Smoke curled around him as Draco stared at her through the window from across the street. The end of his cigarette burned, reflecting against the glass. Like a little red firefly, it burned bright as he sucked on it. It flashed into existence, before it died a slow death. She was busy, refilling cups of coffee. Clearing empty ones. Dusting off the crumbs from a pastry from the tabletops.
Tucking a rogue curl behind her ear as she stared into the empty pastry case. Frowning into the empty cups. Tracing circles into the wood grain of the tables she cleaned.
Hermione, the girl from the café, had something about her. It captivated him. Something about her eyes held a certain allure. They were deep, fathomless. Like she had lived a hundred lifetimes. There was no doubt in Draco’s mind that she had built a tough exterior. Something about her was soft, though.
Around her eyes, he thinks as he squints through the smoke, watching her move through the tasks of her job with fluidity, each motion memorized and well practiced. Deceptively calm. Her eyes are almond shaped, a gentle brown with a touch of honey. Like coffee with a hint of cream and sugar.
Her mouth was full, the shade of a cherry blossom right before it withered away from the branch it bloomed on. Her name was like a one word poem. A iambic trimeter that was more emotion than meaning. Her -mio-ne. Her- mio -ne. She was like the kind of poem you know not what it means, what the poets intent was when she wrote it. But it resonated with you, anyway.
Draco didn’t know what he was doing here. Watching her. She was off limits. He was off limits.
Again, he surmised, it must be the eyes. They pulled him in, ensnaring him from the second she looked at him when he entered the night before. His entire night was plagued by the memory of her. The feel of her warm against his, something sparking between them.
Something the new regime claimed was behind the matches they declared beneficial for humankind. Despite what all of the officials printed in their reports, Draco knew it was all bullshit. They were just trying to track the population of magical folk. They were trying to study it, using all of their chemistry and science to study them. Lab rats.
He knew all their secrets.
But he was not interested in remember theirs. He wanted to know hers.
Draco lowered his cigarette, and eyed the dying tip. He licked the tip of his thumb and index finger and pinched the end of it, satisfied with the hiss of the miniscule fire inside of the paper being put out. The moisture on his fingers evaporated with it.
Flicking it to the ground, still damp with residue of rain from earlier. He waited until the last customer left. He watched as her shoulders curved in, relaxing just a little. Enough to show pain of tension burning into her muscles from holding the weight of the world.
Draco crossed the empty street. Still watching through the windows as she massaged the back of her neck. As she swayed to the music coming from the speakers inside the building. He couldn’t hear it, but he recalled the somber sound of trumpets and piano from the night before. The deep, crooning voice. Her shoulders rocked side to side, her neck loosening up as she allowed the rest of her body to react to the music.
Yes. Draco was intrigued.
He approached the glass door, and watched as her hips moved along with the slow, steady rhythm. Her chunky loafers were non-slip footwear appropriate for her job. The knee high socks, black skirt and white shirt? He wasn’t so sure it was appropriate. But he appreciated them, nonetheless. The way the fabric of the skirt brushed along the back of her thighs
His eyes flicked up to the little bell on the door, before slowly and quietly, pushing it open. She kept dancing, her arms moving to wrap around her body. She hugged herself as if she hadn’t been hugged in ages. Like she was missing the feeling of a warm embrace.
He moved silently toward her, eyeing the way the apron tied at her back, cinching her white, oversized shirt, into her waist. The horns began to pick up, her arms dropped to her sides, her shoulders moved and her fingers snapped in tandem with the notes of the rhythm section as her feet shuffled side to side.
Draco had not found himself so ardently enraptured with anyone like this, before. Had no control over the way his lips lifted into a smile that suddenly felt foreign, but so easily put on. It was unlike him.
Her feet began to step in a way that told him that she knew what she was doing. Like she belonged on a dance floor with a partner holding her hands. She belonged with this music. It belonged with her.
The trumpet’s notes moved quicker and quicker as Hermione began to step and rock her body in a way that demanded his full attention. Particularly when it came to her hips.
His fingers twitched, the need to reach out and rest them on the flare of her hips a sudden and petulant need.
The notes were pulled out, the rhythm quickening before the finale of the song struck, ending abruptly as she spun on the ball of one foot, her arms out to the side. Her eyes were closed and she completed a full spin before slamming her left foot down, arms still splayed out to her side.
She was breathing a little heavier, and though she was still faced away from him, he felt that her smile was a palpable force. He could sense it. Suddenly, it was obvious that Hermione was not as somber as he thought.
At least, not when she was dancing.
Draco began to applaud her, his hands coming together softly but the sound somehow thunderous in the little coffee shop.
Her breath stalled, her entire body freezing upon realization that she was not actually alone.
“You dance.” He mused, stuffing his hands into his pockets again, still fighting the urge to reach for her hips. Her hand.
With a long and slow exhale that trembled as it left her, Hermione slowly turned to face him, her hands still thrown out to her sides. When she was fully facing him, her hands shot down to her sides, fingers gripping at the rough material of her black apron.
“How long–” Her voice was pitched, her eyes big and rounded out as she nervous looked around the cafe. Her eyes darted to the empty tables, the wall of windows behind him. The door. She cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders back, and Draco marveled at the way her expression changed from shock to neutral in the blink of an eye.
She tilted her head down, eyeing the tiled floor beneath their feet. “I don’t dance. I was just…” She bit down on her lip and he knew she was struggling to come up with a lie.
“You were dancing.” He clarified, masking his glee with a frown. He was well practiced, himself. Practiced in keeping his true emotions hidden from everyone. To expose yourself in a world like this was dangerous, to say the least. “You were enchanting.” He added, despite himself.
Her eyes shot back up to his. They stared at each other, neither willing to give themselves away. Well, mostly. He had failed, already. He was breaking all of the rules with this one.
Her cheeks grew warm, pink tinted as she cleared her throat and straightened out her apron, unnecessarily. “Double espresso?” She offered, and he could have sworn that in her eyes, something sparked as her lips twitched against a small smile. She fought it and he knew that eventually, he would unearth it. He would find a way to make her smile. He would find a way to make that smile his own.
He watched her from where he stood as she prepared the same drink from the night before. The soft whirl frothing milk with the tinkle of piano put Draco in quite a surreal moment. His entire life, he had never encountered a moment such as this. A moment that soothed and flustered him all at once.
She was quietly humming along with the crooning voice of a woman. She sounded like she was in pain. Not the physical kind, the kind of pain only love could cause. Whether it be the love of a partner or a kin, the pain was much more visceral. The woman’s voice was hauntingly beautiful as she sang of her pain. Her loss. Her love.
The glow of the dim lights against the midnight backdrop of the coffee shop created the kind of atmosphere you might find in a dream. He considered the fact that he might be. Coming in here last night was by chance. He was unfamiliar with the area. The majority of his life was spent sheltered in Texas. He was put through vigorous training and had recently been enlisted, forced by his father to join the official ranks of a regime that had treated his family well.
This was only his second assignment. His father left California, returning to Texas before he would be shipped out to somewhere up north, ordered to keep a lock down on the Northern border instead of the south.
That job was to go to Draco, after all. He had entered this coffee shop last night, in a way to find refuge or a place of solace as he wrapped his mind around the job he was forced to accept.
His eyes refocused on her as she carried the drink to the table he occupied last night. He turned his head to follow her, eyeing the perfect layer of foam dusted with cinnamon.
When she straightened and looked over at him, he turned to face her and pulled his hands from his pockets. “Do you often work at night? Alone?”
“I only work nights.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug.
He approached her, the table and the coffee. Slowly. “Why is that?”
Her eyes darted down to his arms, exposed from when he rolled up his sleeves. The tattoo that was branded into him upon his enlistment was stark against his pale skin. The mark of the regime forever imprinted on him. As if he hadn’t spent his life being reminded of its existence. As if he would ever forget who and what he lived for.
He watched her eyes narrow in on his arm as she pressed her lips together before she replied. “I have another job.”
His brow lifted as he reached for the porcelain mug. “You do?”
She nodded, her chin lifting. He thought she looked defensive. Stubborn.
She didn’t want to tell him. He could practically feel the battle inside of her mind as he allowed himself to thoroughly appreciate the heart shaped mouth. Her oval face with a dusting of cinnamon freckles along her cheekbones. On skin the color of milk with a splash of coffee.
She sighed, apparently relenting. “I work at the motel on Broadway, cleaning rooms.”
“The Six?” He took a sip of. It was made perfectly. The perfect ratio of sweet, bitter and milk.
He nodded too, but asked. “Why do they call it The Six. Doesn’t it have like twenty odd rooms?”
She scowled up at him, momentarily unable to control her features from showing her emotions. Draco found himself in a similar situation, the edges of his mouth curling into a smirk.
“Perhaps it started out with six.” She hissed in response before her eyes went wide in shock. “I mean,” She shook her head.
But Draco kept smirking and nodded at her, lifting his mug at her. “No, do go on.”
She spun away from him and he watched her return behind the line that separated the space for employees and the space for customers. She went to grab a wet towel from the red bucket of water he imagined was actually a cleaning solution.
He followed her, toeing the invisible line as she spun to face him. “I wouldn’t know why they name it The Six ,” she said. “I am just a lowly maid.”
Draco stepped over the invisible line and her eyes widened again. “Why are you working two jobs?” He asked as she stepped back, alarmed by his brazen refusal to follow the unspoken rule. Draco didn’t have to follow most rules the civilians followed. Only the ones put upon him by his father and the regime. Rules that were much frightening than a silly line imagined by some small business owner.
“You can’t come back here.”
“Doesn’t your father take care of you?” He asked, narrowing his eyes on her, still holding his mug in his left hand, his other in his pocket.
She rolled her eyes as she scoffed but she refused to answer. Instead, she lifted her hand and pointed to the space on the other side of the pastry case. On the other side of the point of sale station. The empty café beyond.
“Have a seat and drink your coffee.” She looked annoyed as her eyebrows pinched and her nose scrunched up. “Let me do my job.”
Draco did no such thing. This was the most fun he could remember having in…well, forever. “No father, then.” He mused out loud and she opened her mouth to respond but he cut her off. “Your mother?”
Her mouth clamped shut as she exhaled through her nose.
“Also gone?” He asked, his tone gentler than the taunting drawl he had previously used on her.
She nodded once, shifting her eyes to the windows as another armored truck hurried, the sirens blotting out the sound of the piano and trumpets as Draco refused to look. He knew exactly where those trucks were going to or leaving from. In an hour, he would be there, too.
“I’m sorry.” He said, pulling her eyes back to focus on him. “My mother is gone, too.” He couldn’t understand why he was telling her this. She probably didn’t care. But she should. Because he was an officer, the son of Lucius Malfoy and he was breaking every one the rules his father had pressed upon him. “Died when I was born.”
Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry.” Her words were gentle as they reached him.
He shrugged and took another sip. “Don’t be.” He drained his cup before setting it onto the tray full of empty mugs. He watched her collect them all throughout the night. He pulled his hand free of his pocket, another brand new gold mark in his hand as he held it out for her.
Her eyes became guarded, once more, as she reached out her hand, opening it up to the ceiling.
Slowly, deliberately, he placed the mark into her hand, ensuring that he felt the warmth of her skin brushing against his before he nodded to her and turned around.
If he didn’t leave now, he’d break more rules. Rules that were put in place to keep him in line. To keep him protected from people like her.
“Hermione,” He called over his shoulder. When he stepped outside, he glanced back to find her staring down at her hand, her arms still lifted and stretched out as if reaching for him.
She looked stunned by whatever it was she saw there. Perhaps it was what she felt. Perhaps there was chemistry there, after all.
When her eyes lifted back up to meet his gaze. They were captivating, bright and deep. He wondered what secrets she was keeping in there. He smiled at her. “See you tomorrow?”
Her lips parted in shock but he turned and left before she could respond.
Yes, Draco thought. It must be the eyes.
