𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐲

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St. Mungo's

_____

HERMIONE went entirely still as she stood in front of the large entryway to the manor.

The wind was ripping at her black cloak and dancing through her hair, carefully braided and collected into a bun, hung above the base of her neck.

Draco stood beside her, his gaze exactly where hers rested, taking it in, silently. About six inches of space between them.

His hands tucked away into his pockets, tightly. While Hermione held her hands gloved with leather, folding her arms in against her chest.

With an uneasy sensation pathing down her spine, she forced herself to step forward, withdrawing her wand hidden up her sleeve and aimed it toward the lock of the overbearing gates.

Her features held certainty, her words clear and she tipped her chin upward, proclaiming, loudly, "Alohamora!"

The gates creaked, angrily as they parted. An audible gasp hitching from Draco's throat behind her. They were slow an old, but it was satisfying to watch them obey to her doings.

Once they had opened fully, she peered over her shoulder. Draco had fixed his sights on the pathway leading to the entrance of the manor, reluctant in his decision to carry his feet forward. 

She waited until he was at her side before continuing to walk. The gravel crunched under her boots and her eyes flitted between the large hedges crowding beside them.

They held no conversation, hadn't because of last night. The silence had been far too sensitive to crack into. But she had to speak to him. She wanted to.

"How —" she began, unsure of what to say to him. It had caught his attention, but he didn't look at her. "How are you?"

What a stupid question.

He gave a barking laugh, briefly. Then said nothing for several minutes, only walked. It wasn't until they'd reached the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the door when he'd replied to her.

"How do you think I'm doing?"

She swallowed hard, like a stone was lodged in the passage of her throat. A line of sweat beading her forehead, despite the mid January cold.

"Look, I don't want there to be any awkwardness between us."

"You think there's awkwardness between us?" He asked in a knowing voice. He was teasing her.

She wasn't certain she disliked it.

They began to ascend the steps.

"You know what I mean," she said, "we had a great friendship before —"

"Before you kissed me and then told me you didn't want me?" He hewed off, his expression a mask, yet his tone acidic. "Before I told you I loved you and then you ran away?"

She was quiet, trying to process. It was as though he weren't entirely certain how to react, his voice saying one thing but his face the polar opposite.

"I didn't mean —"

"We don't need  to talk about it, Granger. Let's just get this over with so we can both return to our individual lives. Without each other." He'd bitten out his words, his jaw clenching.

That hurt her, a stinging inside her chest now rushing through her ears.

She turned back toward the tall door standing in front of them. Stretching out her arm and closing the pad of her hand around the knob, twisting it and shoving it forward.