Dramione Drabbles

13. Welcome To New York

Jewelry, rare books, all the opulent gifts he gave her, shoved into a box, sealed with Spellotape, and dispatched to Malfoy Manor. She returns everything but his old coat, then books a one-way Portkey to New York City.

It's October, and it's bleak and nobody in Manhattan spares her a smile. She hides her clenched fists in the oversized sleeves of her coat, shrugging off the phantom weight of his arms when he used to hold her in it.

Narcissa warned them everything would change when Lucius returned. But Draco left prison first, and for three years the two of them lived blissfully.

She sees him in the pale blond buzz-cuts of SoHo's stylists. Who's running her fingers through his hair tonight? He's the all-black uniforms of Meatpacking's hipsters and the tattooed baristas of Greenpoint and the tailored business men of Upper East, slicing through traffic with their ears suction-cupped to mobile phones. At the MoMA she is ferried back to Whitechapel Gallery, holding Draco's hand as he scrunches his nose at the 'Muggles' peculiar talents'.

Weeks pass and seasons shift. London would be worse, she thinks. The sun sets earlier there and everybody recognizes her and––the obvious.

Hermione migrates from one shoebox apartment to the next, subletting whatever's cheapest. She craves him when her breath frosts the air in her new studio and the heater jams up. She remembers her creaky, old Diagon flat and the way he always kept her warm in soft rumpled sheets.

She visits old bookstores, starts a jazz record collection, and takes up journaling in cat cafes. Her pockets fill with ticket stubs from comedy and drag shows and indie film festivals, celebrating the queer expression.

She feasts on oversized slices of pizza and fat doughy bagels slabbed with thick cream cheese. She thinks of his sweet tooth buying vegan brownies and wishes he could taste the peculiar smoky flavour of a campfire latte. In the back of a yellow taxi, braking so hard it makes her nauseous, she wishes she was on the back of his broom instead. Oh, how he'd laugh at that.

One November afternoon, Hermione dons her favourite coat and sets off to a local pottery class. The city is blurry in the rain, lights warbling; a swish of sound added to every beat of movement.

"Hermione!"

She doesn't stop when she hears her name. It's not the first time his voice deceives her. He lives in her head, disguised in the hum of traffic and drawling street conversations and music bleeding through automatic shop doors. It's an awful trick, and she swallows the lump in her throat as she keeps walking.

"Hermione."

She looks over her shoulder and the head-spinning pace of the city comes to a standstill.

His shirt clings to his chest, soft blond hair tousled around his temples, and all she can think to ask him is, "Where the hell is your coat?"

Draco looks into her eyes like he'll lose her if he blinks. "Don't you ever leave me again." And then he's striding forward, grabbing her face between his palms.

His mouth is cold and his hips are sharp and someone blares a horn behind them, but Draco holds her so fiercely it almost feels real.

She shoves him back, looking up into his cool grey eyes. They're not grey like the clouds or the skyline or the sea, but something entirely different. She'd forgotten what it felt like being trapped in his gaze.

"I've been to France and Italy and Australia, searching for you. I was losing my damn mind."

"How did you find me?"

He tugs on her coat. His coat. "I unboxed the package you sent me, and realised you never returned this rotten thing. You took it with you."

"I love it." She shoves her hands into the deep pockets.

"It's yours," he says, and she knows he's not just talking about the coat.

"Your father––

"To hell with Father." Draco shows his teeth. "To hell with home. To hell with everyone. I just want you."

She's shaky all over, her heart just catching up with the turn of events, and all she can think about over the sound of her erratic heartbeat is taking him home to her frigid studio so they can unthaw together.

He's here. Draco is in New York.

"I have so much to show you."

"Show me," he says, drawing her into his arms again. "Show me everything."

(745 words, art from wantsgmarie on twitter, written on oct 18, 2023)