Hope
Draco looked around his new flat and marveled at his surroundings. He took the three deep breaths in like Healer Miller instructed when he began to feel overwhelmed. A new country, a new flat, a new academic venture. So many changes so quickly required three more breaths before he let himself think of the opportunity to live in a city where he would be relatively unknown.
He had ventured out to Diagon Alley only once the day after his house arrest ended. He had dodged no less than five hexes, had been shouted at by countless other patrons, and had been called everything from a Death Eater to scum. He had apparated on the spot after dodging a potentially dangerous curse, knowing his trip was a failure. If he hadn't been sure of his move before that he absolutely was after.
Waking up somewhere other than the Manor had been a revelation and he had never been more grateful for Healer Miller than in that moment. The courage to move and start over was not something he would have had before. Accepting a potions apprenticeship from one of Snape's old contacts was daunting but exciting. For the first time in his life, he felt truly hopeful for his future.
Paris. He had been to France with his family plenty of times growing up but had never considered it a potential home. Paris was somewhere he had briefly visited but not truly explored. Not truly enjoyed. He had never been allowed to enjoy somewhere before. It was new. He told himself he deserved to be happy. After two years of Mind Healing, he had begun to believe it.
Three more breaths in to center himself. Hope. It was new. It was overwhelming. Three more breaths out. He could handle it.
He opened his eyes on the last breath out and caught a glimpse of red.
He purposefully did not have any red furniture. No red clothing. He had even charmed a few book covers to avoid any false sightings. They were just too painful. It had been two years, six months, and five days since he had seen the red reminder of everything he lost. Since he had last seen her.
But there it was. A thin red thread. It was not knotted or piled or wrapped around his feet. It was headed in a straight line out his front door. For the first time it did not feel aggravated or panicked. It did not feel as if it were angry with him. It too felt hopeful.
He broke out of his reverie and raced to the door, grabbing a coat and hastily pulling it on while he made to follow the string.
He was down the stairs and on the street in a flash, seeing a red line trailing down the sidewalk. He took off after it without a second thought.
Later he would think of the last time he had raced along it's path. The panic and fear he had felt then were such a stark contrast to his emotions this time. He could not begin to catalogue all of them. Excitement. Curiosity. Anticipation. But most prevalent, hope.
He sprinted for blocks, weaving through crowded streets and deserted alleys, always keeping his eyes on the string praying to Merlin that it would not disappear again. He could not lose it again. He could not lose her again.
He was panting, his breath coming out in cold puffs in the chilled air when he saw the string had slipped under a door that read Lire à Paris. He barely slowed before pulling open the door and stumbling gracelessly through the door.
Sitting at her favorite table, Hermione thought about her reason for being free on a Wednesday morning. Normally she would be researching. However she had just recently turned in a first draft of the first few chapters of her book and her mentor had insisted she take time for herself. Demanded it really. A new concept for someone so passionate in their work.
She had come up with the idea of writing a book after her own research experience had left her so frustrated. When she had finally found the elusive Unbreakable Bonds, she was disappointed in her find. Rather than a guide on bonds or even a book of experiences, it was a fairy tale. A simple one at that. The hero and his love interest—her feminist heart had frowned at the one dimensional nature of the female character —had experienced very little conflict after they met. Once they found each other through a mystical connection, fell in love and lived happily ever after.
Even given her distaste over the book, she believed in Happily Ever Afters. But she also believed they did not come easy, magical connection or not.
Hermione stared at her book, reading the paragraph for the third time. She was having trouble focusing. Something was niggling at the back of her brain. As a war veteran, she had learned to trust her instincts. She did not feel danger, there was just something there.
She had healed considerably from the trauma of war, only having the occasional nightmare and only seeing her Mind Healer when needed. She would always have scars, physical, mental, and emotional, but she felt more sure of herself than she ever had in her life. She was secure in her decisions. She enjoyed her life.
She was confident in her professional pursuits. Her research after her Mastery Program was fascinating. She had a topic that intrigued her and a mentor that believed in her. She had gained friends who appreciated her for more than what she could provide to them in homework help and constant life saving. She still did not have much contact with anyone from England, but most days she did not feel that absence like she had feared when she left. She truly enjoyed her life.
Still a small part of her was left wanting. She knew what was missing. Or rather, who was missing. Her research reminded her often enough but most of the time she was able to find an intellectual separation. But not always. She absently reached for her wrist, feeling for the thread she had not seen in over two years.
Her breath caught as she glanced down and saw it. Tied around her wrist as if it had never left. She ran trembling fingers over the thread and let out a shaky breath, unable to believe her eyes.
The bell on the door pulled her attention and she glanced up as a gust of cold wind entered the cafe.
He was breathing hard as if he'd been running. His bright blond hair was disheveled and his cheeks were pink from the exertion and the cold. He came to a stuttered halt as he caught her eyes. His widened and she could see so much emotion in them. She had never seen him so expressive. They were bright. Hopeful.
He took a step toward her and then hesitated, seemingly unsure if she would welcome his presence. Nervous. She had seen many sides to him but never nervous. Her lips quirked up into a small smile.
He gained a measure of confidence and walked to her table. She could see him taking in her appearance as she did the same. He had always been good looking but he looked different. Obviously healthier than he had been the last time she had seen him. Taller, if possible but now his frame held the muscle that spoke of consistent meals and an active lifestyle. His hair was short and messier than she had seen it before. She was mildly surprised by the muggle clothing he wore but seeing as they were in a muggle cafe she was glad for it. It also looked good on him. She could not deny that he was handsome.
And there it was. The red string that trailed off his ankle. The floor around them was littered with it. Loops and piles of red. She looked back up and saw he was staring at her with that open, hopeful expression.
"Granger." His voice held none of the malice she had heard over the years. It was such a short word but in it she heard hope, longing, and something deeper.
"Hermione." He said it quieter but with no less emotion.
She let out the full smile that had been wanting to escape since he stumbled through the door.
"Draco."