1 hour – prompts used: 'clover' 'smile' 'dagger' 'light' 'flame'
Hermione used to smile. She used to smile a lot. She used to laugh and tease and scrunch her nose up in delight but she didn't do that anymore. Not since the war.
Draco had become friends with the Golden Trio and their lot, surprising everyone when he and Ron could be seen talking and laughing, but he'd never managed to crack the walls of Hermione Granger. He knew that she still had nightmares; their whole group knew she still had them but nobody ever knew what it was about.
Some speculated that it was about the cursed dagger and the moment it etched the filthy, degrading term into her arm whilst others claimed that it could be the green light that was erupted from your wand when using an Unforgivable. She saw a lot of them during the war.
Draco didn't know for sure and as he stared into the flame of his muggle lighter, he wandered if he ever would know. He didn't want to rush her; he didn't want to pressure her. Right now, all he wanted was a hint of the old Gryffindor lioness. So, cornering her in Herbology the next day, he had a whole speech planned out but completely screwed it up when Longbottom started rapid questioning him on the uses of clover in medicines.
He panicked, moving his head back and forth as he tried to decide what to do, and ended up tripping over a bag of soil. He squealed a girly sound and grasped a table cloth for support which only served to pull down another bag of soil on top of him.
He didn't care though.
He didn't care that Neville, Ron, Harry and Ginny were trying to help him up as they laughed. He didn't care the Professor Sprout was panicking about the amount of unusable soil on his clothes. He didn't care that a bunch of Ravenclaws were staring at him down their noses.
Because Hermione was smiling.
That was all that mattered to him really.