A Wonderful Fortuitous Love

44. Caught

"Life becomes easier when you learn to accept an apology you never got."

- Robert Brault

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Granger did not come out of her room for five hours. He thought, given her own way, she would have chosen to spend the rest of the night in there. But the need for food outweighed her desire to be alone, and slowly, quietly (perhaps hoping he would not notice her presence) crept down to make soup.

As the feeble whistle of the water boiling filled the kitchen, soon followed by the tempting scent of pumpkin, Draco debated with himself from the lounge room. He wondered if he should say anything, searched for some witty remark or words of comfort. Then wondered why he was bothering. He did not have the right things to say to her, as Potter no doubt would’ve. He did not have some funny comment like Blaise would. And he did not have the arms to hold her like Weasley. Because that was not who he was, and it was not his place.

Or perhaps he was just too cowardly.

Granger had already crossed the room and was two stairs up when she paused, cup of soup rested neatly in her palm. Her eyes met Draco’s from over the railings; glassy and shiny with the dim light overhead. Her lips parted an inch, closed. A deep breath raised her chest and stirred the steam drifting from her cup, and Draco watched as her gaze travelled over him. Slow and searching. The corners of her mouth turned down like they always did when she was in deep thought.

He was not used to her stares. It was usually always Granger who broke whatever eye contact they had, always being the first to look down or quickly say something else, as though the silence frightened her. So it made him uncomfortable, made him want to fidget. He looked right back though, seeing a lot reflected in her gaze. Had he been someone else, he might have understood. But he didn’t. Did not know why she was looking at him so closely, did not understand the question that was being asked.

And then, after what seemed like a long time but was probably only a matter of seconds, Granger climbed the third stair. Then the fourth. Fifth. Sixth, until she disappeared from view, leaving Draco alone, television playing quietly in the background, wondering what she never said to him. 

***

The next morning he tracked her movements almost tentatively, and was surprised that they were swift and neat, her eyes lacking the redness he had anticipated. She ate proper meals, drank the right stuff, dressed the right way. Weasley might never have happened. 

In retrospect, she really was fine.

Or so he thought.

Two days passed. And that was when Draco steadily but surely noticed how she was always busy. Always with some task at hand that had to be done, always with something in her hand – from laundry to quills and papers to write.

Nobody is ever ‘always fine’, Draco. Some of us can just pretend better than others.

Blaise’s words drifted to the surface of his memory as he watched her scrawl things down on parchment with alarming speed through the open door to her office, and his body made the decision before his brain could catch up.

Draco walked in and shut the door behind him. If she heard his arrival or was already too far gone in her work to notice, she did not acknowledge it.

He sat down across from Hermione and watched as she blindly stabbed her salad with a fork, eyes glued to her work, and continued to watch as the cucumber fell to the floor while the lettuce only just made it into her mouth.

“Granger,” he said calmly.

“Mmm?” she mumbled through her food.

He hesitated. “What are you working on?”