Beauty From Pain

Chapter Seventeen

Friday morning dawned with dreary skies and ominous clouds. The threat of rain hung heavily in the sky and cast the world in gloomy shades of gray.

Draco thought the impending storm was fitting.

He stood across the street from the building that housed Hermione's flat, hands stuffed deep in his pant pockets and a frown marring his features. He tried to look inconspicuous, but the street was empty due to the shoddy weather, and he was painfully aware of the neighbors peeking at the strange, brooding man through their curtains. He needed to knock on Hermione's door before someone called the muggle aurors.

It had been quite lucky that he had remembered enough details of her street from the night she had brought them here. Another excellent reason to have been sober after the party at the Three Broomsticks. He told himself it wasn't creepy, and that being aware of your surroundings was a skill anyone should possess.

He still needed to knock.

Heaving a sigh and shoving his hands even further into his pockets, Draco trudged across the street and up the small steps to Hermione's front door. He knocked before he could talk himself out of it, and immediately began tapping his foot impatiently. The door opened far enough for him to glimpse a very confused Hermione.

"Draco?" She rubbed the back of her hand over one of her eyes, and he was suddenly aware of how early in the morning it was.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," he said quickly. "I can come back later."

She waved a hand at him and said, "No, no, it's alright. Would you like to come in?"

He nodded appreciatively, more than happy to get out of the rain that was beginning to fall, and stepped passed her into the room. He glanced around the space, surprised by how small the flat was. It was stuffed to the brim with books, which he had expected, and it made the room they were in feel even smaller than it was. The warm colors and personal touches made the place feel homey and somewhat less cramped, but Draco still felt as though he was intruding and lingered anxiously by the front door.

"How did you know which door was mine?"

Draco glanced at her and immediately lost his train of thought.

She was dressed in what he assumed were her sleep clothes. She worse gray sweats that looked to be at least two sizes too big and puddled around her bare feet. Her shirt was so faded he could hardly make out any letters that remained. The bottom of the shirt had been cut off rather carelessly, and the frayed edges revealed a small amount of skin. It captivated his attention.

"Draco?"

His gaze snapped back to hers, and he found laughter dancing in her brown eyes. He smiled sheepishly at her and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry, didn't sleep well last night."Her smile told him she knew exactly why he had been staring, but she said nothing.

"I remembered from the party," he said. He hoped it didn't sound strange to remember a detail like that.

Thankfully she nodded along as though this made perfect sense. She shuffled to the kitchenette and asked, "I was just about to make some tea, would you like some?"

"Yes, please."

Draco took a seat at the kitchen table and watched her quietly work. This wasn't going at all the way he had anticipated. He had expected shouting, perhaps a few things thrown at him, a lecture at the very least. While Hermione Granger may not have had the most notorious temper during their years at school, she had certainly been a force to be reckoned with, and her silence was unnerving him.