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“I don't know what to tell you,” Harry admits. “Malfoy’s being surveilled for—”
“For minding his own business!” Hermione seethes.
“For suspicious activity in Muggle London,” he corrects her with a wince. “It was Robards’ call. Malfoy is still on probation, and—”
“He hasn’t stepped a toe out of line and you know it!”
“It’s just a precaution.”
Hermione leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. It’s certainly inconvenient that her department has seen fit to stalk the man she’s been seeing in secret, and to what end?
“Where’s he been sighted?”
“An area described as ‘stereotypically suspect.’” Harry hands her the file.
“I’ll take it on.”
“Why?”
“It’s just a precaution, isn't it?”
She has him there.
—
It takes her time to shoo the junior Aurors from their hideout, but she spots Malfoy almost immediately.
He’s bundled up in a Muggle coat, and he looks pale and ill.
The file indicated that he had been coming to this building every few weeks, and even Hermione has to admit it's odd. She has context on her side, and she’s been dating him a little longer than the time that he's been doing this.
Dating.
Is that what they’re doing? Hermione thinks so. They've gone out every weekend, and he's hinted that he cares for her.
But she's afraid to label it, if only because they had a marked lack of physical intimacy.
He didn't seem to want to touch her.
He refused to be touched.
So it’s with both insecurity and suspicion that she now observes his blond head weaving through the crowds.
She looks back at the building he stepped out of. It stands in what used to be a crime-ridden district, but it’s residential now, and they've no leads for suspicious tenants.
Scenarios race through her mind, and she makes the hasty decision to sprint after him.
“Malfoy!”
He jumps when she catches up to him.
“Granger?” He looks even more disheveled up close, as though he’d been exerting himself. “What are you doing here?”
“I should be asking you the same question,” she huffs. “I want to know why the DMLE thinks they ought to follow you around here.”
Is it crime? Is it another woman? She doesn’t know what she wants to hear less.
His features scrunch into an aggravated scowl, and then he sighs.
“Of course they would,” he says softly. “I’ll never outrun this.”
Hermione feels her anger fade as he meanders off to a nearby bench. It’s replaced by shame as she watches him shrug his coat off gingerly and sit down, defeated.
“Well?” he calls. “Are you joining me or not?”
She does.
“What if I told you,” Malfoy says, rolling his sleeve up, “that my Mark still meant something to me?”
She wilts under feelings of betrayal. If he still clung to that symbol of hate, she doesn’t know she'll do.
But as he exposes his forearm, wonder blooms in her chest.
Because the brand is now overrun by a burst of freshly-tattooed flowers. His skin is red beneath the protective film.
“They’re beautiful,” she breathes.
“I didn’t want you to see,” Draco croaks. “Not until it was done. I’ve been visiting the artist in his home for some time.”
That explained why he’d been so avoidant of physical contact. For weeks she’s wondered. And now she knows.
Hermione looks up at him with wide eyes. “You got these… for me?”
“They’re not for you,” he chuckled. “Not all of them, anyway. The roses are for my mother.”
Hermione catalogues the rest. Lily of the valley, carnations, tulips…
“Apology flowers,” she whispers.
“I’ve got so much to apologize to you for,” Malfoy murmurs. The permanence of the act speaks much louder.
“No,” she says firmly. “I’m the one who should be saying sorry.”
“What ever for?”
“I’m the one who assumed. I didn’t think you were up to anything Dark, not really. But,” she falters, cheeks warming, “I thought… I thought you might have been sneaking around with someone else.”
Draco laughs, and he sounds far too delighted. “You daft witch.”
“What’s so funny?”
“I got tattooed for you. It bloody hurt. I think that speaks enough of my intent to stop hiding. And to…” He sighs. “To stick around.”
“Really?”
“Really.” His expression is soft as he leans in. “If you'll have me."
“I will.”
He inks himself on her heart with a kiss.