Linger
The storm is coming soon
They say we’re buried far just like a distant star I simply cannot hold. Is love alive? This is my winter song to you. December never felt so wrong cause you’re not where you belong inside my arms. I still believe in summer days. The seasons always change and life will find a way. I’ll be your harvester of light and send it out tonight so we can start again. – Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson, “Winter Song” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUO0gd7cr9o)
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A/N: So sorry for the ridiculously long wait on this chapter! I just moved back to the states and I’ve been busy with real life (unfortunately). But, I am all moved in and ready to write again. Hope this is worth the wait.
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He was staring at her again.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she leaned back against the plastic chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Harry had only been gone for a few minutes but she needed him like a security blanket. She had never felt comfortable in the ministry let alone sitting in a bright, florescent-lit room with Draco Malfoy staring daggers into her while she, quite unconvincingly, attempted to avoid his gaze.
She knew she was being incredibly immature and that running away was never the option but she felt that after all that she had gone through in the past few weeks, she deserved to be just a tiny bit selfish and inconsiderate. It was too bad that Draco had to bear the brunt of the pain. She was such a child. She had kissed him on an impulse and then proceeded to avoid him like the plague since. He had been gentle and understanding and didn’t push her but in the past few days, he seemed to have grown impatient and annoyed with behavior. Thus began the staring.
And the chair wasn’t helping matters either. Hermione shifted again and clasped her hands together, placing them on the cool metal table, her eyes darting at the door. How long did it take to gather notes anyway? She silently ran over the curses she could direct at her best friend when he finally walked through the door as punishment.
She could hear him sigh from across the table. The floor creaked as he slid his chair back slightly. Hermione looked up, peeking at him from beneath her lashes and hair. His eyes were closed, his posture stiff as he made a feeble attempt at massaging his temples. He looked extremely stressed and worried. She guessed he probably wasn’t sleeping well. Nevertheless, he was still extremely beautiful. His golden bangs fell across his face as he exhaled deeply, his chest puffing out, his muscles stretching against his white button-down shirt.
Hermione let out a soft gasp. Honestly, it wasn’t as if she had never seen an attractive man before but there was just something about Draco Malfoy that drew her in. It was what made her lose all rational thought and provided the impetus for her to kiss him all those weeks ago. It was what made her look like an absolute fool, mouth open, appearances forgotten as she simply stared at him and his reverent beauty.
“Enjoying the view?”
Draco’s trademark smirk tainted his almost angelic appearance. Hermione immediately frowned before she huffed, “Must you always be so pretentious?”
“Must you never give me a straight answer?” He asked, his tone playful.
Her eyes narrowed but the blush that colored her cheeks gave away her embarrassed state and cracked her angry and affronted façade. She turned away from him and cleared her throat, shifting in her seat yet again.
The ministry should really invest in more comfortable chairs. She wondered who she could contact about that.
“How much longer do you plan on avoiding me?”
Hermione stiffened at his question. She was about to open her mouth, uncertain of what answer would spill from her lips when Harry walked through the door, his hair in disarray, his face worn and tired. His green eyes still shone brightly however and he offered a small smile at Hermione.
“I’m sorry about the wait. It took me ages to collect all the notes together,” he placed a few file folders and a brown cardboard box in front of her, “It’s not much but it is something.”
Hermione stood up, her hand tentatively reaching out towards the pile.
“Go right ahead. You are the primary source of information on this case and it’s about time that we involve you in the actual investigation apart from questioning you.”
She nodded, her hands grabbing the first big file folder. She sat there silently, her curious brown eyes intently scanning and reading over the notes.
Draco and Harry each grabbed a folder as well and the three worked in silence. An hour had passed before Draco finally spoke, “Any leads on those notes, Potter?”
“None,” Harry answered, shaking his head and running his hands through his messy hair, “I know I’ve seen it before but I just can’t place it.”
“It’s strangely familiar, isn’t it? Whoever is doing this is purposefully taunting me,” Draco bit out bitterly.
“Notes?” Hermione asked, her brows furrowed.
Harry reached into the brown box and dug out two parchment notes, handing them to Hermione. “Draco has been receiving these mysterious notes for the past two weeks. They’re both unsigned and there’s no trace of magic on them. We can’t seem to figure out the meaning behind them either.”
Hermione read them carefully, her frown deepening. She shook her head, almost in disbelief as she looked up at Draco and then at Harry, whispering in a shaken voice, “It’s Shakespeare.”
“Shakespeare?” Draco frowned, confusion marring his features, “The muggle playwright? Why would someone send me notes with lines from Shakespeare’s works?”
“That’s not all,” Hermione continued, her face still showing shock, “It’s not just any Shakespeare play. It’s from The Winter’s Tale.”
“What does that mean?” Harry asked.
“That’s where my name is from. My parents named me Hermione after the queen in the play.” Hermione’s eyes suddenly widened as a chill ran down her spine, “Reine,” she whispered, “Viola Reine.”
“I’m not following you, Hermione,” Harry said slowly as he moved closer, “What does Viola Reine have to do with Shakespeare?”
“Reine is French for queen just as Granger is a French derivative. Viola is a character from another Shakespeare play as well. Whoever wrote these notes is the same person that kidnapped me, tampered with my mind, and fabricated my existence as Viola.”
“Isn’t Viola a character from Twelfth Night?” Draco asked carefully, his grey eyes flashing.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Good lord, Potter,” Draco said condescendingly, “Do you not indulge in literature whatsoever?”
“I thought muggle authors were beneath you and most pureblood interests,” Harry bit back, annoyed and slightly embarrassed by his lack of literary knowledge.
“A man should always know his Shakespeare,” he smirked, seeming almost gleeful that he had figured out a piece of the puzzle that neither Saint Potter nor Hermione knew the answer to. “Viola’s character is most famous for her disguise. She is not as she seems. Just as Viola Reine was not who she seemed to be,” he concluded, his voice triumphant.
“Deceived in thy integrity, deceived in that which seems so,” Hermione repeated, “They’re taunting us,” she said in disgust, “Whoever it is.”
“Not us,” Draco said firmly, “Me.”
“You?”
“Just what is that supposed to mean?”
Draco simply smiled in amusement at their angry faces, “The notes were sent to me. Therefore, the message was directed at me and solely me. If they were meant for you or Potter, they would’ve been sent accordingly but seeing as how they arrived on my desk, the messages are for me. They are taunting me.”
“What significance does that hold?” Hermione asked, her voice weary.
“Quite a bit, actually,” Harry answered before Draco could open his mouth, “If these messages are in fact aimed at Malfoy then whoever the sender is means this as an attack upon him. Do you have any known enemies or people that would want to personally hurt you? I understand if you have difficulty remembering the sheer amount of people that would wish you unwell.”
Draco simply snorted in response, “I’m reformed, Potter. Need I remind you that I fought on the side of the light during the war?” He shrugged, “I made plenty of enemies with that move alone but everyone on that list is either dead or locked up in Azkaban.”
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, her hands twisting in her lap, “I don’t understand. If whoever did this meant to attack Draco then why wouldn’t they erase his memories? Why me?”
“Because I love you.”
His words hung in the air. Hermione felt her lungs contract sharply as she tried to steady her thoughts. He loved her. She knew that. In her heart, she felt that same familiar tug as if it were screaming at her, forcing her to face the truth that somewhere deep inside, she had always known that almost as if it were an universal truth. Draco Malfoy loved Hermione Granger.
But, he didn’t use the past tense. He said love as in present as in he still did and still does to this very moment. She could hear her heart beating rapidly in her ear as she struggled to find her voice. “They hurt me to get to you?” she whispered.
“Based upon what we know so far, yes,” Harry said softly. He reached out to Hermione’s arm and rubbed it gently, “It does make sense. It explains why you seem to remember everything and everyone except him.”
Hermione shook her head in frustration, “I don’t understand. If whoever did this wanted to hurt you,” she looked up at Draco, her brown eyes shining with tears and disbelief, “Why would they take me away only to bring me back? Why wouldn’t they just kill me outright?”
“Another form of torture, I suppose,” Draco answered honestly, “I lost you once and that killed me enough but then you finally return only not completely.” He looked down, his voice almost cracking, “It’s unbearable.” He let out a sigh, “It’s to slowly torture me until I lose my bloody mind.”
She wanted to reach out to him and comfort him yet at the same time she wanted to run away and scream until she no longer had a voice. It was because of him that she lost two years of her life. It was because of him that she was attacked. It was because of him that she had been ripped away from all that she had known. She knew she shouldn’t feel resentment towards him but she didn’t have time to sort out all the emotions that bubbled at the surface and she couldn’t think. Her brain wouldn’t work and all she that flashed through her mind were memories of all that she had lost and all that she would never experience because someone wanted to use her as a pawn as revenge against Draco. That was all she was. A pawn. Completely worthless on her own accord and easily replaceable. She wasn’t even the primary target.
She knew she shouldn’t hate him but in that moment all she wanted to do was kick and scream and hit him until he gave it all back to her. She wanted her life back. She wanted her memories back.
She wanted nothing to do with Draco Malfoy.
It was because of him that she was in her current situation and she would be damned if she would let her association with him be her downfall again. She hardened herself and simply glared at his downturned head before turning to Harry, “We should go to my-“ she paused before correcting herself, “Viola’s apartment and I want to be brought onto this investigation as a full-time researcher.”
“Of course,” Harry said immediately. He gathered up the files and headed for the door, “I’ll just put these away but I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Hermione stood up abruptly. Harry looked at her curiously and Draco simply lifted his head, his eyes vacant, his face flashed with guilt before he replaced it with a blank mask of indifference. “I’ll come with you.”
Harry nodded, carrying the files out of the room. Her hand was on the door knob when he finally spoke.
“I’m sorry they hurt you. If I had known-“ he stopped himself before letting out a self-deprecating sigh, “I’m sorry.”
Hermione nodded tersely, only sparing him a perfunctory glance before exiting.
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“Why did you always torment me so much as a child?” Hermione asked before she placed a soft kiss to his forehead. She smiled sweetly as she watched him relax and rest peacefully.
He pulled the sheets closer to his naked chest, his eyes still closed, “It was fun and before I truly began to think for myself, I blindly believed all that rubbish my father spoon-fed me. I never thought twice about it,” he opened his eyes and stared at her intently, “until you.”
“Should I feel honored?”
“But, of course,” he smiled at her reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “Besides, you were always so bloody sexy when you were all riled up. Never failed to get me hard.”
Hermione blushed prettily, “Insufferable brat.”
“Your insufferable brat,” Draco returned, pulling her willing body into his arms. He kissed the top of her head, silent for a few moments before he said softly, “It won’t be easy, you know? They’ll hate me for turning. My own father will probably eviscerate me and every single Death Eater and Voldemort will be knocking at my door.” His hold on her tightened, “I can’t promise that I can always protect you. No matter how much I want to. I can’t let them hurt you, Hermione. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if something happened to you. I-“
“Draco,” she looked up into his eyes and grabbed his chin firmly, placing a soft kiss on his lips, “I love you and I will give up the world to be with you and to be loved by you. I’m not a helpless kitten. Whatever happens, you will be my side as I am by yours. We’ll get through it. I know we will.”
He kissed her softly, his mind still filled and tainted with horrendous images. He couldn’t lose her. She was everything. Hermione sensed his unease and caressed the side of his face before pushing him onto his back. She straddled him and looked down at him, her eyes shining, “I will always be yours. They can never take me away.”
“Promise?”
“Always.”
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