Eyes Open by: orphan_account

XXI. Assuming

June 12 th , 2004

He forgets he kept the door open to his office and can only blame himself when she walks past his doorway and then backtracks, knocking on the frame and pulling on a (genuine) smile the way others might pull on a jumper. "Oh, hey there Malfoy," she says, her previous annoyance with him forgotten once she heard he'd taken the job.

"Good morning, Granger," he says stiffly, reaching over to take a sip of his water and mentally crossing his fingers that she will leave.

"I've got the Harrington case," she tells him, holding up a file folder jammed with documents. "Wanna come by my flat and look over it?"

He nearly chokes on his water. Her flat? Her flat?

"Or we can go to yours, if that's alright. Or, we don't even have to go to anyone's flat. There's a nice park about two blocks away from the Ministry if that's what you prefer. I just want to get out of this building. It's a lovely day out and looking through an enchanted window really isn't the same," she explains.

He wants to say no so badly. It's there, hanging on for dear life on the tip of his tongue. No. But that's not what comes out of his mouth.

"Sure."

And before he can process it, Draco's gathering his briefcase together, stuffing papers and a few pens and his wand inside while Hermione simply smiles. Always smiling. He bets she can count the number of times she couldn't bring herself to smile on one hand.

Hermione is right—as per usual. It is a nice day. The sun is grinning and the clouds have all been chased away by the ferocity of its smile, and the sky is the purest shade of blue Draco can remember since the previous summer. They agree on the park, and the walk there is awkwardly silent.

She leads him to a large willow tree, not unlike the Whomping Willow back at Hogwarts (excluding the fact that it was not magical in the least and very friendly because of it). Hermione sits down on a relatively flat knot of roots and leans back against the trunk, kicking off her shoes and pulling off her jacket. The sunlight filters through the verdant foliage and dapples her face.

Draco sits down (gingerly) on the ground across from her. The last time he had sat on the grass was perhaps eight or nine years ago, before the war was in full swing and he still had some sort of innocence still clinging to his person. Hermione closes her eyes and sighs, and he wonders at her, and the way she is so easily content.

"Okay, time to get to work," she says, lifting her eyelids and sitting up.

They discuss the case for several minutes, easily slipping into an animated conversation (surprisingly so) and taking notes. They bounce ideas off each other and fill in the holes the other unknowingly forms. Once they peel away the first layer of awkwardness and unfamiliarity, their exchange flows quickly and effortlessly, like water. Perhaps this always would have been the case, had one of them only thought to switch on the tap.

The pair runs out of fuel too quickly, though, and soon the discussion transforms into dribbling droplets, falling slow and unsure from the very corner of the faucet.

"...it all comes back to the idea that Harrington had no business or rights or even the financial backing to be in possession of that dragon egg in the first place, and—" Draco says, but is interrupted by a loud yawn on Hermione's part.

He glances up, more startled than offended.

"Oh, sorry," she says, covering her mouth as her face flushes red. "I think we did well, better than I thought we would. Do you think we could take a bit of a break? I didn't get a very good night's sleep last night," she explains.