Knots In Our Heartstrings [Dramione]

An Old Friend

A small velvet box sat on Draco's desk. The blue fabric had been rubbed smooth with the pad of his thumb, a habit he'd taken to absentmindedly ever since purchasing it a few months prior. He kept it with him at all times, hiding it in his suit pockets whenever he'd return home. A little keep-sake that he had no intentions of keeping. Yet somehow, it never left his side.

The little blue box had become a part of him. An extension of himself. Wherever he was, day or night, it was always within reach. It sat so nicely in the palm of his hand, resting there oh so gently as his fingers danced across the fabric of it.

Soft swirls of the blue velvet, forever captured the subtle imprint of his fingertips.

There was something about having the box that was comforting. At any given moment he could pull it out, open it up, and reveal the delicate gold band inside. The only problem was, that he hadn't done so yet.

Every time he reached for it, every time he felt ready, Harry would make one comment. Look at him one way. Retreat entirely. He'd find himself burying it back in his pocket, unsure if he should have ever even bought it.

For almost a year he'd held on to it. He planned to be rid of it by the time this year was up, and autumn drew in quickly so he didn't have long left.

He missed the chance to propose last Christmas, and then New Year's, and then valentines day, and even Harry's Birthday. Eventually, it turned into any semi-successful date was a good enough time. But none of them quite were.

Every day there seemed to be more and more reasons why he should pocket the little box, or shove it to the back of his socks drawer.

He was planning a future, while Harry was planning his next big escapade.

Draco would spend all day at work ending clients' marriages, only to return home and see his never even commence.

With his thumb, he flicked the box open, a gesture that had become so natural to him by now. It got easier every time he did it. Maybe it was the practised motion of it all becoming second nature to him. Maybe the hinges on the box were growing loose with age.

Abruptly, the phone rang.

Draco jabbed at a small grey button on the device and the ringing ended.

"Mr Malfoy, your next client is here," a slightly frazzled voice chirped through the speaker.

"Send them in please, Diane," he replied, with a curt cough stifling the end of his phone call.

The box returned to his pocket, while his attention turned to the file Diane had emailed over that morning.

He hadn't had a chance to thoroughly read through it yet. From the looks of it, it was another simple case of infidelity and a wife whose patience had run dry. An easy rinse and repeat of the same old paperwork.

A quick knock chimed on the glass door of his office.

He raised his eyes just enough from the computer screen to catch a glance at who was standing on the other side of the pane, but no sooner did he look away entirely.

On the other side of the thin sheet of glass stood a woman with curly hair falling out of its simple updo, slight freckles slipping through the deep red flush of her cheeks, and thin spindly hands clutching onto a large brown bag that shielded half of her frame.

Conscious of the pause, Draco beckoned her in with a quick wave. He stood, extending his arm out over the table to take her hand and offer a short smile.

"Granger."

"Malfoy."

She smiled before dropping her bag at her side and taking a seat. Her long coat draped over the back of the chair, along with a heavy burgundy scarf. No longer swaddled in masses of material, it was clear to see she was in fact heavily pregnant.