Rummaging through her books, it was becoming increasingly difficult to decide which ones to pack and which ones to leave behind. She didn't know what they were dealing with so it wasn't easy to shortlist tomes that may come in handy. She finally decided to cover her bases and packed the books about the fundamentals of cursed objects, tracing spells, muggle & magical forensics and psychology. After the War, with crumbling mental health, muggle psychology had really picked up in the Wizarding World. Secretkeepers were a guild of muggle professionals offering their specialised services to the Wizarding World. Psychologists and forensic scientists at Scotland Yard were among those chosen professions.
Once she was satisfied that she had packed the right books and notes she checked the time. It had been more than two hours since they had arrived at her place! She was definitely running late! As she started packing her belongings in a hurry, she wondered if Malfoy was even around. It was unlike him to not have pointed out the time and taunt her by now. She quietly made her way to the living room where she had last seen him.
Draco Malfoy was sprawled out on her couch with drool dripping down the side of his mouth. If she didn't know any better, Hermione would have thought someone had killed him with poison. It was hilarious to see him so 'normal' and knocked out with fatigue. She quietly took the throw from her armchair and covered him with it as she left.
Just as warmth spread all over him, Draco turned to his side to get more comfortable. That was a mistake. With a loud thud, he found himself face down on the floor. He had hit his head and as he managed to sit upright and gather his surroundings he heard a loud giggle. "Shit." He thought once he realised where he was. He must have fallen asleep while waiting for her to decide how many books to pack. Before he could make a snarky comment he felt something crusty near his mouth and as he wiped it, he realised it was dried-up drool. "Merlin," he said under his breath. She must have seen him dead asleep and drooling and covered him with the throw.
Seeing how he had quickly retreated and wouldn't make any eye contact, Hermione imagined that the mighty Malfoy must have felt embarrassed. That was a first. "It's alright Malfoy, we all have tired days. I was going to make myself some tea before we left, want a cup?"
It almost sounded like a truce so he accepted the peace offering but only after he made her promise that she'll never mention what she witnessed again. His mind was still half asleep if he was being completely honest. Too much had happened too quickly in the past few days. A week ago he was Roger Fumbley, a podgy middle-aged squib living in Portugal and now he was back to being Draco Malfoy but crashing on Hermione Granger's couch. Oh, and the Carver was back. Nothing made any sense to his drained mind. He kept replaying the dream he saw in his head as he napped. He was with Nyssa in Hogsmeade. They were walking down the street where most people sneered at him but she put her arm around him as if it was no big deal. Then they went up to the grounds at Hogwarts and lay down watching clouds. The part about Hogsmeade was a memory, but the cloud-watching was entirely just something his brain had cooked up. As if his mind desperately wanted him to believe she was alive and well wherever she was. He had always been sure that he would definitely find something to catch the Carver but no amount of bribes and hunting for dark object sellers had helped him bring Nyssa's killer to justice. He hadn't ever stopped looking, not even when he was deep undercover or chasing other maniacs across borders.
He had been at his wit's end when no amount of Malfoy wealth or power could produce any leads. It may have been years but the frustration and helplessness still plagued him the same. He had been stripped of choices and cornered as a teenager; the same loss of control had surrounded him again. He had sought help from the Secretkeepers and seen a psychologist since. It wasn't something he ever shared with anyone and it felt like a massive chink in his armour but he had to do what he had to do to stay sane. A panic attack and months of nightmares later he had given in and sought help. It had been years since his first appointment but it still felt raw and unreal to have to open up to someone without the threat of Legilimency or Veritaserum.
Draco hadn't realised that he had zoned out sitting at Granger's breakfast bar. She held the tea cup in front of him waiting for him to hold it, but he was too deep in his thoughts to register anything. When she finally shook him out of his stupor, he reached out for the cup. His fingers wrapped around the small cup and Hermione's fingers—an honest mistake, but one that zapped both of them to attention immediately.
Hermione pulled away her hand quickly and so did Draco, spilling the tea everywhere. "Shit, am so sorry…" said Malfoy as he cast a quick cleaning charm. Thankfully the cup was intact when Hermione inspected it. "It's not your fault, I wasn't paying attention," she replied. "I'll fix you another cup."
"Very domestic of you Granger. Nice to know you do have social manners."
There it was, the snarky Malfoy prat she had known all her life. There was a weird sense of comfort in being riled up by him. A lifetime of bickering would do that to most, she mused.
"At least I have some manners unlike you who just barges into people's homes, barking orders!"
"Hey, it was an emergency and we really needed the Cloak urgently. I didn't have time for chit-chat!"
Hermione placed another cup of tea not-so-gently in front of him and went inside to wrap up her packing. She did leave him with some sconces to scarf down since she knew he didn't eat a lot of the takeout that she had ordered for lunch. She hated his guts, yes, but she didn't want to deal with a hungry & sleep-deprived manbaby either. They finally flooed into the Ministry at half past three.