Out of Time

Chapter 44

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?

- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot

The question (the one she's yet again managed to forget about entirely) almost answers itself - almost.

Hermione's keeping one eye on the Lovegood home and the other woolgathering, while Draco reads. The day is warming up nicely, now, and Hermione's become increasingly certain that tomorrow is Friday. Friday of Easter weekend, which means Luna could be arriving at any time. Her watchful gaze on the residence is more about catching Luna's potential arrival than their slim suspicion about Xenophilius Lovegood possibly having clandestine meetings with Death Eaters.

The canvas tent flap unzips behind them and Hermione looks back to see Harry stepping free. He's carrying some limp sandwiches stacked on a plastic plate in one hand and covering a yawn with the other, and promptly trips over Draco's bag.

Hermione's quick arresto momentum keeps the sandwiches from hitting the ground. Harry stumbles but catches himself, then almost tumbles over a second time when Draco yanks the bag towards him, the strap catching the toe of Harry's trainer.

"Watch it!" They both snap in unison with identical fiery glares.

It would strike Hermione as funny if the look on Draco's face wasn't half-panicked. But in the next second, it smooths out and she wonders if she'd imagined it. Draco tucks the bag tight to his side, resting his elbow on it as he flips back to his place in the potions book.

"Malfoy... what's that?"

Harry points. The top flap of Draco's satchel is askew and Hermione sees a flash of silver. Draco freezes and gives Harry the most malevolent look she's ever seen on someone's face. His eyes glitter almost black and Harry takes a wary step backwards.

Hermione tenses, wand still in hand from saving the hapless sandwiches from the dirt. What the hell is going on? And yes, her mind jabbers at her, what is in that bag, anyway? She keeps wondering. Doesn't she? Seems like she has in the past, but never quite enough to ask about it.

Draco takes his time. With no less hostility in his tone, he finally says, "It's a gift. For Hermione. It's none of your business."

A gift? Hermione perks up at once. She loves gifts. Maybe he's had an odd sort of Notice-Me-Not on it this whole time and that's why she's never been able to focus on it long enough to inquire.

"For me?" She can't repress the hope in her voice. "Really?" Why? Were you - saving it? What for?"

His jaw tightens, loosens, and tightens again. One hand rests atop the flap and straightens it out to hide the glimpse of shining silver beneath. But his stormy eyes never leave her face and she watches him war with himself. He wants to make her happy. And she believes him - this is something meant for her.

"Nevermind," she shakes her head, a little dejected. "You're saving it for something. I know. It's okay. I'll... I can wait."

Harry is not so easily swayed. He folds his arms over his chest. "Why can't she have it now? Now she knows about it."

Draco's expression flashes dangerously and he drags his gaze away from Hermione to face Harry. A slight shiver runs down her back as the two wizards stare each other down.

"Maybe I'm saving it until we aren't in the fucking woods anymore. Maybe it's fit for a princess - my princess, and doesn't belong out here in the fucking dirt. She doesn't, either. And when it's all over, I'll give it to her."