“What do you miss most?” Hermione’s voice startles him.
They had been sitting in a comfortable silence, nestled within the thick embrace of trees.
Their patrol had led them to a hidden meadow, an accidental find, and without words, they agreed it was the perfect spot for their meager dinner. The safe house—a mere shed really—was too cramped, every step putting you in someone’s way.
Her voice sounds far away and he knows she’s talking about before the war. Funny, he didn’t know when he’d become someone who could read her from tone alone.
He’s silent for a while, sifting through memories for an answer that isn’t tainted by tragedy.
“Dancing.” Draco says finally, all shy and quiet. It was his favorite thing to do with his mother who insisted a good husband danced with his wife.
She turns to him, surprise lighting her face, a smirk playing on her lips.
He glances at her from the corner of his eye, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks, but he yearns to keep surprising her, loving the look of intrigue on her face.
“Don’t laugh. I’m actually quite good you know” he bumps his shoulders against her and how he’s hyper-aware of their closeness, her warmth seeping into his side. He wants to bathe in it.
She laughs then and he decides that’s even better than her happy surprise. Her laughter is a melody he wants to hear again and again, amber eyes aflame and crinkling, curls bouncing with each husky huff.
“You do not dance.” She insists between giggles. He’s so…well…broad and tight and all hard edges. A flush rises to her cheeks as she tries to push thoughts of his physique and graceful movements from her mind. But imagining him dancing now makes sense; she’s seen him fight, after all.
“I do too. And I love it and miss it and I’m quite offended you find that so funny,” he mockingly pouts.
“Prove it.” She says before she can stop herself.
“What—no” he says. Damn making her laugh. Why didn’t he say he missed his favorite broom or something? Merlin. He can’t dance for her.
She arches her brow, unable to retract her challenge. “I won’t believe it till I see it, so come on then.” She hops up and extends her hand to him. Dance with her, that’s…different, better. Definitely better. He forces himself to count to ten, trying to feign nonchalance, but he only makes it to five before he’s on his feet.
“There’s no music,” he points out.
Her eyes are twinkling as she smirks “Hm. Sounds like an excuse to me.”
“Besides, it’s beautiful out here. Listen” she looking and then closing her eyes. Draco forgets to listen, captivated by her long lashes fanning her cheeks.
Her eyes flutter open, catching him staring, his gaze fixed on her pillowy lips.
“Close your eyes!” She says, admonishing him, her blush now coloring her neck. Hermione’s eyes close once more and he shakes his head and follows suit, a smile playing on his face at her antics.
The woods’ symphony slowly fills the silence, each sound harmonizing into a natural orchestra. An owl’s low hoot resonates like a haunting cello, its call echoing through the trees. The wind whispers through the leaves, creating a gentle rustling that mimics the soft brush of a violin’s bow. Birds converse in melodious trills and chirps, their voices blending into a lively flurry of notes that dance through the air like a spirited flute. The river’s steady rush adds a rhythmic bassline, its waters flowing over rocks with a soothing, continuous murmur, grounding the higher melodies with its heartbeat. In the distance, the rustle of small creatures moving through the underbrush adds subtle percussion, completing the woodland symphony. Every sound, from the faintest insect hum to the far-off cry of a nightjar, weaves together, enveloping them in the music of the forest.
“There’s music everywhere” she says simply. They open their eyes at the same time and Draco sucks in an imperceptible breath at the sight of her. Gods, she was breathtaking.
“Dance with me,” she says simply.
“Alright” Draco replies, stepping closer and grabbing her hand is his large one. Anything for you, he wants to say.