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One never has enough time.
All too quickly term resumed, and once more the Marauders were gathered in their compartment on their way back to Hogwarts. Hermione's upper half was strewn lazily across Draco's lap, and her legs were comfortably resting across Remus's lap. James, Sirius and Peter were squished on the other side, heatedly talking about Quidditch, although, Peter's heart simply didn't look to be in it.
Hermione closed her eyes, and allowed Remus's voice to lull her to sleep—he was reading a few passages from Crime and Punishment aloud to Draco, as they were having a analytical discussion about the themes of the story, and Remus was attempting to prove a point by quoting directly from the text.
James, Sirius and Remus had noticed the 'twin's' mood had plummeted into a murky, sombre puddle upon parting with Dorea and Charlus, but knew better than to comment. Time kept marching on, uncaring of their thoughts and feelings: it had a strict schedule to maintain after all, and it was not going to alter its course, simply because a couple of wix were feeling a tad morose. It stopped for nought.
Knowing that didn't make things any easier, on the contrary, it merely shoved the spike even further into their hearts.
Sunday, January 9th, 1977
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Quidditch Pitch
Gryffindor Vs. Hufflepuff
Term had resumed yesterday, but they wasted no time in officially kicking off the first Quidditch game of the year.
The conditions were brutal, the fog was so thick it made spots dance in front of their eyes, and the players had flown the wrong way on more than one occasion since the game commenced—which was not even twenty minutes ago.
Hermione was hovering beside Draco, squinting into the fog, and keeping a clear lookout for any bludgers that may decide to make a sudden appearance.
So thick was the fog, that Riley was having a difficult time commentating, much less keeping track of where all the Quidditch players were.
Every so often one would hear a loud gasp from the stands, and Hermione could only could conclude that someone had mistakenly flown into them in their disoriented state. Forget flying in a straight line, they could barely make out up from down.
"You should go and help out the others," Draco drawled, they were so far away from everyone else, that she knew no one could see them, much less hear them.
Hermione ignored him, he had a nasty habit of getting hurt, she wasn't going anywhere. I went from worrying about Harry constantly getting injured, to worrying about Draco. Sirius and James—collectively—somehow get hurt far less than Harry or Ron ever did, thank Merlin for that.
Trying to change the subject, in a bitter tone she said, "you'd think Dumbledore would help out a little, maybe thin out this fog just a smidgen." She knew he wouldn't do anything of the sort, and she recalled McGonagall trying to petition before the game that they postpone it to the following evening. Dumbledore insisted the conditions were fine, they would have to play in worse if they became professional Quidditch Players.
Draco blatantly ignored her statement. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm surprised Hooch hasn't cancelled the game—James almost smashed into one of the hoops earlier, and Pike sent a bludger hurtling into the Ravenclaw stands," Draco frowned, and Hermione glanced at him in her peripherals, at how naturally he sat on the broom, arms crossed over his chest as he searched for the snitch.
"Jasper Richards has scored through his own team's hoops, thus giving ten points to the Hufflepuffs!" Riley called loudly, trying to muster her giddiness at the mishap, whilst Hermione and Draco groaned in harmony.
"This is an absolute mess, I kind of want you to get the snitch now, if only to put us all out of our misery," Hermione sighed, but a slight shift in the fog in front of them sent her on high alert.
A bludger hurtled violently directly at them, and Hermione moved on pure instinct, diving forward and her bat shoddily connected with the bludger, which weakly sailed away for a few feet before it zipped right back at them. More accurately, right at Draco.
She didn't think, she didn't hesitate, Hermione threw herself forward, straight into the line of fire. Yet, strangely, the bludger didn't crash into her. At least, that's what she thought.
The fog slipped past her, easily allowing her to plummet downwards, its damp embrace loosening. The greyish sky was a blur, and was that raven she saw? Nonsense.
After that, she had no idea what happened, the only thought on her mind was how grateful she was that Draco hadn't been injured.
Light snoring, a stiff yet pliant mattress, darkness. Those were the first things Hermione was aware of when she roused, a splitting headache, and a painful twitch in her left arm.
"You're awake," A soft voice said, the concern palpable, and feebly she reached up, blindly searching for him. Draco grasped ahold of her hand, and placed a kiss to her knuckles.
"Did we win?" Hermione joked, and she could just picture the dark scowl on Draco's features—she didn't have it in her, to shift her eyes in order to see him properly. She was content to be enveloped by mint, and she picked up a few other scents: a woodsy, earth scent (James), cinnamon and leather (Sirius), parchment, freshly mown grass, and rain (Remus), and the remnants of Lily's flowery scent—she must have been here earlier. There were a few others, but Hermione couldn't be arsed to try and decipher them.
"Witch, you're going to be the end of me, you know that?" Draco responded, the mild irritation definitely present and accounted for.
White spots danced in front of her vision, swirling to the left in a neat line, before exploding apart from each other, and snaking to the right, to a silent beat she was not privy to. Eventually they remained fixed all across her vision, fading in and out, getting harsher and softer as they pleased.
"Why did you do it?" Draco asked after a few moments, and Hermione strained her ears, ensuring that the others were in fact asleep.
"Because I love you," Hermione mumbled, "there's an itch on the tip of my nose, be a dear, and scratch it for me, please." The persistent itch had begun a few moments ago, and she was expending enough energy speaking. She barely felt it as his nail lightly scratched the tip of her nose, it did go away though, so that was nice.
"I would prefer if you remained in one piece, thank you very much, not getting a nasty cut, breaking your ankle, and obtaining a concussion from a bludger unnecessarily," Draco said, tone harsh, but she could tell that he was simply worried. A ghost of a smile brushed her lips.
"Not unnecessary. Protect you. Mine," Hermione got out, the white spots were getting bigger and more insistent now, the darkness fighting—struggling to keep them leashed.
"Hermione," Draco whispered gently, and trickles of warmth spread from her chest, she liked the way he said her name, she never got tired of hearing it, never. Especially when he said it like that.
"Mine," Hermione breathed, and then the spots grew to be unbearable, and she got lost in the land of dreams again.