The Best Mistake

Chapter Thirteen | Nothing Goes According to Plan

Malfoy insisted on following her home so that he could personally check on the wards guarding her flat. While Hermione thought this unnecessary, as the wards had held as far as she could tell, the glassy hint of terror in his eyes made her concede.

That look of fear on Malfoy, who, until very recently, rarely showed any emotion at all, reminded Hermione about what Luna said regarding a bond of some kind having been formed between them. She would have to track Luna down soon to get some clarification on the matter, but she'd wait until after she explained the situation to Malfoy, which was the number one item on her personal life to-do list.

While she felt terrible for keeping this from him, especially when he was practically begging her to come clean in that tight corridor in Dean's pub, Hermione just wasn't ready. She just needed to make sure she had a contingency plan for her contingency plan for each of his possible responses, and that sort of planning took time.

When they arrived at her flat, disillusioned with wands drawn, Hermione was proven correct—her wards had held beautifully.

Someone unfamiliar and magical had brushed up against them, possibly testing them, but they more than likely were simply trying to send her a message—they knew where she lived. Hermione would like to hope that this was all a coincidence, but because she lived on the top floor of a four-story converted townhome, it was highly unlikely that the wards had been disturbed by chance. Malfoy, rather annoyingly, had been very quick to point this out.

After checking her ward line numerous times, and even thoroughly searching her flat, despite casting a human-presence-revealing spell and receiving no indication that anyone was present, Malfoy was still unsatisfied with her safety.

"We'll need to inform Potter about this," he had said, carding a hand through his hair and pacing a hole in her small living room rug. "He can set you up in a safe house until Greyback is caught."

Hermione huffed in annoyance. "Greyback has evaded capture for years, Malfoy. I refuse to live in some safe house for the next decade. My wards held. I trust them."

Crookshanks watched Malfoy pace skeptically from the arm of the sofa, yellow eyes following his every turn, until Malfoy stopped abruptly and turned to Hermione.

"Then move in with Potter," he pleaded. "He's got plenty of room, and—"

"I think we're done here. You've checked the flat three times! Not to mention, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"I never said you weren't!" Malfoy's raised voice made Hermione's eyebrows shoot up.

He seemed to have regretted it because he collapsed onto the sofa, balancing his elbows onto his knees and digging his palms into his eyes, causing Crookshanks to flee at top speed off the arm and down the hall.

"I just—" He didn't finish whatever he was going to say, only sighing heavily and running his hands down his face.

Guilt struck her, and Hermione felt her heart clench at the sad sight. After a moment's hesitation, she joined him on the sofa and patted his shoulder sympathetically. When he turned to her, the confused quirk of his brow made her instantly regret it, but he didn't move away.

"Look, Malfoy," she began, voice not nearly as calm and confident as she'd have liked. "I understand that you're worried for me—"

He sucked in a breath and shook his head before looking away from her. "I'm not worried about you, Granger. Why on earth would I worry about you?"

That was such a quintessentially Draco-Malfoy-on-the-defense response to the notion that he might care about someone other than himself that Hermione's lips twitched. Did he think she was blind?