Author's note: part of a series of drabbles I wrote in May to get through quarantine.
Prompt: "Wherever one goes, the other is sure to follow."
Adjective: Uptight
Noun: Zephyr
Verb: Contest
Hermione Granger nodded once. His head bend closer to her to speak softly; she raised an eyebrow, and a small smile reached her dimples. She turned and her cloak floated into his outstretched fingers, and then away again. Touching but not grasping. Magnetized. His fingers flexed from the electricity of her, unconsciously, as his posture curved around her. Draco Malfoy filled her negative space. She was a zephyr. He was a feather. And it was painfully clear to everyone but them.
"They're so bloody oblivious," Pansy whispered.
"I don't know. I think one of them is bound to get wise, and soon." Harry sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. His wife shrugged.
"Wherever one goes, the other is sure to follow. But that doesn't mean either of those idiots will see what's going on." Pansy sipped her tea. "Draco's always been dense as a rock."
"Oh, no contest," Harry chuckled. "But surely you don't think she's immune to his attention."
"Immune?" Pansy shook her head, observing the couple once again. Hermione's fingers clutched his sleeve, bracing to adjust a pinching buckle on her shoe. He dutifully held her up. His mouth curled in a teasing manner; he said something that made her redden. "No. She's not. But she would do better to give him some… reassurance."
"Maybe they're comfortable pretending."
"You really think that much sexual tension is comfortable?" Pansy reached across the table and took her husband's hand. "Or are you admitting to being an uptight bastard that I had to wear down for three years-"
"We are not them, my love." Harry patted her hand. "Hermione needs clarity. Solidarity."
"Draco needs security, too," Pansy countered. "And a woman who will fill the void left by Narcissa Malfoy, and trust me-that is not an easy task."
"If there's anybody who could rise to the occasion…" Harry trailed off, but he pointed to his dear friend, who was toeing off her heels.
Hermione's feet were killing her, by the looks of it. The heels hung from her fingers and she wiggled her stocking toes. Draco flicked his wand and her shoes danced into the air at her side. He inclined his head.
Hermione padded out of the caf, followed dutifully by Draco and her levitating shoes. His hand hovered at her waist, not quite touching her back but curling around her protectively. She tilted her chin up and smiled at him. They turned the corner and were gone.
Pansy's head swung back to Harry and she perched her head on her hand. "Am I right or am I right?"
"I'm not one to intervene, but…"
"I am begging you. Intervene. I can't take any more of his heavy sighs when she's away on assignment." Pansy gripped his hands in a deathly squeeze.
Harry sat forward. "I think you're secretly a romantic, Mrs. Potter."
"You married me!" She laughed.
"Thank the gods you weren't subtle!"
Thank you so much for reading!