Chapter 3
Exchange numbers?
Hermione is rummaging in her bag now, and when she surfaces it’s with another small plastic or maybe metal-looking thing in hand. It’s about the size of her mouse, but flatter and shinier. She looks at him expectantly and Draco panics.
This is a muggle thing. This is a muggle thing that he does not understand, has no way of faking his way through. He tries as fast as he can to put together the data points he has available, but no meaning makes itself clear to him and all the while Hermione is still waiting.
“What do you—want from me right now?” he finally asks.
He hopes it is a reasonable question. For a moment he thinks it might have been, but then her face falls.
“Sorry,” she stammers, looking down. “You’re right, that’s um—we don’t have to—“
She shoves the object back into her bag, looking mortified.
“No!” Draco blurts out. “I want—I want whatever it is that you want.”
Hermione’s confused look confirms that this is not a normal thing to say in this situation. He needs time to figure out what numbers are, is sure he can respond appropriately as soon as he learns.
“I just need to leave right now, urgently, but I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?” he promises. “And then we can do—this.”
They stare at each other for a moment and then Draco turns abruptly to leave, feeling like an idiot and hoping that she will still talk to him tomorrow.
—
He figures out the numbers thing.
Draco has to break his rule of not doing anything that might get him in trouble, but he figures it out. A series of subtle cooperation charms and a few conversations with unsuspecting muggles later, he learns about all about numbers and texts and it all comes down to something called a phone. A mobile phone.
Draco goes to buy a mobile phone.
The pimply sales associate is very helpful in teaching Draco how to use it. He seems to think the whole thing is an elaborate training exercise from corporate. Even with his cheery patience though, Draco’s comprehension is slow-going.
There are many things Draco feels uncertain about—his choices, his goodness, his future—but his intelligence isn’t one of them. Complex Arithmancy proofs come easily to him, he used to solve puzzles in Ancient Runes over his morning porridge. But the workings of this muggle phone push Draco to his limit.
All he needs to make certain he can do, he emphasizes to the sales associate, is exchange numbers and send a textual message. They practice extensively before Draco feels comfortable and confident in his abilities to replicate the process with Hermione.
He makes it to Babel just before the library closes, rounding the corner in time to see Hermione walking out of the building. Draco runs the last few steps.
“Hi,” he calls out, his breathing a little short. “I’m so sorry about yesterday.”
“Is this some sort of strategy?” Hermione asks, putting a hand on her hip. “Like an Art of Seduction type of thing?”
“What does—that mean?”
“Making me wait to get your number, coming at the last second before closing. Dressing like that.”
Draco looks down at his clothes. He is dressed as he normally is, in a white shirt and grey trousers. Black dragonhide shoes—is that what she’s referring to? He will wear muggle leather shoes next time.
“I’m sorry,” he says, looking back up at her. He means it. “I got here as soon as I could. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
She looks at him for a moment, not saying anything.
"Could we—exchange numbers?" he continues. "I'm ready now."
He must look as pathetic as he feels because she softens.
“Alright, then."
Draco painstakingly types his information into her phone, then stores her contact when she sends him a quick text.
“Great,” he says, relieved. “Thank you.”
“You’re sort of strange.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not good at making friends.”
Hermione hums thoughtfully. She has little freckles on her nose.
“So what is your plan now that we’ve exchanged numbers?” she asks. “Are you going to rush off again?”
“I was—going to text you when I’m free. Like you said.”
“Are you free now?”
Draco’s heart speeds up. He had not counted on actually spending time with her today, had wanted to practice conversational skills and give himself time to prepare—
“Yes,” he says. “I’m free now.”
—
Hermione takes him to a pub called The Light Horse.
The drinks are generously portioned and Draco tries not to think about the last time he drank—a week or so ago, lonely and miserable in his flat. Now he is sitting across from Hermione.
“This pub is the oldest one in town,” Hermione says, the slight high pitch of her voice suggesting to Draco that she might be a little nervous too. He wonders why, and hopes it is not because she feels unsafe. “Or at least that’s what the owner says.”
“You didn’t look it up to confirm?” Draco asks.
The joke is—in hindsight—risky. After all, while Draco might know that fastidious research is one Hermione’s favorite things, she doesn’t know he knows that. Luckily, she laughs. The sound is warm and surprised and goes straight to Draco’s chest.
“I did, actually,” she admits. “In the town property records in the library. It’s not actually the oldest pub in town. That would be the Rose and Crown.”
She’s smiling at him and Draco finds himself smiling back.
“So why didn’t we go there?”
“It’s all the way on the other side of the hill,” she giggles. “And I like the drinks here better. It’s nice to be here with someone, for a change. I don’t really know anyone in town yet—other than Mrs. Hodge. The other librarian.”
“When—when did you move here?”
“Just a month or so ago.”
Draco has to stop himself from asking more questions. He wants to know more about her timeline, her memories—he feels some responsibility, in all honesty, to find out more about her disappearance. But he doesn’t want to be interrogative and he certainly doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. And besides—what he wants most of all is just to spend time with her.
“Are you liking it here?” he asks, fingers nervously tapping his glass. Hermione looks at his hands and he stops fidgeting.
“Mm, I am,” she says, meeting his eyes again. “My only complaint is that it’s been hard to make friends. I don’t think I ordinarily would have been brave enough to ask you for tea, but it’s a little lonely.”
Draco’s heart twists. He is painfully lonely. The thought that Hermione might be too does something to his heart.
“I suppose we’ll have to spend more time together then,” he says finally.
Hermione smiles—wide, grateful. Beautiful. She leans forward, closer to Draco, and she has never done that before.
“When did you move to town? I haven’t seen you around.”
He clears his throat.
“I live in London, actually. But I’ve been making trips here.”
“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “Have you been driving there and back? It’s a good few hours, isn’t it?”
“Um—something like that. I’ve been traveling back and forth, yes.”
“This explains your cosmopolitan attire,” she teases.
Draco likes it when Hermione comments on his clothes. It feels so mundane and yet is more intimate than anything she’s ever said to him, back in their Hogwarts days.
“I can’t tell if you like or don’t like the way I dress.”
“I like it,” comes her instant reply. “It suits you. Very—classy and mysterious.”
Draco can’t help but laugh.
“Why is that funny?” Hermione asks, but she’s laughing too.
“I just—like that that’s what you think of me.”
“What is this little surprised act?” she says, laughing harder. “You have done everything in your power to cultivate an air of mystery so far.”
“I have not!” he protests. “I’m just bad at talking to people. If you read that as mysterious it’s on you.”
“I’m not convinced you’re actually bad at talking to people.”
“Oh, I am. I really am.”
“Well, I find you very charming. You must be doing something right.”
Draco takes a sip of beer to cover up his awkwardness. He has no idea how to respond, but Hermione smiles.
“And what do you think of me?”
Her tone is teasing. Draco’s stomach flips and he sips again at his drink, is too aware of trying to make sure he doesn’t ruin this lovely, perfect conversation.
“I think you’re—really nice,” he says to the table, wishing he’d spent his later teen years practicing how to talk to girls instead of assisting evil wizards. “And I like talking to you. And—”
Hermione giggles and Draco looks up at her.
“—you have a pretty laugh,” he finishes softly.