She walks, her eyes gently tracing the patterns on the leaves that she passed. Her fingers felt the bark of a cherry tree, the ridges rippling beneath her fingertips. The blades of grass behind Hogwarts were long and wild, almost like the fields back in Muggle London. A spider web was made with such eloquence among a patch of grass, it glistened with yesterday's rain. Looking east, the sun was rising soon, the dawn approaching. The skies were grey, streaked with primrose and lilac, the sun still not present. Sitting down next to a small group of poppies, red in the eerie light, she began to think.
She woke, her eyes still infiltrated with sleep. Looking around, the room she was in was dark, the flimsy curtains drawn and the few pieces of charcoal burning with a soft glow. Breathing in she smelled it. Lavender, peppermint, cold musk, she sighed gently, her arm draped over his. They had fallen asleep like this once more, legs intertwined, bodies only protected by that thin layer of clothing. He moved beneath her, making her feel feather-light and weightless. He arose, lips curved into that trademark smirk, his overgrown platinum hair hanging haphazardly over his stormy gray eyes. They didn't say any words, nothing needed to be said.
He buried his face in her hair, God, he loved her hair. The brown, wild tendrils bounced in the hazy light as he smelled her. He couldn't get enough of her. Satsuma, tangerine, cinnamon and lime, his eyes followed her unfocused gaze until she felt his eyes on her. They looked at each other, with animalist intent, a hunger, a lust burning in their bodies. But they said they would wait, and wait they would.
"I dream of a field of poppies, crimson like blood,"
"I dream of you, the epitome of grace," she blushed upon his words.
Poppies, she thought. She almost smiled, her lips twitching slightly. The skies above were grey, no more pink or light violet, only grey. The clouds above shifted, the soft grey shapes lazily drifting along. With her head tilted upwards, she knew she looked ridiculous, like a child, so naive. Rain. It had begun to fall, small droplets landing in her untameable hair.
"You know I hate to fly," she shrieked, her grip on his wrist, firm and tense.
"Please, do it... for me?" he begged, he had a surprise. Her eyes twittered from the broom in his other hand and his eyes, needing her this time.
"I... Okay. Fine, just PLEASE don't go too fast,"
"Deal," he promised, as he swung one leg over his broomstick. Thankful that she had worn loose fitting denims that evening, she did the same. They rose in the air, the wind mussing their clothes, she kept her eyes shut. He turned to see her, her arms clenched around his waist, eyes squeezed tightly in fear. Looking upwards, he could see that the skies were restless. He could tell it was to rain soon.
"Stop swerving!"
"Sorry... Open your eyes... please Hermione," he pleaded. She could hear the misery in his voice, how much he wanted her to see whatever it was. She opened, her eyelashes fluttering, and she let out a sigh. It was the school, the castle large and looming, and above the moon, silver and round in the black sky. Silver dotted the dark, stars glistening ever so brightly. He turned around, his movements agile, and managed to face her completely. He gave her a kiss on the forehead, then one on her nose, and on either cheek then finally, he met her lips. Rosebud shaped, tinted pink, tasting of sweet saccharine, she smiled, her heart filling with euphoria. She had never received a better birthday present as the rain slowly began to fall.
"I miss you," she whispered, her voice small and insignificant as the wind continued to howl. She did not hear the sound of steps as the rain began to echo in her ears. She was wet, her body, her hair, she felt somewhat vulnerable and exposed in the dawn. Hands covered her eyes, calloused palms against the nearly transparent yet nearly opaque skin over her eyes. Her eyelashes quivered, her pulse rising in the frigidity. She licks her lips, tasting salt and grass, copper no longer evident.
His heart is weak, as he pounds at the bathroom door. Almost sinking, he wants to give up, but he cannot, he cannot bear himself to. He kicks it then, and the door springs free, but he almost faints at the sight at his eyes. He is frantic, his eyes searching and searching only able to stay still at the unmoving figure on the bathroom floor. Red. White. Red. White. Coloured tiles. What has she done, he wonders. He walks forwards, kneeling; now cradling her lifeless body. He kisses her scars, almost sucks the blood, opening the fresh wounds that were once slashed without regret. Then, a heartbeat later, she stirs, her speech slurred.
"I... You... Doing... Here," her words are broken.
"Please, don't die..." he almost begs, his eyes filling with tears.
He sits, his gaze on her eyes that cannot stay open any longer, and he kisses her lips, afraid that this is all he has left. Then he rises, in his arms a girl, unclothed, like a faerie, a nymph and he runs. He runs as fast as he can go his legs so weary, so tired.
But he still runs.
Like arrows, coming to claim her, the rain is sharp on her back, the only warmth the figure behind her. She plays with his body, her fingers wrapping around his own, her hands tracing what she can find, the seams of his shirt, the buttons that he has buttoned. She knows he is here. She remembers being foolish, the feeling of love in her heart. The sound of its beat, never failing... and the sound of his heart under his skin, as she lies down tonight atop his chest. He releases his blindfold, and she turns around, her movements agile. She faces him, his face familiar. He has aged, misery etched in his expression. She raises her hand, and puts it to his cheek, he is cold and she is warm. She has not seen him for many years, she has not felt his touch for many days.
"Why did you save me, Draco?" she cries, her eyes dripping with saline, she cannot hold it in, not anymore.
"We don't always have to make sense, Hermione, not even you," he kissed the tears away and let the blood flow freely once more.