Amid the Falling Snow

Chapter 9: Apologies Not Understood

Hermione was standing behind the counter of the bookstore when Draco entered. She was curious as to what he was doing there, but after all, it was a public place. As soon as he saw her, he looked away quickly and looked as if he was debating whether to leave or not. He finally moved towards a bookcase, his back facing Hermione. Hermione watched him pick up one book after another. He had been reading a book for about five minutes before Hermione finally spoke.

"That book is upside down, you know," she told him, stifling a laugh.

Draco looked down at his book, realising he had blown his cover. "I--er--how are you?"

"Fine," she answered, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I didn't know you worked here."

"Yeah, since last year, actually. It's nice."

He nodded and moved his gaze to the window. "How was the rest of your Christmas?"

"It was fine. I-"

"Hermione! Work, not socialise!" Mr. Luton interrupted, entering from the backroom.

Hermione gave Draco an apologetic look. He nodded in understanding. "I'll owl you later, if you want," he told her, exiting the bookstore.

"A new boyfriend?" the old man asked.

"No, not exactly," she replied, staring as Draco disappeared into the crowd. The truth was, she didn't know what he was to her.

***

"You work really late, you know," Draco mused as Hermione exited the shop.

Hermione looked startled, glaring at him. "Draco," she hissed. "You scared me!"

"Sorry," he replied. "Care for a walk? I've got hot chocolate." He handed her a mug.

"You, drink hot chocolate? I thought you were more of a firewhiskey type of man," she teased, taking the cocoa gratefully.

"No, not anymore. I quit." He had stopped drinking it because he hadn't had a real reason to for a long while.

Hermione laughed. "Good for you. May I ask why you wanted to go for a walk in the middle of a cold, blistering winter?"

"No, you may not," he answered, but a grin had spread across his face.

"Why are we--" Hermione started.

"Do you ever keep your questions to yourself? Just take a look around you. We're in the middle of beautiful London blanketed with newly fallen snow and all you ask is why we are here? Where's the fun in that?"

"I...it is beautiful," she whispered after a moment.

"Look, if you really want to know, I thought we could have a little chat. A heart to heart, if you will."

"I suppose that would be alright. What about?"

"Things," he said simply. Hermione looked as if she wanted so badly to object, but she said nothing. Draco smiled to himself.

"What are you smiling at?" she snapped. Draco didn't answer, but instead walked on ahead.

After a time, they ended up in front of the lake; the very lake Draco had brought Hermione to on one of their dates. He looked over at Hermione to see if she recognised the place, and the look on her face told him she had. Her mouth was agape, her brow furrowed like it always was when she was either furious or at a loss for words. In this case, it could have been both, but Draco wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

"I see you recognise this place," Draco stated.

"What is going on, Draco?" she demanded, standing in front of him, her eyes having to look up to make contact.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do," she replied, moving closer to him, her eyes now blazing with fury.

"I just want to talk. About us."

"Us? There is no us, Draco."

True, they weren't together, but Draco knew they should be, and he also knew they would be even if it killed him. Although being dead wouldn't help in the long run, but that was beside the point. At the moment, he had to deal with the angry, ill-tempered woman in front of him.

"I'm ready to get back together," he said suddenly, forgetting all of the disadvantages to the idea.

"You're ready? Oh, well, that's a relief. Hey everyone, Draco is fucking ready to get back together!" she screamed, throwing her hands into the air. This wasn't going as he had originally planned.

"Calm down, Hermione," he urged, trying to grab hold of her hands.

"Don't bloody touch me, Malfoy. Don't you dare touch me ever again!" she yelped, slapping his hands away. What in the hell was wrong with her?

"Hermione, please. Let's talk about this."

"You are so selfish!" she cried, storming away. She didn't get very far before she fell into the snow, crying. "This isn't how it was supposed to be. They weren't supposed to be dead!" she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Everyone is sorry. They tell me they know how I feel, but they don't. No one besides Harry does, but he won't even talk about it. I have no one to turn to." She wiped a few tears off her face. "I miss them, Draco. I want my parents back."

"Life can be so unfair, but you have people who love you. You're not alone."

"How can you say I'm not alone when I don't have anyone? My best friends hardly notice me, the countless dates I've been on have all been a waste of time, and my parents are dead. No one is there to listen to me."

"I am," he replied quietly.

Hermione looked flustered, but quickly regained her composure. "Why do you care so much? I broke your heart to pieces. You should hate me right now."

Draco shrugged. "Can't help who you love, I guess." And it was true. He hadn't meant to fall in love with the bushy-haired Gryffindor. It had just happened, all out of his control. And to be honest, he wouldn't give it back for anything.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. What had she to be sorry for? She gave him the best year of his life.

"Don't be," he answered, waving his hand through the air.

"No, I really need to say this. I'm sorry about all these years you waited for me, but to no avail."

"What are you trying to say? That we will never be together?"

"I don't know what I'm saying," she answered, sighing.

"Just give it a shot. What have we got to lose?" Draco urged, hoping she'd say yes.

She stood, her brown eyes full of sorrow and tears, her hair sprinkled with snow. As she turned to leave, she said, "I'm sorry, Draco. I'm sorry I love you."

Draco watched her leave, stunned at what had just occurred. How could this have happened? It wasn't even that they had argued; her last words lingered, burning inside him. He had to figure out exactly what she meant. She was sorry she loves him? What did that even mean?