Summary:

Consequences ... and Cadell's last stand

Chapter Text

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Harry was standing in her office when they got there. He rushed over to her.

"What took you so long? I was starting to get worried. When I read that you were ... " He seized her by her shoulders and looked at her face, no doubt blotchy and tear-streaked. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Harry."

She stole a glance at Draco. He was looking at the ground, fingers white-knuckled around his briefcase.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Anyone else would have said: "I can't believe you did this, Hermione!" or "Why didn't you discuss this with me first, Hermione?" or "You are royally fucked, Hermione!"

Not Harry. And that's why he'd been the only one she'd told.

Harry even managed a semi-cordial, "Hello, Malfoy," to which he'd received a curt nod, accompanied by a similarly semi-cordial: "Potter."

"I talked to Shacklebolt. He's ...er ... not happy."

"I figured as much. How bad is it?"

"Well ... I don't think he's going to transfigure you into a toad, but don't expect any parades in your honor any time soon. He'd like you to both to go see him as soon as possible."

She drew in a breath. "Thanks, Harry."

"Can we talk later?"

"Yes. I'll owl you."

He hugged her and whispered "Good luck," in her ear. And with a final nod to Malfoy, he left her office.

She removed her wand from her pocket and put it into a paper bag.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked.

"Getting ready to turn this in. It'll be easier if I don't have to look at it."

He moved his eyes back down at his shoes and said nothing.

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It wasn't nearly as bad as Hermione had expected. Being best friends with Harry Potter and one vertex of the Golden Trio did in fact have its privileges. Shacklebolt had removed her from all matters pertaining to the Relocated, of course, but he had not taken her wand. He hadn't even fired her. Instead, he reassigned her to a position in the department of the Welfare of Magical Creatures, where she would act as a liaison to house-elves. It was more than she could have asked for, and she was grateful.

Draco was also given a position in the Ministry. Whether this was to keep him complacent or because he had asked for one, Hermione did not know. He served as a special advisor to Shacklebolt, informing him about likely Death Eater hideouts and helping him break new curses. He even worked with Harry on occasion, which Harry said had been awkward at first, but that they had soon had found a way to be civil with one another. Harry told Hermione that Draco was good at his job, and that although he had been hesitant at first, he now actually seemed to enjoy foiling Death Eater plots.

Their offices were in completely different buildings. She saw him in the cafeteria on the rare occasion she chose not to eat lunch at her desk, but other than that, they rarely crossed paths.

This was generally fine with Hermione, because seeing him made icicle stalagmites form in her stomach and steel hoops close around her lungs.

In November, she patched things up with Ron. He was angry that she had hid things from him, she was angry at him for him prying, they were both angry at each other for being huge prats. But then they laughed, and hugged, and he told her he was thinking of asking Geri to marry him, and she was genuinely happy for him. Snub-nose and all.

There was a celebration at the Burrow at the end of November to celebrate Geri and Ron's engagement. Hermione hadn't felt much like going, but Harry had asked her to be there, and she couldn't say no. Cadell was there, and he was nice to talk to, and they agreed to get dinner sometime. Ron positively beamed when she told him that.

Cadell had terrible taste in restaurants, and she teased him for this, and he smiled at her in his shy, goofy way. She let him kiss her, and his mouth was warm and soft. But it ended with kisses outside her door.

In early December, she saw Draco sipping butterbeer with Astoria Greengrass at the Three Broomsticks. She bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood and left before he could see her.

For Christmas, Cadell had given her a first-edition copy of Selwyn Sussman's Metaphysical Transfiguration: Theory into Act. She smiled when she opened it, and marveled at the condition of the book, and promised him that it would have a prized position on her bookshelf. And then she laughed as he opened the exact same thing from her. That had been a good night, and she had almost invited him inside when he dropped her off, and if she had perhaps drunk more eggnog at the Burrow, she would have. But she hadn't, so she didn't.

Just as she was about to go to bed that night, an owl fluttered to her window, pecking at the glass. She looked at the clock: there were two more minutes left in this year's Christmas. The owl had a small box wrapped in red foil tied to its leg. There was no note.

Inside the box was a tiny, perfect paper-napkin rose.

She put it back into the box, closed her fist around it, and cried until she slept.

In January, Cadell asked her to be his date to Ginny and Harry's wedding. Hermione pointed out that he didn't need to ask her to be his date, seeing as how they were both already invited. He pointed out that this wasn't an answer to his question. She smiled at him and shook her head, but said nothing else.

Hermione worked very late on Valentine's Day. There was, after all, a serious problem with ear-rash amongst the house-elves. Cadell said that he understood. She was quite sure that he didn't.

In March, she was possessed by a sudden urge to clean her flat. She told herself that it was the promise of spring's warmth and light that spurred her desires, and not the fact she'd lost her favorite quill, but no matter what the underlying reason, the fact remained that she was kind of living in a sty. She spent so much time at the office that her housework often went undone, and even though things could be taken care of with a simple spell, even that seemed like too much of an effort most nights. But today the piles of clutter seemed to call out to her, and she set about sorting through them.

The last stack of untidied books and papers lay in the corner of her bedroom. It was so old that she couldn't even remember what was in there. As she began to look through them, she froze. They were her notes on memory charms from back in September. And on the bottom of the pile was her notebook, the one that Draco's log was charmed to copy into. Before she even realized what she was doing, she opened to a blank page and wrote the first words that came into her mind:

she pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?

Then she closed the book and put it on her nightstand. She put the rest of the pile into her filing cabinet.

She checked the book every night before she went to sleep. There was no response, of course. Why would he still have the yellow legal pad where he had once detailed his mental breakdown?

But then ... on the very last day of March, just when she was about to curse herself for being so foolish and toss the notebook into the trash, she watched, open-mouthed, as his ornate script appeared beneath her own tiny print.

Is that your history, Granger?

She tossed off the covers and knocked over a glass of water and a stack of books, frantically searching for a quill. As soon as she found one, she rushed back to the notebook, but then realized she had no idea what to say. So she simply wrote:

Draco?

There was no response. He must have stepped away. Tears began to cloud her eyes, and she wanted to throw the quill in frustration, until these words appeared:

Who the hell do you think this is?

You kept the legal pad?

No. I tore a scrap from it and used it as a placeholder in my Shakespeare book.

Oh. You still have that?

Obviously.

Yes, I suppose that was another stupid question.

When did you write the lines from 12th Night?

A few weeks ago. Thank you for the flower on Christmas. I meant to thank you in person, but I didn't know what to say.

Welcome. This scrap is very tiny. Can't write or read much more. See you. DM

She tried to write more, but the paper would not allow another drop of ink to be spilled on it. She clutched the book to her chest and made a futile attempt at sleep.

On the first really warm Saturday in April, she went to her favorite Muggle park and spread her books on a blanket. She'd been a bit overzealous in estimating how many she'd actually get to read, but she didn't want to run out of books before she ran out of sunshine. So she picked the top one from the teetering pile and sprawled out, rolling up the cuffs of her jeans to soak up as much sunshine as possible. She was soon engrossed in the book, and was therefore somewhat startled when someone above her said: "Is there any room for another person on that blanket, or is the extra space reserved for more books?"

Her heart stopped when she heard the voice. His voice. She turned and looked up at him, a black silhouette framed by the garish sun.

She sat up, pushed the stack of books off of the blanket, and gestured for him to join her. Once he sat, she noticed that he was wearing nylon shorts, trainers, and a white T-shirt. She grinned at his ensemble.

"I might stink," he said, sitting next to her.

"Duly noted." He didn't stink, of course. He smelled like sunshine and him. "Still running, huh?"

"Yeah. Couldn't break the habit."

"How have you been?"

"Alright. You."

"Can't complain, really."

"Good."

"Yes."

"So ... er ...," she began, desperate to continue the conversation, but completely at a loss for words. "Do you come to this park often?"

"Sometimes. There's another one much closer to my flat that I usually prefer, but I felt like branching out a bit."

"I see."

"Granger..."

"Draco..."

They both laughed uneasily, then both urged the other to speak, then both looked at their hands.

"I was just going to invite you to my flat for tea sometime," he said.

"That's funny. That's what I was going to say to you as well." She smiled at him. It felt good.

"I insist," he said.

"Oh no," she replied. "I owe you. After all the tea you made me back when ..." her voice trailed off.

"No, I owe you, Granger," he said firmly. "And I'm not arguing about this." He took her quill and scrawled an address on a piece of her notebook paper. "Next Saturday? Two o'clock?"

"I think that sounds lovely."

"I'll see you then."

He stood up, smoothed out imaginary wrinkles from his shorts, and said goodbye. She watched him jog off until he was swallowed by trees and the horizon. Happiness bubbled in her stomach and spread across her face.

The week crawled.

Cadell called on Wednesday to see if she had plans for Saturday night. Technically, she didn't, but she didn't tell him that. She agreed to drinks after work on Friday at the Hideout instead. Geri and Ron and Ginny and Harry would also be there, so it wouldn't seem like too much of a date.

She had been wrong about that last part. She knew this before Cadell even arrived. Geri and Ron were giving each other goo-goo eyes and talking about a destination wedding. Harry and Ginny were giggling to themselves and holding hands under the table. When Ginny declined a firewhisky in favor of a mug of pumpkin juice, Hermione arched her eyebrow at Harry. He shrugged, grinned, and exchanged a knowing glance with Ginny. Hermione's jaw dropped. Harry held a finger up to his lips, glancing over at Ron and Geri, who were so thoroughly off in their own little world that they had no idea about the momentous body-language conversation that had just been held at their very table.

Hermione was practically bursting at the seams with questions, but she held her tongue. Just as she was about to launch a clever plan to get Harry or Ginny alone, Cadell showed up. Hermione tried not to let disappointment show on her face as she greeted him.

"Hey there, Mermione," he said.

"Calell," she nodded, kissing his cheek. Ron would have winced if he had heard any part of that exchange.

"So what's everyone drinking? Let me get another round."

"You're a good man, Cadell," Harry said. They each grabbed another drink from the bar tray.

"How's the Owl Post treating you?" Ginny asked.

"Well, other than the fact that I usually smell like owl shit, fantastic."

They all laughed heartily at this. Hermione thought it would have been funnier if he did not indeed smell so very much like owl shit. Reflecting on this made her think about Draco's shirt and running shorts, the ones she had worn home that time after they had seen the play. She had never given then back, and had slept with them on more than one occasion, even after they had lost his scent.

"Oi, Hermione, are you in there somewhere?" Ron said, waving his hand in front of her face.

"Sorry. Just thinking about work."

"Now that's a rare occurrence."

"Whatever, Ronald. You should talk. I bet you didn't even hear Cadell and me poking fun at you a little while ago."

"What are you going on about?"

"Nothing."

Ron got somewhat exasperated. "Tell me!"

"Calell, were we making fun of him?"

"No we were not, Mermione."

Ron's face glowed magenta. "Bloody hilarious," he muttered.

The table erupted in laughter again and Hermione felt good. Cadell fit so perfectly into her group of her old friends that Hermione sometimes forgot he'd never been to Hogwarts. Never ate Chocolate Frogs with them on the train, or practiced dueling with the DA, or snickered in a potions class when a Slytherin's cauldron turned feral.

When Ginny nipped off to the loo—for what seemed like the five hundredth time, Hermione noted—Geri went with her. Ron immediately engaged Cadell in a discussion of the Harpies' chances next season. Cadell shifted awkwardly in his seat and gave diplomatic, overeager answers. Hermione giggled to herself, knowing that Ron was having an internal laugh at Cadell's expense. While the two of them chattered on, she leaned across the table to Harry.

"So?" she whispered.

"So what?" he asked. He was trying desperately to hide a grin.

She exhaled impatiently and drummed her fingertips on the table. "When?" she asked.

He mouthed the word "November" to her. She gasped as subtly as possible.

"Of course I pay attention. I even wear my special glasses to get a better view. Isn't that right, Hermione?"

"What?" She looked over at Cadell, still smiling uncontrollably. "Oh, yes. Yes. He's shown them to me. They're magnificent."

"What are you so giddy about?" Ron asked.

"Oh nothing. Just ... work."

"Work? You are seriously damaged," Ron said. "Where do you think Ginny and Geri have gotten off to?"

"You know women and the bathroom," Harry said. But he craned his neck around the bar in search of them as he had said it.

Hermione was just about to offer to go and check on them when Geri returned to the table alone.

"Harry, Ginny isn't feeling very well. I think she must've eaten something that didn't quite agree with her. She told me to tell you that she would meet you at home."

"Poor Gin," Harry said. "I told her that salmon looked sketchy. Well, I'd better go, mates."

Not long after they had said their goodbyes to Harry, Ron and Geri decided to cut out as well, leaving Hermione alone with Cadell, exactly what she had been trying to avoid by agreeing to meet him here in the first place.

They sat and talked about books and politics and exchanged a few amusing childhood anecdotes. Hermione giggled at Cadell's magnificent impression of Arthur Weasley using a ballpoint pen and he marveled at how quickly she could translate nursery rhymes into ancient runes. The evening passed more quickly than she had anticipated. It was easy to be with Cadell. He always returned her smiles

When they had finished their drinks and settled the tab, he reached across the table and took her hand. "Do you want to come back to my place?"

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out of it.

"I'm ... woah ... I'm sorry, Hermione. That was really forward of me. Woah. I'm so sorry." He covered his face with his hands. The flesh peeking out between his fingers was bright pink. He separated his index and middle fingers enough to reveal one dark brown eye. "Sorry," he said again.

He looked so sheepish that she couldn't help but laugh. "It's alright," she said, pulling his hands from his face.

"Sorry. I ... wow. Sorry."

"You can stop apologizing now, silly. I ... find your candor charming."

"You do?" The embarrassment on his face turned to hope.

"Yes. But ..."

"But?" The hope turned to resignation.

"But I can't come home with you."

"No?"

"No."

"Hermione? May I continue with my charming candidacy here?"

"If you like." She squirmed in her seat a bit.

"Where ... uh ... where is this going? You and I, I mean. Look, I'm just going to be honest here. I really like you. Very much. You are so smart, and so lovely. And sometimes I get the sense that you like being with me, that you want to keep seeing me, and sometimes you seem ... rather distant."

"Cadell, I do like you. And I do like being with you."

"But ...?"

"But ... I'm just ..." she sighed. He really was very sweet. And smart. And funny. A year ago, she probably would have settled right into a relationship with him. Then they could have stubby-chinned, poofy-haired babies who learned to read before they learned to walk. But now?

"You're just what?"

But now, she couldn't keep stringing him along like this. It wasn't fair.

"I'm just ... well ... I'm sort of hung up on someone else."

"Ah, I knew it." He docked his chin onto his open palm and sighed.

"You did?"

"It's Ron, isn't it?"

An involuntary laugh burst from Hermione's lips. "Ron? No. That ship has sailed."

"Then ... who is it?"

"It's just ... someone else I went to school with."

"Harry?"

"No," she said, giving her head an exaggerated shake. "There were more than two male students at Hogwarts, Cadell."

"I know," he admitted. "I was just hoping it would be someone unavailable."

"Cadell ..."

"Because whoever this guy is, as long as he's not Harry or Ron, seeing as how one is engaged to my sister and the other is about to be a father ... don't look all surprised, I'm sure you figured it out too ... whoever this guy is, once he figures out what an absolute gem you are, I won't stand a chance."

"I'm sorry, Cadell."

"I figured as much."

"You are going to make someone else the happiest woman in the world one day. You know that, don't you?"

He offered her a half-smile. "I was kind of hoping that woman would be you," he said, hopping off of the barstool.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. She had no idea what else to say.

"Not as half as sorry as I am." He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. They were warm and soft, as always, but their presence against her skin left no heat. "I'll see you around, Hermione."

"See you, Cadell."

She didn't really know how she was supposed to feel as she watched him walk out of the bar. Sad? Relieved? Remorseful? Guilty? She decided that she felt a small bit of each of those. But all of these emotions were overshadowed by the anxiety and elation that raced through her when she thought about seeing Draco tomorrow. And that was why she knew she had done the right thing by pushing Cadell away. He was sweet. He was safe. He wasn't Draco.