A Secret Alcove
Nothing seemed out of sorts in the Great Hall. Food was plenty, conversations flowed. The ordinary observer would find nothing amiss at Gryffindor table. Ron stuffed as much food as possible into his mouth, Harry stole subtle looks at Ginny, & Hermione read.
Except, she wasn’t reading. Her strategic placement allowed her to feign interest in the tome she’d read dozens of times when, in actuality, she watched the entrance to the Hall like a hawk.
Draco had been discharged from the Hospital Wing last night.
She caught whispers in the morning: “he looked so pale,” “he always looks pale,” or, infuriatingly, “serves him right!” Her anticipation of spotting him, confirming that he was whole, was all that stopped her from hexing the rude student.
Dark, raven curls caught her eye.
Theodore Nott strode into the Hall stone faced, as if daring the room to comment on who was to follow. He paused as Blaise flanked his right. The two resembled body guards, Hermione thought. She sat up straighter in her seat, waiting.
Draco walked in, Pansy hovering beside him. She released a sigh of relief, eyes roaming his body. When she reached his face, she was taken aback to see him staring into her eyes. His expression was blank, from what she could tell.
Draco closed his eyes for a moment deliberately, looking at her for only a second more when he reopened them. A silent expression of thanks. She had seen that gesture from him, albeit rarely aimed at her, before. She watched him walk carefully slow to the Slytherin table.
Hermione couldn’t attribute neither his sullen mood nor seemingly broken spirit to the attack. Though she loathe to admit it, she had watched him carefully this year. Something was wrong. He had lost his arrogant aura, abandoned his confident strut, and chose silence over jest.
Hermione had found herself hoping for an insult, anything in line with his well-known character. But none came. And now, much later into the semester, she found herself hoping he was simply okay.
He didn’t eat. Neither did she.
He either stared blankly into space or at her. Hazel eyes met grey many times during breakfast.
She was relieved.
She was distraught.
She imagined the bandages hidden under his robes.
She imagined the smooth, alabaster skin hidden beneath.
She imagined touching. Feeling. Kissing.
Hermione shook her head. Her concern was unwarranted, given their less than friendly relations. Her infatuation was wrong, for far more reasons. Her secret would remain her own, assuming the Slytherin visitors hadn’t deduced it.
Hermione finally left Hall, satisfied by his appearance. She took a walk across the grounds to clear her mind before heading to the library. As she walked her usual path to her sanctuary, a pale hand reached outside a tapestry and pulled her into a hidden alcove.
“Granger.”