A Stolen Touch
It took her a moment to collect herself, to find her footing. Draco Malfoy had pulled her into a hidden alcove. And she didn’t know if she should run or scream.
The alcove was small, barely two inches between them. He sagged against the wall, tired grey eyes trained onto her. Hermione realized the Slytherins must’ve told him, mocked her, shared a laugh over her desperate concern. She steeled herself, ready for the worst.
But there was no malice in his expression, nothing to suggest even a hint of mockery in his defeated stance. They stared at each other in silence. She opened her mouth to question his intentions, when he spoke.
“Why did you stay?” He asked quietly, his eyes downcast.
She had no words. What excuse could she offer? Concern over retaliation against Harry? She could lie, deny she was ever there. She could deny his blood on her hands, as she screamed for help, as she put pressure against his wounds and begged him to stay awake.
She could deny Snape pulling her off his body, barking orders to save his life. Or, she could tell the truth. She stared at his chest, where she could still picture his wounds.
“I couldn’t leave,” she said softly.
“Why?” He whispered.
She grimaced. She had no excuse.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back.
His stormy grey eyes looked into hers once more. She adored the speckles of turquoise in them, so similar yet opposite those of his father.
He cleared his throat & looked up.
“Thank you,” he said shakily. “For getting Snape. For staying.”
She stayed quiet, her lower lip trembling. She couldn’t explain it but she wanted to cry. She wanted to break down right there, release the grief of the last few days.
Hazel eyes filled with tears. She tried; she tried her hardest to hold them in. He suddenly looked at her, closing the gap between them in less than a second. Draco slowly raised his hand & wiped a single tear away, his hand remained cupping her cheek.
“Tell me why you are upset. Please,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice.
Hermione opened & closed her mouth, worried more tears may escape.
“I—I’m just—you’re awake. You’re alive.” She whispered.
His brows furrowed. “When has my life ever been a concern to you, Granger?”
She released a shaky laugh. If only he knew just how concerned she was. She didn’t know when it began.
Perhaps when he left a peony beside her while she cried after the Yule Ball.
Perhaps when he held her softly, a stark contrast to his mates, when Umbridge caught the DA last year.
Perhaps it was far before that, when she met a kind boy in Diagon Alley, before blood purity was discussed.
Hermione couldn’t answer him; she simply stared at his chest. It wasn’t difficult. He was nearly a foot taller than her.
His hand still cupped her cheek, her skin burned underneath his cool touch. He lifted her face to look at him.
“You were wrong,” he said quietly. “I did deserve it.”
Her brows furrowed, she felt a rise of anger.
“You nearly died,” she said sternly. “You might deserve a punch every now & then but not death.”
“There’s enough you don’t know, Granger.” His finger began caressing her cheek. She closed her eyes, relishing his touch.
He studied her face, memorized her features. He resisted the urge to kiss the constellation-like freckles across her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted, on full display for him; they called to him, teased him.
How they got here, he didn’t know. But he knew one thing.
“You need to leave.”
Her eyes snapped open. “You pulled me in here,” she said incredulously.
A small, sad smile. “I did. But you need to leave Hogwarts.” He was serious.
She placed a hand against his outstretched forearm, the one caressing her cheek. “What are you not telling me?”
His face twisted, but his eyes, the true path to Draco Malfoy’s emotions, revealed all the pain & horror beneath. His eyes were trained on her hand holding his arm.
“Something is coming, Granger, and I don’t want you caught in the crossfire.” Her eyes widened in alarm.
Her grip tightened before she saw him twist in pain. She quickly released him; his arm dropped to his side. She felt the absence of his hand caressing her face, wished it would return. “I’m so sorry, Draco, are you okay?” She rushed out.
He froze, mouth agape. “You have never called me Draco before,” he said, his tone wistful. Heat crept into her cheeks. She had called him Draco many times while she was alone with her curtains drawn.
“I—I’ve also never been in an alcove with you before,” she offered.
His hand reached towards her, but he seemed to lose his resolve, forming a fist & dropping it instead. “I’ll be leaving Hogwarts soon,” he said solemnly, eyes trained on her curls. “I would like a proper—discussion with you. Not here.”
Her mind raced with anticipation and nervousness. What more could he want to discuss? Why was he leaving?
“Would you meet me in the Room of Requirement after dinner?” Draco asked. His eyes shone with hope and a certain desperation that called to her.
“Yes,” she breathed.