Knots In Our Heartstrings [Dramione]

A Vase

It's the last Thursday in January when Hermione steps foot into his office again.

He looked up to find her standing there, layered in her heavy coat, little Rose held tight to her chest, and a small bouquet of flowers hanging from her hand.

She waved, as much as she could with her hands full, a tentative little wave as she peered through the open blinds, pretending she couldn't easily stare right past them, stare right into his office through the heinous window.

It was polite, he figured, to not openly gawp right through the wall.

He held up a finger, hung up his call, and sprinted across the office to open the door for her, slamming his thigh into the corner of his desk in the process.

"Hermione," he beamed, and then winced, hunching over to rub at his leg. "I'm sorry," he admit sheepishly, "I mustn't have checked my calendar properly... I wasn't expecting you."

She smiled warmly at him, head lilting up as she met his gaze.

"I don't have an appointment," she said, making no move to step past him, her feet remaining firmly planted in the hallway beyond his office walls. "I just wanted to drop by and give you these," she smiled, shaking the bouquet playfully towards him.

"Oh," he said, "Oh, thank you."

She laughed then, a gentle one.

"As thanks," she said, "I thought maybe I'd just have to drop them at reception with a note, but that lovely lady at the desk thought you may be free for a few moments. And well, courtesies are always kinder when extended in person. So I wanted to thank you, and let you know that we've sent off all the paperwork – signed, sealed and sent Monday morning."

He blinked at her, straightening himself out, hand still on the doorknob.

"No..." he mumbled, "No amendments?"

"No," she sighed, a gentle chuckle stifling her breath. "No," she said. "No, I... I – I don't know what really I was expecting, but... We just talked. And we didn't really agree, not at first. But then we talked and just... I don't think I could have wished for it to have gone any differently... And I don't think I've felt this much relief in years. And Ronald... He didn't want to. But he agreed to. And I just..."

Hermione trailed off, her gaze lost to somewhere down the corridor.

Draco followed her, followed her glance, but there was nothing there. When he looked back, she was looking at him again.

"Could I trouble you for a glass of water? If you have the time."

He smiled at her, retreating back into his office and holding the glass door wide open.

"You'd be no trouble," he said, "I have the time."

~

The flowers stood proud protruding out of the carafe of water that sat atop his filing cabinet, and Hermione clutched her glass gently, taking tiny sips after every few moments, barely stealing a drop between her teeth as they sat there in silence.

"Is it normal?" she asked, "To feel guilty that it went... Well?"

Draco sighed. "I can't..." he said, "I can give you contacts to various counselling services that can offer you better support if you need."

She looked at him, the glass held loosely between her fingertips.

She didn't want contacts to various counselling services, he knew. She wanted a comfort. She wanted an answer that'd ease her guilt. So many people do. So few he could offer more than a gentle nudge towards another sector of professionals.