Coping Mechanisms

26. Draco

Hermione moseyed through Dahlia's shop with the utmost care, giving every book equal attention. Her fingers skimmed delicately across their spines, following invisible trails of fascination. Draco shivered, wondering what those freckled fingertips would feel like against his skin, envying every gentle caress of the leatherbound volumes filling the shelves. He admired her tedious perusal of Dahlia's stock, the way her eyes brightened relentlessly with each new title. The older witch seemed to study Draco just as intently, a smile creeping up the corners of her lips.

"She's special, that one," Dahlia announced, low enough for only Draco to hear. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I can feel her magic from here," she continued, nodding towards Hermione. "She has fire in her veins."

"Still as crazy as ever, I see," Draco chuckled, eyeing the woman beside him.

"Oh hush, little snake," she chided, using the nickname she'd bestowed him as a child. "Respect your elders."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

"I know," Dahlia winked. "That's why I like it." The elderly witches face suddenly fell, green eyes brimming with sorrow.

"I heard about your mother," she whispered, rubbing her weathered hands together. "How's she doing?"

Draco's jaw tightened, lips pulled in a thin line. "The best she can, under the circumstances."

"Your mother was one of my most loyal customers. You'll let me know if you need anything, won't you?"

Draco's eyes flittered to Hermione, to the curve of her neck and the arms wrapped around her waist.

It was always the arms around her waist.

"Make her happy," he pleaded softly, resisting the urge to comfort her himself. "Please."

Dahlia's features softened, hands stilling. "You care for her, don't you?"

Draco stiffened, eyes locking back on Hermione. "I care about what we took from her. What I took from her."

"Why?" the witch questioned, her voice judgement free.

He swallowed back the sudden wave of fear, it's taste sharp on his tongue, like bile. "I don't know."

"Hmm," Dahlia hummed beside him, the corners of her lips upturning. "She likes books then?"

"More than anything," Draco admitted, grateful that Dahlia never pressed much for details.

"A girl of my own heart," she smiled, settling a hand dramatically against her chest. "Let me work my magic."

Draco rolled his eyes as Dahlia winked and stepped away, but the tension eased from his shoulders, confident in the elderly witch's abilities. If anyone could reach Granger today, it was Dahlia.

"Hermione, dear!" she called, her voice cheerfully sincere.

"Yes ma'am?" the young witch turned, arms loosening from her stomach.

"See anything that interests you?"

"Oh, everything," Hermione smiled weakly, her features battling between awe and anguish. Draco desperately wanted to enlist in the war raging behind her eyes.

"Perhaps I could give a recommendation or two?"

"That would be lovely," Granger nodded, face softening.

"Favorite author, then? I might be able to turn you on to someone new."

"I'm quite partial to Jane Austen," Hermione admitted shyly, arms fully dropping from her waist. "I just lent my copy of Pride and Prejudice to Draco, in fact."