Shots in the Dark - Dramione

Wisdom

Draco,

I have spoken with Andromeda.

She is willing to meet.

Let me know when a good day is for you, and I will collaborate with her.

H.G.

~*~

Draco arrived outside of Hermione's flat early to do his usual routine of muttering and practicing before he was to be expected.

They had agreed a private, neutral place would be best, and Hermione had graciously volunteered her own home.

But Draco was quite nervous about this meeting. If his Black and Malfoy side could see him now, pacing outside the residence of his... friend? No, not personal enough. Fuck buddy? No, too impersonal. Whatever they were, if his ancestors could see that he was resorting to getting help from a muggleborn to meet his 'blood traitor' aunt, he'd be utterly disgraced.

But, then again, he'd done plenty more to disappoint them as it were.

After quite a while of thinking and moping outside of her home, he began to feel self-conscious that Hermione's neighbors might report a loose Dementor afoot, so he conceded to finally walk up the stairs.

Maybe if he was early enough still, Hermione might give him a shag to calm his nerves.

That's what they did, right?

Merlin, my life is a mess, he thought.

When he knocked at a quarter til the meeting time, he was surprised to be greeted, not by Hermione, but by someone who looked a great deal like his mother and Bellatrix Lestrange all in one.

He froze at the sight, caught somewhere between a dream of his mother appearing whole and well, and a nightmare of a monster he thought he would never see again.

The woman must have noticed his shock.

"Draco," she said, and it might have been one of the kindest voices he ever heard.

She moved towards him and wrapped him in a hug, "I always wanted to know you," she said.

He stood rooted in place, taken aback by the expression, and very aware that his eyes had begun to burn.

He didn't know this woman from a muggle, but he could sense it.

Magic deep and old.

It was more pure than blood, stronger than simple family bonds.

It was love.

She loved him, he knew it.

For nothing he'd done. For no other reason besides he existed.

~*~

Hermione's apartment was slightly smaller than his, and as one might expect, books could be seen in every corner. Draco also noted various devices he did not recognize peppering the walls, surfaces, and kitchen counters.

Muggle things , he thought.

The sight amused him, a witch like her— as powerful as she was, still desired such things.

Draco wasn't sure if it was a kneazle or cat, but a large mass of orange fur was curled up in a nearby arm chair. It watched him suspiciously as he ventured into the flat.

Hermione entered from a hall to the right and stopped short. Of course she expected him there, she had invited him after all, but he couldn't help to think that the sight of him in her space unnerved her a little. He simply nodded at her, unsure what else to do.