Around the house, the sun was rising slowly. It was just breaking through, yet the valley was already lighting up. A few rays of light streamed through the window behind the king-size bed in the room. They landed on the duvet covered with blankets to brave the winter cold.
Despite Draco's habit of sleeping with open shutters, this was different enough to wake him up.
He fluttered his eyelids several times before his gaze eventually focused on the bedroom ceiling. He didn't recognise it. For a moment, anguish rose in his chest as he failed to recognise his surroundings.
What was this place, these unfamiliar walls and colours? He had no landmarks here, no pillars to lean on when things go wrong, awry. And how had he got here in the first place? Who had dragged him here?
His lungs swelled with all these terrifying questions, this malignant, vicious anxiety.
And then the memories came flooding back, slowly. Surely. He could feel the texture of the blankets under his fingers and that was enough to bring him back to Earth. It had only lasted a few seconds, though too long for his liking. How fast his anguish could rise to his chest was frightening.
He remembered it all now. Hermione's meltdown, his own panic, the blood, the first aid kit, then his friend's request.
His friend. He had reunited with her the day before, he had helped her, supported her during such a difficult time.
He still didn't know what to think. The guilt was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted to tell her how badly he felt, how sorry he was for overstepping. He wanted her to understand that he shouldn't have reacted the way he did, that it was all his fault. He wanted to cry out his guilt, his remorse and his pain. Talking wasn't enough, he needed to shout, to scream.
He wanted to get their complicity back, their breakfasts together and their evening chats. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her and how much he loved sharing all those moments with her. He wanted her to understand that he wouldn't do it again, never, that it had been a slip-up he was ready to penance.
Yet, when Draco turned to his right, lips parted and ready to speak, to scream and shout, he stumbled on Hermione's sleeping face. His mouth closed at once as a rush of disappointment ran through his body.
He immediately retracted, angry with himself. What had he imagined? That he could apologise to her at this hour of the morning, when she was still asleep or barely awake? That she would listen willingly and forgive him without anything more? As if such discussions were so simple, as if apologising and receiving forgiveness were insignificant acts.
He closed his eyes in annoyance. He felt like an idiot. He had built himself up in just a few seconds and was now choking under the weight of disappointment. He felt like a fool.
Hermione was still asleep, both her hands were clasped close to her sleeping face. Her lips were slightly open and her shoulders were heaving with the rhythm of her breaths.
And so there, in the silence of the bedroom, Draco observed the young woman's face. The face of his friend.. Friend. Her long black eyelashes brushed her mottled cheeks, her rounded cheekbones marked her newly rounded face, all above her rosy lips. The same lips that he had kissed, that he had been lucky enough to kiss. He still found it hard to believe that it had happened.
For in the midst of his remorse, worry and loneliness over the last few days, Draco had had no time to think about the exquisite sensations he had felt that day. And now that he was facing her, so close and with nothing to disturb him, Draco gave in to the first thoughts that her face suggested to him.
She looked pretty. Her face seemed at peace, as if none of her worries had ever existed. She looked beautiful when she was asleep.
He turned his head towards the ceiling and sighed. He couldn't look at her, he had no right to. He had to make amends, he had to tell her how much he blamed himself. He had to forget the whole thing.
A few minutes passed and he quieted his thought-filled mind. Too many thoughts. Always too many.
His head was suddenly empty, he could think of nothing but the ceiling he was staring at and the blankets still pulled up to his waist. He felt good, lying there in the silence. Nothing seemed able to disturb him, to burst the comfortable little bubble in which he finally found himself. He felt at peace, in harmony with this new environment. It felt right, it felt good.
That was, at least, until he heard barking in the corridor leading to the bedroom. Within seconds, the stillness in the room evaporated and Albert burst in. Hermione woke up when he came to her bedside and Draco knew it was time for him to go. Everything had happened so quickly, he barely had time to understand.
And suddenly, facing Hermione seemed like an insurmountable thing.
He met her gaze as she turned towards him and, for a few seconds, Draco thought he saw a sort of relief. But it was soon replaced by embarrassment, as her cheeks turned pink and it was another signal to him that it was time to leave.
He stood up without a word, his head deliberately turned towards the door, and walked out. Well, he ran. He felt like a coward, unable to say a simple hello to her. He was delaying the inevitable, even though he had endured his friend's silence for days. What was wrong with him?
He made his way to the kitchen in no time, and soon only the sizzling of scrambled eggs in the pan echoed in his ears. He was back in his cocoon, in his own little world of peace and cooking. His mind was focused on what he was doing and there was no room for the slightest annoyance. It felt right.
Within thirty minutes, Draco had prepared a feast fit for a king. He had barely given a thought to what he was cooking, simply making whatever came to mind to avoid overthinking the situation.
He found himself seated at the table, facing a dozen or so full plates. Eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes, beans... He'd shamelessly emptied the fridge. He winced as he realised there was far too much for his small stomach. Used to Hermione's absence for breakfast, he thought for himself it was very stupid to have let himself go like that.
He was surprised to see Hermione come through the door a few minutes later. Showered, combed and dressed, she had obviously decided to change the habit she had adopted over the last few days.
She had braided her hair around her head and was wearing one of her usual dungarees. Her face was contorted with apprehension, as if she were panicked by the fact of entering her own kitchen. Perhaps she was. He wasn't serene either, if he had to be honest.
She froze in the doorway as he stared at her. Draco bit the inside of his cheek. Maybe if he didn't move she'd stay, she would come and eat with him. Maybe if he showed no emotion, no sign of how he felt about her, she'd decide to join him. Maybe he would disappear from her sight, in a way, maybe he would no longer represent a threat. He was terrified that it would all start again, that he would be alone again.
"Can I...?" she asked shyly, pointing to the table.
He immediately nodded, unable to take his eyes off of her. He couldn't believe it. He smiled helplessly and turned to the dishes that needed washing, to hide his face. He hadn't even had time to disappear, to play the statue with the living heart.
He hadn't eaten anything yet, but he didn't care. She was there. That was all that mattered.
He felt like a coward for not talking to her, for not taking on that smile that stretched his lips, or even for not expressing the words that had filled his head when he woke up. But it was too difficult at the moment. He preferred to wait, just a little longer. Just a little longer.
He heard her silently helping herself behind him. She didn't seem inclined to talk either, and that suited him just fine. It was nice, it was simple. It was calm.
The minutes went by just like that. Draco washing the dishes, trying to calm his heartbeat at the thought of Hermione standing right behind him, and she was eating what he had prepared. It felt right.
The dirty plates and dishes gradually diminished in front of him and soon he was forced to face her at last. He sat down opposite her and reached for the coffee pot. He avoided her gaze. He felt like a coward. He could feel her watching him, waiting for him to speak. But he didn't. He remained silent as he spread jam on his buttered bread and dipped it in his coffee.
He could hear her breathing slowly, he could see her fingers tightening at irregular intervals around the handle of her teacup, but he did nothing. Coward.
"Draco, I–"
He looked up sharply at her. Her gaze was worried, as if she was afraid of his reaction. He saw her hesitate, chewing on her lower lip. He remained silent. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest. Coward.
"Thank you," she breathed, blinking several times as if she were chasing away her tears.
But she wasn't crying. She just stared at him, perhaps afraid that he would go away, perhaps finding it hard to believe that he was facing her. Or maybe it was the opposite. Draco wanted to scream that he was really there, that they were together, both of them, reunited. But he remained silent. Coward.
"I don't know what I would have done without you," she added with a shy smile.
He replied with a slight nod. His throat was tight, he couldn't utter a single word, it was as if he was frozen by her gaze.. He was afraid of ruining everything again, of losing her. He had missed her too much.
She looked down at her cup and took a deep breath.
"I'm not working today. I'm going to—I'm going to use the day to brew some more potions," she breathed quietly.
She looked up one last time but, seeing that he didn't react, she simply nodded and left the kitchen.
Draco froze, his gaze still fixed on the high chair where she had been just a few moments earlier. Coward.
He hadn't been able to say anything to her. He hadn't apologised, he hadn't replied to her thank you, he hadn't... done anything. How could he be such a coward when he'd promised himself to tell her again and again that he was sorry, that he'd missed her? How could he turn the tables and make her thank him when she should have been angry? How dare he?
He hadn't done anything. He was tired.
She was going to make more potions, she was going to drift away from him again, because he had been incapable of taking the slightest step towards her.
Potions, bloody potions. He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyelids.
He realised that he hadn't drunk a single one the night before. He'd slept without it. He'd slept. He sighed and let his forehead fall on the table. He had slept. He could hardly believe it. Maybe that was why he was feeling so anxious this morning, maybe he was feeling some kind of withdrawal?
Or maybe just being with Hermione again was getting him so worked up.
Hermione. She was in the grip of potions herself. Much more than him, much more than anyone else, in fact. Her state the day before had been terrifying. It made Draco feel physically ill. Her crying, her blank stare... It had been a terrible meltdown, worse than anything else.
He'd thought he'd lost himself in it too, he'd been so close to it. What would happen next time? Because there was bound to be a next time. What if he couldn't hear her? What if he showed up too late?
He couldn't let her continue to destroy herself like this. The very idea twisted his guts. He couldn't be such a coward.
He looked up at the closed kitchen door and sighed. He'd have to find something, some alternative, some way of convincing her to stop taking those bloody potions. He grimaced as he imagined offering it to her. She was going to hate him. But he had to.
oOo
"That's it, now you change to first gear gently," Harry said, putting his hand over Theo's trembling one.
Theo wasn't really listening to his husband's instructions. He'd been deep in thought all morning, and for days before that, and his driving lesson with Harry wasn't enough to get him out of it.
He shifted the gears all the same, helped by his husband, but stalled as soon as he tried to move forward.
"For Merlin's sake, Theo, you've let go of the clutch too soon again!" Harry exclaimed in despair.
Theo pulled his hand away from the gear lever and sighed, his head falling back against the headrest. He had no desire to be in that car, but he had promised Harry. He knew how much it meant to him to teach him to drive and every week he made himself sit on the driver's side of the car for these lessons.
"Seriously, Theo, if you're going to be inattentive like that, you might as well stay at home," Harry huffed. "What have you been up to all morning?"
Theo closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He didn't feel like talking about it. His ideas were still too messy, not perfect enough in his eyes. And he was a perfectionist, a real perfectionist, sometimes even too much so.
He raised his hands to his bun and loosened it to redo it. It wasn't necessary, but it kept his hands busy, and his mind too.
Harry grabbed his wrist as he was about to wrap the elastic around his hair, making him look into his eyes.
"Talk to me," Harry breathed with a worried expression.
"It's all right, Harry, I assure you," he replied with a semblance of a smile. " I just– I've got a lot of ideas in my head and I'm trying to sort them all out."
His husband didn't seem convinced, Theo could tell by his slow nod and fake smile. Harry left the car then, dropping his wrist as he did so.
"I'll check what Satine's got planned for lunch." He was lying, Theo knew it. He had shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumped. "Gin' will be here exceptionally since the bakery is closing for the afternoon."
Theo followed him with his eyes, nodding vaguely. He didn't join him.
He was angry at himself for having pushed him away like that, for having been the cause of his sad pout. He knew Harry understood him, even though he was affected by his silence. It wasn't the first time he'd spent hours like this, deep in thought or drawing, unable to communicate.
At times like this, Theo needed peace and solitude. He needed to be with himself to sort things out in his head. Especially when he was about to do some big drawings or paintings, or when he couldn't find any inspiration.
He sighed for the umpteenth time and decided to get out of the car, with a grunt to himself. He removed the key as Harry had taught him and locked the door behind him. He glanced towards the manor, but chose instead to walk around the Isle. Perhaps that would help him make a choice.
And it did. An hour later, Theo burst into the manor's dining room, a smile on his lips and his face flushed with excitement.
"I know!" he exclaimed to Harry and Ginny seated at the table.
They turned to him with a start. Although Theo noticed that his husband had discreetly drawn his wand, he made no comment and simply sat down with them at the table.
"What is it ... ?" Ginny asked with a chuckle.
She glanced at Harry, who seemed just as confused as she was. His sudden panic had disappeared from his green eyes.
"I want to show the wizarding world what really happened," he explained at a much too rapid pace. "I'm going to write a book. Well, no, Draco's going to write it and I'm going to illustrate it. I want him to testify, to tell the story of everything he's been through since - since the start of the war. I wanted several people to testify, there are loads of other Death Eaters who've been through all that, but I think it would be too long, or not complete enough. Draco's story is different from the others, he lived with the Dark Lord and he's got loads to tell. It would be crazy! Just imagine! The world could finally understand what happened on our side and things could change considerably!"
He turned to his husband, his eyes full of hope. He saw Harry shoot a puzzled glance at Ginny, before returning his gaze.
"Theo, you–" Harry cleared his throat.
"Don't get me wrong, I think your idea is really good, but are you sure Malfoy will go for it?"
"I'll convince him," Theo replied firmly.
Harry remained silent for a few seconds, seeming to probe his gaze, before he eventually grabbed his hand over the table.
"All right," he said with a smile.
Theo returned it and sighed. He didn't really know what he was getting into, but he had a new goal. It felt right.
oOo
Her day was coming to an end in ten minutes. Ten short minutes that would last an eternity. It was always the last few seconds that were the longest.
Ginny stood behind her counter, her elbows propped on it and her chin resting on her right hand. She had already been staring at the bakery clock for five minutes, waiting for the liberation that would come with the end of her shift.
She didn't like her job, that was obvious, but she knew she couldn't stay at the manor all day, alone and with no other distractions than the strange, old-fashioned paintings that decorated the corridors. Before she found a job, she had spent whole afternoons making fun of them and annoying them so that they would end up shouting the most horrible obscenities all over the house. Fred and George would have been proud.
But after so much time there, Harry had eventually encouraged her to find an occupation, as he could see she was bored out of her mind. Waitress in a bakery. It wasn't like her, she didn't like doing it, she didn't like having to serve people, having to talk to them, smile at them and be friendly. Every day she had to restrain herself from telling off the little grannies who told her all about their day, while there was a queue of ten people waiting to be served.
She didn't like her job.
Theo often asked her what was keeping her from leaving after she had complained all through the meal, and her answer was always the same: she had nothing else to do. She didn't have the courage to seek another job, start a new life in the Muggle world or join the wizarding world. She didn't want to get out of this routine, which was annoying but comfortable. She was afraid of making a mistake, of getting lost in it, as she had done a few years earlier.
Yes, she was afraid.
The hour hand eventually lined up with the five and Ginny sat up straight. She took off her apron and walked to the back of the shop.
"C'est l'heure, Madame Boudreaux!" she shouted in the direction of the door leading upstairs to the owner's flat.
"Rentre bien!" Her manager replied. "Et n'oublie pas, sois là pour cinq heures et demie demain, Paul n'est pas là, j'ai besoin que tu m'aides avec la fin des préparatifs."
"Je serai là !"
Ginny sighed with a groan of despair and hung up her apron in the back room. She then collected her things and left the bakery, locking the door as she left. Madame Boudreaux would take care of tidying up the rest, as she did every Friday.
She stepped outside and a ray of sunshine washed over her face. She smiled and closed her eyes. Some evenings she didn't feel like walking home, but this time she was delighted to be able to enjoy the fine March weather.
The sun was warming her face and she knew that soon her freckles would be even more visible.
"It's like the sky, lots of stars on your face."
Astoria's voice echoed in her head. She let herself sink into it, just for a moment. Who could blame her? Theo wasn't there to remind her of everything that had happened, Harry wasn't there to give her a pitying look. She was entitled to it, even just for a minute...
"Bonsoir!"
Ginny gasped and opened her eyes again. She turned her head towards the voice that had just called out to her and saw a young woman in her twenties smiling at her. She had long black hair and eyes of the same colour. She was wearing denim overalls and a hideous woollen jumper. It reminded her of the ones her mother knitted for Christmas.
"Je suis la nouvelle propriétaire du fleuriste juste à côté," she explained as she approached.
She smiled. She was staring at her with curious, gentle eyes. Her whole face was.
"Bonsoir," Ginny replied, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. "Je… Je travaille ici, euh… à la boulangerie. Je suis arrivée avec des amis il y a pas longtemps et nous vivons, hum, pas très loin, vers l'Isle. Mon français n'est pas très bon… Désolée. "
She was babbling like a teenager. She winced inwardly. Her French was already wobbly, and bloody shyness wasn't helping.
"Je sais," the young woman smiled. "Ma grand-mère vient ici tous les matins, elle me parle toujours de la 'petite anglaise qui a toujours l'air de vouloir fuir son travail'."
Ginny felt herself blush hard.
"Oh, euh, non, j'aime mon travail," she lied at once, tucking another lock behind her ear.
The woman's smile grew even wider as she laughed softly. She moved closer until she was only a few dozen centimetres from Ginny. She held out a hand.
"Je suis Rachel," she introduced herself in an amused voice.
"Ginny," the redhead replied, taking her hand.
"Ravie de te rencontrer, Ginny."
The woman never took her eyes off her, intimidated. She felt like a complete idiot.
After a few seconds without moving, Rachel withdrew her hand and Ginny felt herself blush again as her fingers slipped away. How long had she been holding her hand?
"Bonne soirée, Ginny," Rachel said, before giving her one last smile and walking away.
"Bonne soirée," the redhead whispered in reply.
She blinked several times, her mind empty of all thought. Then, after a few minutes frozen, she shook her head and set off for home.
She berated herself for her lack of eloquence throughout the journey.