Chapter Text
The digital clock on her bedside table read 12:36 AM, as Hermione lay eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. She had spent hours tossing and turning, unable to sleep, the silence of her apartment only amplifying the relentless hum of her thoughts.
She tried, again, to coax her eyelids shut, to surrender to the darkness, to find that elusive peace. But when she finally opened her eyes, the numbers 12:47 AM glared back at her. A deep sigh escaped her lips. She wasn’t going to sleep tonight.
She threw the duvet covers aside, the sudden chill of the apartment air prickling her skin. Her hands, heavy with weariness, fumbled around in the darkness searching for the lamp switch, the sudden glare of the light momentarily blinding her. Rising slowly, her joints aching, she reached for the thick woolen cardigan draped over the back of her chair. A shiver ran through her as she pulled it around her shoulders, the worn fabric offering a small barrier against the cold.
Now fully awake, though far from rested, she walked into her dark kitchen and turned on the lights. Picking up the kettle, she filled it with water and turned it on. The hiss as it began to heat was a comforting white noise to distract her.
She sank into a chair at her small kitchen table, her gaze drifting absently to the night sky visible through the window. A sudden movement caught her eye, and she startled. Perched on the windowsill, its eyes gleaming in the dim light, was Draco's owl.
She approached the window with a gentle caution, sliding it open just enough to allow the owl in. It hopped gracefully onto the table and deposited the letter on the table, its eyes watching her with an almost knowing gaze. It hooted softly, shaking its feathers before accepting the treat she offered.
"I’m sorry I made you wait so long," she whispered, gently caressing the owl's head. “You must be tired.”
The owl cooed softly, its eyes half-closed in satisfaction, before it hopped to the edge of the table and flew out of the kitchen window into the darkness.
Now alone again, Hermione picked up the letter and unfolded the parchment, recognizing Draco’s neat handwriting.
Hermione,
I know it is not my place, and that you do not need my help. But if, by chance, you want dreamless sleep potions, I have some.
Draco M.
She bit her lip, a frown creasing her forehead as she replayed the scene in their office. The memory of her words, harsh and unforgiving, echoed in her mind. She didn’t deserve his kindness.
She rose, her movements stiff as she retrieved a parchment and quill from her work bag, and made herself some tea. She sat back down, the chair creaking beneath her, and began to write back. Her hand paused, the quill hovering over the page. She scratched out the words, a harsh, decisive line. Then, she tried again, her lips pressed into a thin line. Another pause, another scratch.
Dear Draco,
Draco Malfoy,
I appreciate your concerns
, but I am fine.
I’m sorry about my outburst earlier, I don’t deserve your...
I might take you up on your offer.
I don’t need any.
The parchment was a mess, and Hermione had been so focused on finding the right words that she hadn’t noticed the passage of time. A sudden knock at the front door startled her, and her head whipped around at the sharp intrusion.
She stood, her body poised for action. Her hand, guided by years of muscle memory, instinctively moved towards her missing wand, and a wave of helplessness washed over her as she remembered.
Hermione slowly approached the door, her senses on high alert. She leaned closer, her ear almost flush against the door, the faint sound of her own breathing echoing in her ears.
The silence was shattered by a familiar sound, a low, smooth voice. "Hermione, it's Draco."
Even with the sound of his voice, the fear lingered, a cold knot in her stomach. She wouldn't be caught off guard again. She wouldn't trust so easily. Not without her magic. "Prove it.”
The sound of a deep exhale drifted through the thick wooden door. “I helped you destroy the diadem in the room of requirements.”
Hermione pressed her forehead against the solid wood, her body sagging with exhaustion. It was him. She closed her eyes, allowing the relief to wash over her, before she turned the handle.
Draco was standing near the door, the tension in his stance suggesting he had been leaning against it. His hair was slightly tousled, and his clothes crinkled, the lines under his eyes suggesting he had been up for hours. "So you can't sleep either then?" he stated simply.
A flicker of surprise touched her eyes as she met his gaze, a sudden awareness of how she must appear washing over her. She wrapped her cardigan tighter around her. "How did you know?"
He stood stiffly, a slight hesitation in his stance. "Pavel," he said, shifting his weight. "He knocked at my window when he flew back."
"Right," she mumbled, her nod barely perceptible. She cleared her throat, her hand fluttering nervously towards the kitchen. "Um... tea?" she offered, stepping aside, her movements a little too quick as she bumped into the doorframe.
"Tea sounds great," he replied, stepping past her and into her home, a slight hesitation in his movements.
The door clicked shut, the sound a sharp snap in the quiet, and Hermione felt her cheeks warm. Why had she invited him in?
The living room remained shrouded in darkness, and she watched his silhouette move, a dark figure against the faint moonlight filtering through the window, as he took in the space. She followed his line of sight, her eyes settling on the worn couch, where little Henry had been curled up in a ball, shivering and terrified. Kirsty Birbeck’s ashen face suddenly flashed across her mind. That was the last time he had been here.
She stood motionless, her thoughts re-enacting the events within the confines of her mind, each detail being replayed on a loop.
"Where's the kitchen?" Draco asked, his voice snapping her back into the present. He stood before her, his gaze intense, and she felt a subtle prickle of unease, as if he were dissecting her every thought.
"Oh, right, it's this way," she said, leading him towards the bright light spilling from the kitchen. Pushing the unwelcome memories aside, she went to turn the kettle on, and reached into the cupboard to grab a second mug. “I only have breakfast tea or peppermint.”
“Peppermint sounds nice,” he responded as he settled into a chair at the kitchen table.
In a thick, awkward silence, Hermione dropped the teabag into the cup with a soft thud. She leaned against the cool countertop as she waited for the water to boil, her eyes fixed on the rising steam as her fingers nervously traced the edge of the tiles. The kettle clicked, and she poured the water with a tense precision, before quietly setting the cup down in front of Draco.
She remained standing, pulling her cardigan tightly around her, her fingers absentmindedly twisting the soft fabric of her sleeves. She watched him take a measured sip of his tea, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice cutting across the quiet hum of the kitchen.
"I couldn't sleep," he explained simply, averting his gaze to the cooking utensils on the countertop.
Her brows knit together, a hint of frustration in her expression "I understand that," she said, her voice steady, "but why did you come here , Draco?"
Draco turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers with a soft intensity as he placed his cup on the table. "I came here to apologize," he confessed.
The restless movements of her hands stopped abruptly, her arms lowering slightly. She was at a loss for words. “But you have you have nothing to apologize for,” she said quietly.
His expression softened. “I was being overbearing back in the office. I should have let you look after yourself.
Hermione frowned, a shadow of sadness dimming her eyes as she shook her head gently. He shouldn't be apologizing. "You did nothing wrong," she murmured, her voice laced with a quiet honesty. "You were just trying to help, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did."
Seconds stretched, heavy with unspoken emotions, and finally, Draco pursed his lips, a deep furrow appearing between his brows. "Please, just tell me, Hermione," he said, his voice laced with earnest concern. He paused, his eyes searching hers, his hand reaching out tentatively, hovering just above the table. "Are you really okay?"
She lowered herself slowly into the seat across from him, her movements deliberate, her posture guarded. "I'm managing," she said, her voice deliberately vague.
Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly, his fingers drumming against the table near her hand. "Have you seen the newest Daily Prophet?"
She took a slow sip of her tea. "No, what did it say?" she asked, her voice casual, masking the lie.
"Well," Draco began, leaning forward, his eyes sharp. "From what I glimpsed on the cover of the Daily Prophet, lying next to your couch, I'm fairly certain you won't be pleased to learn that your past relationship with Mclaggen is being dissected in public."
Caught red-handed, she raised her cup to her lips again, hiding her expression behind it. "I'm fine."
A disheartened sigh escaped him as he placed his mug on the table with a quiet thud. "You're not," he said gently, his eyes fixed on hers.
She leaned back in her chair, thrown off by his blunt assertion. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked defensively.
"You're not present when I’m talking to you, Hermione," he said, a tone of concern in his voice. "You're distant, exhausted, like you haven't slept since you woke up from your coma. And you're radiating anger. At me, at yourself, at the world—I can't quite decipher the primary target."
She froze, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, desperately trying to assemble the scattered pieces of her composure.
"I can see in your eyes when your mind is travelling elsewhere. I noticed it in the office, and I saw it just there when we were in your living room," he said softly. His gaze fell away, dropping to the ground. "I know what it feels like to constantly feel angry, and not know why. To feel scared."
Hermione inhaled sharply, his raw honesty catching her off guard. "You do?"
Across from her, Draco nodded gravely, a slow, weighty movement, until his eyes met hers once more, locking onto them with a charged intensity. "I do," he echoed back to her.
Her breath snagged, and her hand clenched into a fist at her chest, in a desperate attempt to hold back the flood of emotions she was currently feeling. "Does it stay like this forever?" she whispered.
Draco's hand reached across the table, gently unclenching her fists, his fingers weaving through hers, holding them tightly. “No.”
The world spun around her, every emotion amplified, every thought rushing through her mind, every memory being relived. The pressure on her chest was crushing as she fought to keep breathing. "Draco,” she said, squeezing his hand, “I don't know what— I'm... I'm so lost," she managed to say, her voice trembling as she gasped for air.
He moved to the seat beside her, his arm wrapping around her. "Shhh," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing cadence. "I know it doesn't seem like it now, but I promise you will be okay." He shifted closer, pulling her head against his chest as he stroked her back slowly.
They stayed like that for a while, his embrace reassuring, his scent comforting, familiar. A moment passed, and she felt the warmth of his hand against her jaw, tilting her face upward until their eyes met. Her breathing evened out, the world softening around her.
"It’s killing me to see you like this," he whispered, "knowing I'm the reason." His eyes were glistening, reflecting the pain he was holding back.
"It's not your fault, Draco,” she insisted, her voice trembling slightly.
"It is," he said, heavy with regret as he pulled away from her. "And then, when you woke up in the hospital, I just selfishly forced all these feelings on you. And after everything you had been through… It was too soon." Draco paused, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I think—”
Her heart stuttered. “What?”
He inhaled sharply, and his jaw tightened as he swallowed hard. "I think… we should just stay colleagues," he stated, his voice flat. A heavy silence descended. "It's for the best," he repeated, as if trying to convince himself.
Hermione’s limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, her mind a blank canvas, unable to register the words. "Okay."
Draco’s eyes flickered back to hers, his features flinching as if each word was a physical blow. "I'm doing this for both of us," he said, his voice strained.
"Okay," she repeated, the word a hollow echo.
Across from her, he dropped his head into his hands, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. "Maybe," he suggested tentatively, his voice low, "when everything with the case calms down, there’s a chance we could try again."
Hermione nodded slowly, a quiet agreement as she came to terms with his statements, her mind still empty, unable to grasp her emotions, unable to form a single word.
In the silence, Draco reached into his pocket, his hand rustling around before he pulled out a small vial. "I brought the dreamless sleep potion," he offered, putting it on the table in front of her.
"It won't do any good if I can't get to sleep," she stated, sliding it back to him.
"It will, I promise," Draco said gently. He stood, retrieving her mug, and moved towards the kettle, turning it on. He grabbed another teabag and prepared a new cup of peppermint tea, the familiar scent filling the air. Carefully, he poured the vial's contents into the steaming brew. He could have used magic, a quick incantation, a flick of his wand, but he chose the Muggle way.
Once he finished, he picked the mug up from the kitchen counter, the steam swirling upwards, and began to walk towards the darkened living room. "Come on," he said softly, "let's get you settled somewhere more comfortable."
He placed the mug on the low table beside the couch, and she followed him, a small sigh escaping her lips. She sank into the couch, surprised by the unexpected softness of the cushions.
Moments later, Draco returned, a soft, folded blanket in his hands. His movements were deliberate, almost tender, as he draped the blanket around her shoulders. His fingers hesitated near her cheek, then gently brushed away stray strands of hair that had become trapped beneath the fabric, a fleeting, almost hesitant touch.
With a slight nod towards the mug, he said softly, "Drink up,” then moved to the other side of the couch, a small distance created between them.
She reached for the tea, cradling the warm mug in her hands, and took a slow sip. A wave of soothing relaxation washed over her, easing the tension in her muscles. She settled back into the cushions. “Did you brew this potion yourself?”
Draco shook his head, a flicker of memory in his eyes. "I didn’t," he paused, his voice trailing off, "Snape made it for me, when Voldemort was in the Manor. Why?"
“Do you know if he modified the recipe?” she asked, noting the potion's effect even before sleep took hold. “I can taste some valerian root in the mixture."
Even in the dim light, the curve of a smile was evident on his lips. "Clever witch," he murmured softly. “He added valerian root for its calming effect, and also sopophorous beans to induce sleep.”
Hermione sipped her tea, the warmth spreading through her as she tried to taste the ingredients. As the potion's tranquility settled over her, she observed Draco. He sat with one leg tucked beneath him, seemingly at peace. But his eyes, shadowed and far away, betrayed him.
In the quiet darkness, she asked, "What was it like? Having Voldemort living with you?"
Draco remained still, his eyes fixed on a distant point. "I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy,” he said, his voice flat. “And I’ve got plenty of those.”
“It must have been terrifying, especially being so young...” Hermione finished the tea, the lingering warmth settling in her stomach, and placed the empty mug on the table, burrowing deeper into the blankets. "Did they help you? The potions?” she asked quietly.
She felt Draco move beside her, the comfort of his presence receding, the space beside her suddenly empty. "They did," he said, his voice now distant. He was leaving.
She sat up abruptly, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. “Don’t leave.”
He opened the door, a soft click breaking the quiet. "You know I can't stay, Hermione," he said gently, his gaze lingering on her. He turned, the corridor light illuminating him briefly before he stepped out. "Sleep well," he whispered, and then the door closed, leaving behind only the ghost of his presence.
Without a moment to dwell on his words, she surrendered to the gentle pull of sleep, her mind finally finding peace.