Fresh Eyes

For the first time in a long time, Draco does not have any nightmares that night.

He wakes up feeling light as air. The memory of the previous night—Hermione laughing, the way she leaned over the table, close to him—feels like a dream that's too good to be true. They’d said their goodbyes after two hours in the pub together, and though he’d only had one drink he’d gone home with a surreal feeling of happiness sitting warm in his chest.

It's a bit pathetic, he knows. Surely most grown adults don't get this excited over a simple social interaction. But even if Hermione was only being polite, even if they never, ever have a drink together again—just having this memory is enough for him. More than enough.

But it seems whoever runs the universe is feeling generous. Half an hour later, as Draco is brushing his teeth, his phone goes off. 

Hermione: good morning :) I had a really good time with you

Draco’s eyes widen with surprise and—unfortunately—so does his mouth. His toothbrush falls to the floor with a clatter. 

He swears and bends down to pick it up, casting a quick cleaning charm before sitting down on the nearest surface—the side of his bathtub—the better to stare at Hermione’s message.

She said good morning.

She's texting him?

But they’d already gone out for drinks—and texting is for when one is free, to schedule a drink.

Does she want to schedule another drink?

Draco’s palms sweat; he's not sure how to handle this, or what sort of behavior is expected in this situation. But somewhere in Babel, right at this moment, Hermione is holding her phone too, open to this very conversation. And he will not keep her waiting. 

Draco: Good morning, Hermione. I am glad to hear you had a good time yesterday; I did as well. 

He hits send and stares at his phone, waiting for her to say something back. A moment later she does.

Hermione: i hope it’s ok that i’m texting?

He frowns and his eyes dart back to his earlier message. Had he said something to imply that it was not okay that she was texting? He certainly does not want to imply that.

Draco: Yes. I am very happy that you’re texting me.

Hermione: oh good! sorry if that was a silly question then. thank you for being so nice :)

Draco smiles, wide and automatic. The expression flickers a little as his nerves rear up again—he runs a hand through his hair, then down his face. 

She's complimenting him. She was excited to talk to him.

He’s doing fine. He’s doing fine? 

Draco: You are extremely nice.

Then, as he rereads her message:

Draco: What is :)? 

He sees a little gray bubble appear and then disappear, appear and then disappear. Draco surmises that this means she is typing and then pausing, typing and then pausing. For a second he’s worried he’s asked a very dumb question, something that will give him away as a non-muggle, but then she responds.

Hermione: it’s a smiley face. if you turn your head sideways you can see it! two eyes and a mouth :) 

Draco: Thank you.

Draco waits a bit but no new messages come through, so he slips the phone into his pocket and starts his day. He wears a smiley face himself, all morning.

Surely it is a good sign that Hermione felt comfortable enough to message him? It means, perhaps, that she is interested in maintaining a sort of distant friendship with him. Messages exchanged once or twice a month, friendly greetings and the occasional book recommendation in Babel Library…

Draco can’t wait.

He spends the day peacefully and productively. Ever since his time in Azkaban, Draco has been restless, anxious—full of nervous energy. But today he sits by the window, reads through some of his borrowed books and in the afternoon even looks through the Manor’s estate paperwork. It’s the first time he’s been able to bring himself to do it—his father had always been the one to handle such things, before. Draco is staring at an old document, at Lucius Malfoy’s signature faded and smeared at the bottom of the page, when his phone chimes again.

Draco fumbles at it in his haste to open the message, paperwork forgotten.

Hermione: hello :) i just got off work. how’s your evening?

Draco: It is going well. How is yours?

Hermione: very good, excited to relax at home!

Draco: I am wrapping up work too. Relaxing at home sounds lovely.

Draco needs to put the phone down then, to get ahold of himself.

She is messaging him rather a lot, isn’t she?

He cannot drop the ball on this.

Does he have time to do some research on messaging etiquette? He paces around his office, thinking, but then his phone goes off again. This time, the noise is different. Draco lunges for it, remembers in real time what the phone sales associate had said about “calls” (Draco had not thought he needed to pay attention to those, Hermione had only said she wanted to text) and by following context clues shown to him on the phone’s screen he manages to swipe the right spots and pick up Hermione’s call.

He holds the phone to his ear, like he saw the associate do.

“Hi,” comes Hermione’s voice.

Draco is not expecting her voice to sound so close, like she’s talking right into his ear. Her voice is a little shy.

His heart thuds and his mouth goes dry.

“Draco?” she asks after a pause, when he doesn’t say anything.

The shock of hearing her say his name is enough to jolt him into responding.

“Yes,” he says quickly. “It’s me, hello. Sorry."

“Hi,” she says again, and she sounds a little nervous this time. "I hope it’s okay that I called. I know that’s…”

She trails off a little self-consciously and Draco rushes to correct her.

“No, it’s perfect,” he says. “I'm glad that you called.”

“Yeah?” she is smiling. He can tell.

“Yes,” he says, gripping the side of his desk. It feels like his heart is going a million times a minute. “Yes, of course.”

She laughs, sounding relieved.

“How are you?”

“Great,” he says honestly. "Really great."

She laughs again and Draco smiles automatically at the sound.

"Why is that funny?" 

"You're just funny," she says, still giggling. "What are you up to?"

“I’m back in London,” Draco answers. He’s not sure how much detail he’s supposed to give, is both generally bad at talking to people and also woefully underinformed on muggle telephone etiquette. “I’m home right now. It looks like it might rain.”

“Sounds very peaceful,” she hums, and he thinks he hears her settle into a sofa or armchair. “It looks like it might rain here, too. I’m gearing up for a cozy night.”

“That sounds pretty,” Draco says, imagining Hermione pink-cheeked by a fire. He clears his throat. "Pretty nice. That sounds pretty nice. What do you do on cozy nights?”

“I have a whole little set up,” she laughs. “Hang on, I’ll show you…”

There’s a muffled sort of sound and then Draco’s phone dings. He pauses, then taps carefully to navigate to the message he’s just received from Hermione.

It’s a photo. He sits up straighter, brings it closer to his face.

A coffee table, with a mug of tea and a book on it, along with a candle burning. There’s also some blanket visible in the front, and what looks like a fuzzy-socked foot poking out from underneath it.

Hermione took the photograph. The blanket is on her lap, and that is her fuzzy sock. 

Draco takes in the whole scene for a moment, unexpectedly enamored with being able to see exactly what she’s doing at this moment.

“Hello?” comes her voice from the earpiece, tinny and uncertain.

“Sorry,” Draco says, clearing his throat. He brings the phone back to his ear, though he wants to keep looking at the picture. “I’m sorry. I was just—looking. You do look very cozy.”

“Can you send me a photo too?” she asks hopefully. 

Draco looks around his flat. There is nothing remotely cozy in sight, a realization that is both depressing in general but also, more relevantly, somewhat anxiety-provoking since Hermione has just shared a lovely, perfect little slice of her life with him and he wants to reciprocate.

“It’s not as cozy-looking over here,” he admits after a moment. He stands, trying to find something to take a photo of. “Give me a second to—um—arrange something.”

Hermione giggles.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks, and he’s laughing too, just at the sound of her giggle. "I feel like you laugh at me a lot."

“I don’t know. You’re just—odd,” she says fondly. “I’ve ever met anyone like you before.”

Draco stills. 

Because she has met him, actually. And if she could remember him she would be horrified by what he’s doing.

It suddenly feels excruciatingly obvious that he is taking advantage of Hermione’s memory loss.

“I have to go,” he says quickly. “S-sorry.”

He ends the call then covers his eyes, feeling sick.

The phone dings a few minutes later with a text. Then another. Then another.

Hermione: i’m so sorry, are you ok?

Hermione: i hope i didn't hurt your feelings 

Hermione: i meant it in a good way

Draco stares at the little message bubbles. Hermione is so sweet and earnest, and he wants so, so badly to keep talking to her. 

But he doesn’t let himself type anything back. Tomorrow he will get rid of the phone, he tells himself. Tomorrow he will tell someone he’s found her.

But when the phone dings again a few hours later, just before midnight, Draco all but lunges for it.

It’s another photo, and this time it's of Hermione’s face.

She’s in bed with a blanket pulled up to her nose. Her cheek is turned slightly into the pillow, her eyes half-lidded and sleepy.

Draco stares at the photo. He can see—in beautiful, perfect detail—the dusting of freckles on her nose, the dark swoop of every one of her eyelashes. 

A message comes through and he pulls his eyes away from her face to read it.

Hermione: goodnight zzz

And he knows he is lost.

—

The next morning he sends her a photo of the sunrise, taken through his bedroom window.

Draco: Good morning.

He tells himself this is okay. Draco isn’t hurting her, isn’t hurting anyone, right? He’s not even in Babel inflicting his presence on her. Hermione can choose not to respond to him if she wants.

She responds within seconds.

Hermione: good morning!

Hermione: i’m sorry if i upset you yesterday

Hermione: thank you for the lovely photo. I like getting photos from you

Draco swallows.

He takes a photo of his morning tea, and then a photo of his morning toast, and a photo of the books from Babel Library piled on his desk.

He sends them all to her.

Draco: I’ll send you lots of photos then.

Hermione responds with a photo of a bird feeder through a screened window, and then a photo of her feet in fuzzy socks, tucked into even fuzzier slippers, and then a photo of her face—she’s scrunching her nose playfully, her hair is down and falling in soft curls around her cheeks.

Draco stares at the picture.

He goes back up into their conversation and looks at the other photos she sent, the one last night with her cheek on the pillow and the one earlier of her cozy time.

He goes back to this most recent picture and looks some more. She is so, so pretty. His mouth is dry.

Another notification from her pings, startling him.

Hermione: can you send me a selfie too?

Draco closes the photo so he can return to the text conversation. He frowns, trying to parse her meaning.

Draco: Yes. Can you tell me how? I don’t know what that is.

There is a long pause, though not as long as when he asked about the smiling face. Hermione’s gray dot dot dot bubbles appear again, and then disappear again.

Hermione: it’s a photo of your face, like the one i just sent you :)

Draco rubs his jaw, nervous. He stands and heads to the bathroom, where he examines himself in the mirror.

He looks back down at his phone, pulling up Hermione’s most recent photo.

She’s making a cute face. She is cute, is a beautiful girl with warm eyes and curly hair and Draco is a pale, probably haunted-looking man who will definitely not look as adorable as she does.

He clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair again.

Hermione seems to be able to read his mind.

Hermione: please? 

Draco takes the photo.

It’s not like hers—his expression is neutral and probably a little awkward-looking. But he’s looking at the camera (she was looking at the camera, so it looked like her eyes were meeting his when he opened the photo, and he wants to do that for her too) and he tried to tidy his hair before taking it.

He sends the photo, feeling like an idiot. 

Hermione: i really like your face

Hermione: <3