Paperclips
Draco’s cheek was warm, dry, leaving just a tiny bit of a prickle against her lips from invisible stubble. He was so surprised by the action that he remained still, allowing her to slip out of the door quickly afterwards so she could hide the fact that she was blushing. It had taken a split second of her time, that’s all. And yet it felt bigger, clumsier in her mind than that brief moment.
She walked to the apparition point quickly, wondering if anyone else had seen the two of them, silhouetted against the wonky glass windows, her reaching up, just grazing the skin on the side of his face, him standing there, looming, almost, white skin and black hair making shock all the more clear. No one had, or if they did, they didn’t care, and Hermione walked home undisturbed. She turned into the night, being careful to empty her mind before apparrating, knowing that if there was ever a time she might splinch herself, it would be when she was still thinking about why she had done that, what had possessed her, if he wanted it or not. She clenched the parchment and papers against her so tightly the top sheets were crumbled, and when she arrived in the darkness of her parents’ kitchen she tried to smooth them against the slightly-sticky laminated covered tablecloth.
The table cloth had roses all over it, and after years of being wiped with antiseptic sprays or washing up liquid there was a slight residue. She probably should take better care of the papers he had given her - no charge, he had said softly just before she kissed him.
Did he think she was kissing him in payment? It hadn’t felt like that. It had felt like… She wasn’t sure. Or rather, she was scared to acknowledge it. It had felt like she had wanted to be close to someone.
Ginny had sent a note, inviting her out that night. It was still early, sort of, Hermione could have joined them. She looked at her limited wardrobe. It was filled with old jeans and jumpers, a few items her mum had bought her for their summer holidays away from Hogwarts, most of which no longer fitted her. She went to her parent’s room.
Rows of dusty suits hung up. Heels packed away in boxes, some that Hermione didn’t even remember her mother wearing. Shoulder pads, sequins relegated right to the back. She tried some things on, felt overwhelmed by the grief. She wanted them to come home.
The next day Hermione went to the shop at nine. She had spent a sleepless night considering her actions. She hadn’t wanted him to think she was…that she…
Well. She didn’t want him to think anything.
She bought them both coffees, and picked up a croissant too. She was too early, the shop wasn’t open at all, no fire in the grate. Hermione disillusioned herself and tucked herself into the doorway, hoping that no one would try to come in before she managed to lift the spell.
William opened the door at eleven in the morning. He looked worse for wear and didn’t notice her, didn’t even look twice at the corner she had hidden herself magically in. Which was the point, she reminded herself.
She waited for him to slip back inside before removing her spell, she knew better than to just suddenly appear. Besides, her feet hurt from standing outside for hours, and she wanted to stretch without him knowing how long she had been waiting.
“Morning,” she called, as though she had just popped in. He jumped up from behind the counter.
“Hermione.”
Was he relieved to see her? Happy? Anxious? Annoyed?
“I - erm. Brought some breakfast.”
Some more ticking filled the shop. Voices passed outside the window, she tensed in case they came in.
“Thanks,” he said. He crossed to her after a moment, as though he had decided something. And then, a bit stilted, he bent down, taking the coffee from her, and kissed her back on the cheek.
He straightened, but didn’t move away, both of them furiously embarrassed.
“Paperclips,” Hermione said, after not being able to bear his closeness, the silence, any longer. “Do you have paperclips?”
Draco’s brow wrinkled.
“What are those?”
In the end, Hermione drew him a diagram. She apologised for malting over the desk as she pulled out many of the random scraps in her bag, eventually turning one of her vial drawings over to scribble a design.
“They hold multiple sheets of parchment together. I know I could use a charm, but sometimes it’s nice to have a physical thing, you know?” He indicated that he did, taking the piece from her to inspect.
“What do you think?”
“It’s quite an ingenious design,” he said, with only genuine interest, a faint hint of approval. She ached to ask him what he really thought, not of the paperclips but of muggles. He must have gone into the muggle world to buy the hair dye - she wondered if he wanted her to help him with his roots, if that would be breaking their strange truce, how long they could get away with ignoring what had passed between them.
“They’re useful.”
He hesitated, staring at the paper.
“Why don’t you come back later? I’ll see what I can do.”
Hermione returned just before closing time, and was shocked to see Draco serving someone else. The person, an older woman, clearly unaware of who he was, utterly uninterested in acknowledging Hermione, was purchasing a new diary insert. Hermione hovered awkwardly, pretending to browse the shelves, hiding her face and telling herself it was perfectly normal that other people also visited the shop. She was stunned slightly by her possessive urge over the place. It wasn’t hers to protect.
The tinkling of the door closing indicated that she could stop cowering in the back corner, and when she turned Draco was already halfway towards her.
“Sorry,” he said, more animated than the morning, relaxed, almost, enthusiastic, certainly. “Come with me - I have something to show you.”
He took her to the workshop again, where amongst all the gentle clattering of pages moving against each other, there was a small pile of gleaming gold rods, carefully folded into paperclips.
“I can’t quite get the layering right - can you help?”
Hermione was momentarily too surprised to say anything. He had made her paperclips, from her terrible little looping drawing. He had made them out of gold.
“These are the most beautiful paperclips I’ve ever seen.”
“Nothing but the best,” he said easily, and then stammered. “I mean, because of the shop. We do - we’re a luxury shop. So, only the best paperclips. Of course. Not that - well.”
“Thank you,” she said, gathering several in her hand and running her other finger over them. “They look good.”
He sighed. “Let me show you what the problem is.”
They didn’t work, though it wasn’t hard to figure out why.
“You need to just press this bit forward, do you see?”
He was bent over her hands, her head was close to the back of his. His roots really were bad, she thought.
“Ah, yes,” he murmured, turning up to look at her.
They were both surprised by the proximity. Her lips tingled with the memory of his stubble against them. She rolled them inwards, he tracked that movement.
“Dra-”
“Please - I know I don’t deserve it,” he said suddenly. “But please don’t.”
“Will,” she said after a moment. She probably should think about it more, should probably not do it. But she lent down and kissed him anyway.