February 14th 2001
Winter had come late this year, and there was still a slight dusting of snow sprinkled around the graveyard's grounds, decorating the headstones like frosting.
Hermione and Draco had been standing in silence for approximately ten minutes when she glanced down and noticed that the hand he was holding the black rose in was bare. Slipping her hand into her coat's pocket, she pulled out the pair of gloves he had lent her at their first meeting.
"Here," she said, offering them to him. "Your hands look cold."
He arched an eyebrow before he reached to take them, their fingers briefly grazing in the exchange, and Hermione flinched at the contact. He was so cold he was hot, and her skin felt momentarily scalded by his touch.
"And it only took you two years to return these," he muttered, his gaze drifting to Tonks' grave before he spoke again. "Better late than never though."
Hermione felt another silence creeping up on them, as she rushed to hinder it. "Can I ask you something?"
Draco's head snapped in her direction, scrutinising her with subtle bemusement before he slowly nodded his head. "Go ahead."
"Why do you come here today?"
"The same reasons as you, I presume," he shrugged. "It's her birthday, but I imagine most people visit the day she died. There are hardly many people who would choose to spend Valentine's Day in a graveyard, and I prefer to be alone."
"But you're not alone," she pointed out. "I'm here too."
His lips twitched. "Perhaps I don't mind your presence so much," he said quietly, but Hermione barely had a moment to consider his confession before he was speaking again. "How exactly does Weasley feel about you spending Valentine's evening here?"
"Um...well, he...um," she stuttered clumsily, still rather affected by his previous remark. "He doesn't know I come here actually."
"He doesn't? Do you knock him out with a Stupefy or something?"
She couldn't stop the short laugh that escaped her. "No, I was never a fan of Valentine's Day anyway. If you love someone enough, then one day shouldn't be such a big deal and an excuse to express it. I just tell Ron I'm working."
"Why don't you tell him you come here?" asked Draco.
"Because I know he would want to come," she explained. "And it's like you said; I prefer to this alone."
"Except you're not alone."
She smiled half-heartedly at him and shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps I don't mind your presence so much either."
The silence that engulfed them this time was almost comfortable, and Hermione took the time to notice Draco looked a lot healthier than the last time she'd seen him. While his skin was still as pale as porcelain, he looked somehow fresh, and where his eyes had once been dead, there was now a glint of life, like he was actually absorbing the sights and sounds of his surroundings. Like he could actually see her. The hints and changes were faint but they were there, and for some reason, finding them appeased her.
"Tell me something about her," said Draco.
"Her favourite colour was purple."
"Something else."
"Her favourite flavour of Bertie Bott's Beans was marshmallow."
"Something else."
Hermione hesitated and met his eyes. "I think she would be happy that you are visiting her like this."
His brow lowered sceptically, but he didn't respond. They both returned to mutely staring at Tonks' headstone, and Hermione swallowed down the knot of emotion in her throat. The tears that slipped past her lashes were different to last year's, and she hastily wiped them away with her sleeve, but it was a futile effort to keep them secret.
"Why are you crying?" asked Draco.
She inhaled to steady her voice. "Because I'm not crying because I miss her, and I feel guilty for that."
He frowned and seemed to take a moment to consider her confession. "Time's a tool for adaptation and acceptance," he said distantly, like he wasn't speaking to her at all. "You shouldn't feel guilty for getting on with it. You're not designed to be consumed by mourning. You're a fighter, Granger. You know that."
His words were almost physical, like she could actually feel the weight of them washing over her with a warmth that was somehow soothing. Releasing a breath that she hadn't realised she'd been keeping, she stared at him and studied his sombre expression for any indications of deceit or trickery, and found none.
"You're so different," she whispered, clearing her throat when Draco shot her an uncertain glance. "I mean you...you've changed a lot, and I mean that as a compliment."
"You haven't changed much."
"Is that a good a thing?"
"It wasn't intended to be a negative comment," he told her, averting his eyes. "So...I suppose that would also be considered a compliment."
She smiled. "Then thank you."
He bowed his head with acknowledgement and then began his usual black rose routine, bending down to place it on Tonks' grave. Rising back to stand, he lingered for a moment, regarding Hermione with that frustrating unreadable look of his.
"See you next year," he said simply, and then he left.
Waiting until the sounds of his snow-crisp footsteps had faded, Hermione gazed thoughtfully at Tonks' headstone, and her smile stretched a little further up her cheeks. "He's not so bad, is he?"
