Unspoken

“What’s wrong?”

Hermione dragged her gaze up from the pile of parchment on her desk and stared dully at Elizabeth. Her assistant hovered in the doorway with a look of concern on her face. In response, Hermione simply sighed and put her signature on another project proposal. 

The weekend had completely depleted Hermione of her ability to function. Her sleep was absolutely shot after getting to the remaining budgets and allocations she had rescued from the archives. What little dreamtime she had afforded herself had been filled with images of Draco, a faceless woman on his arm and his face stamped with a crimson kiss.

She thought she had been able to shake off her discomfort with the situation. The misunderstanding had been handled. Though the two of them stumbled over their farewells and returned to their respective parties, Hermione hadn’t felt too rattled by the concept of another witch being close with Draco. Not that she could dwell on it too much with Ginny and company insisting on a few more drinks before allowing her to depart.

Hermione returned to her flat at a later hour than she had intended, a little buzzed but not unhappy, expecting to see an eagle owl awaiting her. Only Crookshanks greeted her, his soft meows not quite filling the empty quiet of her home. Disappointed, she went to bed wondering why she even thought he might send a note so soon.

As the weekend carried on, the thought of Draco repeatedly drove her to distraction. Hermione’s repeated denials of her relationship with the wizard played on a loop inside her mind, haunting her.

“Hermione?”

Damn, she needed to pull herself together.

“Sorry, Elizabeth.”

“Oh, no, er…” stuttered her assistant, “Would some tea help?”

“I’ll pour myself some, if that’s alright. I need to stretch my legs.” Hermione groaned a little as she pried herself out of her office chair, and several vertebrae in her back cracked as she straightened to her full height. “Remind me to reapply a Cushioning Charm to this chair later.”

Elizabeth’s head bobbed up and down as Hermione dictated a few more tasks to her assistant. Using her wand, Hermione levitated the giant stack of budgets that she had finally finished with over the week and sent it over in Elizabeth’s direction.

“If you don’t mind returning these to Archives, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Of course,” replied Elizabeth promptly, taking on the pile with the swish of her own wand. “Did you find the funding?”

Hermione paused, tapping her wand on her hip, then smiled to reassure her assistant. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Still, how are you going to get Painswick to approve the funding?”

She flashed a bright but tired smile at Elizabeth and pulled out another scroll from her desk. “By getting the Minister to approve it first.” The sight of the young witch with her mouth open almost made her chuckle. “Mind sending it to the Secretary after you go to the Archives?”

“Of course. So, then, have you figured out how to move the prophecies?” Elizabeth asked hesitantly.

“Well, no, if I’m being honest. We need Keeper Wentworth.” 

Through the meager notes that Granger had left on the subject, she had discerned that the prophecies had never once been moved from the Hall, even during the reconstruction of 1995. It seemed improbable to Hermione that the prophecies couldn’t be moved. Someone had had to shelve them, to label them. She was sure the Keeper was the key to this mystery, but with him still at St. Mungo’s…

Another sigh and Hermione asked, “Still no news?”

The crestfallen face of the young witch told her what she had already known in her heart. 

“Well, let’s keep him in our thoughts and get as much done as we can before then, hmm?” prodded Hermione, shuffling Elizabeth out the door and closing her office. 

The tea closet was already occupied by a few Unspeakables when Hermione arrived, but they quickly lowered their voices and scurried into the corridor. She pulled out an overly large mug, tore a teabag open, and poured the water all while thinking about their current predicament. 

Approval for the funds to rebuild the Hall had been obtained directly from Kingsley; she anticipated a Howler within the next few hours if not Painswick himself. Moving the prophecies was a bit of a problem, but truth be told, she had other, larger issues at hand.

Rather than who stole the prophecies, Hermione was stuck on the question of why the prophecies needed to be stolen in the first place. Nothing in the prophecies that Granger had remembered had given either version of herself enough information to even know what was going on. Why let her know that they had stolen them? Why hadn’t there been any more letters or attempts to approach her?

What did they want from her? 

“Um… Ms. Granger?”

Hermione jumped back in surprise, splashing hot water from the kettle all over the floor. Tea poured over from the top of the overfilled mug onto the counter and the faces of her subordinates stared at her with uncertainty from the doorway.

“Brilliant.” muttered Hermione, placing the kettle back in its place. “Sorry, I’ll clean this up.”

“Are you quite alright, Ms. Granger?” asked a researcher, stepping forward and using his wand to assist her with the mopping up. 

“Well, I was hoping a cup of tea might help me settle a matter, but I can’t even manage that today.” she said with a half-smile. Her whole body felt jittery and on edge. Too much caffeine? Not enough caffeine? Draco would certainly have something to say on the subject of her health. 

Curses, she was thinking about him again!

“Is there anything I can help with?” asked the same Unspeakable, lingering as the rest of his colleagues disappeared with their tea.

“You’re from the Love Team?” Hermione squinted at the wizard in front of her, trying to place him. He was around her age, maybe a little older, normal height, nondescript face.

“I… I didn’t know you’d noticed. Yes, yes I am. I’m Tristram. Tristram Desider.” he answered quickly, a pinkish hue flushing across his plain complexion. 

“And which research grant are you currently on?” she asked, more out of courtesy than curiosity.

“Oh, er, well,” the stammering continued, “Right now I am studying the effects of Amortentia on the…”

His words blurred together as Hermione nodded along politely, distracted again by her own problems. The tea in her cup was bland, her stomach was starting to rumble. What had she had for breakfast? When had she last eaten? Maybe there would be another apple on her desk when she got back. Her heart tightened in tandem with her stomach, each desirous of something to fill the emptiness. 

“Ms. Granger?”

“I apologize!” she blurted out, lifting her head back up to look at the wizard in front of her. “So sorry. So many things on my, um, mind.”

“Any news on Keeper Wentworth?” Tristram asked, leaning a little closer to her than she was comfortable with in this small space.

“Sadly, no. The Hall of Prophecies is struggling to maintain itself without his presence. We’re making progress on the inventory, at least.”

She shifted awkwardly in her heels, unable to squeeze past the researcher without deliberately elbowing him out of the way. Was he even aware he was blocking her path back to her office?

Hermione gave a deep inner sigh and prepared to ask Tristram to permit her exit, but she was cut off by his next words.

“Did you ever get a chance to look at the room I mentioned?”

She stared hard into his face, searching her meager worth of memories for whatever in Godrick’s name the man was on about.

Tristam blushed again and flicked his eyes away. “The office with security protections? I’m not sure if it would be of any use, but if you are still looking for space-”

“Could you take me there now?” interrupted Hermione. There was no solution on how to move the prophecies, but if she had a place to move them to during the inevitable rebuild, that was one tick off her list at the very least.

She pulled at his elbow, hurrying Tristram out of the tea closet and looking both ways down the corridor. He hesitated only momentarily, then bashfully led his boss down a few turns into the section near the Unspeakables who studied astrology and astronomy.

“It’s this door here, Ms. Granger,” the wizard announced excitedly, stopping them both in front of a wide, old wooden door with a crooked brass handle.

Without even acknowledging him, Hermione stepped forward and attempted to turn the handle. It creaked and jiggled but did not give her entry into the room beyond. In a rush, she pulled out her wand. 

“Painswick has all the keys to the-”

“Alohomora.”

≽BANG≼

The door crashed inward, hinges rattling and stone crumbling around the framework. Dust billowed in the air like smoke. Her wand hand tingled like something had snapped at her fingers. She glanced at her wand but as it was neither sparking nor giving any indication that anything had gone wrong, Hermione stepped past the splintered wood and examined the room. 

It was completely empty. No tables, no chairs. No empty shelves or filing cabinets. Not even a magical window.

“How long has this been out of use?”

Silence.

Turning to look over her shoulder, the man was staring at Hermione like he had seen a ghost. His plain face was now pale as the snow piled up in her office. 

“How long?” she asked again.

He blubbered incomprehensibly, wide eyes darting from her face to her wand to the shattered doorway. 

Another internal sigh and Hermione turned back to her inspection, waving him away. “Thank you, Tristan, I won’t be needing any further assistance.”

Hurried footsteps faded into the distance. 

- - - - - - -

Several hours later, Elizabeth found her boss sitting cross-legged on the cold floor, glaring at the empty room that surrounded her.

“Is this where you have been?” asked her secretary, glancing around curiously as she stepped hesitantly past the earlier wreckage. 

Hermione grunted inelegantly in response.

“What is this place?”

The brunette witch sighed and answered, “This is where we will be storing the prophecies.”

Elizabeth glanced around dubiously. “Here? But I thought you said you hadn’t found a way to move them.”

“I haven’t. Yet.” emphasized Hermione. 

“How did you find this place?” asked Elizabeth after a few minutes of silence where her boss did nothing more than glower at the blank walls.

“Tristan showed me.”

“Who…?”

“Doesn’t matter.” said Hermione, pushing herself up to her feet.

She made a motion to brush the dust off of her pantsuit and paused. Then very slowly, she patted the fabric of her suit and inspected her palm closely.

“Hermione…?”

Making a big show of dusting off her hands, she turned to smile at Elizabeth.

“I think I’ll work from here for the remainder of the day.” announced Hermione. “Feel free to wrap up whatever you were working on and head home.”

The offer startled the assistant, who stammered, “B-but, if you are still working, it’s almost five-”

“Is it? Well, that’s fine. Just a few more things to wrap up anyway.” 

“Is it really alright for you to be in here?” whispered Elizabeth, glancing at the open door.

“Painswick can come and move me himself if he wishes, but I have work to do.”

The younger witch shifted back and forth on her feet nervously, nodded, and left.

After a few minutes and a surreptitious glance into the corridor, Hermione put up a barrier in the doorway and turned back to the room. With her shoes, she scuffed around the wall corners and ran her hands over the rough stone, frown growing deeper until she placed herself back in the middle of the room.

She whispered a low incantation and swept her wand slowly through the air, ensuring that the spell covered the whole of the empty space.

A few runes shone in the corner, half erased and hard to make out. A strong locking spell had been drawn on the back of the office door that she had blown open. She felt her magic reach the last edges and fizzle out.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. There was no indication of cleaning charm or any other similar spellwork that would keep an empty room like this so pristine. She had found no compelling reason for complete lack of dust other than someone must have been in recently to clean up.

- - - - - - - 

It was hours later and Hermione was scribbling notes on a piece of parchment, squinting at one of the faded runes on the wall near the door.

“What in Hades’ kingdom are you doing here?!”

Hermione blinked in surprise as she stared upward at the panting figure of Draco Malfoy. His blond hair was in disarray, his cloak was half-off one of his shoulders, and his normally clear grey eyes were a little wild.

“Oh, Draco. Hello. Tell me, do you think this is thurisaz or is this inscription long enough that it might be wunjo?” She turned back to the rune, almost nose to tile against the faintly pulsing light.

“For fuck’s sake Hermione! Are you insane?!” he growled at her, suddenly behind her and pulling her upright.

Hermione sighed tiredly, which only incensed the wizard further. 

“Your secretary owled to tell me that she had left the building at nine and you were still here, alone, working on some damn project and she was worried for you. That you hadn’t eaten anything all day and that you might collapse from overwork.” he scolded her through gritted teeth. “That twiggy teen took it on herself to contact me of all people, Hermione.”

“Look, Draco-”

“Do you know what it felt like when I saw your office was wide open, lights on, your bag still there and yet no sign of you?!”

Guilt washed over her as she submitted herself to one of his examinations, patiently providing her wrist as Draco scrolled through a magical diagnostic screen. The shame was strong enough to put a damper on the small thrill of pleasure she had received knowing he had come for her despite the late hour. 

“It’s nearing midnight, witch! Midnight! And here you are, alone. What if I had been one of your attackers?”

“I had a barrier up…” whispered Hermione, trailing off as she realized that Draco had dismantled the spellwork with her being none the wiser. She winced. “There’s always a security guard on the desk, though.”

“You know damn well we don’t know who to trust.” He dismissed his sparkling screen and stepped back. His face was still flushed from his rush into the Ministry and she could see a faint tremble in his wand hand.

“I thought all the more reason for me to be doing this when there is no one to nose in on my business and ask me what I’m doing here,” she explained, feeling herself color and fiddling with a stray piece of her hair to distract herself. “Aren’t we trying not to draw attention to ourselves?”

The line of Draco’s jaw tensed for several seconds before he let out a soft growl. He paced back and forth a few times before sticking out his hand.

Did he want her to hold it? Her palms were sweaty at the thought as she stumbled over her next words.

“Um, what do you wa-”

“Show me what you found.” he asked with a relenting sigh.

Deeping embarrassed at her wandering thoughts, Hermione quickly unscrolled the parchment she had been making her notations on and flattened it against the wall.

“Supposedly this room hasn’t been in use for a while. But it’s too clean. I did a review of the wards and spells on this room, as it’s supposedly ‘secure’ - not sure what that is supposed to mean given all the other securities in place - and I’ve been trying to interpret the runework, though whoever it was that cleaned out this place tried to erase any magical footprints.”

“And what is it you think you’ve found?” he asked, looking from the parchment to the room behind them.

“Well, the spellwork is all very… stealthy. Lots of layers of charms or hexes that would make people forget what they came into the room for, or to give any visitors a sense of unease. Things that would-”

“Keep people away,” finished Draco. 

“There aren’t any records of this room being used. And I was thinking-”

“Of course you were.”

“-that there’s been some interesting theories postulated by the Time Turner research about using the enchanted sand to create a runic circle that would suspend that area in a specific place in time without the spellcaster moving through time themselves.”

Hermione’s brown eyes were bright with excitement, oblivious to the incredulous gaze of her companion. 

“They just requisitioned some sand in the last month, and if I was able to get my hands on some, maybe we could-”

“Are you listening to yourself, Hermione?” cut in Draco, gawking at her, “Not only are you suggesting that you steal components from the department - illegal - but you also want to experiment with unproven theories - also illegal - while conducting this within the Ministry itself - also highly illegal!”

“I have to know what was here, Draco!” she insisted, her voice crackly with exhaustion. 

He examined her face and closed his eyes, running a hand over his face. Anxious but determined, she didn’t move from her spot and kept her gaze on him, arms crossed and ready to argue her point further.

“Why are you so desperate, Hermione?” His voice was softer, quieter. “Why do you keep putting yourself in danger?”

Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she looked down at her bare feet. Her heels had been chucked off to the side hours ago and there were creases in her pants from kneeling in awkward positions to view the runes from different angles. 

“I… it’s…”

She couldn’t really put her finger on it. There was nothing but her gut telling her that this room had something to do with everything else. Hermione Granger wasn’t someone who made decisions using an inner guide. This sort of reckless behavior was more suited to Harry or Ronald. What was she afraid of?

Unable to answer Draco, Hermione kept her head down, mouth slightly ajar as though if she kept it open, words to explain everything might be forthcoming.

“Hermione…”

Clenching her fists tightly, she willed herself to look up at him.

But he was stepping away from her, toward the open doorway. His head of blond hair disappeared for a moment around the corner before he pulled himself around in alarm.

“Someone is coming.”

They both snapped to, Hermione grabbing her heels as Draco quickly spelled an illusion charm over the exterior of the broken door. 

“Where are you going?!” he hissed at her as she joined him in the frame of the doorway.

“I’m getting a look at them this time.” insisted Hermione as she stepped past him into the hallway, wand at the ready.

“You are insane, get back in here-”

Draco walked out into the corridor after her, his free hand on her arm to pull her back into the room. 

“There’s more than one person, Draco.” she whispered.

In the stillness of the night, several voices could be made out in the distance, tone quiet and low as though they were trying not to be heard. 

“Get back here,” he insisted. His own voice was barely above a whisper, tense and worried.

“Just let me-”

A clatter echoed in the distance, along with a shout from the intruders. Hermione clenched her wand tightly and prepared to throw out a Stunner as the shadows of several figures started to elongate in the torchlight before them. 

Instead, she was yanked backwards by Draco. Her back made hard contact with the corridor wall. Before she could recover the modest amount of air that had been knocked from her lungs, her companion whispered a hasty apology and kissed her.

As she started to register what was happening, Hermione felt a large hand press into her back, sliding underneath the edge of her blouse. Draco widened his palm, pressing his wand against her skin as he pulled her hips forward. Her own wand was trapped between them as he pressed himself up against her, pinning her down with his whole body.

His nose brushed against her cheek for a brief moment as he pulled away. Hermione caught a brief glimpse of the dark, desirous gaze Draco was giving her before he kissed her again and again and again. He devoured her lips, sending a shuddering thrill down her spine. Draco pressed his own hips forward in response, causing an involuntary moan from the witch. He took immediate advantage of her weakness and grabbed Hermione by the chin, diving into her mouth with his tongue. 

The warmth and wetness had her weak at the knees. She didn’t mean to but she grabbed at the fabric of his shirt to keep herself steady, unable and unwilling to push Draco away. A heat inside of her chest was blooming rapidly, spreading through her whole body as she gasped and panted against his lips. 

Hermione felt wanted, needed. She could think of nothing but the kiss and the wizard kissing her. Every second was painfully exquisite and she could feel tears in her eyes, terrified of the moment ending. 

The terrible sensation of Draco drawing away from her eventually came and Hermione slid her head back against the wall, lips quivering. She was afraid to look at him, worried that she had imagined the emotion in his expression. A gentle brush of fingers against her lips encouraged her to open her eyes. 

Steady grey eyes stared into her soul before suddenly sliding over to the end of the corridor. Hermione felt herself shake a little as she followed the line of his gaze before covering her face with her hands in utter mortification.

A good half dozen Unspeakables had been gawking at the two of them, their dumbstruck faces frozen in horror as Draco moved slightly as though to shield her from their view. She realized, her heart in her throat, that he was actually attempting to conceal the wand in her hand. 

“Oh Merlin, Malfoy, we are so… so… we saw nothing. S-so sorry…”

Hermione continued to hide her face even as the sound of the scrambling group grew distant and they were once again left alone in the quiet. 

“Damn bastards. What’s the Dream Team even doing down this corridor? Nosy gits.” growled Malfoy. 

The sight of Malfoy looming above her, his fingers still flush against her back, had Hermione struck mute. His chest was still pressed pleasurably up against her own and she fought against the instinct to squirm against his firm form. Her heart was pounding, and though she tried to tell herself that it was adrenaline from the perceived danger, she knew she was lying to herself.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” asked Draco as he gently disentangled himself from her. “I’m sorry, I thought-”

“I’m fine.” she said quickly, wrapping her arms around herself and willing her brain not to contemplate what any of that moment meant to her - or worse - to him.

“We were lucky this time, but you’re going home. Now. I have your things from your office and we’re leaving.” He told her, pushing his hands back and forth through his hair anxiously. “Do you have anything left in that room? You are not to come back here alone again, do you understand?”

Hermione nodded mutely as she took her ugly purple purse from him and followed him quickly out of the department. His lecture continued all the way to the Floo and she listened quietly as she shoved down feeling after feeling. 

“Potter’s wedding is just days away. I may dislike the bloke but think of how he would feel to see you hurt or worse just before what is supposed to be the happiest day of his life. Don’t think I won’t tattle on you if I think you are about to do anything this dangerous again.”

With the Floo just ahead of them, Hermione swallowed a thick, unhappy knot in her throat and smiled wanly at the blonde wizard. “I guess I’ll see you at the wedding, then.”

“Just be safe. That’s all I’m asking.” he insisted, squeezing her gently at the elbow as the verdant flames danced in the black marble hearth.

“You, too.” 

Their parting was strained, awkward, and Hermione felt a twist in her gut that had nothing to do with the spinning sensation of the Floo.