Secrets and Masks

47. Always manage to surprise me

25th December

"I thought I'd find you out here."

Despite the pitch black outside, she knew it was Malfoy that she was looking at. She'd recognise him anywhere, his broad shoulders and strong arms were so distinctive to her now, even if his hair wasn't so striking, she'd know it was him or a stranger.

He was sat on a fold-out wooden chair, wearing a long black coat that made the silver of his hair all the more striking. He was facing away from her, unmoving and still as stone.

At the sound of her voice, Malfoy turned slightly in his chair, the marble statue coming back to life. He watched her out the corner of his eye for a moment, and after a brief pause, he turned away.

Despite his coldness, Hermione wasn't discouraged. She picked a small stone up from the floor and transfigured it into a chair like his. She placed her chair close beside his - the wooden legs practically touching - and sat down beside him.

She hadn't seen him all day. Hadn't really seen anyone. Despite the festive period, everyone was in low spirits. She could feel it around the Manor. The elves seemed glum, Astoria had been unusually quiet, even Theo hadn't seemed in the mood for cruel jokes, and Hermione knew the reason why.

They were all missing Daphne.

The anniversary of a loved one's death always affected those left behind, Hermione knew that herself. She always felt the loss of her parent's death as it approached each year, but the festive period? That was different. That felt like splitting open an old wound, loss bleeding out from the cut and leaving her empty afterwards.

Last year, she'd been cooped up in her room so she hadn't noticed, but this year, the loss of Daphne seemed to be everywhere in the manor, her ghost like smoke that had clung to the walls and curtains and every inch of the estate. No one could see it, but they could feel it, taste the loss like bitter charcoal in the air.

It was after midnight and very dark outside, and despite being sat right beside him, she couldn't get a clear look at his face.

The clouds were thick and heavy, and even though the wind roared and howled around them with strength, they wouldn't part, wouldn't allow even a scrap of moonlight to sneak through the gaps, wouldn't allow even the tiniest crack in the clouds so no one could possibly be comforted by the stars above.

It seemed even the sky was mourning Daphne.

Hermione hadn't wanted to seek Malfoy out. She'd wanted to give him space, let him work through whatever he needed to on his own and find her when he was ready, but with Theo, Blaise and Astoria at the gala, and Romy and Quinzel at the safe house setting up more protections, Hermione had nothing to distract her from the truth that was staring her right in the face.

She missed him, was starting to crave his company when he wasn't there.

She'd held out for as long as she could. She'd spent most of Christmas eve alone, busied herself with tweaking the mural in her room, willing herself to stay away and wait for him to come and find her.

But by eleven-fifty two pm, she was bored of painting, she'd bathed - alone - completely dried her hair, and had nothing else to take her mind off a pair of grey-blue eyes.

She used to hate his eyes. Used to fantasise about plucking them out and throwing them into an open fire, or putting a bullet right between them. But now, fuck - now she spent hours thinking about them.

About them watching her, the way they sometimes did when he thought she wasn't looking ...

What they might look like lit up by the fire in the farmhouse ...