In These Silent Days

Chapter 7

Hermione has a theory. To test said theory, she switches up the time she arrives home after work each day. Ten past six. Half past five. Five past seven. Then she watches the kitchen clock. Unfailingly, at the two minute mark, Draco Apparates into the front hall.

After a full week of this exact pattern she confronts Draco. "Do you have a ward alert on your wand for when I arrive home?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"So we can eat dinner together."

When he says these matter-of-fact statements, as if his motives are obvious, Hermione never has a reply ready. She appreciates the overtures at civility, or friendship, she supposes, but what her brain trips over is the intent behind them.

"Is that what your family was like growing up?"

"Yes. It was important to my parents."

"Ah."

"And speaking of my parents...well, my mother, actually, is aware that I've now met your parents on several occasions."

Hermione sits at the table and wrings her hands. She should have seen this coming. "I've put you in a difficult position, haven't I?"

Draco sighs and sits across from her. Hermione senses a negotiation is imminent.

"I said I'd never make you go. But I have been asked, begged, to have you reconsider by my mother."

"Oh."

Before she can gain a proper foothold on her feelings over that revelation, Draco rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

"There's more. I haven't been entirely honest with you."

From inside his jacket pocket he pulls out a bundle of letters and slides them over to Hermione. Neatly tied together with a string is what appears to be several dozen pieces of correspondence addressed to her.

"You've been intercepting my mail?" Her voice almost reaches a screech and now her memory races to recall if she's missed anything important recently. Has he kept crucial Ministry notices from her?

"Not your mail. Well, yes, your mail, but only these letters. My mother has been writing to you."

"You had no right," Hermione scolds and immediately tears open the top one. Her eyes whizz across the parchment filled with the neatest quillmanship she's ever had the pleasure of reading. Narcissa has written a personal invitation for Hermione to join them at the Manor for New Year's Eve. Which was a few weeks ago.

Hermione glares at Draco and rips open the next one. "Why?"

"Why has she written to you?"

"No, you prat, that's quite obvious." Hermione waves an open letter in his face, this one an invitation to a luncheon. Each successive letter has more invitations, entreaties to spend time with her. Teas, shopping trips, dinners, etc. There's even a letter from months ago asking to trade book recommendations.

"Why did you feel it was your right to keep these from me?"

"She wouldn't let me read them in advance and I hadn't a clue why she wanted to write to you so badly. I thought I might spare you from anything...potentially offensive."

"Yes, I'm not sure how my delicate psyche would have handled this," she turns the letter around so he can read it, "offer to accompany her on a garden tour at the Shafiq Estate."

"My family and you don't exactly have the best history, can you blame me for being cautious here?"

"If you've learned anything about me, then you should know I don't appreciate having others decide what's best for me. You withheld information from me."