refused.
Wait, where had Draco gone? Without stopping to think about Ron, she bolted from her seat and grabbed her Auror's cloak. "I've got to go!"
She raced out toward the exit through which Draco had left, bumping into several people as she tried to get through the door. And when she was through, she saw him waiting for her and smiled.
*****