the light is no mystery

"He was pointing at the moon but I was looking at his hand. How do I tell you how I got here without getting trapped in the past? I suppose that’s a bigger question than I expected (...) We are all of us secret agents, undercover in our overcoats, the snow falling down." - Anyway, Richard Siken. 

_

Hermione stared at her reflection in the restroom’s mirror. She was bare faced, as always. Her skin was light brown from the sun, with a few scattered freckles on the bridge of her nose. She had tied part of her curls in a tight knot on top of her head to keep it out of her eyes, but the rest of it fell over her shoulders, bushy as ever. 

“Just another day,” she murmured to herself. “I’m not going to let him intimidate me.” 

Hermione allowed herself three seconds to breathe, then she swung her purse over her shoulder and tightened a hand around its strap. Before her nerves got the best of her, she left the restroom, walking in quick, sure steps towards the Solarium, aware that she had already stalled too long. 

“I know I’m late, Nott,” said Hermione, pretending not to notice her charges’ expectant looks. Before Nott could think up a response, she waved down the wards and opened the door, stepping back for them to pass. 

“Okay, then,” said Nott, grinning. As he brushed past her, he mock-whispered to Malfoy, who was following behind him, “Someone is in a mood.”

“I can hear you,” snapped Hermione. She was surprised when Malfoy didn’t join in the opportunity to taunt her. 

As she followed the group into the room, Hermione avoided looking at Rookwood. She didn’t want to show him any inkling of fear. But from the corner of her eye, she watched the way he shifted uncertaintly in his chair, like he was waiting for the pin to drop. Exactly as Malfoy said, thought Hermione.

“Last meeting we had an interesting conversation about dark magic,” said Hermione. When none of them responded, she continued. “I thought we should continue talking about it today.” 

“Do you ever give up, Granger?” said Parkinson, clenching her jaw.

“Not what I’m known for,” said Hermione. “Besides, why not?” she shrugged. “When Nott and Malfoy talked about Occlumency last time, I got curious and did some research. But I didn’t find anything on the subject.”

“You did research? What a surprise,” said Parkinson. Bulstrode snickered. 

“Why don’t you talk more about your relationship with dark magic, Parkinson? I mean, you and Bulstrode haven’t been exactly forthcoming,” said Hermione. She turned in her chair, waving a hand in Rookwood’s direction. “And even Rookwood here shared his thoughts.” Rookwood’s only response was to sneer at her, though she saw him shoot an anxious look at the door. 

“I don’t care about dark magic,” said Bulstrode. 

“What do you mean by that?” asked Hermione. She narrowed her eyes at Nott when he chuckled. “Bulstrode? Can you explain it?” 

Bulstrode shrugged mindlessly. Hermione waited for the group to say something, anything ., As each second passed in silence, she grew more and more frustrated. Not even Malfoy -- who Hermione had come to expect to interact with her -- seemed interested in participating in the conversation. 

Rookwood alternated between staring at the door and staring at Hermione, suspicion in his eyes and lips curled in a grimace. He was clearly jittery, but it didn’t stop him from sneering at her. Parkinson and Bulstrode were doing their best to ignore her, content to stare at their nails in feigned fascination. 

Nott, unsurprisingly, seemed to be the only one willing to talk. Hermione intertwined her fingers on her lap, suddenly exhausted. 

“Malfoy? Nott? Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Well, if you insist,” said Nott, crossing one leg over the other with a grin.

As he launched into a detailed explanation of dark magic, Hermione struggled to pay attention. She was distracted by her attempt to look unaffected by Rookwood’s presence, even though being in the same room as him triggered her fight-or-flight response. She forced herself to keep her posture straight in the chair, unwilling to appear too relaxed. She didn’t want to look like prey. 

And at the same time, Hermione was unsettled by Malfoy’s silence. She watched him sit in his chair, head down, hands in his pockets. He finally shut up and I’m bothered by it? she thought, wary of her own feelings. 

She knew it wasn’t just his silence. She wouldn’t feel so troubled if Malfoy was ignoring her to get a rise out of her. But today he didn’t seem fully present -- he occasionally looked in her direction, but kept his gaze fixed on a point on the floor in front of him, a slack expression on his face. She was sure that if she said his name, he wouldn’t respond. 

He was acting like he did with Cartwell, and Hermione wasn’t used to it. She didn’t like it. 

“Granger, are you even listening?” said Nott.

“Of course, you were talking about your family’s grimoire,” said Hermione, hoping he didn’t ask her to be more specific. “Please, keep going.” 

“He’s not even saying anything important,” said Parkinson, “he’s talking just to make noise.” 

“You know what, Pans? I’m kind of sick of your attitude,” snapped Nott, turning in her direction.

“You’re sick of my attitude? I’ve told you a thousand times--” 

Hermione glanced at Malfoy again, cataloguing the way he tapped his foot absentmindedly. 

“Do you guys want to talk about what’s bothering you?” she asked, wearily turning towards Parkinson and Nott. 

“It’s none of your business,” hissed Parkinson.

“In fact, I do--” started Nott.

_ 

At the end of the meeting, Hermione felt like she’d spent the past hour in a couple’s therapy session instead of court-mandated rehab. Every time Nott tried to engage with her, Parkinson snapped at him, and suddenly they’d launch into an argument that mostly went over Hermione’s head. She knew she could’ve done a better job at keeping a rein on things, but her heart wasn’t in it, either. 

“Hey, Malfoy, can you hang back for a bit?” asked Hermione, still unsure what she was planning to say to him. 

She half expected him to keep going, to pretend that he hadn’t heard her, like he had done for the past hour, so she was mildly surprised when he stopped in his tracks, turned on his heel, and approached her. 

“What do you want, Granger?” asked Malfoy, standing a couple of steps away from her. “I haven’t got all day.”

Hermione cleared her throat, fidgeting with her hands as she forced herself to say, “What’s up with you?”

“Excuse me?” 

“You didn’t say a single thing at the meeting today. And you know that I’m not like Cartwell, if you think you can get way with lazing your way through--”

“You know what?” interrupted Malfoy. “Just shut up. Millicent barely opens her mouth to do anything besides repeat whatever Pansy says like a bloody parrot. You didn’t seem bothered by Rookwood not saying a single word today, either, and you’re asking me to hang back so you can get on my arse about it?” Hermione flinched in surprise. “What?” he said, a vein in his neck throbbing. “Now you’re not going to say anything? Can’t argue your way out of the truth?”

“I just asked because you’re usually more--” She hesitated. “open.” And because you seem absent-minded, and angrier than usual , she thought. “I thought maybe there was something on your mind.” 

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes. “The only thing on my mind is you pestering me, Granger. Just leave me alone.” His tone sounded flat, lacking its usual force. 

“You know what? Fine,” said Hermione. “You can leave then, Malfoy. I don’t even know what I thought I’d get by being nice to you.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I think I will,” he said, sounding a little uncertain. Hermione waited, sure he would say something else, maybe ask her what she was trying to do. For a second, she’d been sure he was going to engage her, but then his face returned to its usual sneer, and he stomped out of the room. 

As Hermione stared at his disappearing back, she felt a sense of wrongness nagging within her. Malfoy’s acting too strangely , she thought. Hermione couldn’t guess his motivation for helping her the other day. Despite their history, he’d sat beside her in a cramped supply room, talking until she felt calm enough to leave. Maybe he thought it’d help him get released from the program, she thought, but still, he had stayed. 

And she had let him leave. If she could help him, shouldn’t she? Or, you can mind your own business like he told you to, she argued with herself. 

“Ah, bloody hell,” she muttered, rushing to follow him out of the room. She closed the Solarium’s door behind her, casting an anxious look at the chairs before figuring she could come back for them, later.

By the time Hermione finished putting up the wards, Malfoy was already far down the corridor. She cursed under her breath, scurrying to keep up with him. 

She accelerated her pace when he turned the corner -- there were a few MRC employees loitering nearby, so she couldn't call his name without calling attention to herself. Hermione followed as he made his way down the stairs, struggling to keep up with his long strides. She tightened a palm around the handrail to keep her balance. The last thing she needed to do was  lose her balance.

Malfoy abruptly stopped, and Hermione let out an undignified yelp when she ran into his back. She stumbled when he turned around, her hold on the handrail the only thing keeping her upright. 

“Why are you following me, Granger?” said Malfoy, sounding as amused as he was irritated.

“I’m not following you, for Godric’s sake,” said Hermione, watching as Malfoy’s eyes flickered between her and the stairs, as if debating his escape, “You’re so dramatic.” 

“Oh?” his head snapped towards her, “I’m dramatic? You’re the one on a crusade to get me to talk to you. This school girl act is not flattering, Granger.” said Malfoy, slowly moving away from her. 

“Everytime I think I can have a conversation with you without it turning into a fight, you make me regret-”

“I know I’m attractive,” he talked over her, finally stopping in his tracks, “but this whole thing seems kind of desperate for a witch like you.

Hermione stuck her nose in the air, “Please, Malfoy. It’s kind of sad how delusional you actually are. That’s not why I was looking for you.”

“So you admit you’re stalking me?”

“Stalking is a strong word, you knew all along that I was right behind you,” she huffed, “I’ll leave you alone if you really want, but you seemed strange today.” She held out her hand to stop him when he opened his mouth to respond. “I heard what you said about Rookwood and Bulstrode, no need to repeat it. You helped me out the other day, and I figured that, if you wanted, I could help you out too.”

“Oh, Granger-” he started to chuckle, “you’re nosy as hell. And annoying. You just can’t help yourself from meddling into other people’s business, can you?” 

“I’m just trying to return a favor,” she said, “but I’m going to change my mind if you’re going to stand here and insult me.” 

“Save it,” said Malfoy. He crossed his arms, “I don’t need any favor from you--” 

“Okay,” said Hermione, starting to back away. 

“And I’m not your bloody friend,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. He took a step forward for each step she took back. “How could you even help me? If you think I’m going to cry my heart out for you like a baby, then you’re mistaking me for Weasel and Scar-Head--”

“I literally just said okay, Malfoy, save your breath. I’m going home.” 

“You think just because we had two semi-decent conversations that I want to waste my down time with you? You say I’m conceited, but your ego is as big as mine.”

“Oh, really?” she asked amusedly. She stopped retreating, watching as he continued to step closer to her. 

“I don’t want to spend any time with you--”

“Are you sure?” she arched a brow, pointing her thumb to the stairs behind her, “because I was just trying to leave--”

“Aren’t you hearing what I’m saying? You are meddling, unbearable--”

“Oh, I’m hearing you alright,” she muttered. When Malfoy got close enough, Hermione grabbed his bony wrist, not giving him enough time to push her back before she apparated them both out of the building. 

_

“You’re a lunatic, Granger!” exclaimed Malfoy, voice high in surprise. “Where the hell are we?”

Hermione let go of his wrist, but grabbed the sleeve of his robes, dragging his body towards an empty alley. He grumbled indignantly, yanking her hand away from his clothes. 

“Come on, we can’t be seen wearing these robes,” said Hermione.

“This is kidnapping,” snapped Malfoy, “I’m going to report you to Cartwell. No, actually, I’m going straight to Hughman--”

Hermione rolled her eyes, taking her wand out of her pocket and quickly transfiguring her robes into a long-sleeved black dress. She adjusted the hem of the skirt, then raised her eyes to look at Malfoy, who was looking around as if he expected someone to emerge from the shadows and jump him. 

“Stop being fussy, Malfoy, I gave you plenty of time to walk away before I apparated us.” 

“That’s a bloody lie,” said Malfoy. “Don’t point your wand at me, Granger, what the hell?”

Hermione lowered the wand. “I need to transfigure your clothes if we're going to hang around here. We don’t want any unwanted attention from Muggles,” she said.  

“Are we in Muggle London?” he hissed, “Granger, you’re really testing me today, and it’s not going to end well for you, I can assure you.” 

“I got your number, Malfoy, you’re not fooling me,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “Apparate home now, if you really want to. I’m going to enjoy my day either way--”

“Is that supposed to make me change my mind?”

Hermione continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Or, you can come with me and get your mind off of whatever it is that’s bothering you so much.”

Malfoy didn’t say anything, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. She was surprised when he stepped closer to her, for the second time that day, forcing her to  retreat until her back hit the brick wall. Hermione’s breath got stuck in her chest. The corners of his lips twisted, like he couldn’t decide if he should be smirking or sneering at her. 

“You think dragging me to this dreadful place is going to change my mind about your kind?”

“I honestly didn’t think about it that way,” said Hermione. “I just came to the first place I thought of, no secondary intentions. But maybe it’ll do you some good. Maybe,” she said, standing taller, “you’ll realize there’s more to Muggles than you could ever imagine.”

“You’re seriously delusional,” he said, stepping away from her. The sudden distance between them allowed Hermione to breathe.

“Like I said, you can go home. I’m not going to insist.” 

Malfoy arched a brow, looking doubtful. 

Hermione gave him a last lingering look. When he didn’t show any reaction, she turned on her heel, making her way down the alley. 

Hermione’s mouth arranged itself into a satisfied smirk when she heard footsteps behind her. 

“Slow down, Granger.” snapped Malfoy. Hermione didn’t respond, resisting the urge to turn towards him. “I know you can hear me,” he said, following her as she turned the corner towards Primrose Hill. 

Hermione smiled when she saw the park. It was just past midday, so it wasn’t overly crowded, but had enough people walking around to offer a strange type of comfort. The sun was shining bright, atypical for Britain, and if she walked all the way up the hill she’d get a panoramic view of the city’s most memorable sights. 

“You’re going to make me walk and ignore me?” said Malfoy. 

Hermione finally stopped, turning to look at him. She noticed he had transfigured his robes to look like a pair of black trousers and a dark grey cotton shirt. “Decided to grace me with your presence?” she said.

“I figured if you are so eager to be around me, I might as well.”

Hermione huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. “You’re so typical,” she said. “Come with me.” 

She began walking, but at a slow enough pace for him to fall in an easy step beside her. Hermione glanced at him from the side of her eye -- Malfoy observed the scene around him with a furrowed forehead, his eyes widening as he watched a woman push a stroller.

“This is what you wanted me to see?” he asked, lips curled in distaste. “Trees and muggles? I’m curious to know where you got the impression that this would interest me.” 

“This is one of my favorite spots, actually,” said Hermione. “My parents and I used to spend entire afternoons having picnics here, then we’d walk up the hill and watch the sunset. It’s also a really good place to people-watch.”

Malfoy snuck a glance at her, seemingly uncomfortable at her willingness to share information about her Muggle life. Hermione didn’t know why she was doing it. Part of her was afraid he would mock her, but a stronger part wanted him to see things from her point of view.

“Did you--” He cleared his throat. “Did you live around here? Before you found out you were a witch?”

“Oh, no,” she giggled, “this is actually a very expensive area. My parents were dentists. It’s a respectable profession, but it doesn’t pay that well.”

“Your parents were what?”

“They fixed teeth,” she clarified.

“That’s the strangest thing I have ever heard.” said Malfoy, scrunching up his face in an over-the-top expression of disgust. Hermione struggled to control a laugh. 

“Somehow I doubt that,” she said as pointed towards a group of men jogging. “Do you see that, Malfoy? Those are  the people you think are barbaric, doing such strange things, like jogging and walking their dogs. You should write a book about how it endangers pureblood culture.” 

Malfoy gave her a loud, fake laugh. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you, Granger?”

“You want to know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me regardless of how I answer.”

“I think,” said Hermione, ignoring his I-told-you-so look, “that most prejudices are born out of fear, Malfoy. And before you interrupt me to say that you’re not afraid of anything, I’ve read your family’s book, and it doesn’t hide the fact purebloods are pretty scared of what muggles and muggle-borns can do.” 

“There’s a huge difference between fearing something and seeking self-preservation,” said Malfoy, “not that you would know about it. Your sort loves to mistake cleverness for cowardice.”

“My sort?” asked Hermione pointedly.

“Gryffindors,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” conceded Hermione, “but I don’t think there’s anything sadder than letting fear run your life for you. I’d rather be stupid and brave than constantly afraid.”

Malfoy didn’t say anything as they neared the top of the hill. Hermione was content to leave him to his thoughts. He didn’t seem troubled; it was more like he was taking everything in, cataloguing all that he could so he’d be able to judge things for himself. Hermione didn’t want to let her optimism blind her, but every time she saw him consider what she said with seriousness, rather than contempt,  she couldn’t help but feel a little spark deep in her chest.

When they reached the top of Primrose Hill, they stopped side by side. Hermione’s shoulder brushed against Malfoy’s arm. She stilled, waiting for him to step away from her. 

He didn’t. 

“What is that monstrosity?” asked Malfoy, pointing towards the huge wheel they could see in the distance. 

“Oh, that’s the London Eye,” said Hermione. “It’s a huge ferris wheel. It was built just a few years ago, but it didn’t open to the public until last year. I haven’t ridden it, but apparently it has the highest viewing point in all of London.” 

“A ferris wheel?” he frowned. “Who’s Ferris?”

Hermione suppressed a chuckle. She shifted her weight, thinking about the best way to explain it. “Well, as you can see, it’s a huge round structure. There are cabins attached to the outer edges where people sit and watch the view as the wheel turns.” 

Malfoy looked at her with a mixture of bewilderment and fascination. “How the bloody hell do Muggles keep that thing turning without magic? How do they even keep it upright? Isn’t that a safety hazard?” he asked in rapid succession. He rubbed his chin, staring hard at the London Eye as if he could uncover all of its secrets with the force of his glare. 

“Muggles don’t need magic to create fantastic things, Malfoy,” said Hermione. “I don’t know the specifics, but they use engineering to make it work. It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”

Malfoy pursued his lips, looking uncertain. “It’s like you’re speaking Greek,” he said finally, “but I’ll admit that it’s a rather interesting contraption.” Figures, Hermione thought, that’s the best I’m getting out of him. 

As they stood side by side, observing the city stretching out in front of them, Hermione felt contentment. They didn’t speak, but the silence felt comfortable. Her mind was clear, and Malfoy seemed to relax for the first time that day.  

When they started climbing down the hill, unsure of what their next steps were, Hermione turned towards Malfoy, hesitating before asking the same question he had asked her, just days ago. 

“Do you feel better now?”

Just like she had done, Malfoy didn’t answer immediately, staring ahead as they continued strolling through the park. Hermione kept her focus on his profile, watching his jaw twitch, observing the intake of his breath -- he rubbed his thumb and index finger together in little circles. 

When she was about to avert her gaze, Malfoy nodded, almost as if it was against his will. 

_

Draco was surprised he hadn’t splinched himself apparating into the Manor’s foyer. He figured his airtight memory of the house must have gotten him home successfully, since his focus was more than a little fuzzy. 

He had left Granger in the same alley where they had arrived in Muggle London, the atmosphere around them rather awkward as they mumbled goodbyes. His every instinct told him to make a snide comment about her wasting all of his afternoon, but something about the way Granger looked at him -- like the new state-of-being between them was as fragile as a piece of glass, and he could break it if he made any sudden moves -- stopped him. 

Part of Draco did want to shatter it, until he felt more sure of the ground he stood on, but a bigger -- almost unrecognizable -- part of him wanted to leave it, to see what shape it would take if he let it stand there. 

As he walked towards the stairs, the sound of his mother’s heels clicking against the floor shook him out of his stupor. Draco had quick enough wit to transfigure the Muggle clothes back to his dark robes before she appeared from a nearby door. 

“Draco,” said Narcissa, stepping closer to him, “what took you so long to get home?” 

“It’s not like you to keep track of my whereabouts,” said Draco, lowering his head to kiss her cheek. 

“Well, you usually come home straight after those meetings. I only found it strange you didn’t, this time.” 

“Theo and I went out to grab lunch afterwards, I lost track of time,” he lied,.“Did you need me to do something for you?”

“Oh, nothing specific, sweetheart,” said Narcissa, a sugary smile on her face. “I was just eager to tell you about this new restaurant that opened in Hogsmeade, The Ghost Orchid . It’s actually owned by the Rosiers, it’s supposed to be rather exclusive.” 

“Oh,” said Draco, “do you want me to make a reservation for us this weekend?” 

Narcissa waved her hand. “That’s no place to take your mother, sweetheart. It’s a rather romantic spot, more fit for you and a pretty girl. I’m sure Daphne Greengrass would be happy to go with you, if you were to invite her.” 

Draco sighed. He had mostly forgotten about his mother’s matchmaking, too focused on his father and the fact Stewart still hadn’t owled him the final diagnosis. He had met with the lawyer a couple of days ago, most of it spent yelling at him for disregarding his orders. Stewart was annoyingly unfazed, but was at least quick to get permission to arrange a private healer’s visit to Azkaban, as Draco had requested. 

Since then, Draco’s mind had been spinning in a loop of every worst-case scenario, trying to prepare himself properly for each of them. It destroyed his appetite and soured his mood. It wasn’t surprising that taking Daphne Greengrass to dinner was the last thought to cross his mind. 

“Mother, with everything that’s happening with Father, I don’t think it’s the right time for me to start anything with the Greengrasses.”

“That makes it the perfect time, Draco, we need something good to cheer all of us up. Your father would be so happy if he knew you were courting one of Asta and Douglass’ daughters.”

I wondered when they started being Asta and Douglass instead of the Greengrasses, he thought, suppressing his urge to groan in annoyance. 

“I think Father should worry about his health, not about who I might or might not be dating.”

The soft look in Narcissa’s eyes was replaced with a stern expression. “Draco, I’m not having this conversation with you again. Why don’t you listen to me, for once? You’re making things harder than they need to be.” She sighed. “I have so much I’m preoccupied about these days, sweetheart. This would give me such peace of mind.”

Draco’s shoulders sagged as he ran his eyes over his mother’s face. He felt a weight on his back, dragging his mood down and ruining any contentment he might have felt not long ago, when he stood next to Granger as she babbled about a Muggle contraption he couldn’t care less about. 

“Of course, mother.”

Narcissa’s smile returned, and she raised a hand to pat him softly on the cheek. “That’s my boy.”

He nodded, squeezing her hand before gently removing it from his face. As he made his way up to his room, Draco itched for a drink or a cigarette, anything that made the Manor feel less like a fist closing around his throat. 

When Draco arrived in his room, there was a large, dusky-colored Stygian owl perched on his window’s sill. He grabbed the envelope from its beak; when it didn’t immediately fly away, he offered it a treat. It clearly had gotten instructions to wait for a response. 

He ripped the envelope’s seal, reading the short note before grabbing a new piece of parchment and a quill. He quickly scribbled a response, placing it inside of the same envelope. 

After the owl flied away, Draco laid down on his bed, pressing his fingers to his throbbing temple as he pondered if it was smart to tell his mother he had just agreed to a dinner date with Daphne Greengrass.