Chapter 13

It was Monday morning and the Auror Office was bustling with activity. Despite being partnered up again, Draco had not been forced to evacuate his office to mingle with the other partners in the main desk room. Instead, the Great Harry Potter had simply moved in with his own desk, bookshelf and Golden Snitch paperweight. Any thought Draco had of objecting was overruled quickly by the possibility that Potter would simply make him move back out into the big room with the masses. If Draco was going to have to regularly endure the company of an Auror, at least it was Potter, who (theoretically and figuratively, as well as literally) had a head on his shoulders. And he didn't whistle children's songs, the way that his last partner (whose name shall not be repeated) used to do during particularly quiet moments.

And so it was that Potter was in Draco's office ("our office") when The Daily Prophet arrived. Though usually a paper of some repute, the Prophet was not above printing social news (a.k.a. gossip) when the story was big enough and guaranteed to attract attention. The story on the front page that day was definitely big enough to warrant the paper's attention.

It was (thankfully) not in color, but even without the telltale orange hue Draco would recognize him by that cavalier Weasel-grin and the immediate sneer it engendered on his own face. So quick was Draco's reaction to the picture waving at him and Potter from the newspaper photo that he failed to immediately note the headline: 'The New Cannon's Keeper Has Found a Keeper!' What an awful headline. If Draco owned the Prophet, he would have fired someone for that headline. Of course, if Draco owned the Prophet, he wouldn't have wasted an inch of space on relaying any news from Ron Weasley's life. Unless it was his obituary. Which, on second thought, didn't actually count.

Simpering next to Ron in an atrocious gown of some billowy material that wasn't content with simply swallowing her body—it appeared to be climbing into her hair, as well—was Lavender Brown. Or, as the caption read: 'The new Mr. & Mrs. Weasley'.

If Draco's sneer could have produced its own sneer, the world would have been treated to quite an amazing sight. He hadn't needed any further proof that Ron was stupider than he looked, but it now appeared to be printed right in front of him for the rest of magical society to see.

So involved with his own disparaging monologue was he that it took a moment for him to realize that Potter was cursing rather soundly. After throwing the paper down onto his desk, his partner furiously paced the small room, one hand running through his hair, causing it to stand on end. Draco didn't catch everything Potter was muttering to himself, but around the curse words he clearly heard, "That idiot" and "ass hat," which didn't make any sense, but surely was a reference to Ron. Unless he was talking about that billowy thing climbing up Lavender's head.

But when Potter said, "I need to go check on Hermione," Draco's mood went from disinterested irritation to sudden concern. Ron's spontaneous nuptials mattered very little to Draco, but for Hermione to hear very publically that her fiancé of only two months ago was suddenly married to someone else…well, he could understand the panicked look on Potter's face and felt a similar need to rush down two floors and several hundred yards west to the Department (for the Regulation and Control) of Magical Creatures.

As Potter jerked the door open, he was greeted by several paper inter-office memos. They were all addressed to him and immediately began unfolding as they reached their destination. They each had only one word scrawled on them: 'Stay', in Hermione's handwriting. Draco recognized her loopy 's' from the scroll conversation they'd had.

With each new memo unfolding, it was plain to see that Hermione knew what Potter's knee-jerk reaction would be and she did not want him to come to her, hence the clear, unambiguous dog commands.

Draco could tell that Potter was not pleased (the scowl on his face was almost scary, if Potter were capable of scary expressions), and Draco could see that he was considering running to her anyway. But it was hard to act like you didn't see two-dozen memos with the same message on them.

Hard, but not impossible. Because that was exactly what Draco was going to do.

He got up to leave, not feeling the need to explain his actions to Potter. But as he passed through the door, the strained look on Harry's face told him that he knew where he was headed. And that he wasn't happy with having to obey Hermione's restraining order.

Shaking off Potter's concern as being of little import, he headed downstairs. He had never been to Hermione's office, having had no previous professional reason to deal with her department, as well as every personal reason to avoid it. But like all good Aurors he knew the entire layout of the Ministry, including the quickest ways to get from one location to another.

When he reached her department, he rounded the last corridor silently and stopped short where he could observe Hermione. She was standing outside her office, talking with her assistant. As always, she was dressed professionally; a neatly tailored pleated skirt, a freshly starched and ironed blouse, hair as neat and orderly as her unmanageable curls could become. Though she was facing away from him, and though nothing seemed to be out of place, he could still tell that there was something wrong. It was the same battlefield instincts that made him a good Auror.

As she turned, reviewing a paper that was handed to her, he saw that she was too pale. The hand that brushed a curl out of her face was shaking, though she quickly hid it. She looked up at that moment and there was a blankness in her eyes that felt like a stab in his heart. Without planning his next move, he walked directly into the open office space. He didn't look at her, but he saw the surprise on her face when she registered his presence. It quickly turned to confusion as he walked right past her and entered her office without a word.

With a quick glance, he took in the entire room. There were tall bookshelves lining three of the four walls, filled with books and book-shaped bookends. The fourth wall was a large window. Not a real one, of course, as her office was deep in the centre of the Ministry, and none of the Ministry windows were real ones. But it had been charmed to show a peaceful verdant forest scene with dappled sunlight and charming shadows. It indicated that Hermione must have gotten in the good graces of a maintenance worker who would allow her to choose her own window scene, which was highly unusual.

Her desk was a tasteful light-colored wood, simple and elegant, with a comfortable chair behind it and a few in front of it, each a different size, presumably to accommodate different magical creatures. Draco opted to stand and brace himself against one of the bookcases as he examined the charmed window closer. The amount of detail indicated a very thorough and very powerful charm. It was also very green, Hermione's favorite color, and Draco found himself wondering idly if the window showed only that one scene or if that one was simply her favorite.

Behind him, he heard her excuse herself from her assistant, and then she walked in. Her eyes were still dark, her face pinched, and he felt that pang again, silently cursing Weasley for somehow managing to hurt her with everything that he did.

He noticed that she didn't close the door behind her. In a low voice, she said, "I told you both to stay. I'm fine!"

He didn't respond to either of her remarks. It was obvious that he had ignored the message of the first sentence, and that the second one was a lie. He just looked at her, his eyes holding hers, and it wasn't long before she broke the gaze, putting her hand up to her head to rub at her temple. Her hand shook again.

"I felt like taking a break." Technically, he wasn't lying.

"A break?" she gaped at him. "It's 10:00 on a Monday morning."

"I know that, Granger. But I could use a walk." Again, not technically a lie.

She frowned slightly, her forehead scrunching up. "So walk, Malfoy."

This time he grinned at her disarmingly and was pleased to see that after a moment, her frown lessened. "Come on, let's go for a walk."

"I can't just leave! I have work to do; it's Monday morning."

He expressed his disdain with a shrug and continued leaning against the bookshelf, looking at her.

It only took a minute to wear her down. She heaved a sigh, closed her eyes, and when she opened them, they looked tired and sad. "Fine, let's go for a walk." She motioned for him to lead the way and he walked out.

He led them silently through a shortcut into one of the gardens in the section of the Ministry that housed the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Because of the variety of situations the department had to deal with, there were several unusual sections that supplied resources to the teams, and there were several small gardens growing plants of varying degrees of danger. The one Draco chose was a pleasant and harmless garden with a ceiling charmed to provide the illusion of a sunny day and a pond with actual ducks. He had never learned what the ducks were for, but they seemed content to be there.

There was a walking path that circled the small pond and it was charmed to feel like you were walking a new route whichever way you went. Through silent agreement they started down the path. The first few times they walked around the pond very quickly. Though Draco initially set the pace, he had deliberately slowed his step, allowing Hermione to take the lead, and the pace she set was punishing. They were both breathing hard by the fifth time they rounded the fork that went directly to the pond.

Draco stopped abruptly and Hermione paused, as if just noticing that he was there. She walked back to him and almost angrily questioned, "What?"

He took deep, even breaths to oxygenate his limbs. He kept himself in good physical shape, so the brief exertion was not overly taxing—but he was about to make her very mad. "Do you have your wand?" he asked. He held out his hand as if he wanted to examine it.

Confused, she pulled it out and was startled when he quickly grabbed it out of her hand. There was no resistance since she'd been taken by surprise, but she recovered quickly and lunged ineffectively to grab it back. "Hey! Give me back my wand!"

But it was too late, Draco had taken her wand and secured it, quickly walking up the fork that would take him to the pond. She hurried after him, yelling at him to give back her wand. Her voice was climbing higher in pitch, the initial surprise wearing off and edging towards the panic that most wizards and witches feel when their wands were in the hands of another. She grabbed at his arm, but he shrugged her off easily, outpacing her so she'd have to run to keep up.

Without looking at her, he abruptly flicked his wand, and suddenly her words were silenced. She continued pulling at his arm, her legs moving quickly to keep up with the bruising pace he was setting, only now her words were swallowed up by the spell. She quickly realized that she had no voice and this only served to make her more irritated. She began yanking on his Auror robes, trying to gain his attention, her mouth working furiously, no doubt telling him off in no uncertain terms.

He thought he saw the word 'arse' come out of her mouth and he grinned at her. She looked so cute with her hair in disarray. Her skin had flushed with their exercise and her anger, chasing away that pallor that had worried him.

As they approached the pond, she managed to grab hold of his robes, and giving a mighty yank, he thought he heard a tearing sound. "Tsk, tsk, Granger," he teased, "you only had to ask to get me out of my robes."

This remark just fed the fire, as he'd intended, and she launched herself at him. He clearly remembered that punch she'd thrown, back in third year, so he was ready for her when her fist came flying out. He held her off easily, seeing as how he was battle-trained and outweighed her by a good three stone. Each time her hand came flying at him, he easily turned it aside, pushing slightly to keep her from getting too close so he wouldn't hurt her by accident.

She finally realized she wasn't going to get anywhere with attacking him and soon found herself pacing the bank of the pond. He could tell she was still cursing. Her hands were gesturing wildly (lots of recriminating pointing) and she appeared to be shouting more than a few ugly epithets.

There was a bench conveniently placed so that guests could sit and watch the ducks that swam in the pond. Draco decided to sit himself down and wait out her rage.

He noticed that she said, "Men!" several times and congratulated himself that she'd moved off the topic of his own transgressions to rail against the entire gender. It wouldn't be long now before she reached the real source of her anger.

He concentrated briefly and a pile of ugly china appeared close to her feet.

From her place pacing by the pond, she stopped and stared at the china. Then she turned to him, an expression of disgust and horror on her face. She angrily mimed one person pouring tea for another person, indicating adamantly that she absolutely was not going to do it.

Draco laughed. Though he didn't have a silencing spell on him, and she could hear him just fine, he mimed picking up a cup and dashing it to the ground. Then he stepped on the invisible pieces, grinding them into the dirt.

She picked up the message very quickly, and in her anger, she grabbed a cup and two plates and threw them at him.

It was out of sheer reflex that Draco was able to counter her attack, dodging the china from left to right so it shattered against the bench. "Now, now, Hermione. I gave you all my best china."

Her only response was to throw another place setting at him. The next plate she grabbed she threw up against a tree, where it was followed by another teacup. The smashing sound was satisfying, particularly as she herself had been rendered silent, and so she did it again.

With each piece of broken pottery, the sounds seemed to release something inside of her. By the time she had broken the last piece, she was sobbing, one arm around her waist as if she was holding herself. He couldn't hear the sounds, but the tears streaking down her face almost made Draco feel guilty. Almost, because he knew she wasn't crying over him. The amusement he'd felt watching her smash the china quickly faded in the face of her pain.

He wanted to go to her—to have the right to take her in his arms and comfort her—but he didn't actually think she would accept it from him. So he waited, sitting on that bench, and she sat down on the earth, her silent sobs shaking her slight form.

Hunched over, with his arms braced on his legs, he waited, his heart beating hard in his chest.

Finally, the shaking seemed to slow until it stopped completely and he looked up to see her wiping her eyes. She held his gaze for only a moment before looking away, pushing her now-disheveled hair out of her face. He watched her take a few deep breaths, her eyes closed, before opening them again and slowly pushing herself to her feet.

With her hands, she uselessly wiped at the dirt on her skirt and then walked over to the bench he was sitting on. When she got there, she turned and sat next to him. Still not looking at him, she sat perfectly still. And so he waited some more.

It was several minutes later, with both of them just sitting in silence when she held out the hand that was closest to him. For one heart-stopping second he thought she wanted him to hold her hand, before he realized she was asking for her wand back.

A/N: Uh-oh. My chapter got too long and I had to break it in two. Oh no! I left you all hanging (and Hermione's hand hanging in the air, too!). Sorry about that. (#SorryNotSorry) But don't worry, this scene continues in the next chapter. And this is the last time we will mention Ron for several chapters. Next up, the clue-getting and finally some more obvious Dramione.