Wanderer

Freedom

Chapter Twenty Two- Freedom

January

They had three months to plan.

Hermione paced outside McGonagall's office. She tasted copper and knew she'd bitten her lip so hard she'd drawn blood. It wasn't that three months was too short a timescale; on the contrary, Hermione had owled Harry first thing after breakfast on New Year's Day to tell him about the update. He'd replied within the hour, telling her that he and Ron had been reading through the transcripts of all the Death Eater cases and that three months was still plenty of time and that she shouldn't worry. Hermione had scoffed at that part. They knew her too well, however, for she received another owl only five minutes after the first, carrying a letter from Ron. She could almost hear the exasperation in his voice, calling her a worrywart and telling her to go to library, like she always did when in doubt. It had made her smile, at least, but the smile was too quickly replaced by the gnawing anxiety in her gut.

It was only a week into the New Year, but Hermione had thought about very little else other than Draco's trial. She flushed, feet faltering. Okay. That was a lie. She had thought about a lot more: the colours of the lake; the pale expanse of her arm, without her scar; the softness of his lips; the hardness of his body; the-

-Staircase rotated and Draco stepped out onto the corridor. "All done," he said. "McGonagall said we have to be back by 4. I don't need to go see her, it'll notify her as soon as I'm back on the grounds."

He raised an eyebrow when all she did was stare at him. Hermione cleared her throat, quickly diverting her gaze. "Okay."

They stayed there for a moment.

"Shall we?" asked Draco. She nodded. With a sarcastic flourish, he beckoned for her to lead the way.

Hermione mentally scolded herself. She could feel her blush creep lower, warming her neck and chest. They hadn't spoken very much since that night, over a week ago. If she hadn't known better, she'd think he was avoiding her. Or her, him. It was only in the lessons they shared that she managed to elicit any sort of interaction from him and even then, it was forced or noncommittal. She'd had to arrange this trip to Hogsmeade through their parchment; she'd gotten no reply but made plans anyway, waiting hopefully at the foot of the staircase, left to pray that he would turn up. In the end, he did.

It was only when they were out of the castle and making their way down the wind-swept grounds that Draco spoke to her.

"You haven't told Boy Wonder and his pet Weasel about-?"

Hermione looked at him. They had forgone the Cloak, having no need of it now McGonagall had given them express permission, and whilst it felt more natural to see him beside her, she wished she couldn't. His hands were shoved in his pockets, face screwed up as the wind ripped his scarf from his chin, cheeks frost-bitten and pink, lips chapped and turning blue. Hermione stared at them. About what? She thought. Our kiss? She wondered if he'd say it aloud if she asked him.

But instead, she shook her head and said, "No."

Draco nodded. Hermione buried her face deeper into her own kitted scarf, pretending his sigh of relief was the wind and the twinge in her chest was the cold.

They didn't speak again, walking to Hogsmeade in relative silence. The snow had looked like it was starting to melt, but the night before, it had reinvigorated its efforts, coating the town in a fresh veil. It was still early, with most students not yet out of bed, the sun white on the mountain tops. Hermione walked ahead, holding the door to the Three Broomsticks open for him and Draco gave her wide berth as he passed, muttering a thanks. She pressed her lips into a line and followed him to the back staircase and up into the first room. They didn't bother knocking.