Written for butterflygirly99's Pick A Card, Any Card challenge on HPFC for the card Four of Hearts: write about Dramione.
Dedicated to my lovely friend, DancingChestnut. Happy birthday! Fries and happiness for ya xx
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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Prefects' duty meant Hannah Abbot's swinging braids and buck-toothed smile, and light banter about homework as corridors passed by. Hannah's intermittent high pitched laugh would fill the spaces between them, her pale hands gesticulating, swimming through the air with almost aquatic grace. Prefects' duty meant Hannah's soft presence and forgiving silence, the Hogwarts corridors striped by shadows, the silver moon gliding out over the grounds.
Whatever prefects' duty was, it changed the day when it was not Hannah, but Draco Malfoy who swept into step beside Hermione, all platinum, shrewd eyes, silver-green tie unusually bright. Swept into step, the Hufflepuff is ill, I'll replace her for today. Walking on, spine graceful and and lean as the fingers that swung by his side. Hermione merely nodded and followed without comment, letting the the silence dance around them like lightly fluttering ribbons.
As well as the next few days when it was Hermione's roster, when Hannah had apparently needed to go home for the evening to visit her sick mother, and Malfoy fell into step beside her like there was no question about it, no question that he was standing just that inch too close, no question that if Hermione just swung her hands that little bit faster, their fingers will be brushing. Through the periphery of her vision, Hermione mentally measured the spaces in between them, tried to calculate the amount of air they were breathing in common.
Then there were the days where Hannah - studious Hannah, who never stepped a toe out of line - had apparently gotten herself into detention - Hannah? Detention? Yes, Granger. Move along now - and either Hermione's fingers brushed Malfoy's or Draco's fingers brushed hers - it did not matter outside the fact that it happened too often to be accidental, worlds apart from the soft white moonbeams from the window of the Arithmancy corridor as they ended the rounds.
Hermione kissed him on the ninth time it happened. There were no fireworks, no ecstatic revelations. It was just Draco and his lips sliding up her jaw and his hands and his skin, and the cogs of the world shifting into places and oh, wasn't it enough.