"Sadness gives depth. Happiness gives height. Sadness gives roots. Happiness gives branches. Happiness is like a tree going into the sky, and sadness is like the roots going down into the womb of the earth. Both are needed, and the higher a tree goes, the deeper it goes, simultaneously. The bigger the tree, the bigger will be its roots. In fact, it is always in proportion. That’s its balance."

— Osho

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Draco reached over Granger, his forearm brushing lightly against her shoulder in the process, and easily slipped the upside-down book out of her hold. Her hands remained in the air, suggesting she didn’t even notice, and when he turned her book around the right way and eased it in her hands again, she did not move.

He was beginning to suspect she was a robot.

First Granger had brought her cat dog food, then when her least favourite show aired, Witch Weekly’s Top Model, she didn’t even make any loud remark about how superficial the whole thing was, nor did she try changing the channel. She had a burger for lunch and hadn’t bothered removing the pickles as she always did, and when she’d first woken up, Draco had had to push back the routinely remark about her hair and stifle down a scream of horror when a moth flew out of it.

And now she was reading a book – a book, the object Hermione Granger valued most above all else – upside-down.  

Upside-freaking-down.

Granger wasn’t Granger anymore.

The world was going to end. He was sure of it.

Four days pasted and still her attitude did not change. It wasn’t like the night he’d found her crying in her room. At least then she’d actually managed a smile and could, no matter how unhealthy it was, pretend as though nothing had happened. This time, she seemed to have trouble even managing a smile around home and he thought maybe a person could only go through the same thing over and over again so many times until they finally couldn’t do it anymore. The impenetrable façade Granger had was crumbling. She tried immersing herself in work – much like she did in Hogwarts, but this failed to do the trick. It did not take her mind off the Weasel. He knew this because he could always hear her huffing and sighing agitatedly to herself at the table, furiously flipping through paper after paper for something that would occupy her. And when she failed to find anything, anything at all to serve as a distraction, she would sleep. Though Draco did not think that was a very successful solution either, the bags under her eyes being full proof, and despite that he had never heard her (his theory was she’d put a Muffliato Charm on the room), her eyes were also sometimes bloodshot and puffy. If that didn’t confirm crying, he didn’t know what did.

What probably had him the most perplexed was that, no matter how upset she was at home, Granger did not let any of this interfere with her work. She smiled (no matter how weakly) and talked as though she wasn’t crying herself to sleep, and Draco eventually came to terms that there were some things in life he would never understand.

He watched her when she didn’t know he was looking and he saw, unlike the rest of the employees, how often she yawned, rubbed her eyes, sighed, fiddled with the quill, or just very briefly wiped under her eye. And this had Draco thinking how many other people had gone through what Granger was right now without anybody noticing. He glanced up and looked down the halls to where everybody was walking and chatting, some holding coffee mugs, some not, some with food or papers, and others with bags, and Draco wondered which ones had had to pretend that everything was okay. He wondered what battles everybody was quietly going through. How many of those people had gotten into a fight with a loved one the previous morning? How many hated their jobs, what sob story did they have buried underneath all the false smiles and small talk? What had previously happened to them in their lives that made them the person they are today?

But then he supposed one couldn’t know everything, as everybody has a story they won’t tell and a reason why they do what they do.

And Draco had to resist the bizarre urge to run down the halls and ask around if they were all okay. He thought about what Granger would say if only somebody took notice of the signs, the lack of enthusiasm, the absent bounce in her walk, or cared enough to ask.

But this was the twenty-first century, he had to remind himself, and, really, who did care these days?

***

“Knock, knock.”

Hermione glanced up and met a pair of brown eyes.

“I just came to give you these papers sent up from Peter’s office,” Derek Armstrong continued, lazily strolling over to her in a way that reminded Hermione considerably of a Slytherin. “Your… assistant…” it was clear the word was foreign on his tongue, and Hermione wondered what word he actually used to describe Malfoy when she was not present, “said to give them to you. Went on about it being his lunchbreak or something rather.”

“Oh.” Hermione tried smiling as she reached for the parchments, and though it was a weak attempt, he did not notice. “Thanks for that, then.” 

“Yeah, sure, anytime.”

She’d expected for him to leave, but when Hermione glanced up again after placing the papers in the correct file, he was still standing in the middle of her office, looking thoroughly and uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

“Was there something else…?” she trailed off, watching him curiously.

“Oh, uh, no. There wasn’t.” He looked troubled, or like he had ants in his pants. Derek kept licking his lips, eyes darting around at everything in the room but Hermione as he shifted from one foot and back again.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Well it’s my lunch break now too so…” Hermione made a hand gesture. “Lunch awaits.”

When she went to pass him, he reached out a slightly trembling and hand to stop her. “Hermione. I was hoping for a word?”

“Right now?” she asked, trying to keep the impatience out of it.

“I don’t think I’ll have enough nerve if I try this again so… yeah.”

“What is it? Oh no.” A look of horror came across her. “It’s not Tully, is it? I was going to talk to her before, but –”

“No, it’s not the elf.” He paused. “It’s not about work at all.”

Hermione held back to need to tap her foot impatiently. This was her lunch break for Merlin’s sake!

“Look, you’re… are you still with Weasley?”

The question completely threw her out of the unfazed act she had maintained for the past four days; her mask of professionalism was swiped right off. And again, she did not know what expression she must have had in that moment, because Derek was quickly saying, “I don’t mean to pry into your personal life and I did not mean for you to think me rude, I was merely asking because…” He stopped there, eyes searching nervously over her face.

“Because?” she prompted in the most level voice manageable.

“I noticed you aren’t living with him anymore, but rather Malfoy. I know you’re not with him because you’re a bright and attractive woman, so really, what could someone like you see in a Death Eater? Much too intelligent for that,” he rambled, “but Weasley on the other hand, I can understand that one. But I don’t understand why you’re not living with him anymore?” 

Twice did Hermione exhale to calm herself in the time it took for her to reply again. “That’s personal.”   

“Of course,” he rushed. “Sorry. What I’m really trying to understand here is, well, are you single? Or just having a break?”

Hermione opened her mouth to say the answer that was on the tip of her tongue, but then she really thought about it, and found that the answer was actually not so easy anymore. What was she? She knew the last thing Derek was trying to do was be rude, but Hermione could not pretend it didn’t frustrate her that she had no idea how to answer the simple question, did not know where her or Ron stood, and so it made it much more difficult not to sound harsh or cold when she next spoke.

“I don’t know at the moment, okay? Just…” Hermione rubbed her forehand, “be out with what you want to say already.” 

“Right.” He was shifting from foot to foot again. “Okay, so I was thinking, maybe if you’re not busy sometime we could… you know.”

If Hermione were Ginny or Lavender or Parvati, yes, she would know. But Hermione was not Ginny or Lavender or Parvati and so she didn’t know where this was going. “Afraid I don’t, sorry.”

“Okay, so I’ve worked here for a year and a half, and we’ve become pretty good friends, haven’t we?”

Had they? she asked herself, because most of the time the only interactions she had with Derek was when she was standing between him and Malfoy. She chose not to say this though, mostly because she did not what to hurt his feelings.

“So I thought maybe we could become something other than friends, grab a few dinners… coffees, walk around Hogsmeade together…”

“Oh… well, I guess that… OH!”

And it finally dawned on Hermione. He was asking her out. The realisation was both surprising and alarming all in one, and suddenly she felt her face go very hot.

“Oh,” he mimicked, smiling that crooked smile of his.

“Oh my. Um… Derek, you’re a great person –”

“And here comes the speech,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“You know, the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line, or the ‘you’re an amazing person and all that, but I just don’t see you in that way’.”

She paused, letting the words sink in. “I said great not amazing.”

He chuckled. “So no?”

“Well…” And it was surprising enough that she was even hesitating. “It’s not a definite ‘no’. But I’d hate to get your hopes up or anything. It’s just…” She rubbed her forehead again. “It’s just a bad time. Uh, Ron and I… I have no idea what’s going on. I’m currently living with a Malfoy and I’ve got this business with Tully to sort out… it’s –”

“A bad time,” he finished, nodding to show his understanding. “That’s cool. But just know I won’t expect anything if we only have one cup of coffee some time.”

“Yeah, I…” Hermione’s mind went typically to Ron, of all the times they had shared being best friends and being more, the kisses, the laughs, how many times they had came close to death or never talking again and always pulling through.

But then Malfoy’s words came back.

What I’ve come across from experience and just watching everybody else’s relationships fall apart is that there’s always one person who leaves, and the other who’s left to cry.

That was when Hermione finally acknowledged that she was not going to be the one left to cry. Not this time. She was going to do some things for herself, and though Ron was, without a doubt, the person she still wanted to spend the rest of her life with, Hermione knew that she was only young and it was not such a bad thing if she wanted to get out and experience some things for herself.

“I’ll consider it,” she said.

***

“You won’t consider it,” Harry said, eyes darting up and down as he tracked the fast movements of the cards between them.

“And why is that?” asked Hermione.

“Because I know Armstrong. He’s not someone you’d want to be dating. You saw how easily it took for those Death Eaters to convince him to lure Malfoy out.”

Hermione’s wand shot out and landed on the matching pair of cards before Harry’s. He huffed but did not look up. “It was either his life or Malfoy’s. And Derek hates Malfoy, even more so than you.”

“I would never go along with anything a Death Eater told me to.”

“It’s just coffee, Harry. That’s all. I can’t only date men who’d be willing to put their lives on line for the greater good. The war’s over.”

The cards exploded then, and though Hermione should be used to Exploding Snap by now, it did not stop her from jumping. Harry didn’t even flinch, and when his eyes did meet hers, they were far too sad. “Is it really, Hermione? There’s always going to be dark wizards out there, people who take magic for granted. Voldemort may be gone, but that doesn’t stop anybody else.”

Harry’s voice reminded her of their Hogwarts years, the ‘I know something you don’t want to’ kind of tone, the one he always used whenever he had something bad to tell her and Ron.

“What have you found out?”

He shook his head, a bitter smile toying with his lips. “These disappearances… they’re so much like when Voldemort was gaining power. More Death Eater’s are being spotted, some we’ve never even seen before. Someone’s planning something.”

Hermione stared at the limp cards on the floor and did not reply for a long time. When she did speak, she pushed the fear and the panic out of her words and looked at him with what she could only hope to be a brave face.

“You and Ron will put an end to it, whatever it may be.”

He breathed out slow and steady. “It never seems to end. Always one thing after the other.”

“But you know no matter what happens, Ron and I will always have your back. If another Voldemort wannabe shows up and we have to go on the longest camping trip in the world again, fighting and destroying whatever may come our way, I’ll do it. I’d do it all again, Harry.”

“Ron would never let you come.”

“Why not?”

“He’s scared. He doesn’t want what happened in – in Malfoy Manor to ever happen again. He’s said so many times how he could never let you go through that again, could never hear you scream like that. Not again.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“But you’re his now. Hold on,” he added, seeing her look of outrage, “I know you’re your own person and everything. Ron knows that too and never has he claimed you ‘his’, but you’re probably one of the few things he has never had to share with any of his brothers or friends, and I think that makes you very special to him. He wants to take care of you. He’s just so afraid he’s going to mess up or lose you to somebody not even worth –”

“His insecurity problems aren’t mine.”

“That’s why he’s having some time to himself. He trusts you, Hermione. He trusts you with a part of him he’s never let anyone else have, but what he doesn’t trust is Malfoy. You’re really going to sit there and tell me you can’t see where he’s coming from?”

Hermione thought of when he’d slapped her, and did not say anything.

“He doesn’t want Malfoy to hurt you. And look, I’m not saying don’t go out and have a few dates. Because that’s healthy and though Ron may not like it, he’s smart enough to understand. He can’t just expect to rage at you, take a break, and then pick things up precisely from where they left off. Ron wants, and always has, for you to be happy. Do you get what I mean?”

Hermione nodded and went silent. She felt a little ashamed that she had failed to see this whole situation from Ron’s perspective. He loved her, he really, honestly, truly did. Her insides swelled with longing, to just have Ron here without any of the complications bothering them, to just laugh with him and Harry until they were rolling around on the floor, clutching at their sides like they had done in the summer’s at the Burrow. Or playing pranks with Fred and George; no matter how much Hermione had protested, she couldn’t deny those had been some of the best moments of her life. Ones she wouldn’t trade for the whole world. 

A small but genuine smile graced her lips as she placed her hand on top of Harry’s.

“I am his,” she murmured. 

***

Come to the manor. Quick.

Five words. That’s all they were. They should not have had the power to make Draco’s pulse rise – they should not have made him jump right off of Blaise’s plastic couch as though hexed. They should not have scared him. 

Only that they did.

The way the words were messily scribbled; how quick and right down to business the letter went. For anybody who knew Narcissa well, they were aware she did not ever get straight down to business: she chatted aimlessly away even when it was obvious people were growing bored. She made sure everything was done correctly and neatly. Her motto was don’t do anything at all if you’re not going to do it right.

This letter was seriously wrong, and it reminded him when the second war had started and the urgency of everything, how quickly and messily his parents had written to him through his sixth year. And perhaps he wasn’t quite over those few years as he liked to think, because he was soon muttering hushed apologises to Pansy and Blaise for leaving so soon.

He had been having a great afternoon. Draco missed the old times with just him, Pansy and Blaise more than he’d realised. They were his best friends. Always had been, and knowing that Pansy was back in their lives made everything that much better. His mother bringing her along to the restaurant and him gathering up enough courage to be a friend and comfort her was the smartest thing he’d done it awhile.

Draco thought that Pansy had missed him and Blaise too, despite how much she tried not to show it. It was discrete signs like when she’d held onto each of them a little longer than was necessarily and how she was always smiling around them, even when there wasn’t really anything to smile about. 

However, it was apparent that things could only work out so long for Draco before something terrible happened. Moments ago he’d easily felt sure nothing could bring him down now, absolutely nothing. Until he read that bloody note.

Draco pounded on the polished manor doors very roughly. His hands would surely bruise from the impact, but at the moment that was least of his worries. Each second that passed his heartbeat raced faster and faster.

Then, finally, the doors opened. But this did not cure his panic. Not one bit. Because the moment he was in view, his mother threw her arms around his neck and began sobbing hysterically. She was moaning something, but he could not understand. Draco only caught her sobbing his name occasionally.

“Mother.” It was surprising how level he managed his voice. The unappealing thought occurred to him that maybe Draco was beginning to get used to sobbing women.

“Oh Draco…” she said thickly. “I love you. So, so much.”

“What is it?” he asked, trying to pry her hands away so he could look her evenly in the eye.

“It’s – it’s your father!” she wailed. “He’s g-gone! Like Theodore!”

There was a moment in which Draco thought his knees would give way. The weight of her words crushed him, pounded at him like a bludger to the chest. His whole body seemed to freeze, a horrible dark feeling of dread filled his stomach, travelling up his chest and spreading throughout his body as if to consume him. He did not cry though, because his father had always told him a real Malfoy does not cry. And it was ironic, because it was exactly this thought that made him want to cry all the more.  

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Next chapter; Tully spills the beans about the disappearances, Draco furiously looks for answers to everything, Hermione goes with, and both end up in a deserted park with a very crazed Theodore Nott. 

Fun fact: I had a moth fly out of Hermione's hair because, well, my hair's never been very tame either and one morning a moth really did fly out of mine aha. The look on my mother's face was priceless.

Thank you for all your kind comments, votes and for reading :) I've said this before but I just feel I should again. I wouldn't even be writing this without you all.