Written for the Dramione Last Drabble Writer Standing Competition
Round 2: Gardenia - Secret Love

Draco Malfoy had begun to accept that he was going to die. As he stood in the nearly unbearable heat of the burning room, he tried to find comfort in the thought that she would live. He had seen her whisked to safety by the Ginger-who-didn't-deserve-her. But who was he to judge, he certainly didn't deserve her either. Somehow that hadn't stopped her from loving him, once.

Then a flash of black hair offered him a hand and pulled him onto the back of a broom. The Boy-who-didn't-ever-die flew like a madman through an obstacle course of fiendfyre. Draco held on as though his life depended on it, because it did.

"I'm only doing this for her," Potter growled through gritted teeth.

It meant at least one person was in on their secret, he thought to himself. And then he was dumped unceremoniously to the floor in the corridor as they came to an abrupt stop. He sat up and immediately retched the entire content of his stomach on the ground next to him. Leaning back against the wall, he patted his pockets, desperately looking for his mother's wand. Before he could find it, the mess vanished and he looked up to see Hermione leaning on the stones opposite him, her wand pointed loosely in his direction.

His mind helpfully supplied him with an image of the last time he'd seen her, bleeding out on his drawing-room floor. It was so vivid he could smell his mother's potted gardenias, which he had spotted by the windows as he had listened to Hermione scream, feeling his soul shatter. He could still feel the gentle hand on his wrist, holding him back in the reckless instant he had tried to step forward with his wand clutched in his fist.

Looking down, he gagged violently a few seconds more and blinked away the memory as best as he could. She would never forgive him. He hadn't tried hard enough, he had let his fleeting moment of courage slip away. And yet, here she was, alive. No thanks to him, of course.

His eyes were suddenly drawn to where Hermione was getting up off the floor. Clear grey met warm brown and Draco's heart went to his throat. She lifted her hand to her neck and clutched at something hanging beneath her shirt. Hope bloomed in his chest for the first time in months as he realised she was still wearing the locket he had gifted her, now many years ago.

"I have to go," she whispered. "Find me, when it's all over."

Ideas flashed in his mind of all the plans they had made, contingencies, to save each other. No matter the outcome of the war. He nodded.

The smallest of smiles graced her lips, then she turned and ran.