The Internal Devices

Chapter 33

Draco woke before Hermione, and gently unwrapped himself from her warm body. As he stood, he realized she was only wearing a thin shirt, and it was bunched up around her waist. He looked away, pulling the duvet over her.

Stumbling around the room, he found the discarded bag from last night's meal. He planned to toss it in the trash receptacle but found two bottles inside. He examined them with minimal interest. Muggle whiskey. He couldn't say he'd ever tried it, but his father always bragged about the superiority of wizard drinks. Draco opened a bottle. His father had been wrong about a lot of things.

He sprawled himself on the couch, bottle in hand, quietly clicking through the 'channels'. That's what Granger had called them, but he didn't think it made any sense.

Hermione stumbled in later, just as he was attempting a position the woman in the television was demonstrating. She had explained it was called "downward dog". He had scoffed at the ridiculous movement, but when the woman mentioned that there was no shame in being unable to stretch as far as her, he had leaped off the couch. He'd show her.

"Salazar, Draco! What are you doing?"

He twisted his head, still holding the position. "I believe Margaret says it is yoga." The word felt strange on his tongue. "She says it relieves stress."

Hermione blinked.

He sighed and collapsed on the floor. Margaret was right, the "downward dog" was fairly difficult to hold for long periods of time.

"Well...I suppose we could both use some stress relief?" Hermione attempted. For some reason, she looked strained, as if she were fighting to keep her face neutral. Merlin. Was she going to smile?

A beat passed, and the lightness retreated from her eyes, taking on their customary bleakness. She noticed the half-empty bottle next to the couch and gestured to it. "Can I have that?"

He shrugged and pulled himself to his feet as she knocked back a drink. It was a simple thing to pack up their belongings and turn in the key. Within the hour, they apparated to the back door of the apartment complex. After a brief exchange with the front office, they made their way to the fourth floor and took in their new flat. There were two small bedrooms, separated by a cozy living room. Near the door was the smallest kitchen Draco had ever seen, complete with a table to eat at. He looked back at the bedrooms. Hermione glanced at the apartment quickly and stalked into the right one, gently closing the door.

He stared at the closed door, indecisive. She probably just needed some privacy; she hadn't had more than a moment truly alone for days. She wasn't curt with him this morning, so surely she wasn't angry. Maybe she was tired of their co-habitant lifestyle. He wouldn't blame her. Too many thoughts were fighting for dominance in his mind, and to make things easier, he headed to the left room.

It was plain, which was fine. He dropped his bag unceremoniously in the closet and opened the blinds of the window. The view looked down on a busy street, packed with civilians. Many of them carried parcels or young children. He shut the blinds. On the far wall, there was an empty bookshelf. Granger would love it, and he hoped she had one in her chosen room as well. Blimey, there was nothing to do. He hadn't spotted a television, and he hadn't brought anything to read. He settled for pacing.

If he lengthened his strides, it took five steps to cover the distance from wall to wall. He tried to manage it in four, but he couldn't quite make it. There were always a few centimeters remaining. He kicked the wall in irritation.

Little things made him angry these days. Small inconveniences, minor disappointments. Although he supposed it was a relief to feel something, the brief interludes of tightness in his chest weren't pleasant.