Yearning Beyond Reach

Run Away with Red Hand III

Hermione sat on her bed, hugging her knees, eyes glued to Draco Malfoy as he moved around her cramped kitchen. He stirred the tea with an infuriating calmness, the clinking of the spoon echoing in the silence, each slow, deliberate turn as if he had all the time in the world. When he finally looked up, she flinched, quickly dropping her gaze.

He let out a low, amused chuckle. "You're pretty hard to find, Granger. Merlin! Who would have thought it took me months to track you down."

She shot him a sideways glare, her voice sharp and biting. "What exactly are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Contacting my client," he said, casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I'm not your client," she snapped, her words laced with venom.

Draco raised an eyebrow, unperturbed, and set the teacup down. He took a few steps closer, his gaze steady and assessing, almost as if he were dissecting her with his eyes.

Hermione felt her pulse spike, a mix of rage and fear bubbling inside her, and scrambled off the bed, desperate to keep her distance.

"You shouldn't be here," she hissed, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

"Neither should you," he countered, voice smooth, a smirk ghosting over his lips.

"I'm right where I have to be," she said, her tone hardening. "I think I know why you are here. You're here to turn me in, aren't you?"

Draco's expression darkened, the amusement fading from his eyes. "If I wanted to turn you in, you'd already be on your way to Azkaban."

Hermione's jaw tightened. "Well....You being my lawyer is no different, Malfoy. Why are you really here?" she demanded, louder this time.

He stepped closer, his gaze narrowing. "Because I had to see for myself," he said, his voice dropping, more intense. "I had to know if it was true—if you were really capable of what they're saying."

Hermione's hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms. "You don't know anything, Malfoy."

His eyes flicked over her, sharp and unyielding. "Did you kill him?"

Hermione's breath hitched, and for a moment, she was frozen, caught off guard. Then, suddenly, she moved—frantic, almost wild. She turned away, grabbing at her things, yanking clothes from a drawer and stuffing them into a worn, overstuffed bag.

"Do you think I did it?" she threw over her shoulder, her voice rising, almost hysterical.

"It doesn't matter what I think," he said, his tone calm, cold. "What matters is keeping you out of Azkaban... and draining every last Galleon from your vault while I'm at it."

"I didn't want a trial, and I don't need your help," she said, slamming the drawer shut. Her hands were shaking as she rummaged through her belongings, throwing anything and everything into the bag.

"It's happening whether you want it or not," Draco said, his voice hardening.

She whipped around to face him, eyes blazing. "Of course! Because you pushed it! You're bored with your life, bored of lounging around with all that gold. So you take on dangerous clients, get your kicks from other people's misfortune, turning their lives into your own twisted game to break the monotony. That is exactly why you are here, Malfoy. To find your next thrill."

Draco didn't even blink. His eyes were steady, simply nodded. "I admit, Granger, I'm bored. But do you really think you deserve to rot in Azkaban just because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time?"