"He’s not perfect. You aren’t either, and the two of you will never be perfect. But if he can make you laugh at least once, causes you to think twice, and if he admits to being human and making mistakes, hold onto him and give him the most you can. He isn’t going to quote poetry, he’s not thinking about you every moment, but he will give you a part of him that he knows you could break. Don’t hurt him, don’t change him, and don’t expect for more than he can give. Don’t analyze. Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes you mad, and miss him when he’s not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don’t exist, but there’s always one guy that is perfect for you."
- Bob Marley
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Draco didn’t come back. Not the next morning when Hermione entered the kitchen, seeing the apple he usually kept out for work untouched, nor that afternoon when she left work in a hast to see whether or not he’d returned. He didn’t come back on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. It was the longest he’d ever been away, and the flat was strangely dull without his annoying presence… like the whole apartment was missing something. It didn’t feel right, with just her and Crookshanks there, and even the latter noticed. Crookshanks paced back and forth in front of the door, as if waiting for Draco’s return. After the first two days, he stopped and instead took to checking his room every few hours. Hermione wasn’t much better herself. She took off the Muffliato Charm and at every sound outside the door; she’d open it and glance down the hallways. Eventually, Hermione had to reason with herself how incredibly stupid and pathetic that was. He wasn’t going to knock on the door. If he came back, he’d Apparate. But then this only made her jump up at the sound of any crack like some coffee addict.
But she was furious, damn it! She didn’t want him to come back, nor did she care what happened to him. And it was her anger that prevented herself from visiting Blaise or Pansy and asking where he was. He was the one who’d left, after all, and Hermione would not run after him like some pathetic little girl. Draco was the one who left because he was too cowardly to face what had happened. He was the one who’d left because he couldn’t deal. She was so angry; when she came across one of his shirts under the table she ripped it apart and chucked the thing out the window.
Hermione understood that what they’d done was shocking and confusing, and she admitted that that door had looked pretty tempting to her too. But she didn’t leave because this was not something that could be run away from. They would have to discuss it eventually… right? But then Hermione wondered if she could actually go through with that. While she was worried and furious with him to no bounds, his absence did make it easier to forget. She even found herself trying to erase it all and just pretend they’d had this massive fight and he’d stormed out, because that was familiar grounds for them and she liked normalcy.
Friday afternoon, Hermione came back from work. She lazily flicked her wand at the lights, and the flat lit up as she tossed her keys and bag on the counter. When she looked up again, Hermione saw that she wasn’t the only one in her home. For an instant, she thought she might scream, but realisation dawned on her first, and Hermione sighed in relief and annoyance.
Pansy stood up from the armchair and faced Hermione. She tried to smirk, but only achieved a tried sort of smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me,” she said flatly. She walked into the kitchen to prepare dinner, placing the chop board and vegetables down roughly. Pansy watched, arms folded and leaning on the doorframe. And for a long time, it was quiet between the two; the only sound was Hermione brutally chopping up celery with her wand.
“You seem a little… tense,” Pansy observed.
“Not at you,” Hermione answered, taking out some lettuce.
Another silence, and then –
“He’s okay, Granger.”
Her back was to Pansy now, and for a moment she paused from her excessive chopping, but then Hermione picked up speed again and began cutting away even more savagely. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, you do,” she said quietly. “He’s been with Blaise. He – he said not to tell you where he was, Blaise told him that it was obvious, but he still made him promise to keep quiet…” She paused. “Me on the other hand… He didn’t say anything about me, which was stupid because he knows that if it wasn’t Blaise to tell you where he is, it’d be me, but…”
Hermione put down her wand to listen.
“I think somewhere, buried deep down, Draco did want you to know he was okay.”
Hermione tipped the rest of the vegetables from the chopping board and into a bowl, where she began mixing them. “Is that why you’re here, then? To tell me he’s okay?”
“And to make sure you are. You’re my closest female friend since… since Daphne.”
She finally turned, put the bowl of salad on the counter, and ran both hands through her hair. “Why don’t you hate me anymore?”
Pansy stared at the abrupt question, and then slowly answered. “Same reason why Blaise doesn’t… same reason why Draco doesn’t either. There’s just no point, Hermione.”
“No point?”
Pansy sighed heavily and sunk into a chair at the table, tucking a strand of dark hair that had came free from her pony tail behind her ear, then letting that arm fall to the table with a thump.
“Hermione, always remember what I’m about to tell you, all right? Because once you’ve got this drilled into your head you don’t blame yourself quite as much.” She paused again; possibly for affect because Pansy was always notorious for her dramatics, and then said in a sort of hushed voice, “No matter how hard you try and understand, feelings never make sense.”
Hermione studied her, having never saw Pansy look this serious, or, well, mature. It was like they’d suddenly switched places and Hermione was the immature one whining over some silly boy while Pansy talked some sense into her.
Ridiculous. Shaking her head, Hermione put the bowl of salad in the fridge and leaned back against the counter, her palms sliding along the cool plastic until both arms were outstretched on either side.
“You’re not going to eat that now?” Pansy asked from behind her.
Who ate dinner at 4pm? she thought, wordlessly shaking her head again.
A few minutes silence pressed in on both females, Crookshanks distant meowing being the occasional disrupt, and then she heard the soft clicking of Pansy’s shoes as she made for the door, saying quietly as she passed, “I see you’re not in the talking mood. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
What made Hermione ask what she did next, she’ll never know. The words simply tumbled from her mouth, as though being spoken by another person. “He’s… he’s going to,” her voice hitched, “marry her… isn’t he?”
There was a high-pitched sound of heel scraping title, and from the corner of her eye, Hermione actually saw Pansy freeze in mid-step.
The, what had to be the thousandth, silence that followed was eerily, tense, fragile, not even Crookshanks made a sound.
Both women had their backs to each other, as Pansy asked, almost breathlessly, “How – how did you –?”
“I’m not an idiot,” Hermione replied softly. “You think I didn’t try and figure it out from day one?”
Pansy didn’t reply.
“And then at the ball, the answer to it all was practically thrown into my face. I don’t even understand why he bothered hiding it from me.” It was barely there, but just slightly on the surface, her voice had taken on a bitter tone. “So tell me I’m right, is Draco going to marry Ophelia?”
She didn’t know what the point was of bothering to ask, because Hermione already knew, without a doubt that that was exactly what Draco intended to do.
“Yes,” Pansy whispered.
And yet, having her confirm it… it felt like she was just being told this for the first time. She didn’t even know how she felt about it, but she didn’t feel as unconcerned about it as she should have. Shouldn’t she be feeling indifferent? It wasn’t her business who Draco married, after all.
She swallowed hard, her heart beating very fast. “He’s marrying because of her family’s status, so people will respect him again, but… but what’s my role in all of this? I’m, what, just for show? Just so everybody else can see the precious pure-blood hanging around with filth?”
“You’re not filth,” said Pansy quickly. “You’re not,” she repeated in a harder tone.
“I didn’t ask that, I’m asking if that’s what he’s doing.” And when Pansy remained silent again, Hermione turned to face her, staring determinedly into the Slytherins guiltily eyes, and demanded, “Is he, or is he not just using me?”
“Hermione –”
“Is he?” she asked louder.
“Yes!” she said, also raising her voice. “He’s using you.”
The words hurt more than she cared to admit.
“But why does it matter? Why does it matter for what reasons he needs you or how it benefits him, the whole point of this deal, the reason you allowed for yourself to be pulled into the Unbreakable Vow, is because he swore to you, Hermione, he swore that no one was going to get hurt.” She stopped abruptly, watching Hermione closely like something had just occurred to her. “Unless… unless him using you bothers you for more… personal reasons?”
Hermione’s brain racked itself furiously, searching, desperately, for some retort, only to find none. And instead of pausing to consider what that meant, she jumped to the next excuse, and stuttered, “He’s – he’s lying to his wife. He doesn’t really care for house elves –”
“Most marriages these days are based on lies, Granger.”
“Doesn’t he – you – you don’t he deserves better?” Pansy raised her eyebrows, and Hermione added hastily, “It’s just, a marriage based on a lie… or even simply an arranged one at that… who the hell would want to get into that? They both deserve to find love… right?” she asked uncertainly, feeling exposed from the piecing stare Pansy was giving her.
It took her several seconds of silence to answer. “Yes.”
***
Hermione didn’t know how she knew it was Draco who Apparated into her flat six hours after Pansy’s departure. Maybe because it was 10pm, and she knew for a fact that that was considered early for him, like a vampire, she had once called him. Or maybe it was because the whole flat seemed to have taken up a different vibe, as though finally being reunited with something that was once lost. Or lastly, maybe because she could smell the familiar cologne that had, unintentionally, became part of something she unnoticeably smelled everyday.
And then she heard his slow, hesitant, timid steps approach her, but Hermione didn’t turn, and stubbornly continued to pretend reading her book. Her insides squirmed and her pulse quickened and her hands trembled as she turned to the next page, but she hid it as best as she could.
She didn’t care that he was back. Really.
Every drawled out footstep he made towards her, however, made her breathing quicken, made her want to fidget or drum her fingers on something. She resisted shifting in her seat and sat determinedly, though Hermione had suspicion that her frame was too tense to pass as relaxed.
Aside from the anxiety, she felt her blood boil at the same time. How dare he just leave and come back whenever he liked? She wasn’t a bloody hotel! How could he just think she’d welcome him back? How dare he, the stupid, arrogant, selfish little –
He sighed from behind. He was now so close now that she could feel, just lightly, his breath on her neck.
Hermione’s jaw clenched, not even realising how hard she was gripping her book until she felt her fingernails dig into her palm and knuckles turn white.
He walked slowly around the sofa and, eyes locked onto her face as she forced herself to keep her own on her book, took something round and orange from his pocket and put it tentatively on the coffee table.
Out of curiosity, Hermione allowed for her eyes to flicker up to inspect what he’d brought with him, and then away again.
It was an orange.
Draco wasn’t normally the first to break silences, but this time he did. Perhaps it got too heavy for his liking, or maybe, somewhere, he really did feel some sort of remorse. When he spoke it was very soft and had a sort of uncertainty and awkwardness about it, which was so out of character for him it was hard not to look up.
“Do you… uh, do you remember the first night I came here? And unsurprisingly, we got into a fight?” He paused, waiting for an answer only to receive none. Still, he continued. “I said something that you really didn’t like, I think it was about Weasley, and you… you threw an orange at my head… D’you remember that?”
Stiffly, she nodded, finally letting her gaze fall on him. He found it harder to talk though with her looking at him like that, so he dropped his eyes.
“I’m giving you a free shot tonight. Picked out the hardest, juiciest orange I could find, so with a bit of luck, not only will it leave me with a right bruise, but maybe some juice will seep into my eyes too.”
She might have laughed, had it been under any other circumstance. And maybe one day, when she remembers, she will look back and laugh from the absurdity of it all. Draco Malfoy, most popular Slytherin and enemy of her childhood, just voluntarily asked her to throw an orange at his head.
But right now, she wasn’t amused. There was nothing funny about any of this.
The silence stretched out into minutes as he waited, uncharacteristically, patient for her to get the deed over and done with.
Just as he looked about ready to turn away, Hermione finally stood, putting her book on the spare spot next to her, and picked up the fruit.
Draco shut his eyes and prepared for the worst.
But Hermione didn’t do it. Grabbing the orange tightly, she reached out and snatched his hand with her free one. His eyes flew open from surprise, and she swore she saw panic flash across his face at the contact, remembering the last time their skin touched.
Dismissing that, she slapped the orange into his hand, not even knowing she’d actually squished the thing in her death hold until she saw the juice running through his fingers and drops falling on the carpet. But Hermione didn’t spare much thought for the managed fruit or the stickiness it’d left on her hand, and wordlessly turned to leave.
“Granger, stop – I’m – I’m sorry.”
She froze in much the same way Pansy had earlier done, and looked back at him in disbelief.
Had he just apologised?
“You’re sorry?” she repeated.
He seemed briefly shocked just as she was, but soon recovered and stood a little taller to justify himself. “Yes.”
She regarded him coolly for several seconds, and asked a question that had been bothering her ever since that night.
“What did he do to you?”
He frowned. “Who?”
“Armstrong. That is the reason you stormed off in the first place.” And the cause of what lead to our kiss.
Instantly, the change in his facial expression was remarkable. His face hardened as his jaw tensed, all tentativeness completely gone only to be replaced with resentment.
“The usual,” he said. “About my family.”
Hermione didn’t believe him. Not for a second. “Maybe that’s what he said at first, but he said something else to you, didn’t he?” His eyes flashed darker, indicating that she was getting closer. “What’d he insult this time?”
Draco walked up closer to her, but instead of stopping he continued to walk by her, saying as he passed in a low voice, “You can’t know everything, Hermione.”
She was about to snap at him for telling her what she can and can’t know when he paused halfway on his journey up the stairs, turning, as if on second thought, back towards her.
“Just… don’t date him… okay?”
Hermione stared up at him in confusion. She’d never even told him about that.
“Okay?” he demanded more forcedly.
She agreed before her brain even began to slam questions of reasoning at her. There was just something in his eyes… something that made it feel like trusting him, at least for this, was the right thing to do. “Okay,” she said softly.
“Okay,” he repeated with a firm nod of reassurance.
But before he could reach his room, Hermione pushed aside all anger, just for a moment, and purely because she needed to know how many plates to set out for breakfast and no other reason, asked, “You’re not… going anywhere this time, are you?”
He looked over at her for a split second, suddenly very serious. “No.”
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Next chapter;
Draco shook his head in awe. “What – why did you –?”
“Because we were going to die in there and you weren’t going to do anything.”
“So, what, you make the poor bloke wet himself?” he smirked.
She shrugged, the contents of the box jingling. “It was just water.”
~
What could they possibly be talking about? Ha, I actually don't mind the next chapter too much, it's got some humour in there I really miss doing. And I hope this one wasn't too boring... I just felt it was important to have, so they know where they stand with each other.