Monday, June 23rd, 2003.
Hermione walked out of Mysteries overwhelmed with a strong impulse to cheer that was rather hard to repress, coupled with a strange uneasiness at seeing the guard she'd obliviated just two days before. He didn't react at her sight, just like he hadn't when she'd been with Draco. Merlin be gracious her spell would hold.
She snorted, if she'd been able to erase the life out of her parents, surely a few minutes of the guard's mind wouldn't be an issue. Still, it felt wrong.
She took the lift, taking steadying breaths, she hadn't remembered how the aftermath of doing something this bad felt. They weren't at war any more … last time she'd broken here, or in Gringott's for instance, she'd had no time for guilt.
Although she knew she'd done the right thing, and didn't regret it a second. Draco was free and it was all that mattered.
Right. Guilt was for guilty people and she'd done the right thing.
The lift landed and its ding had the benefit to cut her thoughts.
Hermione had just the time to see Tracey roll her eyes dramatically before being assaulted by a full curtain of raven hair.
"SO?"
"We won."
"I knew it! Let's celebrate!" She cheered, as Tracey's eyes grew wide and the goggled witch escaped her desk to go lock herself in the archives.
"Again?" Hermione asked. Astoria frowned, her face drifting from thrilled to confused.
"Well, yes. You won."
Hermione decided not to argue. Astoria was the first person she'd met with whom she could share her sudden urge to cheer. Plus, she was likely to spend a good evening so she wasn't about to complain.
"I'll tell Blaise! Would you tell Draco? Blaise's spending the week at mine." Astoria continued.
"Oh, okay."
"Thanks!" She smiled and strode off to Hermione's office, where they'd been reviewing an almost inexistent load of paperwork before Hermione had been called to court.
Hermione was left feeling slightly strange, she couldn't tell exactly what had just happened, but she suddenly felt like she'd been tricked again.
Draco had spent his day taking care of all the paperwork necessary to put the company to sale, all the while adjusting to a new wand that, unexpectedly, responded to his everyday moves quite right. He would have to try more complicated magic soon. He still had managed to draft the sale notice, and everything would be ready for Wednesday. He hadn't taken the books back to the Manor, hadn't heard from his mother - to whom he'd sent said draft for a reason he didn't want to branch, even with himself - and had hurried back to Blaise's as soon as his secretary had left the office.
When he entered the flat, it was still lacking sleep from Saturday night, and rather exhausted from the day too. He wasn't exactly in a good mood then, but … it was significantly different than before. He didn't need a drink because there wouldn't be any paperwork that night and that itself managed to shrink down what could be called bad mood. He was in a sort of in between. Sometimes smiling to himself, sometimes petulant.
Maybe he'd always been a lunatic after all.
Although, if he were entirely honest, there was a little nagging feeling that had persisted all day. Which he had to admit was certainly the reason why he wasn't completely satisfied with his day. Hermione hadn't answered his note, which he'd realised after sending didn't really require an answer, and he still had no idea if she was pissed at him or not.
He was free, alright, but he was also the greatest git in the entire country.
Maybe Blaise would know. Surely if she was angry, she'd told Astoria, who would tell Blaise. But it would have to wait until the next day for him to sleep home.
Draco sighed, kicked his shoes off, tossed the papers he was holding on the coffee table and slouched on the sofa, trying to muster the satisfaction he ought to be feeling at that moment. He had an unexpected flash of white raw fear when something tapped at the window. A tawny owl.
Nott? What did that bastard want?
He went for it slowly, his limbs suddenly weak. The window open, the owl perched on his shoulder, extending a paw to him. Draco retrieved the letter warily, and the bird beaked his ear before taking off.
Salazar's blessing it was not from Nott.
Draco,
I write to tell you that you were right, we won in court (please burn this note after reading it) and that Stori decided that we would celebrate this Saturday night. Let me know if you'll be around and I'll send you the address once she's picked the restaurant.
Hermione.
P.S: Thank you for the flowers, they're beautiful.
'Hermione.'
Draco found himself smiling at the piece of parchment like a moron and decidedly put his usual blank mask back on. It kept slipping off.
She'd said they were friends after all, hadn't she? When was Hermione not true to her words anyway?
I'll break that oath. Never seemed to be the right answer. When she said something, she meant it.
So, that little incident, yes it had been an incident, was forgotten. Good. Now he could go back to try to ignore the little pang he'd felt when he'd thought that she'd decided to ignore him. Or the fact that he'd kept the copy of Witch Weekly. Or that she was … Stop. God damned mind.
Why she'd written instead of letting Blaise tell him as usual though, he had no idea, and decided that he wouldn't listen to the tiny voice that told him she'd just wanted to write.
She hadn't.
End of the story.
And no, he wasn't smiling. He just needed a distraction, was all.
Tuesday, June 24th, 2003.
Astoria looked … weird that morning. Her hair was perfect - which was odd considering Blaise had come pick her up the previous evening - her face equally so and her robes were as neat as usual, but there was something off. Hermione couldn't quite pin-point what, but when lunch came after a long morning of wondering, she couldn't hold her curiosity any longer:
"What's wrong?" She asked. Astoria sighed, and leaned a tad over her salad, apparently she'd been debating with something and had only needed the little push:
"My father wants to have lunch with me on Thursday."
"Oh. And?"
"And I don't know if I should go with the way he's treated both Draco and Blaise I …"
"He's your father Stori, maybe he's trying to make peace?" Hermione tried, not knowing if she was trying to convince Astoria or herself.
"Oh that he is." Astoria dismissed though, startling her. "It's just that he's asked for the lunch a tad quicker than usual …" Hermione gave her a questioning gaze, not really seeing what she meant. Astoria sighed again: "Either he wants to talk about a possible engagement, either he's going to yell."
"Oh. Well … which would you prefer?" Hermione grimaced, she didn't have any advice for such a situation. She was no expect in the parent department.
"I have no idea." She sighed. "I'm just tired. We've spent the last five years arguing. It might take longer than just a lunch break."
"Take the day then." Hermione shrugged.
"Wh …"
"We have nothing to do that Tracey and I can't handle. There's not trial to prepare, only boring cases of controls."
"Yes, but …"
"Take the bloody day already." Hermione cut, not able to hold back the little ugly smirk that gripped her mouth. Here, right back at her. Astoria chuckled.
"Alright, I'll take the day." She sighed with false drama.
It was the sole interesting thing that happened, or more was discussed that day. The lack of work and Tracey's ability to vanish paperwork in a matter of seconds - which by the way made Hermione regret ever thanking Merlin for Tracey Davis - only aggravated their boredom. Yes, boredom. Hermione was BORED.
Being free from oath breaking issues and hurried trial preparations, she was left a tad purposeless. She still had work of course, but nothing more than she could handle in barely an hour or two, being used to rush into things and all.
This wouldn't do. Maybe she could review the archives in search of any missed issue? Surely there were still things Judith had hidden that Tracey and herself had missed while ordering through that mess. Right, she'd just do that.
Hermione stood, started out of her office, and went to the archives, decided to review everything. Maybe she'd find inspiration. There certainly were many fields that required a good set of new Laws or regulations. She just had to find them.
She stopped before the door though, as something flashed. A hushing Draco Malfoy gesturing for her to listen to her former employees came to mind and she smiled.
She shook the thought away quickly but couldn't get rid of the little smile tugging at her lips as she went to work.
It had seemed as though trying to distract himself by working hadn't been the wisest idea in such circumstances. Draco had spent the previous evening working, thus resulting in the selling notice being ready for lunch, a day in advance. Not willing to spend one more minute than necessary in the building he was almost free from, he'd found himself having nowhere to go, and had gone back to Blaise's.
The lad was missing. Annoying that he'd chosen that specific day to show his face at what he pretended to be work.
Only ten minutes of pacing around the flat, trying to ignore the scattered books still making Blaise's living look like a library, were enough to drive him mad.
Draco was bored. Yes, bored out of his mind and it was his first day without any work. Wait, no, his first afternoon.
Growling in frustration he went to his room, and started ordering his already perfectly ordered desk. Once done, he opened it absent-mindedly, and had to clap it close.
Why was he even keeping it eh?
He stood and swept his wand to make his bed. Nothing moved of course, he'd done it before going that morning. Maybe there'd been a tiny speck of dust that had vanished though.
Draco wondered how all those people staying at home did to remain sane. How did Blaise do? What the hell did he do all day?
Sighing, he went back to the living in order to try something he'd never tried before: relax. He made himself a cup of coffee, and let himself fall on the sofa.
He accioed a book.
The wrong book obviously since the precarious pile that had been atop stumbled and scattered all over the place.
Damn it.
What was that charm Hermione had used in her office? Err … voiceless sly witch.
He really ought to ask her.
Thinking of it, he hadn't answered the previous night, too busy smiling like a moron, which was why he'd worked his mind off, and had forgotten. Shrugging, he went back in his room, reopened the desk, pointedly ignored the picture that smiled at him in there, and retrieved her letter, along with a new piece of parchment.
Hermione went back home that evening, in a rather sullen mood. She'd found strictly nothing to work on in the part of the archives she'd reviewed, Astoria had stolen any paperwork Tracey had inconveniently missed - which had resumed to two letters and a Ministry notice about forgotten lunches in meeting rooms - and no trial had been announced. Aside from burying herself in another grand scale project such as the set of regulations she'd worked on with Mrs Zabini, Hermione saw nothing she could do to help her ordeal.
Problem was, not the ideas, they were pouring, but that if she started on any of those, she would have to postpone it as soon as a trial came up, or an important case, as her position obligated her to attend those first.
Wise had been the Wizengamot after all. Maybe proposing her the promotion had been a way to tame her earth-moving projects.
Maybe.
A impatient clack came from the kitchen, and Hermione found Draco's pretentious owl at her window. She had a little huff when the bird pompously lifted his paw for her to grab the letter. He flew away batting his wings as if annoyed.
Was she seriously judging an owl? She frowned, but then Tiny came to rest on her lap as she opened the letter, and well, the difference was striking.
Merlin she needed a drink. Being bored seemed to make her analyse every little thing. She read the letter, petting Tiny with her left hand.
Hermione,
Congratulations, I'll be there Saturday to celebrate. I will, of course, certainly not burn that note. Hermione Granger, admitting Draco Malfoy is right. Are you mad? I think I'll have it framed.
Although if you were to send me how to cast your organising charms, I might burn it.
Draco.
P.S: My pleasure, glad you liked them.
Hermione chuckled, at least three times. It seemed as though the little incident was forgotten. Great.
The little banter seemed reminiscent of what they'd exchanged a little while before she'd known about the oath. Although it was much less scathing. Hermione wondered if she'd kept his other letters. She probably had gotten rid of them.
She opened her desk, just to check and well … they were just there among other papers, next to her beaded bag.
Frowning, she started perusing them.
'I won't take the risk to kill him and have you sent to Azkaban though, you seem rather useful to the community.'
Right, less scathing.
She didn't even realise, but after staring a few minutes more than appropriate at the neatly looped handwriting, she put the old letters back in her desk, with the last one.