Behind the lens   von viv-heart
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                                  Kapitel 1: 
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“Excuse me, do you have a moment?”
Hermione turns around, a half-hearted apology on her lips as she expects yet
another poor student trying to get people to give their money to yet another not
so charitable charity.
The words die on her lips when she sees who addressed her.
“Granger?” Draco Malfoy asks, staring at her with wide eyes, his lips parted
in mild surprise.
“What do you want?” Hermione sighs, too tired to really care and crosses her
arms over her chest. It has been a long day at work and the last thing she wants
is to chat with her Hogwarts bully when she could be at home reading in her
comfortable bed.
“Oh, well,” he scratches his neck, looking anywhere but at her out of the
sudden, “I didn’t know it’s you.”
Hermione purses her lips, staring him down. “So you wanted to hit on me but
now you don’t want to because it’s me,” she says flatly and is ready to
leave but Draco is not having any of that.
“No, that’s not it! I just wanted to photograph you, but I imagine you
wouldn’t want to spend any time in my proximity.”
Hermione looks him up and down but he seems sincere and she realizes she has no
idea what he has been up to since the war. As soon as the trials were over he
was gone.
“You are a photographer?” she asks, surprising herself with the question.
She is tired, but curiosity is her biggest weakness, and damn is she curious.
Draco shrugs, offering her a half-smile. “It’s a hobby,” he says and
Hermione isn’t sure what to think about that.
“Show me your work,” she commands and Draco opens his mouth as if to say
something but closes it again without actually speaking. He nods instead and
motions Hermione to follow him to a nearby apparition spot where he offers her
his arm. She takes it, allowing him to side-along her.
Hermione isn’t sure what she expects but a small attic with strings running
from one wall to another, all of them having photos pinned to them, isn’t it.
She lets go of Draco’s hand and walks over to the nearest one, wanting to take
a closer look at the photos.
She reaches out and turns the first one around to get a better look at it.
It’s a picture of an old man laughing and it doesn’t move. Hermione glances
back at Draco, who is standing there, watching her pensively.
“I approached you in muggle London, didn’t I?” he says and Hermione
reaches for the next picture. She has to see more before she is ready to talk to
him for real.
Two girls in saris are reading a book. Hermione frowns. The picture certainly
hasn’t been taken in England. Many of them haven’t been as she discovers,
studying one after another.
An older lady with a samovar, sunny beaches on exotic islands with people
working, kimonos and traditional garb from what she assumes is eastern Europe,
tigers and snakes and lions, chicken and horses and so much more – so many
people and so many motives and they all look so-
“They are all so normal, so beautiful. So happy,” she says, the words barely
a whisper.
Draco doesn’t say anything, still standing there as if he was waiting to be
judged, but his eyes are firmly on her and Hermione feels like he is stripping
her bare to her soul. She hopes he isn’t a legilimens.
“Why?” Hermione walks over to stand in front of him and he shrugs again,
making her want to slap him. His behaviour is frustrating to say the least.
It’s as if he has given up, offering himself to her mercy. And maybe that’s
exactly what he is doing – giving her the opportunity to judge him and decide
if he is actually worth her attention.
“Talk to me.”
Draco takes a deep breath. “They remind me that not everything is bad, that
there are things worth living for,” he says, holding her gaze. “I’ve seen
the worst of the worst.”
Hermione nods. She understands. She wishes she wouldn’t but the war had ruined
them all and if he wakes up screaming in the middle of the night like she does,
she can’t blame him for doing this. It’s as if he was collecting happiness
and if she is honest with herself she is quite angry that it wasn’t her who
came up with the idea.
“Does it help?” she asks and when he nods she smiles.
“Photograph me then.”
Draco shifts from one foot to another uneasily and Hermione suspects he
doesn’t know how to react. He clearly hasn’t expected her to agree. It
isn’t surprising at all as she hasn’t expected herself to do it either.
“If you don’t want to it’s fine too,” Hermione says when the silence
gets too much, making her doubt herself. He didn’t say he wanted to photograph
her since he had seen her face – maybe he doesn’t as she isn’t pretty
enough. It wouldn’t be surprising, if she thinks about it. More than one man
has hurled that into her face, leaving her for someone who was prettier, more
feminine and cared more for her looks than stuff like books and magical
creatures. Hermione wouldn’t admit it loud but it stings – she knows she
isn’t the typical femme fatale and has never been, despite what Witch Weekly
and the Prophet wanted to make of her. Luckily, she has learned long ago that
it’s not the fault of the girls that they look the way men want them to, but
of the men, that chose based on looks, her only regret being that she hadn’t
known that back in Hogwarts, ruining many chances at friendship.
“Of course I want to,” Draco says in a tone that suggest she is crazy if she
thinks otherwise.
She nods slowly, not sure if he is saying it out of pity or chivalry or actually
means it. She isn’t sure which one is the most concerning – this is Malfoy
after all and neither pity, nor chivalry and especially not honesty towards her
fit well with her memories of him from her school days.
“Great.” Her voice is shrill and fake and Hermione has to do her best to not
cringe. She hopes that Draco doesn’t notice but his frown tells her he already
has.
“You can leave if you are uncomfortable,” he says flatly, putting on the
mask of disinterest and arrogance she has known so well but his tone is
different and it doesn’t sit well with her.
Hermione doesn’t move. Instead she sticks out her chin in a challenging manner
and stares at him, waiting for him to actually do something.
It feels like they are playing a game of chess and it’s his turn now. Then
again,she always sucked at chess so she isn’t too sure whose turn it is, or if
this is a good idea at all. If she is honest with herself, she knows this is a
dreadful idea but she is intrigued so she stays.
“I don’t need your pity,” Draco says and Hermione frowns.
“What part of this looks like pity?” She fights the urge to cross her arms,
knowing that it would look defensive and clenches her hands into fists instead.
She doesn’t want to lose this, even though she isn’t sure what they are
competing for.
“The part where you are actually talking to me instead of hexing me into
oblivion,” Draco crosses his arms and Hermione has to bite her cheek to
refrain from grinning. She might be tactless at times but she knows that it
would ruin the whole thing – whatever it is – anyway.
“I talk to you because I am curious,” she says, but it seems to be the wrong
thing to say as something dark flashes over Draco’s face.
“The war fucked me up and this is my way of coping,” his words are dripping
with venom and Hermione flinches, “now that you know you can go.”
She wants to ask more questions but both her pride and the look on Draco’s
face tell her that she shouldn’t so she leaves without another word.
She doesn’t seek him out and in the two next weeks they don’t see each
other, but when she spots him in the shopping centre just around the corner from
her flat, Hermione doesn’t hesitate and approaches him.
“What do you want?” Draco asks, letting go of  the sleeve of the sweater he
had been inspecting and it falls down to hang unceremoniously.
“To talk to you,” Hermione says and he scoffs but doesn’t protest when she
follows him around as he looks at clothes, not trying on a single piece,
interestingly enough.
“Do you just browse?” she asks when they walk from one shop to another and
he glares at her.
“No,” he says and Hermione frowns. It isn’t until he buys a sweater with
long tight sleeves two stores down the road that she realizes what he had been
doing.
“It’s about hiding the mark,” she says and Draco’s silence is answer
enough.
“You know you could cover it up with another tattoo.”
Draco groans and turns to look at her. “No magical tattoo will do trick.
I’ve tried,” he says in exasperation.
“Have you tried muggle too?” she asks and Draco’s jaw tightens.
“If a magical tattoo won’t cover it, how should a muggle tattoo?”
Hermione shrugs. “Maybe no magic is the solution where too much magic is
involved – I’ve always wondered why wizards don’t try to import muggle
healing methods as, often enough, they work in cases magic doesn’t.”
“Like what?” Draco asks, more curious than hostile, Hermione realizes with
delight.
“Mind healing and reproductive issues.”
Draco’s shoulders stiffen, courtesy of the mention of  the infamous pureblood
reproductive issues Hermione guesses and she notes it down for further reference
in the back of her mind.
“And what if it doesn’t work? The muggle will certainly have questions.”
“Luckily, there is a wizard who does muggle tattoos,” Hermione smiles at him
and Draco’s eyes glint with something as his hand holding the shopping bag
twitches. Even if he wants to reach for his wand and hex her, he doesn’t, and
that’s what counts in Hermione’s opinion.
If he did though, she couldn’t blame him as she is forcing her company on him
every time she sees him.
“What makes you think this wizard would be willing to cover up the Mark?”
Draco is looking at the floor and Hermione finally understands what this is
about. He is ashamed and afraid. Two things her head struggles to connect with
him, but she can’t deny it any longer.
“He will if I ask him to,” she says and Draco looks up uncertainly.
Hermione smiles and pulls out a piece of paper and a pen from her bag to
scribble down an address. “Meet me here tomorrow at seven in the evening.”
Draco takes the paper and Hermione walks away with long, purposeful strides.
She doesn’t really expect to see him waiting for her in front of Dean’s
apartment building but there he is, scarf up to his nose and hands deep in his
pockets.
“Let’s go,” Hermione says instead of a greeting and Draco follows. During
the elevator ride neither of them speaks as the numbers flash in front of them,
but he is staring at her again.
When they finally reach the sixth floor, Hermione knocks on a door on the left
and it opens up almost immediately and Dean Thomas appears in the frame.
“You were serious,” he says, shaking his head slightly and steps aside to
let them in.
Hermione hugs him and Seamus Finnigan hello, while they exchange suspicious
glances with Draco.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Dean says finally and beckons Draco to
follow him.
Hermione waits in the kitchen, chatting with Seamus in the meanwhile and keeping
him away from the kettle to prevent an explosion.
It takes hours but when Draco finally steps into the kitchen he is practically
beaming – at least for Malfoy standards. For normal human standards he simply
doesn’t look murderous and Hermione assumes it worked.
“What did you get?” she asks and stands up.
“He can’t show you. It’s not finished and has to heal,” Dean says with
an exasperated  sigh. Spending time with Draco must have cost him quite some
nerves but as neither of them has stormed out during the tattoo session, it
couldn’t have been that bad.
Hermione bites her tongue to not remind him that he had tattooed her too back
when they all had gotten tiny coins and phoenixes as a reminder of the war and
their fallen friends and thanks him instead.
They leave shortly after and Draco thanks her in return before they part ways
again.
When an unknown grey owl knocks on her window two weeks later, Hermione
doesn’t think much about it, assuming one of her friends simply used a
Ministry owl. The greater is her surprise when she reads the note.
“Can you come over to my atelier? DM” is written in perfect script and
Hermione hesitates. She looks down on her comfortable pyjama bottoms and sighs,
already on her way to get dressed. She is curious after all.
“I am glad you could come,” Draco says without looking up as he does
something at a table in the corner.
“Uh, sure,” Hermione replies, shifting from one foot to another uneasily.
“What did you want ?”
“I still haven’t taken the photo,” he says and looks up. Turns out the
thing he was working with was his camera.
Hermione blushes when she realizes that he is smiling.
“You want to take it now?” she asks, hugging herself. “I’ve been ready
to go to bed, not to have any pictures taken.”
“Well then, we can go and have dinner sometime and take it afterwards,” he
says nonchalantly, but Hermione isn’t listening, her eyes firmly glued on his
left forearm. It is almost entirely black, only a few spots remaining white.
Hermione walks over to him, mesmerized, and lifts his arm to take a closer look
while he watches her silently.
Hermione’s eyes widen when she realized the spots are for stars and
constellations, namely those of his family. It’s even more surprising that she
recognizes Sirius next to Draco himself.
She looks up at his face.
His eyes sparkle with amusement. “I can explain at dinner,” he offers again
and Hermione blinks.
“What dinner?” she asks and Draco runs his right hand through his hair,
Hermione’s fingers still clutching his left one.
“The one I offered to take you on before we take the photos while you clearly
weren’t listening,” he drawls and Hermione wants to snap at him for the
 second she needs to realize that he is just teasing.
“Only if you finally talk to me,” she says and Draco grins.
“A dinner would be such a dull affair if it passed in silence,” he replies
and Hermione doesn’t know if she wants to kiss him or slap him. She does
neither and rolls her eyes, mentally preparing herself for another game of chess
– because that’s what this back and forth with Draco is and maybe, just
maybe, it’s their hearts at stake.
She is determined to win.

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