Consequences
Prologue: Miss?
There is no such thing as an omen. Destiny does not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that.—Oscar Wilde
"I'm sorry miss, but I really have no idea what you're talking about."
"Draco Malfoy! You have got to be kidding me! I know better than to listen to anything The Daily Prophet says, and I know-"
"Excuse me. Miss. First, how do you know my name? Second, I do not 'kid' about anything, and lastly who the damn hell is the Daily Prophet, and why is some second rate oracle spouting about me?"
Hermione's shoulders sagged. Either he was being truthful or he was much angrier with her than she had imagined. She looked into his curious, and rather impatient grey eyes; she was more discouraged than ever, and she hoped to Merlin she wasn't wrong…if she was wrong, something far worse than a broken friendship would be our fate.
"Oh…sorry. I must have been mistaken. Quite the coincidence, isn't it?" Her laugh sounded false and tinny to her own ears; she could only imagine that he thought her crazy.
"I don't believe in coincidences. I-" he paused abruptly and seemed suspicious for a moment. "I'm sure we'll meet again."
Her hands shook as she smiled sadly; she hid them in her coat pockets and hoped he wouldn't see, as she smiled back at him sadly.
"No. No, I don't think we will." She nodded and did a short wave before turning to leave. As she covered part of her face with her hand, he called her back.
"Miss?" the brisk London air was ruffling his shaggy hair and brought splotches of colour to his alabaster skin. He looked into her eyes, a flicker of recognition for only a moment before it was tossed away with the golden autumn leaves. This time his answer was definite.
"We'll meet again."
As he turned, waved his goodbyes and started to walk away, Hermione's sad smiled remained in place, but her tears began to flow freely, though unwanted, and were blown back into her hair.
Having had exceptional hearing all his life, Draco Malfoy heard as she began to cry. But as he walked away, and heard her tears he felt compelled to comfort her, but pushed the ridiculous notion away as comfort from a stranger would surely be unwelcome to even the oddest of women.
And of course, because of his exceptional hearing, he heard as she murmured through her tears to him.
"Goodbye, My Draco."
But when he turned to her, he did not see her, only the empty sidewalk strewn with leaves in front of an old, dingy looking pub.
"'My Draco'," he repeated to himself. Those words and that voice sounded so familiar, but they made his head hurt to think of them.
"'My Draco'…"