Chapter 16

It was Tuesday and Hermione felt like this week had been dragging on already. With the full moon on Saturday, she had been rushing around to meet her clients and working closely with Harry to set up duty rotations, working with the Aurors familiarizing them with the coins and various weak points of each of the clients. All of this and it was only Tuesday.

There was another something that had been nagging at the back of her brain, but she tried to give it little thought as possible. She hadn't heard form Malfoy, though she still wasn't entirely sure she wanted to hear from him again, there was no doubt in her mind the next time he contacted her it would be for a second date. She had still not decided if she wanted another date but Malfoy was challenging, he was very smart, and something about his refined taste and composure intrigued Hermione. She sighed defeatedly, she did want another date. The problem really was that she was still not sure if she should want to see him again. While he was truly not the person she had known before, that did not make up for the horrible things he had said and done. She chewed on the end of her pen. She had stopped reading the file in front of her again when a sharp knock came at her door.

Hermione's head whipped up so fast that one of the muscles in he neck burned. "Come in," she called through gritted teeth, slowly standing.

"Hey, 'Mione." A jovial Ron entered the room. "Just headed to lunch, care to join?"

"Oh, Ron." Hermione looked at the stacks of papers on her desk. "I really shouldn't, Ron. I have loads to get done before Saturday."

Ron smiled. "Well, I figured you'd say that, so I brought a sandwich from the trolley down in the atrium for you and I figured we could eat in here or I'd just have two sandwiches for lunch."

Hermione laughed. "Ron, thank you." She smiled as she sat in her chair.

Ron took the seat across from her. "Well, I have known you for over a decade now so there's that." He chuckled and handed her a sandwich.

Hermione opened her sandwich, it was the sandwich she got every time from the trolley, and Ron knew exactly what it was, he had yet to get the wrong sandwich, in fact. Hermione chewed slowly, her eyes drifting over Ron and his still terrible, table manners. Ron was dependable and loyal, he always cared for her and wanted what was best for her. He had been there through thick and thin and was as devoted as any friend or boyfriend should be. To top it off he knew her, to a deep personal level that only Harry had surpassed, and the crazy thing was it he loved her regardless of her many flaws. She had truly loved Ron, so what was wrong with her? Why, when she had this incredible devoted man, could she not settle down and be happy with him? Was she just not meant for marriage?

"Mione?" Ron asked his mouth half full of food.

Hermione snapped out of it. "Ron, can I ask you something and will you be brutally honest with me?"

Ron chewed some more and nodded vigorously.

"Am I just not made for love or marriage?" She paused. "I know there are some people out there who spend their entire lives working on their careers and they are completely content with only that."

Whatever Ron had been thinking she was going to ask, that was not it by the look on his face. Thankfully he swallowed and thought for a moment. "I don't know, Mione, I think you're career was definitely a factor in our relationship, but I wouldn't say you aren't meant for love. I don't think anyone isn't meant for love. I mean that's kind of the point of life, innit?"

"You think that life is the for the sole purpose of finding love?" Her eyebrows knitting together.

"Yea, I mean love as a whole, friend love, family love. I mean, it's all love and I think we're all meant for that. While romantic love is great and all it's not the sole purpose, not by a long shot, but it's great when you have it." Ron voice careful and thoughtful.

"Am I just not meant for romantic love, then?" Hermione was becoming increasingly worried.

"I don't know..." Ron sputterd when Hermione's face turned depressive looking. "N-n-no, I mean I think you are meant for romance. I just don't know when you'll be ready for it.

"What do you mean?" Hermione sincerely wanted to know.

"I mean, when it was you and me, you wanted this." He gestured around her office. "You wanted to do and make something of yourself, and I'm not saying it was a bad thing at all, I definitely think you can have both, but at that point, you wanted this more than you wanted me." He thought for a moment. "I'm not saying that you have to give up you job for love, but you have to be willing to give a little more to love than your job." Ron took another bite.

Hermione looked down at her sandwich. She wasn't sure what answer she was looking for or even if he had given her the right answer. "I don't know how I can devote anymore of my time to something else, though."

Ron sighed. "Look, Mione, it's not about devoting time, it's about putting in effort to be present and to care when you are there. And not that you didn't care when we were together, but you just kinda let work dictate your life, everything you did was for work and it made it really hard to be in a relationship with you. If the war taught me anything, it's that life is precious, and the people around you, the people who love you, they're sacred. You never know when one of them will be ripped away from you. I mean, look how many people we lost." Ron paused, Fred's memory hung heavily between them. "I don't think you can't have love, Mione, I think you just don't allow yourself to have it."

Hermione let the words sink in, she wanted honest and she got it. "Thanks, Ron." Her tone somber now, she smiled. She loved him, she truly did.

After another long day at the ministry, Hermione stepped in to her living room and took a deep breath. Ron's words had been lingering in her head the rest of the day. He was right, she knew it, she spent very little time when they were together actually with him. Sure, they lived in the same house and slept in the same bed but she was constantly working, she wasn't present for him she didn't invest time in to him. She was going to be alone forever, her and the thirty-seven cats. Hermione sighed again and plopped her files on the dinner table, dinner time would be soon and she needed to figure out what she wanted to make. Though when she stepped in to the kitchen a very handsome eagle owl waited patiently on her windowsill outside with an emerald envelope in its beak. Hermione opened the window and the owl gracefully swooped in on the back of one of her dinette chairs and turned its lovely eye on her, the envelope still grasped in its beak. She walked over and took the envelope out of its beak and turned it over, there was no writing on the front but the seal had the Malfoy emblem pressed in black ink. Of course Malfoy would have sent an over-the-top letter to her. There was absolutely no reason to send a letter in an envelope with a wax seal, a note would have sufficed, she laughed to herself. Prat. She opened the letter, and on crisp paper with long, graceful letters, Malfoy had written:

Granger,

Dinner went well. I would like to take you out again. I have arrangements this weekend, but next?

Draco Malfoy.

Hermione smiled. Dinner went well. It amazed her how one moment he was willing to tell her his entire life story and the next he was calm and stoic, barely writing anything on a letter so meticulously sealed and sent. Ron's words surfaced to her mind again. She highly doubted when he told her to want love that he meant Malfoy, but that was a detail she would sort out later.

Malfoy,

Dinner did go well. Next Saturday will be fine.

Hermione Granger.

She scrawled on a piece of parchment. She did have envelopes, and she could make candle wax work, she transformed a spoon in to a fancy looking stamper with her initials HG inscribed on it and sent the owl off once again.

Draco could feel the aching in his bones, the last few days before the full moon were always hard, his body ached, his mind felt clouded and his temper was abnormally short. So normally he chose to stay out of the public eye and stay home and very, very much alone. Today, he need to get some ingredients for his next wolfsbane potion. The potion itself was time consuming and immensely difficult and required very specific and expensive ingredients, while he was preparing to start his next batch for the full moon next month he realized he was out of valerian roots. Normally he would just send house elves to shop for him but the roots need to be precise in size, texture and age, not that he didn't trust the elves to be meticulous for him, he just felt better if he were the one purchasing the roots. Draco strode into the Apothecary. The shop was small and lined with shelves all of which various jars on them, from the ceiling hung an assortment of dried herbs and feathers, while pushed up against the wall were large barrels of slime, and up against the the back walls tanks full of live insects, amphibians, and other small creatures used for potions making. Draco strode to the the counter at the back of the shop and rung a small bell.

"Alright, alright!" A voice called from a doorway behind the counter covered in a old worn tapestry with dragons on it, an elderly man stepped out from behind the tapestry. His hair was completely gray and unkempt, and wrinkles marred his face along with a few old faded scars. "What d' you want?"

Draco smiled. "I am in need of some Valerian Roots, and powdered silver." He was running low in the silver and figured it would be best to get some extra while he was here anyways.

The old man gave Draco a skeptical look, chewing on something in his mouth. "Silver's over there." He pointed to one of the shelves, "and I keep the root in the back." He disappeared again behind the tapestry, muttering under his breath.

Draco took out a vial and filled it, he didn't need much silver. He walked back to the counter and waited for the old man to come out. As he stood patiently, the feeling that he was being watched washed over him again. Draco nonchalantly threw his head over his shoulder to make sure he was the only person in the shop, which he was. A flicker of irritation flashed in his eyes, he then acted as if nothing was amiss and looked at his cuticles, closely watching the shop windows from the corner of his eye. A hooded figure seemed to peak around the corner of the window when Draco was seemingly distracted.

Just then the man came back, plopping a box of roots on the counter, "I suppose you want to pick 'em."

He looked over Draco again with a now knowing look.

Draco turned his back on the window, listening carefully for the door to open, his hand gripping his wand on the inside of his cloak. He quickly picked out four roots of the correct size, texture, and age, and handed them to the man, who then weighed them and the powdered silver. "That'll be ten Galleons." He paid the man and stowed his ingredients in his cloak, turning quickly on his heel, just barely catching his follower by surprise who once again ducked out of the way.

If it was press, they were going to an extreme length to not be seen, which was not typically the way they operated. If it were someone dangerous, they would have had the opportunity to attack several times but never took it. He walked down the alley at a leisurely pace as to not alert them, he the randomly detoured in to Flourish and Blotts. He walked down one of the many shelves and picked up one of the many books in the store and pretended to look over it once again watching from the corner of his eye, and, again, a hooded figure was waiting across the street, pretending to look at robes that were being sold on the street. Draco was now sure he had a tail. He picked out a few other random books that looked like he might enjoy, paid and once again left the shop, his tail continuing to follow him. Fuck, he thought.

"Draco!" called a familiar voice.

Draco turned to see Theo striding towards him. "Theo." Draco nodded once Theo was in appropriate conversation distance. "What brings you to the Alley?"

"I just had somethings to take care of at Gingotts. You?" Theo chinned at Draco.

"Just needed some ingredients, and some new books." Draco was watching again, this time the tail had ducked in to a side alley when he saw Theo approach.

"Well, how about we grab lunch?"

Draco thought for a moment. "How about we head back to my place for lunch? These ingredients are time sensitive."

"Sure." Theo nodded.

The tail followed them to the apparition point, but not to the Manor, much to Draco's relief. Once they were inside the Manor, Draco started to check all the warding.

"Everything okay?" Theo questioned as he watched Draco curiously.

"No, someone's following me," Draco mumbled, concentrating on the warding still.

"What? When?" Theo's voice became alarmed.

"Just now, and I think it's been going on for a few weeks now." The warding looked to be fine so Draco turned to look at Theo.

"Mate, that's not good. Did you hear about the Azkaban break outs? You think it's one of them?"

"No, because that only just happened last week, I've had this feeling since the Quidditch game." Draco sighed, running his hand threw his hair.

"Mate, you gotta tell someone," Theo implored. "Especially with those Death Eaters out, you've been marked as a blood traitor."

Hot fury erupted in Draco's chest. "You don't think I fucking know that?!"

Theo stepped back, his hands up, surrendering to Draco anger. "Look, mate..."

Draco cut him off sighing. "No, sorry Theo, it's just..." Draco trialed off. He hadn't actually told Theo yet. He hadn't actually wanted to tell Blaise either, but with his accident he need Blaise's help desperately. Draco did trust Theo. While Slytherin's not noted for being the most trustworthy of people, they were fiercely loyal to their families and close friends. And Theo was one of the closest people Draco had ever had to a brother, Theo and Blaise to be exact. Theo would come over with his father often when they were boys, and they would play all day long and late into the night, it wasn't until the boys were older that they realized that their fathers were meeting for Voldemort. And, most importantly, Theo was there during the horrible shit show that went down at the Manor when Voldemort did come back to power. "Theo," Draco sighed, "I never took the Mark. I was bitten instead."

Theo seemingly didn't seem need more elaboration. "I kinda figured."

Draco looked at Theo, a look of shock on his face. "What?"

"Well, I never actually saw your mark, and I noticed that you took off once a month during our eighth year. It took me a bit to realize that it corresponded with the full moons but I got there eventually. I just figured you were too ashamed to say anything so I didn't ask."

Draco's thoughts were running a million miles an hour, Blaise had not seemed entirely surprised either when Draco had told him. Did everyone know about his condition? "Wait, and you still wanted to be around me?"

Theo laughed causing Draco to glare at him. "Look, I know back in the day Werewolves were like scum and all the b.s. Honestly, you're my mate, we've been friends forever, that wouldn't change because you were forced into being a werewolf."

"But I'm dangerous." Draco looked down at his hands, fidgeting with them.

"Nah, man, you're not. I assume you take the potions and lock yourself up. So, you're about as dangerous as a rabid bunny." Theo grinned cheekily.

Draco glared at him, but was immensely relieved at the same time. "I'll let mother know you'll be here for lunch." Draco stood up, he tried to not stay in mushy moments like this very often, and he had already tapped himself out at the dinner date with Granger.