Chapter Text
I often have this dream.
I'm coming back for a second interview at the Corps Libertad. I am young, ambitious and have too much opinion of myself. I'm a little annoyed because the Corps itself invited me, having got a resume from nowhere, because I wasn't looking for a job at that time, and now it's chasing me through interviews. First as a personnel officer, now with the senior investigator of the group where I should be hired. They promise one more thing – with director of the direction. At the same time, I feel a slight excitement at the prospect of becoming part of one of the most mysterious and powerful organizations of the Great Britain.
I am sitting in a modest meeting room for three, there is a cup of coffee on the table in front of me, carefully served by the secretary, and the senior investigator is already ten minutes late. In absolute silence, I stare at the boring walls, wondering whether to show my character and leave when fifteen minutes have elapsed - a delay allowed by the rules of decency.
In the dream, part of me already knows what will happen next. This part is waiting for the moment when the door opens and my life is divided into «before» and «after».
«Before» I was sure that love is just hormones. I thought that weak knees, trembling inside, difficulty breathing and inability to formulate a thought in the presence of an object of passion were the lot of stupid chickens who did not know their own worth. I also questioned the very existence of passion, assuming that this is how people justify their mistakes. I have never lost my head, approaching the cavaliers with a sober calculation. He depressed my mother.
«After» I considered myself a fool who didn't understand anything before. Never loved. That's probably what happens when you fall in love for the first time at twenty-five. For the first time you experience awe, and delight, and fear, and despair. For the first time, you begin to doubt yourself and your own attractiveness. For the first time you lose your head, confuse words and forget how to breathe.
«Hermione Granger», – my interviewer reads quietly, but very clearly from the sheet. He is already well over thirty, he has very beautiful light gray eyes and snow-white hair, a short haircut, a toned figure and a military bearing, thanks to which the senior-head's uniform fits perfectly. «Hermione… Beautiful name».
In my dream, I blush over and over again when I hear this, as it was in reality. I've always liked my name, but at that moment I felt awkward because it was so strict. I remember how scared I was that they might not take me because of her. I was already too young and didn't really look like the analyst they were going to hire me for. Are strange people analysts?
In my dream, my future boss – Draco Malfoy – looks at me and asks some questions, but I don't hear them. In reality, I was too shocked by him, so I didn't remember anything: he asked about anything, or what I answered, blushing and stuttering like a schoolgirl.
I try to warn him about the danger that threatens him, but I can't. I don't remember the words; I don't know how to say it and how to explain it. And he keeps saying something and talking, his quiet, insinuating voice envelops me. Draco Malfoy seems to get under my skin, entangles me with a thin thread of a spider's web, locks me in forever so that I can never look at anyone else. It doesn't happen that way, you say? I thought so too.
In reality, we worked together for about a year. I learned not to stutter in his presence, began to be useful and soon achieved that the boss began to appreciate me as a professional. Unfortunately, he completely ignored me as a woman.
Draco was friendly and affable, always showed a willingness to help subordinates: listen to their problem, understand it and solve it, or at least explain how to solve it. He remembered all the birthdays and always found a few kind words when we needed them. When we let him down, he forgave us, always took responsibility for our mistakes in front of the management, and only asked us not to do it anymore. Still the same quiet and calm voice that crept under my skin and caused a wave of goosebumps every time I heard it. Each of us at such a moment was ready to die on the spot, just not to let him down anymore. And we did not fail. Would you say there are no such bosses? I thought so too.
We were friends. More accurately… I tried to be his friend because, despite all his kindness, he remained a very private person. Even those who worked with him for a long time did not know what he was living and what he was running from. There were rumors about some dark history related to magicians, because of which he left the army and went to work in this department, but no one knew the details. He himself did not tell, but either answered cautious questions in silence, or skillfully changed the subject. Several times I tried to penetrate the wall of cold polite alienation with which he surrounded himself, but only once I almost succeeded.
The last month of winter was ending. As always, there was a lot of work, too few people, and bureaucratic troubles ate up half of the working time. However, I managed to get a week off, and on the last working day I stayed late, firmly deciding that I would clean up all the paper «tails» today.
By the time I succeeded, public transport had already finished work, I didn't have my own car yet, so I called a taxi. While waiting for him, I decided to visit the office kitchen and have a cup of coffee. Sometimes some of us practically lived in the headquarters of the Corps, so there was everything we needed: a kitchen, showers, even several bedrooms, similar to rooms in a very ascetic hotel.
The headquarters was almost empty that night. Several people, as always, were on guard duty, maybe someone else was sitting in laboratories, offices and ritual halls, and only he, my boss, senior investigator Draco Malfoy, was in the kitchen at that moment.
He was sitting sprawled in an armchair at a far table by a huge, full-length window and thoughtfully looked at his reflection in the dark glass. It seems that for the first time I saw him without a tunic, with the top buttons of a snow-white uniform shirt unbuttoned. The investigators belonged to the paramilitary part of the Corps and wore uniforms similar in appearance to the army, although the Corps itself remained independent of the Army of Great Britain.
It has always been a mystery to everyone how Malfoy manages to look perfect every day, in any situation. Even when we were conducting investigations in the wilderness and stayed up for days, his shirt seemed fresh, and his uniform never crumpled and remained buttoned up. He was always clean-shaven, shorn and combed «according to the regulations» and exuded a subtle unobtrusive aroma of a good men's perfume.
That's why I was very surprised to see him without a jacket, with his shirt unbuttoned from above, with slightly tousled hair and a slight shadow of stubble on his chin. He looked tired and very sad. Even if I wasn't an analyst, I would have guessed that something bad had happened.
«Shouldn't you be on vacation»? he asked, noticing me. Despite his condition, he found the strength for a small smile and a friendly tone.
«You can consider that I'm already in it», I smiled back. «I decided to ruin the Corps for a cup of coffee before leaving, after which I don't want to see any of you for a week».
I said this in a light joking tone, naturally not referring to him, because more than anything else in the world I would like to see him every day: first thing in the morning and last thing before going to bed.
He smiled, looking away for a moment, and I suddenly realized that he was well aware of this desire of mine, just trying not to show it. All these months he stubbornly ignored my attempts to flirt with him, but never once openly told me to stop. He must have spared my pride. Therefore, over time, I stopped myself, deciding that I was not his type, or he was already with someone, or categorically opposed to workplace affairs, or simply did not notice.
Draco looked at his watch, shook his head and suggested:
«Let me make you some tea. I'll take care of you one last time».
He got to his feet heavily, as if a granite slab weighing a ton was pressing on his shoulders, but he was the first to reach the kitchen cabinets, turning on the kettle instead of the coffee machine.
«Thank you», I said, sitting down uninvited at the same table where he was sitting. As a colleague, I could easily afford it.
«Are you going somewhere»? Draco asked, putting a cup of fragrant black tea with mint and no sugar in front of me.
He always remembered who and how in his group prefers to drink tea and coffee. How he did it, I still don't know.
«Yes, I decided to visit a friend. She recently got married and moved to Cardiff. Now she is pining there alone, without friends, so she calls to visit».
«To Cardiff»? Draco was surprised. «Traded the world of technology for the world of magic? How unpatriotic».
There was irony in his tone, but I still tensed a little. Great Britain recently gained independence from magicians, there was constant talk at the state level about the importance of preserving our «special» path, and even those who simply visited the territories of magicians were sometimes looked askance. In this regard, I was nervous about the upcoming trip, but I couldn't not visit my best friend.
«I guess she wasn't thinking about patriotism. Just choosing the man which loved».
«Does choose poorly? Pining once»?
Draco wasn't usually in the habit of asking so many questions unless the conversation was about work. He only supported conversations on personal topics, but never initiated or developed them. Now he was looking at me with interest, sitting opposite, but already straight, and not sprawled.
«No, quite successfully. But it is difficult for her to adapt to her new life. As a specialist, she is not needed there, so she does not work. Her husband is a good man, but very busy».
«Quite».
Draco nodded and reached for his cup, as if he didn't know what else to ask, but it was empty. So he just moved it and looked at me again.
«Take you home? Public transport is no longer running».
«I called a taxi», for some reason I honestly admitted, for which I immediately hated myself. Who just pulled the tongue?
«I see».
It seemed to upset him. I almost decided to say that I could also give up the car, resuming my once abandoned attempts at flirting, but he already asked a new question:
«I've been wondering for a long time: why Hermione»?
I shrugged my shoulders. I was often asked why my parents gave me such a name, but I couldn't tell anything interesting. I even came up with a few stories, but now they all flew out of my head: I was too surprised by the very fact of the question. It was probably the most personal question I or anyone else on the team had heard from Draco.
«It's just that my mom liked that name».
«Beautiful name. Suitable for a beautiful girl».
He smiled. It already sounded like a compliment, and my almost buried hope suddenly convulsively jumped up and down. Did something really get off the ground? Or is he just feeling so bad right now that he doesn't look like himself?
«Are you all right»?
It probably wasn't the best response to a compliment, but I was suddenly very concerned about his appearance, his tone, and his atypical behavior.
He was silent for a whole minute, looking into my eyes. As if he wanted to say something, mentally formulated a long speech, not knowing where to start. I waited patiently for an answer, holding his gaze, admiring the almost transparent gray irises framed by black eyelashes.
«I’m fine», Draco finally replied, and his voice sounded as low and hollow as ever. The lie was so obvious and undisguised that it clearly said: «I don't want to talk about this with you».
I took a deep breath to say something in response. The silence and semi-darkness around created the illusion of the end of time and the world, when it was no longer scary to cross the line and violate the status quo. His condition gave me hope that today I would be able to get some simple and understandable sign from him: do I have anything to hope for.
He didn't look away from me, as if he was waiting for an answer, waiting for a new question, an excuse to share a problem with someone. I could almost feel how much he wanted to tell me about something. The wall of cold alienation trembled for the first time and showed me a barely noticeable door through which you can get behind it. All I had to do was reach out and push the door open, find myself on the other side of the wall for the first time and finally see what she had been hiding all this time. Or was she just defending it?
The mobile phone signal destroyed the beauty and intimacy of the moment in an instant. Draco leaned back in his chair and turned away, and I answered the taxi operator, who informed me about the arrival of the car. I thanked her, mentally cursing the innocent woman, and promised to leave in a minute. Then she looked at Draco, at half-full cup, not knowing what to do.
«Go on, I'll clean it up», he assured, smiling again with distant politeness. «It's good for you to rest. See you in a week».
«Thanks, see you later».
The moment was missed, but crossing the empty hall on the first floor, I experienced a strange uplift. It seemed to me that a sign was given to me after all, and in a week, when I return, nothing will be the same. And only in this I was not mistaken.
When I returned from vacation, I found out that Draco was no more. He died exactly a week after our conversation, on the same night before the weekend. I couldn't believe it for a long time. I probably couldn't, even though two years have passed. I keep having this dream in which I meet him for the first time. I want to warn him about the danger, but I don't remember the right words, and when I wake up, I cry from impotence, the inability to change anything.
Never again have I experienced trembling inside and weakness in my knees. My heart is pounding steadily, and every new beau is always not good enough. I can still feel the fine threads of the web that entangled me on the day of the second interview in the Corps. I know that I will never be able to love anyone like that again. I can't forget him. I can't explain to my body, heart and brain that he is no more and there is no hope either.
You will say: you can't do that. You will say: we need to move on. You will say that you cannot live in the past, because it will never come back. The past cannot be changed, its mistakes cannot be corrected, and those we have lost will never enter the opened door again.
I thought so too.