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Chapter Three
"I have a business dinner up in London this evening," Andrew announced at breakfast one morning. Hermione nodded, gently setting a mug full of coffee before him. Andrew took a hearty swig before casting a wary glance at Draco who had just stumbled in a few minutes prior. The recent news however seemed to perk him up immensely.
Although Draco had invited himself to stay in the spare bedroom with Hermione and Andrew ("It really is so hard to find a decent hotel these days and I honestly don't know the area that well"), Draco and Hermione had yet to spend a minute alone. Every time Draco came into the kitchen to help Hermione or went in the living room to talk to her Andrew was right there, rooted at her side like some protective barrier. In some way, it pleased Draco. If Andrew was suddenly so close with Hermione he must have felt threatened. On the other hand though, Draco was greatly annoyed. He had come to speak with Hermione, not some muggle git who could barely cough out an intelligible sentence. He was always saying something about the company where he worked, a particularly large corporation dealing with city affairs. Draco could have cared less as to Andrew spent his days, but the gentleman he had been raised as listened quietly each night, an indifferent smirk resting on his lips.
"Draco," Andrew began, pulling out the chair next to him. Despite the week that they had spent together Andrew was still unnerved by Draco's presence ("It's that dreadful smirk Hermione dear, it's just so unsettling") and pronounced his name awkwardly. "Since all week you've been cooped up here, I thought that maybe you would like to venture out for dinner on the town tonight. Since I won't be here, I thought it would be nice to give Hermione a break from cooking." Andrew suggested. Draco nodded eagerly, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee that Hermione held out to him.
"That sounds perfect—it will give Hermione and I time to catch up," Draco said to Andrew's quickly-souring face.
"Oh, well, that would be lovely, but I—I meant for you to go out on your own," Andrew admitted, trying to fix whatever opportunity he had just opened. "I mean, Hermione probably has loads of stuff to do here." He glanced back at Hermione who stood frozen at his side. After a minute she caught her breath.
"Loads of stuff," Hermione echoed numbly to Draco's strong protests.
"Nonsense, Andrew said it himself. You need a break. Plus, I know the perfect restaurant to go to."
"What restaurant could you possibly know of around here? You've been here a week and haven't left the house—it's impossible!" Hermione said skeptically. Draco smirked, gently brushing Hermione's cheek with his hand.
"Oh ye of little faith," he murmured softly before returning to his coffee.
"In what world is this perfect?" Hermione moaned, glancing around the dilapidated pub. There was a mocking tone in her voice that made Draco smile.
"I thought you'd be more comfortable around your own kind," Draco remarked mischievously, gently leading Hermione to a table in the back. Hermione looked up abruptly, her eyes darting around the room. Suddenly, things began to fall into place. The mysterious hooded figures milling around the bar, the rugged bartender with the glowing eyes and the odd green sparks hovering around a group of travelers. It was so obvious that Hermione was surprised she had not noticed it before.
"You brought me to a wizard pub?" Hermione cried incredulously. Draco smiled, pulling out a chair for her. Despite her obvious misgivings, Hermione sat down, slowly removing her coat. Since Draco had refused to give any indication as to where they were going, Hermione had been at a loss for what to wear. Ultimately, she had decided on something simple and clean, a decision that she was inwardly grateful for. She would have been mortified if she had gotten all dressed up for—this. Hermione looked around at all of the shady characters, a feeling of general uneasiness brewing in her stomach. "Is this place even legitimate?" She pressed. Then, with a gasp, she turned to Draco, leaning across the table so he could hear her voice, which had dropped considerably. "Are these people deatheaters?" She hissed heatedly.
"Relax Hermione," Draco remarked easily, signaling for someone—presumably the waitress—to come over. Hermione clutched her coat close, suddenly nervous.
"It is, isn't it? Of all the low down, inconsiderate—,"
"Relax Granger; do you honestly think that known deatheaters would congregate in a public pub?Or that I would bring you to eat with them? Especially after the war caused so much strife for them?" Hermione blushed, realizing how irrational she sounded.
"I'm sorry; I'm just, not used to this type of—environment— anymore." Hermione apologized carefully. Draco shrugged.
"So, you want to tell me why you left this type of—environment?" Draco asked, mimicking her tone. Hermione sighed heavily, glancing up from her lap. She had been so involved in taking in the scenes playing out around her that she hadn't even noticed Draco had ordered and the drinks had been brought to the table. Hermione fingered her cup nervously, running her finger around the rim.
"It's okay if you don't want to tell me," Draco said after a moment but Hermione shook her head, resolving to explain everything to him. She had to tell someone, it had been eating her alive for eight years! Harry and Ron wouldn't understand—she was sure of it. They were amazing people—her best friends—but as odd as it sounded, they just didn't know her well enough to understand how easy it had been for her to leave the wizarding world. Ron had spent his entire life in the wizarding world and had never known anything different. Harry, although he had only been a part of the wizarding community for fourteen years, had had a miserable time in the muggle world. It had been a relief for him to escape it. Hermione on the other hand had grown up in the muggle world and had been having a pretty decent time until she was eleven. She had never resented the muggle world and it had been much easier than she had anticipated going back to it. Ron and Harry wouldn't be able to understand how she could just leave something like that. Draco on the other hand—well, Hermione knew that he may not understand, but he wouldn't discourage her.
"I was scared," Hermione said suddenly, surprising even herself. It was a declaration that she had not intended to make, especially not to Draco or anyone else for that matter. She had been ready—even willing—to admit how she hated seeing her friends and classmates dying around her, how she wasn't as brave as everyone thought, and how all of the little scrapes and skirmishes she had gotten herself into were all just luck. She had never been prepared to admit her fear. Draco frowned, his eyebrows coming to a furrow over his passionate eyes.
"Scared? You Granger? What do you have to be scared about?" He implored, absently sipping from his mug. Hermione shrugged, pushing back a strand of her bushy hair. As requested by Draco when he had walked in on her trying in vain to style the bushy mess, Hermione had left her hair down and untouched, a decision she was now coming to regret. She had forgotten how heavy and stifling it could be, having grown accustomed to pulling it neatly out of her face. Now was one of those times that it was lending heat to her form, increasing her temperature by the minute. Hermione shrugged.
"I just hated all of the fighting. It was so hard watching everyone around me die. I was—I am—scared of…losing people I guess. Losing my friends, losing my parents and all the people I've grown up with." Hermione said deeply, her own face scrunching in concern. Draco reached out, presumably to take her hand, when suddenly he pulled back. Hermione glanced down and saw it; her engagement ring twinkling noticeably. Hermione slid her hand off the table, pulling it into her lap. She wrung her hands nervously, spinning the ring on her finger.
"Were you scared of losing me?" Draco asked quietly, his voice throaty and questioning. Hermione smiled, laughing easily, grateful that the tension that had settled over them had finally been broken.
"Yes Draco, I was terrified at losing you. That's why I left you know, sheer terror that you would be lost in battle." Hermione deadpanned. Draco laughed, leaning across the table.
"I have something to tell you Granger," he said softly. He was so quiet that Hermione had to lean in too just to hear what he was saying. They were practically nose to nose and Hermione had to wonder if Draco had planned it like that. "I would never be lost in battle. I'm too smart to die." At that Hermione burst out laughing, tossing her head back, completely absorbed in deep belly laughs. Draco watched with amusement. This is the Hermione I knew, he thought to himself. The one who smiles and laughs and doesn't slink in the shadows of a kitchen.
"Too smart for dying—that's a good one," Hermione admitted, settling back down. She reached out and drank heartily from her mug. The brew was heavy and burned her throat but she didn't care. She was beginning to relax.
"Hey, it worked for you. Okay, another question," Draco announced suddenly, calling for another round. Hermione nodded, giving him silent permission to continue. He smiled. "So, what I want to know is exactly what you see in that Andrew fellow. I mean, compared to me that is," Draco said easily. Hermione bristled at the question, her face becoming suddenly serious and stony. Draco stopped smiling, realizing he may have gone a little bit too far this time. "Listen Hermione, I didn't really mean anything by it—I was just curious." Draco said quickly, but Hermione shook her head.
"Andrew is so safe," she admitted gradually, as if taking time to really think it over in her head. "I don't have to worry about anything. I know he'll come home from work each day. I know that if—when—I marry him, I'll be safe and taken care of for life. He just…he doesn't pose a threat."
"Is that what I was?" Draco asked loudly. "Was I 'a threat'?" Hermione raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, are-you-kidding-me? He shrugged, genuinely interested.
"Yes." Hermione said simply, sitting back. Then, after a moment of hesitation, she smiled. "You still are." She smiled at his faux-shocked expression.
"I'm hurt! You think I'm a threat?" Draco asked in an overly-dramatic voice. Hermione laughed. Despite what she told herself about her life, she was enjoying this. Real conversation, back and forth, between two friends. It was completely unlike the conversations she had with Andrew; the conversations that consisted of cooking information, data on the city's landfills and street cleaning, sometimes the occasional conversation about a book or movie. It was always the same. Not this, not like with Draco.
"Yes, andI think you still are athreat," Hermione stated matter-of-factly. Draco looked hurt.
"And why is that?" He pressed, obviously taken with the topic. Hermione smiled, the brew beginning to burn in her stomach. Her head was beginning to spin but she suspected that it was more from her choice of company than the drink before her.
"Because of this," Hermione said softly, reaching for his arm. She pushed his sleeve up, revealing the dark mark that still remained, etched into his skin like a poorly done tatoo. Essentially, Hermioneknew, that's what it was.Hermione knew it was useless now but it was the mere symbol that served to keep her on high alert. "Because of this," Hermione continued, showing Draco how shaky her hand had become at the mere touch of his arm. "And because of this," she concluded, leaning heavily across the table. Draco leaned towards her, meeting her halfway. Their lips brushed for a second before Hermione jerked back, her senses coming back in one flood of reason. When she opened her eyes Draco was smiling, the feeling of her lips on his still dancing on his mouth.
"What do you say we head back home?" Draco suggested, standing up. He took Hermione's coat and helped her ease into it. She smiled gratefully, gathering her purse. When she stood something fell from her lap and rolled under the table. With a pang of surprise she realized it was her engagement ring. Sometime during the course of the evening she had taken it off and had never realized. For the past year and a half it had lived on her finger, never budging for an instant and here she had spent an entire evening without it and had never realized. It was almost as if—no, that's not right, Hermione chided herself, but it was almost as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Or, her finger rather.