Notes of Melancholy: A Dramione Fanfic

Part Two: tu me fascines

For the next week he continued to play and she continued to listen, every day, right on schedule. It was strange to know that the music she'd come to think of as an extension of herself came from Malfoy. Perhaps her polar opposite — though she thought about him more and more as the days went on and she struggled to focus on what those opposites were.

Throughout their time together at school she'd thought about their differences — pureblood and Muggleborn, Gryffindor and Slytherin. The Golden Girl and the Serpent Prince. She hadn't spend much time thinking about all the ways they were similar. Schoolyard grudges and blood feuds were difficult to overlook.

But Malfoy was smart — top of their class, other than her, levels of smart. If he hadn't been one of the so-called Sacred 28 he would have made a decent Ravenclaw. Then again, so would she. It was a thought she had, late at night when the sounds of war thrummed behind her eyes and she couldn't sleep. What if she'd been sorted differently? Would she still have been at the front of the war? Still been carved up on the polished drawing room floor of a manor house? Would she still have to check her locks three times and reset her wards just to fall into restless sleep? Would he?

On Monday she slipped a note under his door before she left for work.

How long have you played piano?

H

It took her three tries to get there the night before, over a few glasses. She'd originally written something longer, saying hello and how funny it was that they were neighbors. But it wasn't funny; that was just a stupid turn of phrase. She heard Dr. Walker's voice. Just knock. And she had. The note was a Just knock equivalent.

All day her stomach was in knots. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a conversation with Malfoy. If you could call his sneered insults followed by her own retorts a conversation. Once, in fifth year, they'd both answered Professor Sprout's questions in tandem. No one else had done the reading on harvesting Angel's Trumpet. Maybe that was the last time.

Harry stopped by her desk to say hello. She smiled and nodded. Listened to him talk about the stress of the case he was working on. Asked after Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys. Avoided his suggestion that she visit Ron at the joke shop. Promised to send him a memo later that week.

She'd already finished her work for the week. There was only so much she could do with the files in her desk. The fundraising letters she'd sent on Friday had yet to receive responses. Most of her day was spent practicing her breathing. Lengthen your breaths, Hermione.

When Margaret finally zipped off a last memo and waved goodbye, she waited the cursory five minutes before heading to the lifts. The bus was three minutes late. Her leg shook with anxiety, bouncing until the man seated next to her loudly cleared his throat and she stopped.

Hermione made herself walk and not run up the stairs to her flat. The key fumbled in her fingers as she opened the locks and cast her silent spells to open the wards. There, just inside the door, was a piece of dove grey parchment. Folded once. She snatched it off the floor and opened it.

Lessons began at 3.

Magical Creatures Department at the Ministry?

D

She crossed the small space to her desk. A rickety old thing pressed against the window. The parchment from the night before was still out, tucked under her empty wine glass. She grabbed a quill and scrambled to find a pot of ink that wasn't dried out. Hastily scratched a reply then crumbled it up, selecting a fresh sheet of parchment and taking her time to ensure her letters were neat.