The Shattered Dragon

Chapter 19: The Dangling String

My heart and my feelings...are the same. Although they may take a bit longer as Moonstone doesn't have a potion for heartbreak and I don't have the access to illicit substances that you do.

But I am growing tired of hiding from you, and tired of not talking. I'm tired of being alone. I don't know what will happen. I don't know how it will happen or when. But I do know that I just need a bit more time.

Hermione

Since receiving her first parchment from him, they'd taken to communicating via these short notes. It allowed her more succinct eloquence and the time to find the exact words she needed. When she was finished composing it, she tied the scroll with a bit of ribbon from one of her nightgowns and handed the note to Fawn before heading down to dinner. After a couple weeks it was becoming easier to walk around the household, to ignore the whispers of the girls and the staff and the other elves. Still she refused to go to the nightly line up, to submit herself to his inspection, to let the others see her with him, watching for some sort of fireworks. Draco had managed to stay out of her presence otherwise although she'd heard that he'd basically sequestered himself in his quarters since the Gala...just like she had.

Knowing the tension that had built between them and the slow crawl back they were both making, she chose not to tell him about her encounter with Lucius or her panic attack in the hallway. She chose not to tell him that in the days following the encounter she realized that her greatest fear was not that Lucius or Trevor would hurt her, or that she'd have to go back to prison. The fear that made her head spin and her throat tighten was that she'd never be able to let Draco touch her again, whether it be in passion or kindness or comfort, without collapsing into a quivering mess. She couldn't let that happen. She would get better with time, she told herself. Everything would get better with time.

Three weeks after the Gala, instead of going straight to her room, at seven o'clock she lined up with the rest of the girls, standing at the far end, some distance away from the rest of them with her arms folded tightly over her chest. She told herself that she only wanted to see him, to make sure he was taking care of himself, that he wasn't high or drunk or hurting himself, doing permanent damage.

"Good evening ladies," he said, rocking back on his heels as he looked down the line.

He still wasn't quite himself, still feeling the sting of his father's visit, still enduring the gossip around the mansion; but after reading Hermione's letters he felt a twinge of hope...a sign that there was something he could do, some path he could follow to earn her back. Things were changing. Still, it startled him to see her standing in the lineup, fresh and clean in her midnight blue pajamas, her hair swept back, her throat clear of any bruising. She looked him right in the eye, but there was no smile on her lips, her face blank, no hint as to how she felt seeing him. When finally she blinked, looking away from his uncomfortable stare, he cleared his throat and stepped away.

"Busy evening my little stars. Lark, Finch, Starling and Raven, you'll have guests at ten. Starling, you'll need to go blonde for Mr. Mulciber. The rest of you will have the usual instructions in your rooms. You can go ahead and get ready."

From the corner of his eye he saw Hermione turn to leave.

"Sparrow. It's good to see you," he said, keeping his voice light, businesslike. "Will you join me--"

"Am I requested, sir?" She asked.

The question was so simple, something she asked every night, but it made his heart race to hear her voice again, to hear her answer when he called for her. It made him bubble with energy to see her eyes meet his. It lifted a weight from his shoulders, but she showed no similar enthusiasm.