Finally. She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the distinct pop of her fiancé leaving for work. Hermione rinsed out her cup of tea, placed the empty mug on the counter, and hurried up the stairs towards the master bedroom.
She kept her eyes straight ahead, averting them from looking guiltily at the pictures on the wall that usually brought a smile to her face: moving photographs of her friends, of her family, and of her and Ron together. She couldn't make herself look at them. After her dream last night about him, she was determined to keep a strong resolve, and she was deeply afraid that her resolve would break if she took so much as one glance at those memories. She quickened her pace.
By the time Hermione got to their bedroom, she was completely out of breath, but she continued past the door and hurried towards the closet. She was on a mission to reach back into her past. She had to know if, in marrying Ron, she was making a mistake. She felt a flicker of panic and indecision. She stood partially frozen with both hands on the closet door's handles. Do I really want to do this? she pondered. She was oh-so-close to what could potentially be a life-changing decision. A decision that would not only affect her, but all of the people who cared about her, especially Ron. It could alter their opinions of her forever. She looked down at her shaking hands and heard the closet doors slightly clattering.
She could just walk away. She could just forget this dream, and every other one like it. She could go back to business as usual, and act like nothing had changed. She couldr13;
No, she realized with a sigh. I couldn’t.
She slowly opened the closet doors and got down onto her hands and knees, reaching into the deep left corner and feeling around. Her fingers finally caught purchase on a relatively small wooden box that tingled with magic at her touch.
Gently wrapping her fingers around it, she sat back and gingerly held it to her chest. She stood and slowly walked over to her desk, observing the box before setting it down and lowering herself into her chair.
She brushed the dust from the top of the box with her hand, running her fingers dubiously over the carving of a dragon on the lid of the box. Come on, Hermione, she tried to encourage herself as she pulled out her wand, You can do this. She whispered the words, "Resero Incendium." The carving glowed flame-red for a moment before returning to normal; she flinched as a loud cracking noise, exactly like the sound of Apparation, sounded. Hermione tensely glanced at the door but heard no one stirring in the house. She let out the breath she had subconsciously been holding.
Heart racing in her chest and beginning to feel like she was being watched, Hermione turned back to the box and put her fingers on the lid, as if to open it. You can do this, she chanted to herself as she clenched her eyes shut, you can do this.
In one small, swift motion, the box was open. She forced her eyes open and looked down into the box. The first thing she saw was a small and intricate ivory carving of a dragon and an otter, whose bodies were partially entwined and looked as if they were twirling together in some foreign dance. She hesitantly picked it up, running her fingers over every different texture. She felt a deep ache in her heart, and her eyes began to sting.
She let a single tear fall silently down her cheek as she put the ivory figure down on the desk next to the box before reaching back in. Wiping the teardrop away, she pulled out an envelope and a two pieces of folded parchment. Putting the envelope back down, she brought pieces the parchment into the center of her focus. The first piece was a letter.
Dearest Little Otter,
For only two weeks and four days, it's been summer, but already I miss you terribly. I miss the looks you sent my way during Potions (by the way, you were right; our textbooks for the next year of Potions is quite repetitive of this last year), and I especially miss our late-night rendezvous in the Room of Requirement. I really wish you would rethink spending a few weeks of the summer with me in Paris. We wouldn't have to stay with my parents, if you would rather not. They would never have to know.
My summer has been fine so far; Father has organized multiple social gatherings already, and therefore decided that it would be a splendid idea to invite many, as he says, "acceptable, eligible young women" to those events. Little does he know that everything I want, and everything I need, I have with you. Anything else is just unnecessary clutter in my life.
I also wanted to inquire, once again, if you believe that I should speak to my parents about our relationship. I believe that my mother may be understanding, and that if she is, my father will eventually come around and realize how wonderful you truly are.
I must go now; Mother has just called me for dinner, but I promise to write again as soon as possible. Goodbye, and remember, I love you, Hermione.
All of the love in the world,
Your Dragon
After reading the last sentence of the letter no less than a dozen times, Hermione leaned back in her chair and sighed heavily, covering her eyes with one hand. The silent tears flowed freely now, and she could do nothing to stop them. They were tears of both happiness and grief; happiness as she remembered the golden fire that those three words had painted her heart with. But the cold grief was overwhelming, knowing that a few months later, he would take it back, and that fire would die.
Once the final tears had fallen, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Thank Merlin I don't wear make-up, she thought to herself with a humorless chuckle. With one final sniff, she refolded the letter and placed it on the desk next to the figurine, and picked up the other piece of parchment. This was rather small and more heavily worn than the last letter. She hesitated before opening it, unsure if she could handle what it contained. With a deep breath, she unfolded the piece of paper and looked down upon the hastily scribbled message.
H-
We can't be together. I could never be with a filthy Mudblood. Don't respond.
-D
The message, though short, ripped her apart just like it had the first time she had read it. She clutched it tightly in her hand as she wrapped her arms around her torso, trying to hold in the physical torment that it brought to her chest. The monster of sorrow that had long been dormant had awakened and was full of energy, just waiting for the perfect moment in which to burst out and make the full extent of its agony known.
When the monster had finally been fought back down, leaving Hermione with a dull headache, she laid down the piece of paper with the collection of items she had already taken her memories from.
Inhaling deeply, she looked out of the corner of her eye at the innocent-looking white envelope. Hermione's stomach dropped. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, and muttered, "Don't be such a coward... You weren't placed in Gryffindor for nothing."
She lifted the flap of the envelope slowly; her entire body grew tense as she saw movement from the tops of the wizarding photographs. Slowly, smooth platinum blond hair moved towards bushy brown.
The envelope fell from her ice-cold fingers. She clenched her jaw and rested her head in her hands. "I can't do it, I can't do it, I can't, I just can't..." She groaned and buried her face in her arms. I guess I’m not as brave as I thought, she bitterly scolded herself.
A quiet voice came from behind her; "Then don't."
Hermione froze. I know that voice. Without breathing, without blinking, she stiffly stood and turned around to face the person who had spoken.
The person was rather tall, with a fairly thin but clearly built frame. He had a shock of bleach-blond hair and wore a pressed white shirt, shiny black shoes, and gray pants. They matched his eyes; cautious eyes as gray as a stormy sky met shocked eyes of chocolate, still partially filled with unshed tears.
They stood in silence, locked on each others' gaze, until Hermione finally was able to come to her senses, and her eyes widened in disbelief and wonder.
"Draco..." she whispered, hardly believing that he was actually there.
He paused for a moment, looking between each of her eyes, watching her utter bewilderment. He seemed unsure of what to say to her.
A slight sneer touched his face as he evidently made up his mind. "Granger." She quickly rearranged her expression, her countenance becoming very contemptuous. He continued speaking as if he didn't notice. "May I inquire as to why I was so suddenly summoned here?"
Hermione's eyes flashed with anger, then recognition. The cracking sound as she had opened the box... Did that mean he had been there this entire time?
Noticing her questioning look, Draco grimaced.
"Don't you remember what I told you about that when I gave it to you?" he murmured awkwardly, shifting his weight and jerking his chin towards the box.
Hermione shook her head back and forth slightly, her eyes narrowed. "I wasn't listening too much to the words you said. I was focused on the fact that the boy whom I loved, and whom I thought loved me,"r13;Draco frowned at thisr13;"had given me such a wonderful gift." She pursed her lips. "And now, both have come to back and haunt me, no longer just in my dreams."
She blushed and looked down as she realized her unintentional confession. A look of deep thought and minor befuddlement grazed Draco's features as he analyzed Hermione's words.
He finally asked, "What about your last letter? Well, it was more of a note, actually. All of what, three sentences? No explanations? Didn't think the pitiful little Draco Malfoy was worthy of your time, right?" The sneer had worked its way back onto his visage.
"Cut the crap, Malfoy," Hermione snapped, putting emphasis on his surname. She wouldn't slip again; he was no different than the arrogant boy she had met at Hogwarts. "I never sent you a letter like that; although, from your description, you may as well have been talking about the one you sent to me."
Draco’s sneer morphed into a frown. "What are you talking about, woman?"
Hermione’s hand, which had been resting on the desk, twitched in the direction of the second note. His eyes did not miss the movement.
"Let me see that letter," he quietly demanded, walking forward until he was only a few feet away from her with his hand extended.
Hermione unthinkingly stepped backwards, running into her desk. Quickly snatching the note, she held it possessively to her chest. Her anger was quickly fading into desperation. She had to cling to the facts that she knew to be true, such as: he was the same heartless boy who had broken her. "No," she whispered.
Draco’s brow furrowed slightly and his lip twitched into an almost-smile. "For something that so clearly causes you pain, you seem extremely unwilling to give it up." He gave a small chuckle at the minor look of shock on her face and her expression softened. She never realized how much she had missed his laugh. No, she scolded herself. You did not miss his laugh. What is wrong with you?!
He took a few more steps forward until he was directly in front of Hermione, reached out, and tentatively took hold of the hand that was clutching the note in a death-grip. Unconsciously she let her hand slightly relax, and he gently uncurled her fingers, taking out the small piece of paper that they had held.
As he uncrumpled the small piece of parchment, Hermione observed him. This is the first time she had seen him since sixth year, when their "little affair"r13;as they had called itr13;had begun. That had been eight years ago; it seemed like just yesterday, Hermione thought as she remembered. His facial features had become sharper, and whatever boyishness he had back then was gone from his face. He had probably grown another three inches, if she was to guess. He towered over her now, but it she wasn't easily intimidated. As her eyes continued to roam his face, she noticed the deep crease between his brows; she had to rein in the urge to smooth out the crease with her fingers. His eyes were intent on the page, reading the words written there over and over as his mouth turned into a slight grimace.
"I never wrote this..." he murmured, turning his intense stare to Hermione.
It wasn’t until then that either of them noticed the closeness of their proximity to each other. Draco’s steely glare dissipated, and the smallest of smiles touched his face.
He lifted his right hand and cupped her cheek; she unconsciously leaned into the warmth as she closed her eyes. She could feel the closeness of his face as he leaned in and gently kissed her. She instantly responded, her mind going blissfully blank, the fire kindling in her heart once more. Hermione couldn't remember a time that Ron had ever made her feel this way.
This feels so right, she thought to herself as she raised her left hand to cover his when he pulled back. Nothing has changed. She felt him stiffen, and opened her eyes out of curiosity. His eyes were focused on a point just to the left of her face, and she realized what he had caught his attention.
He was looking at her engagement ring.
When his eyes once again met hers, they were filled first with hurt, then anger, and finally settled on the ice cold, distant look she had gotten so used to at school. He pulled away and stepped back, and without a word, turned on the spot.
"Draco—" she called as she reached out, barely managing to catch hold of his arm before feeling the familiar squeezing of Apparation. Once the Apparation was over, she felt an unfamiliar, agonizing pain on her leg. Looking up, she saw Draco’s shocked gray eyes as he opened his mouth to speak. Then she passed out.
***
Draco felt a slight pressure near his elbow before turning into temporary nonexistence. What the--oh shite.
In no more than a second, he appeared with a POP! in the living room of his flat in the middle of London, Hermione clinging to his arm. He turned to look accusatorially at her just in time to see all of the blood and make eye contact. "Oh, shite!" he said as she passed out and slid to the floor.
Despite being in shock, Draco managed to reach out just in time to grab her arm and prevent her head from crashing into the floor or cracking on the edge of the coffee table. He gently lowered her unconscious body down to the ground between the table and the couch, and noticed that the blood seemed to be coming from her right leg. Pulling up the fabric to knee-length, Draco was able to see the issue clearly: A chunk of flesh, about the size and shape of a baseball cut in half, was completely missing out of her leg. Splinched.
Draco felt a twinge of panic deep in his gut. "RITZY!" he called out, followed by another crack. A small house elf, about three feet tall, appeared at Draco's right. He had two enormous ears that flopped around madly with the slightest movement of the head. His smaller-than-average green eyes widened considerably when he saw Hermione laying on the floor, and even more when he saw the gaping hole in her leg. He let out a very high-pitched squeak and slapped his hands over his mouth.
"Ritzy," Draco commanded in a voice much calmer than he felt, "Keep your emotions under control." The small elf managed to tear his eyes from the wound to look at Draco and slightly nodded his head while attempting to compose his face. "Go to into the potion cupboard under the sink in the guest bathroom. I’m going to need a Dreamless Sleep Potion, Blood-Replenishing Potion, Essence of Dittany, and Painless Potion. Get the kitchen table cleared off and covered with a clean sheet. Now, Ritzy."
Ritzy nodded his head once abruptly, ears shaking wildly, and quickly Disapparated.
As soon as the house elf had gone, Draco’s calm facade dropped immediately. He frantically turned to look at the woman lying on his living room floor, dead to the world. Hermione’s face was growing paler, and her leg was still bleeding freely. He looked around wildly for something, anything, to wrap around her leg. Nothing in sight was sufficient; he had no blankets lying out, and all of the furniture was black leather. Without hesitation and without bothering with the buttons, Draco pulled his shirt over his head. After transfiguring one of the sleeves into a piece of gauze and the rest into a bandage, he began wrapping up the wound on Hermione’s leg. A quick "Scourgify" cleaned up the blood on the floor, and he gently picked Hermione up with one arm under her knees and the other around her torso.
Carrying her as quickly as possible without jostling her into the adjacent kitchen, Draco barely noticed that the table had already been cleared and covered in a bright white sheet as he set Hermione down. Once he had situated her, Ritzy appeared with all of the required potions.
Draco was in his element. Unthinkingly, he unwrapped the wound and reached for the Essence of Dittany, administering three drops into the gaping hole. Within seconds, tender new skin began to appear over the exposed flesh. It won't stop the pain, he thought, but at least the wound won't get infected. Messily throwing the cap on and hurriedly plopping the bottle on the table, he reached for the Blood Replenishing Potion. Noticing how immensely pale Hermione had become, almost as white as the sheet she was laying on, he knew that it was essential that she take the potion as soon as possible.
Draco conjured a glass with his wand and paused before pouring in the Blood-Replenishing Potion. When Hermione woke up, she was going to be in excruciating pain; the thought made him feel sick. Her emotional distress was his fault, and now this physical affliction was as well; having been so blinded by the rage and sadness inside of him, he hadn't been completely focused on his destination. He filled the glass a third of the way with Painless Potion, and filled the rest of the space with Blood-Replenishing Potion. Mixing it, he handed the glass to Ritzy.
He spoke soberly to the small house elf. "I'm going to wake her up. As soon as she is able, you need to force her to drink this. All of it." Ritzy nodded once sharply and took the glass from Draco's hands.
Each took one side of Hermione--Draco her left, Ritzy her right--and Draco lifted his wand and flicked it in the direction of her face.
"Ennervate."
Hermione's eyes snapped open and, almost instantly, her face contorted with anguish. Just as she opened her mouth to cry out in pain, Ritzy lifted the glass to her mouth, tipping the contents inside. Clearly not knowing what else to do, Hermione swallowed every last bit of the concoction, practically choking on it. The frantic look in her eyes began to quickly dim as the potions started to take their effects. Draco's tense shoulders relaxed slightly.
Hermione looked over at Draco with dazed eyes, and he held up a small purple bottle. "Dreamless Sleep Potion," he said as an explanation.
Closing her eyes, she gave him a weak nod. He helped her sit up while Ritzy administered the potion. Draco laid her back down gently as sleep took over her and her breathing became even, her face perfectly serene.
"You may go, Ritzy," Draco said tiredly. Suddenly sleep sounded wonderful, but the adrenaline was still burning through his veins. "I'll clean this all up. Just... go visit my mother or something." Ritzy--who was very fond of Narcissa Malfoy for some peculiar reason--was both comically surprised and confused, and Draco let out a snort of laughter. With a small, "Thank you, sir!" Ritzy Apparated away, leaving Draco and Hermione alone once again.
Rubbing his hand over his eyes and then getting to work, Draco thought back to the events of the past hour. None of this would have happened if he hadn't felt that damn tattoo burn...
Draco sat at his desk for the Merlin-knows-how-many-ith time that week reviewing his notes. He was also pulling his third all-nighter in the past five days, and he was exhausted beyond all compare. He frowned sleepily at the pieces of parchment in front of him. None of the Ministry's top Potion's Master's tests had come out even close to being right, one had gone horrifically wrong, and now they would have to wait until the next full moon to try again.
As a lowly apprentice, he was the one stuck with all of the paperwork detailing what went awry in the tests, and all potential fixes for each one. He couldn't remember the last time that he had actually helped with the development of the test potions; it must have been months.
Resting his head in his hands, he couldn't help but wonder to himself if they would ever find something to cure lycanthropy. The fact that Wolfsbane Potion only worked on eighty-five percent of werewolves was becoming a problem. Society was still prejudiced, even after the Dark Lord's fall. While he didn't exactly sympathize for the wretched creatures, he knew what it felt like to be looked down upon because of something beyond your control. His frown morphed into a disgusted grimace.
"Nice face, Malfoy."
Draco froze shuffling through his papers and stiffened. As if my day couldn't get any worse
... He internally groaned. "Maddox..." he mumbled.
Abe Maddox was the absolute best Potion's Master to ever have been employed at the Ministry of Magic, and that was really saying something. It also just so happened that his Muggleborn wife had been murdered by the Death Eaters during the war for not giving into their demands, and since then Maddox had trusted practically no one. Especially those former Death Eaters that had managed to stay out of Azkaban.
So, naturally, he would become Draco's main supervisor.
Maddox creeped into Draco's cubicle and peered over his shoulder, observing the paperwork he was working on. He smirked.
"Behind on paperwork, I see. Perhaps if the work load is too much I could always bring in a different apprentice. It would be as easy as--"
"No," Draco interrupted. "I'm perfectly capable of finishing all of this. Without assistance."
With a raise of his eyebrows, Maddox cleared his throat, and without so much as a farewell, he walked out of the small cubicle and into his main office. Draco's death grip on the pile of parchment loosened as he dropped them to his desk. After stretching out, he grabbed a fresh report sheet and his favorite quill and got back to work.
It was because of his distraction that he didn't notice when his wrist began to itch. When the itching sensation eventually became more of a burning, Draco realized with a start that this was more than a simple mosquito bite. The irritated redness of his skin from his scratching made the tattoo more clearly visible; golden in color as a result of the magic that had permanently placed it there, a small dragon rested on his wrist just over his pulse point, practically invisible unless looked at at the correct angle. He flinched as stomach clenched and a shot of panic zapped through his body.
He started to nervously tap his quill. Draco knew that, miles away, a certain person was holding a certain box, and that at the moment that particular box was opened, he would be automatically transported into the same room as the girl who broke his heart.
Draco fumbled to pull out his wallet and slowly slid out the piece of parchment hidden inconspicuously inside. The creases were worn deep from being folded and unfolded hundreds upon hundreds of times. He cringed internally as he read the words that still hurt, even after eight years.
Draco-
You disgust me, you loathsome Death Eater. I never want to speak to you again! Just leave me alone, you monster!
Closing his eyes, he had barely just put the parchment back in his wallet and tossed it onto his desk when the tattoo burned red-hot and with a Pop! he was gone.
Draco closed the cabinet doors after putting away the potions in their proper places and went back to the kitchen. He looked over at the table and grimaced. I can't just leave her lying on the table. How horribly uncomfortable...
Picking her up again, he maneuvered his way through the living room and down the hallway to the guest room, where he laid her down on the bed. For the first time, he allowed himself to really look at her. Her once-bushy hair had settled down somewhat into loose curls. Her skin was still as clear as it ever was, but the foreshadowing of lines began to touch the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her body was slender with slight curves and a soft figure.
Draco smirked. Nothing athletic about her; definitely still a bookworm. She had grown out of her slightly awkward teenage self; she was her own person now, and Draco liked what he saw.
He wondered what else about her was the same, and decided that he'd really like to find out. I only got one kiss, Draco thought to himself. Maybe Weasley taught her a few things. After all that time with Lavender... With thoughts of Weasley in his head, his eyes flickered unconsciously to the ring that rested on Hermione's left hand.
Mentally punching himself for his absurd daydreams, Draco strode into the kitchen. Crumpling the dirty gauze and bandages, the adrenaline finally burned through, Draco realized how unbearably tired he was. After he finished cleaning up the kitchen and blearily walking into the living room, Draco flopped down on the smooth leather couch, covering his face with his arms. With Hermione sleeping peacefully on the bed in the guest room, all evidence of recent events had seemingly vanished. Minus his fatigue, of course.
About twenty minutes of empty-minded bliss later, he fully realized for the first time that he still had no shirt on.
Taking his time getting up and stretching, he walked down the hallway to his bedroom, just across the hall from the guest room. What he could really go for was a nap. Opening the door, he looked at his bed and, shirt completely forgotten, he sprawled out and almost instantly fell asleep, dreaming of brown curly hair and adolescent eyes sparkling with rebellious mischief.
***