Parade of the Sun - Dramione

PART TWO.

February 20; 11:49am

She shifted the stack of books in her arm, opening her mouth to the cold wind in an attempt to cool her burning tongue. The Styrofoam cup had felt lovely against her freezing fingers, but the scalding tea inside seemed content to singe her taste buds off. It was in this awkward, hunched, shifting, oddly bent, tongue hanging out of her mouth moment that she spotted him.

She almost convinced herself she was seeing things. The past several days had been spent immersed in research, as the new name Neville supplied had at least doubled the books on her coffee table. This left her with little sleep, blurry eyes, and a background of paranoia over how far ahead of her Malfoy might be. His face was turned towards his shoulder, half-tucked into the collar of his coat, but there was no mistaking the condescending line of his eyebrows or the white-blond hair caught in the wind. She did her best to melt into the crowd of two people around her, and snapped her mouth shut as he turned onto a side street.

She shot a look to either side of her, her arms swinging with her indecision on what to do with all the things weighing her down, before she took off across the cobblestone. The tea was sloshing against the lid, and the books were threatening escape from the nook of her arm and chest with every step. She gave a remorseful look to her drink as she dropped it in a rubbish bin and yanked her wand out, slowing her steps to peek around the corner of the building. Malfoy's back was to her, leather gloves gleaming in the faint sunlight as he smoothed his hair with one hand and reached for a door with the other. The sign above the door told her it was an antique shop, and she drew her bottom lip into her mouth, biting down.

Malfoy might have been rich, but she didn't think he would go shopping for expensive antiques to spruce up his bedroom. Not that she knew much about him beyond him being an ex-Death Eater and one of the worst prats she ever had the displeasure to meet. This whole situation reminded her of the summer before sixth year, and she wondered, again, what would have happened if they had figured it out then instead of when Dumbledore lay crumpled at the bottom of a tower.

She wished she had Harry's cloak at the moment. As it were, she had nothing that could help her, and so she resigned herself to leaning against the store and wait. She made random, quick glances around the corner, and checked her watch an average of every thirty seconds. He was probably browsing around, and might even purchase something. Perhaps he was shopping for his mother. She remembered a few antique things on her journey through part of his house, though she could have been delusional with fear and pain.

He was heading back when she peeked around again, his lips pulled up in a smirk and his eyes sweeping the road in front of him. She pulled back, sure he had spotted her in that split second at the end. Turning quickly, she threw open the door of the shop she was standing in front of and ducked inside. She went into the second aisle, away from the windows, and stared at boxes of quills as she counted in her head. He would be turning onto this road now, and if he had seen her, he would be heading towards the shop. He might be pausing now, and... Hermione held her breath, waiting for the sound of cold air being sucked into the small shop, but it didn't come. This whole thing would go a lot smoother if she knew what he was up to, while he had no idea about her. He would be more careful -- too careful, maybe.

She counted to thirty and walked out, trying to look occupied while covertly scanning the windows. He wasn't there, or on the street when she exited the shop, or on the side street when she turned down it. She couldn't stop herself from scanning continuously on her brisk walk towards the shop, and the looks she received were mixed between wondering recognition and fearful suspicion. She thought briefly of turning up the collar of her coat and covering her mouth with it, as her eyes darted back and forth along the street like a true detective incognito. She snorted loudly at the mental image, and the old woman next to her pulled farther away.