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He looks perfect, something out of a dream really. Basked in a honey-sweet glow with soft shadows kissing the curve of his cheekbones. Draco looked unreal, a perfect portrait of unbridled beauty. Hermione’s breath catches in her throat the longer she gazes at him, takes him in like it might just be the last time she ever sees him. He seems to be doing the same. His sharp eyes studying her, colored in something unrecognizable.
“Granger–” Draco paused for just a moment. In the space between the barely-there breaths, she could hear a soft sigh escape him. She finds that she’s on the edge of her seat, waiting to hear what he has to say. “This is supposed to be a celebration… You look close to tears.” There’s a certain silence that follows his statement.
It’s only broken once she laughs, a watery laugh, and raises a hand to wipe at her eyes. The ring on her left-hand catches the light and she brings her hand back down in front of her as if suddenly noticing the jewelry adorning her fourth finger. Hermione stares at the engagement ring and feels the large stone of the diamond glare back at her. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, but she can’t bear to look at him as a pang of familiar guilt drowns her. Hermione brought her hand down into her lap and reached for her champagne glass. To toast to her sadness, to toast his departure she wasn’t sure. “To your promotion,” Hermione smiled weakly, extending out her glass.
Draco mirrored her movements. “And to your engagement,” he noted somewhat dryly, somewhat bitterly. “I don’t believe we’ve ever celebrated you and Weasley’s announcement.” She isn’t sure why his words sting, but they do nonetheless. Their glasses clink against one another and Hermione downs her drink to comfort or numb herself. Draco sips his, a hint of amusement betrays his otherwise cooled expression.
“Are you excited about your new position?” she heard herself ask. Her thoughts were thousands of miles away though. Hermione was too preoccupied with the way his eyes gleamed sliver when the candle flame flickered just right. Her stomach was a mess of knots. She felt like she may become forever tangled in those dreadful threads.
He shrugged, signaling the waiter with just a small flick of his hand. “I’ve… I believe that I’ve grown accustomed to your presence,” he admitted quietly. His gaze feels burning and liquid fire suddenly floods her veins. It was such a heated stare, one that was filled with hidden promises. Hermione shivered and he suddenly averted his gaze. Draco cleared his throat, seeming to sense the shift before she did, and moved to change the subject. “It will definitely be a change of pace.” Draco feels miles away despite sitting just a few feet in front of her. It was like his walls had suddenly come back up like they were always there, like they were never close, like they never spent countless nights in each other’s company.
There’s a lull in their conversation and for the first time in months, it suddenly feels awkward between them. Hermione wanted to remedy it but wasn’t sure what to say that would close this ever-growing gap between them. She cleared her throat.
“I thought when you said you were taking me out to dinner that we would finally dine in at the Thai place we always get delivered,” she added airly. “I’m afraid I’m underdressed,” Hermione motioned down to what she normally wore to work. The long black skirt and her favorite white blouse made her feel like the help in such an upscale establishment.
He didn’t seem to get what she was saying, instead, he just looked down at the menu. “Maybe next time,” he offered. The words felt empty. They were hollow. They broke her heart.
Draco was lying. She knew he was lying. There would be no next time. This was goodbye.
“Maybe next time,” Hermione repeated, feeling her chest constrict with the three words.
“This is where you’ll be working.” Hermione heard someone say, drawing her from the trance that she often found herself in while she was working. She looked up from one of the many files that covered her workspace to find someone she hadn’t expected to see ever again.
Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway.
She stood abruptly, hand inching to her wand before she could stop herself. It was instinctual, just the sight of him triggered a sort of stress response from her. His eyes flashed with recognition before he averted them, seeming to shrink in on himself at the sight of her. It seemed like he was trying to make himself appear as small as possible. “You know each other?” Nancy, an elderly witch who worked a few floors up suddenly appeared beside him.
“We’ve had the displeasure of meeting before,” Hermione replied tensely, the words seeming to catch in her throat. A flood of memories came rushing back. Memories of the war and the subsequent trials. Things that seemed like a lifetime ago, things she tried not to remember.
Malfoy didn’t say anything.
“Now now,” the older witch playfully scolded the younger woman. “Working with someone will be a nice change of pace! You’re always so alone in here. It’ll be good for you. Show him the ropes,” she added before she turned on her heels and left the pair to their devices.
It was awkward.
The silence stretched for miles and she didn’t know what to say to close the distance. Hermione cleared her throat. Air seemed to slip from her lungs—not register at all. Hermione felt like she might start gasping for breath. “It’s… It’s nice to see you again, Malfoy.” She didn’t mean it. It was just something you were supposed to say. Nothing but obligatory politeness.
He looked up from the floor to glare at her. His gaze was as sharp as daggers. “I didn’t take you for a liar.” His words seemed to burn her and she physically recoiled from him. She wasn’t expecting him to snap at her. She swallowed thickly, taking a moment to gather herself before glaring back at him.
“What do you want me to say?” Hermione asked. She was clenching her fists so tightly that it felt like her nails were cutting into the skin of her palm. Draco stayed silent, he looked conflicted. “Come in,” she sighed when she realized that he was waiting for her invitation, waiting for her permission to step into her space. Draco froze at her words like couldn’t quite believe what he heard. She let out an exasperated sound and moved around her desk and motioned for him to come closer. Draco quickly followed her. She held her breath when he crossed the threshold of her office.
He moved mechanically like someone else was pulling his strings.
Hermione studied him for a moment before turning away from the male. “The job is pretty simple,” she began, stepping away from her current mountain of files and walking to one of the many other files that he could begin with. “It’s sorting, correcting, and sending the files to the new room.” Hermione turned to look at him and was surprised to see the blank expression that took over his defined features.
“What are you doing here?” Draco asked abruptly. She was taken back for a moment. He even looked uncomfortable with his sudden outburst before he stood up straighter, seeming to find himself in the small moment of silence. Grey eyes betraying nothing. It was like a wall had come up between them like he was trying to put a barrier between them.
“What do you mean?” Hermione felt her heart stutter in her chest. There was something about his words or the way he said them that made her feel so small, so inadequate.
“Brightest witch of her age,” he replied blankly. “This is a punishment for me. What are you doing wasting away here?”
The waiter was walking away. “Did you order for me?” Hermione asked, surprised that he didn’t just break her from whatever grasped her so tightly.
“I just ordered you the pasta,” Draco looked at her, eyes blazing with something she couldn’t understand. “I figured I could order you something since I’ve been ordering you dinner for months.” The words left his mouth slowly like he was tasting them only after they left his lips.
“Oh,” was all she could say. It felt intimate, it felt like the line they couldn’t—or wouldn’t cross. She noticed that Draco remembered all the little things she did, all the subtle nuances that made her whole. Hermione wasn’t sure if she liked the way he knew her like the back of his hand.
“Is that okay?” Draco’s voice sounds small, so quiet. It’s such a juxtaposition from the idea of him. He was supposed to be proud, tall.
“It’s fine, thank you,” Hermione smiled gratefully at him. The look he gave her could only be described as relieved. It was like they were still unsure where they stood with one another.
“Have you started thinking about the wedding?” Draco asked, not meeting her eyes. She wanted to ask why he was so interested especially when she knew he wouldn’t be coming to her wedding. No matter if she sent an invite or not, Draco Malfoy didn’t want to intrude on the other parts of her life.
“Yes and no,” she answered honestly. “When I was little I used to have a binder that was filled with everything I wanted my wedding to be… All that stuff just seems so frivolous now,” Hermione sighed, looking at her engagement ring. She thought of the little girl who stayed up late and cut pictures out of magazines to plan her imaginary wedding and became sad. Her finger traced the edge of the champagne flute, lost somewhere in the nostalgia and sadness to notice the man in front of her.
“Oh,” Draco swallowed thickly, frowning only slightly which was somehow enough to bring her back to the present. “I thought you might have been excited about it.”
“I’d rather talk about something else,” Hermione smiled weakly. Draco didn’t smile back, he never really did. The months they had spent together she could maybe count on her hand the number of times he had smiled at her.
Hermione learned that Draco was not as cold and distant as he originally presented himself to be. Over the course of their strange friendship, she learned the inner workings of his mind and could anticipate his next move or thought. He wasn't the same boy that haunted the hallways of Hogwarts.
“Anything else?” he asked, somewhat teasingly in a way that was them. Hermione nodded quickly. The wedding was the last thing on her mind. “I liked the scarf you wore yesterday,” Draco said suddenly. “I thought that the color really suited you.”
“I didn’t want to talk about scarves,” Hermione laughed softly, watching his tense features relax ever so subtly. It was really only something she began to notice recently.
“What do you want to talk about then?” Draco asked, playing with the edge of the fabric napkin. “I’d much rather listen to you talk.” His gaze felt electric as it traced over her face.
Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “You just don’t like to talk,” she accused him, lightly tapping her glass.
Draco shook his head slightly, a sort of laugh or maybe just a puff of breath escaped him. “I don’t know if you know this but I find everything you say fascinating. I could listen to you talk for hours.”
Hermione felt her cheeks burn. She cleared her throat unsure of how to go about answering. His candor both surprised and shocked her at once. No one had ever said that to her. “Thank you,” she nearly whispered. “I don’t think there is anyone in this world who shares the same sentiment as you do.” The young woman waits for him to pick up on the hidden meaning, to realize that she was just waiting for him to say something, say anything that might mean he returns her feelings.
Instead, he just says, “You’re welcome.”
“Nancy is retiring,” Hermione heard herself say, just to break the silence, just so that the quiet wasn’t the loudest thing in the room. When she was alone she never thought to speak or even hum, she hadn’t ever minded the quiet before. Now she couldn’t stand it. She wasn’t sure why that was. Maybe it was because she could faintly hear his breathing, or when he turned a page, and it reminded her of the other presence in the room.
She couldn’t stand it.
She didn’t always try to start a conversation with him. Sometimes they went days without talking. Hermione wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt the need to break the quiet.
“She is?” Draco’s low voice made its way over to her workspace. “That’s… Good for her.” There was a pause. “What time is it?”
Hermione looked at the clock just then realizing how late it was. “It’s about eight,” she winced, practically waiting for him to yell at her for not keeping track of the time. Instead, it was quiet. The sound of his breathing and turning pages filled the space again.
“Do… Do you have to go?” Hermione asked, feeling so incredibly small. It was a common occurrence when he was in the room, when he was around. She typically stayed late because she didn’t like being home.
“No. Do you?” Draco looked up from what he was working on, meeting her eyes for the first time in hours. They were so bright and dark at the same time. Hermione was distracted for just a moment while trying to figure out the color. They were grey, a steely sort of silver really… She caught herself before she spiraled too far.
“No,” she smiled weakly. “I don’t like being home anyway… It’s too quiet there.” Hermione wasn’t sure why but Draco froze at her words. She realized she wasn’t making sense. They worked together in silence and she never made it a point to break the quiet with him. It was always… Hermione couldn’t think of the work—no word, captured what she felt. The closest thing was comfortable. The quiet was comfortable with him. It was a different kind of quiet. She was so caught up in herself that she hadn’t realized he was staring at her. “What?”
“Nothing,” Draco cleared his throat and looked away. “I just… I feel the same way. I find the silence to be unbearable when I’m at home.” Hermione regarded him carefully, it felt like she was seeing him for the first time. Or maybe she was seeing him in a new light, she wasn’t sure. She picked up on the small implication—the silence was bearable with her.
“Crazy idea,” Hermione swallowed once before continuing, “Would you want to order dinner here and eat with me?” The quiet that followed her question burrowed its way into her bones, into her very marrow even.
“I’d like that.” A ghost of a grin graced his pale features. The moment passed and then his smile was gone like it was never even there in the first place.
“Do you remember the first time we had dinner together?” Hermione began, bunching the fabric napkin in her lap nervously. “I–” Draco cut her off.
“Of course I remember.” There was something piercing about his stare like he was offended that she thought he might not remember. “You ordered from that deli that you like. I had never been there before so you ordered for me. It was the first time in months that I had dinner with another living, breathing person. I’ll never forget that.”
Hermione felt her heart break just a little more, felt the shattered pieces grind against one another each time she took a breath. It was just then that she realized she’d miss him. Hermione Granger would miss Draco Malfoy because somehow—despite him, and maybe despite herself—she was irrevocably attached to, connected to, in love with him.
And that was the worst part.
Draco cleared his throat. “Why are you bringing that up?” It was an innocent question. One that she didn’t really know the answer to herself.
“No reason at all,” she breathed through her heartbreak, “I’m just remembering some things I guess.” It was more than that. It wasn’t that she was remembering these moments with him, it was that she was living in and for these memories.
“I remember when I thought you were going to hex me when I first started working with you,” Draco sipped his champagne as she burned with embarrassment.
“I’m really sorry about that,” Hermione replied sheepishly.
“It’s fine,” Draco assured her without a second thought. “I expect to be given the same treatment when I start this new position.”
The words escaped her before she could stop herself. “It’s not fair.” Hermione bit her lip. She knew she sounded like a child. She knew that life wasn’t fair, that the universe wasn’t fair. Yet, here she was.
“I deserve it,” Draco narrowed his eyes at her. “I was a Death Eater. I deserve any skepticism and cruelty that the universe has deemed fit.”
“It’s not fair,” she whispered, on the verge of tears. Hermione shakily wiped her eyes, feeling the weight of her engagement ring and the world at that very moment.
“Of course it’s not.” Draco’s fingers twitched against the stark white of the tablecloth, either trying to reach for her or to tear himself away.
“Why did you accept the mark?” Hermione asked, plastic fork discarded inside the half-eaten tupperware of stir fry. She had made them dinner because getting takeout was getting expensive and more often than not, they opted to stay late and eat dinner with one another.
Draco was sitting in front of her, ankles crossed and legs stretched before him. He was up against a cabinet behind her desk. He looked pale against the dark surface.
“Do you want me to tell you that my mummy and daddy didn’t love me enough?” Draco raised an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t have a choice, Granger,” he sighed, taking another bite to avoid any further questions or pleas for elaboration.
“Oh,” she frowned, poking at the broccoli with her fork. “I was expecting as much.”
“Why do you ask?” Draco asked with a mouthful of rice, “Suddenly more wary of working alongside a former Death Eater?”
“No,” Hermione shot back, setting down her food. “I was just curious about you is all.”
“Curious?” Draco echoed, lowering his container of food into his lap. “Why would you be curious about me?”
“I’ve always been curious about you,” she admitted quietly. “Even when we were in school.” It felt odd to admit out loud, but it was the truth. Hermione often thought about Draco, and that hadn’t started when they began working together. It had happened long before. Somehow he had buried himself into her very being. She wasn’t sure when he became an ever-present thought, but he was just suddenly there.
The blond male nodded to himself. “To be honest,” he sighed quietly before continuing as if already regretting his words, “I’ve always been curious of you too.” This caught her attention and he must have sensed it. “I will deny it to anyone you may tell, but I…” Draco met her eyes. “You were someone that I often wondered and worried about through it all.”
Hermione felt her heart stop at his words. His features betrayed nothing, but his eyes felt like they were burning her—through her. It was like she was completely transparent, she felt made of glass.
She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say.
“When did you get so tall?” Hermione cleared her throat, hoping to change the subject before he noticed her rosy cheeks. It was the first thought her panicked mind could settle on.
There was a moment of silence before he sort of laughed.
“I guess it was around year five or six,” he looked at her and she felt warm. “When did you get so pretty?”
Her food was in front of her but she wasn’t hungry. Hermione just felt heartbroken. “You’ll visit me, won’t you?” She looked at him and Draco froze. He was so tense he looked unreal, he reminded her of a statue. He was so perfectly still that he must be carved from marble.
“Do you want me to?” Draco looked uncomfortable. He set down his fork and knife. Hermione nodded slowly, scared to admit it. “I don’t think it would be a good idea.” She gripped her hands so tight they hurt.
“I thought–” Hermione’s voice broke like she wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say. She bit her lip so hard she could taste blood. She refused to cry in front of him. No matter how frustrated or sad she really was. She would not cry in front of Draco Malfoy.
“Why is it that the longer I spend with you the more I feel like I ruin you?” He couldn’t even look at her. Hermione winced. “It’s like I’m constantly breaking and hurting you. I feel like I’m back at the godforsaken manor listening to your screams again. I’ve tried so hard to escape that place.” Draco grimaced. “Yet, why does it feel like I’m the one who’s torturing you now?”
“You’re not ruining me,” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, not wanting to give him that satisfaction. “I’m already ruined.”
“You’re not ruined,” Draco shook his head in stubborn disbelief. However, it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. “Hermione–” he breathed, but it was like the words had suddenly become caught in his throat.
She could care less though. She was too focused on the way he said her name.
It felt so sinful to enjoy the way he simply said her name. Yet it echoed in her mind, danced through the spaces in her ribcage. His voice was filled with hopeful yearning. Draco sounded like he was on the verge of begging for something he wasn’t even sure of. She wanted him to say her name again.
“I can’t,” he finished weakly. “I can’t,” he said simply. It grew quiet between them.
“So that’s it?” Hermione asked. She didn’t really want to know the answer. She wanted to leave. She wished he had never walked into her department. She wished, she wished, she wanted…
Draco didn’t answer her at first, instead, he polished off what was left in his champagne flute before he sighed. “That’s it.” He reached for the bottle of champagne and poured himself another glass. Hermione looked at him and he filled her glass.
She began to eat her dinner spitefully, feeling the weight of the food sitting in her stomach like a stone.
Hermione walked into their office. Draco was sitting at the space he cleared off as his desk, correcting a file on some of the Snatchers. “You’re late,” was all he said. He didn’t even look at her.
“Late night,” Hermione supplied half-heartedly. She shrugged her purse off her shoulder and sat down. When she turned on her desk light she could see that Draco was looking at her.
“Are you alright?” He asked cautiously, the paper he was holding shook slightly in his hands but she decided not to say anything about that.
“I’m engaged.” Hermione couldn’t meet his eyes. She opened the next file in the stack she was currently working on and began reading about one of the many departments above her and what they did during the war.
“Bloody hell,” he sighed. “I can’t believe that Weasley finally did it.” Draco was suddenly up and leaning on the side of her desk. “Where’s the ring?”
Hermione obliged his request, holding up her left hand for him to see. The engagement ring seemed to sparkle in the low lighting. Draco whistled, holding her fingers slightly to look at the ring. His hand was cold on hers.
“You don’t seem so happy,” Draco noted, squeezing her fingers once before letting go.
“I am,” Hermione glared at him. “I just thought it was going to feel different,” she shrugged before continuing, “I guess I just have read too many romance novels.”
Draco frowned. “Literature is a reflection of reality.”
“No, literature is literature,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I am happy,” she added, but they both knew that it was an afterthought. She opened the nearest file, but the words blurred until she wasn’t sure what she was reading anymore.
“I better not read in the Daily Prophet that you’re some runaway bride,” Draco scoffed, stepping away from her desk and moving back to his workspace. She noticed the way his shoulders subtly slumped inward. Draco looked exhausted all of a sudden.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Hermione playfully shot back. “Rita would make sure I was front-page news. Could you imagine?” She sort of laughed, unsure why the laugh caught in her throat the way it did, it was like the sound was clinging to her vocal cords.
“Yes,” he said solemnly. “That would be a sight.”
Draco had finished his dinner and she had barely had three whole bites. She felt sick to her stomach. He drummed his fingers on the table, delaying the inevitable.
She felt like she would shatter at a mere moment's notice.
“Please don’t go,” she whispered, nearly whimpered out. “Please stay–” He wouldn’t let her finish.
“Granger,” Draco winced like she had physically struck him. “I don’t think that this is healthy.”
Hermione shook her head, avoiding looking directly at him. “Why can’t we keep going the way we’re going? Why can’t we keep working together and eating dinner after hours?”
“I can’t keep doing this with you,” Draco whispered. “You have no idea…” he trailed off. She begged him to continue but he let his words just die like they were nothing more than the faint trail of smoke from the candle sitting between them.
“We’re not doing anything!” Hermione defended herself. She realized she must have sounded hysterical but she didn’t care.
A flash of anger clouded his beautiful grey eyes, and she decided it was best to stay quiet. Hermione watched as he seemed to gather himself, eyes squeezed shut and fist clenched on the tablecloth. “I can’t do this to you. I’m not strong enough. I’m not good enough. There are a million reasons why I can’t stay. Please,” he begged, “Please don’t make it hard for me to leave you.” Draco whispered.
A sob suddenly caught in her throat as she looked at him. The tears fell freely now but she was too scared to look away from him, too scared that he would leave as soon as she turned away. He wouldn’t meet her eyes and it grew so quiet between them. The unsaid thoughts and feelings seemed to bubble up to the surface, drip from the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t speak. Hermione couldn’t tell him.
The silence was suddenly unbearable.
She was waiting for him to say a million things. Come with me. Run away with me. I’m in love with you. Don’t marry Ron. Marry me. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Draco didn’t say anything.
The longer the silence stretched the more she realized he was never going to say what she longed to hear. She took a shaky inhale, trying to prepare herself for what she was about to say.
Hermione couldn’t say anything.
The words broke inside of her, pieces and fragments of what she wanted to say to him cut her too deeply. They died somewhere in her throat, lost in the spaces between her silent cries.
Draco stood up and pushed in his chair before casting her one last longing glance. “Goodbye, Hermione,” he choked out before beginning to walk away.
The breath was stolen from her as she reconciled with the empty space in front of her. “Draco,” Hermione turned in her chair watching his retreating figure freeze. She begged him silently just to say something, begged for him to say anything really.
Stay. Marry me. I’m in love with you.
Draco started walking again and Hermione felt herself shatter.