wind - Dramione

13

The flat glew a brilliant scope of yellows and oranges, filing through the thin curtains. Draco rolled over, twisting himself in his silk sheets, feeling emptiness beside him. He immediately shot up, disappointment struck.

"Damn it, Draco, you shouldn't have done that," he muttered to himself, raking his hands over his face, lulling him out of his sleepy state. "You idiot, Draco Malfoy..."

He continued to scold himself with hushed words and he dragged himself out of bed, getting dressed and throwing his linens into a pile on the bed. Draco told himself, desperately trying to convince himself that she just had to get up early for work and didn't want to wake him.

Dragging himself to the kitchen, Draco turned the kettle to a boil, pulling out dry tea leaves from a tin can in the cabinet just above the kettle. He pulled out his mug, dark green, diagonally dipped in silver, and found a small piece of parchment in it.

I need to talk to you tonight. I'll apparate in after work.

-HW

Damn it he thought, I'll never see her again.

She was a married woman. HW. Hermione Weasley, she signed. She had no business cozying up to the likes of Draco Malfoy, no matter how badly her actual husband treats her and no matter how Draco thought it was bullshit.

A loud sipping noise filled the flat as he obnoxiously slurped his tea, deep in thought. He knew it would be unfair of him to ask anything of her. But as selfish as it was, he wanted her to choose him. Divorce her sad excuse for a husband, kill him even, anything that would allow her to be his. But he knew that was wrong. It was not his place to pressure her.

Of course, he still had opinions. Opinions he would never share with her. Not until she made up her own mind.

She would be an idiot to stay with him, the Weasel? Wouldn't she? And she was no idiot, of course she'd leave him! Right? Draco honestly couldn't answer these questions. If he had asked himself these same questions when they were still in school, he would know. But now, she was married to Ron. Head over heels. School sweethearts, married as soon as possible. Things were complicated.

But Draco didn't think it mattered. They weren't his feelings and it wasn't his heart that is in the matter of Hermione and Ron, but weren't they, though? Wasn't it?

***

Hermione sat at her desk with a hand-held mirror in her hand, desperately trying to see the extent of her bruise under her concealment charm. She was sure her charms would work but they started to wear off about every 30 minutes. Wanting to not have to worry about it, she started to try muggle makeup to cover up the purple and green discoloration. The events of the night prior were at the front of her mind despite her efforts to push them to the back.

The bruise ran from the left side of her face to just below the bridge of her nose. She urgently pressed the sponge into her skin, blending the makeup as best she could when another Auror walked through her door without knocking.

"Hi, Auror Granger, I was wondering if you could sign this—" the woman started, looking absentmindedly at a case file in her hand before seeing a poorly hidden bruise on Hermione's face, "What are you doing?"

Hermione tried to hide her face with her hand, but failed utterly. The sponge slipped through her fingers and splattered pale liquid all over her dark, wooden desk. She tried muttering an excuse but started to stumble on her words and eventually gave up. It was obvious what she was doing and there was no lying about it.

"Nothing, Vil, I was just... Well, I... Please, Vil," Hermione begged, tears urging to fall, "Please, just help me. I can't get it to blend..."

"Of course, Hermione."