Chapter 2 – No Words

January 16, 2001

Diagon Alley is quiet at this time of year, especially on a Tuesday afternoon. We needed to purchase some potion ingredients and I was happy to take the task, anything to get me away from the Manor. It becomes suffocating when all you do each day is look at numbers and sit indoors.

The sun is out, even though the ground is still quite icy and the air is cold, but it's bright and the cold feels good on my face. The street looks different than before, new, but still holds memories from my childhood, of purchasing books and supplies, preparing to go back to Hogwarts. Even after the war destroyed the stores and their owners, making the alley bleak and diminished, now, they shone with hope.

It is nice, nice to see that the world is still turning, that people are moving on, that life is still there in a place so ravaged. I walk along the street, admiring that hope, and how it makes me feel. It lightens me.

I feel dark, but it lightens me.

Then I see her. I see the girl I tried to forget, tried to push from my mind this past month. I see her disappear inside Flourish and Blotts, the book store, and I think, of course she would go there.

I follow her. I shouldn't, but I do. I will keep my distance and won't let her see me, I'll hide among the shelves and if she notices, I'm simply searching for a book. I know it's wrong and I know I shouldn't, but I allow myself to slip in the door behind her.

I move between the shelves, pulling out a random book, not bothering to check what the title is. That doesn't matter to me at the moment. Granger has been invading my thoughts ever since the party and as much as I have tried to fight it, tried to forget, she's still there. My mother's words have been echoing in my mind, not giving me a rest, not allowing me to acknowledge how bad of an idea it would be.

Talk to her.

Oh, how I want to. I want to know her. I want to discover what made her this way, what gave her this need to fake a stage presence but become so . . . different when out of the spotlight. I wonder if it was just me and the past we share and if it is, I know I shouldn't step forward and make things worse. But how do I know that it's me? How do I know for certain that this would be such a terrible thing? And I want to know her.

In this moment, it doesn't matter that it's wrong, it doesn't matter that I shouldn't, the desire wells within me as I watch her drag the tips of her fingers along the spine of a book. She gently removes it from the shelf and flips through the pages, turning it over to read the back. She opens the book to the center and I am curious to know what she's doing. She leans her head in close and I understand.

I find myself smiling as I realize she's smelling the book, smelling the scent of the ink on new paper, or maybe it's old, I can't tell from where I am. If you do not read often you would not understand, but I do. The scent of a book tells a story just like the one it contains. Each is different, each holds a future memory, or a past one.

Granger smiles, just a bit, and shuts the book, heading to the counter to purchase her find. I'm curious to know what it is. But I stay where I am. I don't want to impede on such a moment.

She smiles at the shop keeper and talks quietly with him as she pays for the book, the newfound treasure. But it's fake and I recognize what she's doing. She's being kind and asking about his day, about his family, and that kindness is real, but the smile and confidence, that is forced.

I recognize it because it mirrors myself. The world believes things about me and I must comply with what they want. A smile here, a disengaged laugh there, throw in an arrogant shrug, and all for the press. Because I'm supposed to know what I'm doing, know who I am, be confident and easy. If I am who they want me to be, they will eventually accept that I'm not a monster.

And I see what's behind it as well, what is behind the forced act. I know because I am too. Broken. Even in the two and a half years since the war we have not healed.

But she has friends, she has people who support her, who help her. She will heal. I have my mother, who tries her absolute best for me. But my friends, I can no longer call on them. They do not understand. They still hold blood purity over all else, disappointed in Voldemort's defeat. We witnessed terrible things, were made to complete tasks that were even worse, but they don't see those things in the same way I do.

I watch Granger as the store keeper hands her the book and she thanks him, stuffing it into the bag she has slung across her shoulder. The door makes a dinging sound as she leaves and I exhale slowly the breath I have been holding.

I put the book back, glad that she didn't notice I was there. I wonder how she would react if she knew. Would she be afraid?

Looking back through the window at the front, I see she's still there, digging around in that bag for who knows what. And I also see the sleek patch of ice directly in front of her. Does she see it? From where I stand, the sun reflects off it's surface, but can she see it?

I stand still, waiting, wondering what I should do. Surely she sees it, and I shouldn't worry. But I do, and I realize I care if she gets hurt. I care and I'm not sure if I like that I do.

And I watch it happen. I watch as she finds what she was searching for, closes the bag and takes a step, a step directly ahead. I watch as her foot makes contact with the slick ground and maybe it's fine, maybe she can simply step with her other foot on solid ground and catch herself, but somehow I know.

The boot slides forward, she is slipping on the ice, her feet flying out from underneath her as though they have a mind of their own, and it is almost slow motion as I see her fall. What should I do? If I go I must talk to her, but that's what I wanted, isn't it? It seems so difficult and my heart races. Speaking is difficult as I must find words to say, and she has taken them. Can't we talk without sound, without the need to think straight? Because I can't, I can't and I know it.

But I see how hard she fell and the expression on her face as she winces in pain. And I tense. I want to go. I want to see if she's alright. I know I shouldn't, she doesn't need me.

I give in on a whim and before I even realize what I'm doing I am through that door and my hand is reaching down to her.

"Malfoy?" She's surprised again.

"Hi," I reply. I know that's not what I should say. I am smarter than this! But she has stolen my words by just being there. Why did I do this? Why did I leave the shop where I didn't have to face her spectacular being? Because I saw her pain. "Are you alright?" I finally ask.

I catch the twitch of a smile on her lips and think, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"I'm fine," she says, and her eyes drift to the ground.

I shake my hand a bit to remind her it's there and she reluctantly takes it, allowing me to pull her back to her feet. I feel something. Something slight, but it tingles, beginning in the hand she is touching. It flows through my veins and to my heart, causing it to pick up speed. What is this girl doing to me?

"Thanks," she tells me.

"Are you alright?" I ask again, though this time, not about the fall.

Finally, she looks up at me, those beautiful eyes saying so much. She's curious. Why would I ask such questions about her well-being, the boy who had terrorized her in her youth, the one who had stood there and watched her be tortured like a coward?

"I'm fine," she repeats, but I know better.

I would say the same thing, but nobody asks me if I'm doing alright. I realize she wouldn't tell me if she wasn't alright, she'd tell Potter or Weasley, or anyone but me. But I want to be a person she can tell and I can't decide if I'm being selfish or if I really want to help her, but I do, I want her to be able to trust me.

We stand there, looking at each other, and I'm sure this should be awkward, maybe it is for her, but I enjoy even her mere presence. And she is able to say so much with those eyes, broken as they may be.

I shake my head. "I'm sorry, I'm doing this all wrong. I know we can't start over, but I do want you to know that I'm different than I was. And I think you are too." I say it and I wish I could take it back. It sounds silly and cliché and maybe I should just go home.

But she tilts her head just slightly, narrows her eyes a bit and bites her bottom lip nervously. She's thinking.

Suddenly, she holds out her hand between us. I am thoroughly confused. What does this mean?

"I'm Hermione Granger," she says, a half smile forming. "This is where you shake my hand."

And it clicks in my mind what she's doing. We're starting over. I am amazed that she would do something like this. We're starting over, as though we have never before met, as though we don't have a terrible history together.

I take her hand in mine and she shakes it briefly up and down, eyes, those beautiful eyes, never leaving my own. I swallow nervously.

"I'm Draco, Draco Malfoy," I respond.

An idea forms in my head. Maybe my mother was right. Maybe this would be good for me, for us both. And I want to know her.

But the words refuse to leave my lips, my body, it freezes.

"It's good to meet you, Draco." Her voice is soft and like a wonderful melody to my ears.

"It's good to meet you as well, Hermione." Her name rolls off my tongue like a thing of beauty, as though I have said it my whole life.

I want to ask her. I want to see her again. But I can't. I look at her face, at her gorgeous face and I can't. She steals my words away.

"I must be going." She turns to leave and begins walking away and I am frozen to the spot.

The words are there, on my tongue, but they can't escape the barrier of my mouth. My heart, it races as she grows farther away. I don't think I can last another month before seeing her again, without hearing her voice. I am getting anxious, panic, rising within me as she walks away.

"Will you go for coffee with me?!" The words finally burst through and echo off the walls of the stores lining the street.

She stops, but doesn't turn and I can honestly say I have no idea how she will respond.

"Friday at lunch time? The café down the street?" she asks and I smile to myself.

"I'll be there!" I call back.

I wonder what she's thinking, what is going through her mind as she continues to walk away and out of sight.

I feel something within me. The stone wall I keep standing tall between myself and the world begins to crack. The dark shadowy path beyond that stone wall gets the first shimmer of light it has seen a very long time.

Hermione.

And with even a simple thought of her name, the light grows.


Author's Note:

Hey, my wonderful readers! Thank you all for the amazing response for my first chapter. Your reviews made me so happy! I hope you enjoyed this one as well and would love to continue hearing your thoughts. The chapters are a bit shorter in general for this story as I am focusing for the most part on shorter time periods in the story per chapter, aiming for a more internal look at the action.

I finally got a job! Yay! It doesn't start until June though so I do have a bit more time to focus on writing. I am thinking about speeding up my post time until then for a bit, then go back to weekly posting. Let me know what you think - should I speed it up for a little while or just keep it consistent?

Tuesday is my birthday and I can't say I'm really looking forward to it. I am turning 20, but I am going to be alone all day as my job isn't starting yet and my friends from school aren't from around my area. So, I'm thinking about posting chapter 3 then . . .

Sorry if this note got a bit off topic.

Thanks for reading, reviewing, following/favouriting! I'm excited to hear from you!