Chapter 23

Draco slept, deeper than he had in a long time. He dreamt of lakes and ghostly echoes, and some lovely creature with the slightest touch that disappeared the moment he tried to focus on it. He was alone, which meant there was no threat.

Waking, he felt groggy, having no idea where he was. Everything was silent, except the noise from out on the street. First thing, he grabbed his wand that was in its typical place under his pillow. It was the easiest way to keep it, because it didn't move as he did, and was easily accessible if he needed it.

Hermione seeped into his mind, along with the memories from before he'd slept. He'd say yesterday, but he had no idea what time or day it was. What he did know was that she was here somewhere. Apparently not standing here glowering at him—which might serve her best interests right now, because he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't crucio her again.

Laying back, he turned over and faced the other wall. His motivation to do anything simply wasn't there. Actually, he couldn't think of a single thing he wanted to right then. Catching her was what had driven him and now she was caught, and she wasn't going anywhere.

A religious painting was on the wall. Whoever lived here was religious, although the apartment had been warded to repel anyone who sought to come here. A picture of Jesus with outstretched arms and glowing sunshine behind him. Stupid muggles. Although he did admit there was something appealing about the religious aesthetic, particularly in South America. All shiny and bright and hopeful in a world that was none of those things. A true fallacy. People wanted hope, or they would see how pointless their lives were.

Why did Granger fight so hard? What was it she was fighting for? What had her plan been, to live here like a muggle? What was the point of that? Or did she think she was going to launch one of her political campaigns? She clearly didn't understand the wizarding world. The world wasn't the reasonable, loving place she wanted it to be. It never had been. Magical default traits were dark. They wanted elitism and to be apart of it. Granger's ambitions threatened everyone's inherent position and privilege.

Strictly, he couldn't blame her for trying to improve her own, but she'd always been fighting an uphill battle.

Coming here, he hadn't planned to return with her, but it turned out he wouldn't kill her when it had come down to it. A decision he couldn't really understand. So what would he do with her now? Take her home? The charm he'd put on her meant she needed to be where he was. Well, needed was a flexible term. It was to her benefit to be where he was.

Hunger clenched his belly. He couldn't recall the last time he'd eaten either. Everything in him had been honed on the task of hunting her, and now exhaustion and hunger were exerting themselves again.

Rising out of bed, he slipped his wand into the holder along his lower arm and then pulled on his jacket. "I'm going to eat," he said and heard nothing in return. Granger was sulking, because he would bet his life she would never be able to undo the charms he had on her.

Leaving the apartment, he walked down the stairs and out of the building, into the blinding light outside. Actually, it was a little gray, but it felt bright. Honestly, he didn't know what kind of food they ate here, but there had to be a restaurant around somewhere. Picking a direction, he walked, seeking the areas that were more populated, figuring restaurants would be that way.

Hermione was either in agony now, or she was following. Her choice. He refused to look, but he came across a restaurant. Draco entered and took a seat and then quickly ordered. People looked at him, because he certainly didn't look local.

A figure slipped into the seat opposite him and he knew it was her. Seems she preferred his company to sheer agony.

Her gaze was on the table and she sat with her arms crossed. Was that the look of defeat on Hermione Granger?

They sat in silence for a moment. Draco wasn't sure what he felt. His emotions were incomprehensible of late, but the comfort of victory had displaced some of the ill ease he suffered from.

Her cheeks were rosy and her skin tanned. Seems she'd spent some time in the sun. She'd always returned to Hogwarts with a tanned before the war, from wherever her parents liked to go. France, he had some inkling it was.

There was no makeup on her face, which was a stark difference from the society ladies of wizarding Britain. But Hermione had always been different. That was the point.

Finally she looked at him. Clear brown eyes that had seen too much. Freckles were sprinkled across her nose. And she'd slept with Flint. What was somewhat inconceivable, not to mention revolting.

In some ways, she was still eleven in his mind. The girl who'd turned up having read everything she could get her hands on so as to not be entirely lost in a world she'd never experienced before. A defensive measure. All her eagerness to learn had been a defensive measure, as if the more she knew, the more she had to fight with.

Maybe that had always been the source of this tension between them, because he'd always known on some level that she was a fighter.

"You can order if you want," he said.

Although strictly, he wouldn't mind her sitting here watching him eat, he would grow tired of the stares of other people.

She ordered in Spanish. Of course she did. Knowledge was power in Granger's book.

Then they sat in silence until her drink came. Water with ice. It suggested Granger still had her game face on. Would she never admit her defeat?

"Why Argentina?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Far away. I've always wanted to see it. The weather's pleasant. If I got the accent down, I could fit in really well. And none of you ever would."

"Well, that worked out," he said tartly.

"How'd you find me?"

"I tracked you as you moved. The muggles film everything. Search hard enough and you're like a beacon."

"I'll use Polyjuice potion next time."

"And how will you brew it?"

"I'm sure I can find a way."

"You'd have to escape the charms I have on you. How do you know I haven't placed a tracker on you?"

"Because you wouldn't want to chance anyone else being able to track me."

This made him smile, because it was true. Trackers were too easy to pick up on, and he couldn't afford anything near him being tracked. "We could disappear and no one would know."

Her eyes shifted between his, but she didn't react especially. The food came and disturbed the conversation that was to be.

Steak for him and she'd ordered pasta. This all looked so civilized, as if they were meeting on a date. Hunger flared inside him as the smell of the food hit him. It had been some time since he'd eaten.

"Where'd you get the identity?" he asked after he'd eaten his fill.

"A slave at Flint's mansion. I got a passport under her name with my picture."

"And you would have gotten a new one here."

"In time."

"Unfortunately, that day won't come."

She leaned back in her chair and looked around for a moment. Something in her refused to engage with him, because what was there left to fight? He'd won. Now it was more interesting to see Hermione in defeat. Would she be plotting the entire time? Biding her time for an opportunity to escape? That must have been what she'd been like with Flint.

"Flint made all this happen. I'm sure he ruined your plans."

Twisting her head slightly to the side, she regarded him.

"Tell me," he urged.

"No."

Anger rose in him again. "Then I'll see you when I see you." He apparated away and emerged back in the cool, dark interior of the apartment.

That had been careless and might draw the attention of the local wizarding authorities. Not that he particularly cared. Adhering to the rules held no interest for him, but neither did flouting them for the hell of it. Neither was he a thief, so he sent a gold coin to appear back at the restaurant. Malfoys weren't thieves. It was below them.

A good while passed before she appeared, anger blazing in her eyes. "You bastard."

"Am I? You're not dead, so some would say I'm merciful. Or did you expect this to be roses and chocolates? I'm sorry you're disappointed."

She rushed him and he quickly restrained her. Although she might be a fighter, she wasn't particularly good at fighting. It had never been her strong suit. And here they were again—much too close. Close enough to undermine, and that was somewhere he couldn't go.

He shoved her away, hard enough so she fell on the floor. A glowering stare looked back at him. "Careful, darling, I might leave you."

Turning away, he returned to the bed where he'd lingered. Suddenly, he felt exhausted again. Dealing with her was draining. Maybe this had all been a mistake. But then he knew he'd been driven here, because there was no alternative. A soothing victory to distract from the yawning emptiness.