"so we're both stuck in the ocean
not quite what it should be
drifting apart i can't help it
a million flashing lights take me under
find yourself to me / hold on"
-'lung full of light' by parades (2010)
With a pinch of anxiety in her gut and no shoes on her feet, Hermione walked toe-heel, toe-heel, toe-heel down the wooden staircase. The Burrow was tall - nearly too tall for her liking - and its stairs were relentlessly creaky, crying out beneath every other step she took. She moved in a brisk fashion, knowing that she would cause a bit of noise regardless of her pace, until she reached the ground floor of the Weasley's home. From the wall across the living room, their funny clock hummed and clicked as all of the hands - adorned with portraits of each member of the family - pointed to BED . Hermione smiled at the confirmation of solitude as she tip-toed across the rest of the home until she reached the door, then slipping into her sandals. She opened the door and hopped through the threshold, pausing once she reached the other side to secure the door with a nearly inaudible click .
Hermione followed the narrow pathway from the Burrow's front and into the tall grass, listening to how the sound of her steps, her feet passing over the soft rush and creeping bent, faded into the melodic rushing of the River Otter. The mid-summer sun was still low in the sky, just barely peeking through the English oak and beech trees. A thin layer of dew saturated the soles of her shoes, early morning air crisp in her lungs. As she approached the water, a mature pair of common kingfishers flew silently overhead and parallel to the flow in a blur of orange and teal. Hermione watched them as she, too, followed the waterway south.
After the night's self indulgent sulking session, she was determined to actually do something with all the open ended energy and emotion (primarily guilt, and maybe just a hint of longing); she was going to contact Draco. Owling him was out of the question - no location, no bird - and the concept of attempting the Floo network was similarly a joke, so she had settled on the third, more precarious option. Though Hermione had sent a patronus message once or twice before, it was not quite a familiar magic, and reminded her primarily of the war, but it would have to do. She was growing pathetically desperate as the weeks went on, as her dreams continued with him wordlessly present - it was driving her mad. She stepped along the streamside, mind reeling with near-tangible memories as she wandered down the thin dirt trail. When had she been happiest with him? It only felt right to choose something related to Draco, the recipient of the message, but the task was more difficult than she had anticipated. Hermione thought hard, wondering if their fleeting moments in the tower were their happiest, but quickly decided against it. She wrinkled her nose, not wanting to touch the subject again in the slightest. Undoubtedly, they had shared more emotionally intimate moments than that in their dreamscape.
It dawned on her then beside the riverbank: the most elated she had ever been in his presence was upon finding out he had successfully preserved her wand. She had been so sure that it had been forgotten, this partly being the reason behind her hostility, but her assumption had been disproven as soon as Draco had trekked through the snow; there at the base of the large tree had been her wand, unharmed and whole.
a lovely little miracle.
thought i had lost it when we apparated.
you deserve your magic, hermione.
That would definitely do.
" Expecto Patronum! " The blue-tinted energy burst from the tip of her wand, twisting through the air and taking its animal form. The otter jumped excitedly in small circles, bounding from place to place until resting in attention for Hermione's message. "Find Draco Malfoy, wherever he is, and deliver the following message," She took a breath, feeling a bit awkward as she spoke. "Please let me in, Draco. There's so much more to say, but I'll start with I'm sorry." And with that, the patronus was off, running atop the river then disappearing into a cartoonish haze of cool blue. Hermione peered at where it had been just moments before, the tall grass swaying in remembrance.
Draco Malfoy was muted, made of earth tones and stoicism. He reminded Hermione of the Black Lake that sat beside Hogwarts - a body of dark and muddled water wading just above a world of soft green light. Though he wore an ever so convincing mask of disinterest and narcissism, it became easily transparent with practice. She wasn't going to let him hide and rot away.
Draco was nearing the end of his shower when he thought he heard a strange noise from within the pipes, projecting from either the faucet or drain. He stepped out of the warmth, shaking the water from his hair then wiping the droplets from his face. Before twisting the valve to lessen the shower pressure, he reached up to face the shower head to the wall, intent on getting a better listen - and that, he did. The thin pipes leading up to the shower head began to rattle and quake, the sound causing Draco to back up against the far wall and widen his eyes in fear. Without adjusting a thing, the water pressure had returned in full force, beating against then steaming off of the seafoam green tile.
Small, illuminated flecks of blue began to fall with the water, strangely pooling on top of the drain without going down. The glowing puddle expanded, the edge of it nearly lapping at the tips of Draco's toes. perhaps this is my cue to get out… But before he could even push back the frosted glass door, an otter - small and fast - erupted from the center of the pool with a cheery squeak, winding around Draco's ankles then bouncing up the tiled wall. He immediately identified it to be a patronus, stomach dropping in the process despite the stilling pipes and dissipating water. Did this mean the dementors were there for him? Had the Ministry changed their mind on leaving him be? but why would there be a bloody patronus? Chest growing tight, Draco roughly tugged the sliding door open, stepping out, and reaching for his wand, then towel.
"Please let me in, Draco. There's so much more to say, but I'll start with I'm sorry."
Delivered in Granger's voice, the message echoed throughout the bathroom. His panic came to an abrupt end, but lingered in his pulse. Draco dropped his towel, setting his wand back on top of the counter where it had originally been, and let out a tremendous sigh of relief. He felt embarrassingly naked then, retrieving the towel from the floor in a flash and securing it around his waist.
Never before had he ever seen, let alone heard of, a patronus being used like that, for communication - but of course his first introduction to the magic would be through Hermione Granger. she would be able to pull off something like that.
"Could you repeat that?" he asked the small creature rather pathetically. "Could you let me hear that again - please?" But it wouldn't comply, squeaking once then disappearing down the drain. Draco sighed, trying his best to replay the sound of her voice in his head and commit it to memory as he leaned back into the shower to secure the valve, sure to shut off the water. He toweled off the remaining moisture from his body and hair, not bothering with his misty mirrored reflection, then slipped into something casual - a pair of loose fitting trousers and a cable knit sweater, followed by thick wool socks and a pair of water repellent trainers (Impervius-charmed). He had long given up the suit shtick, quickly finding out that 1. it did not matter what he wore around the Scottish town he resided within, and 2. he no longer gave a fuck about upkeeping appearances, not when there was nothing to uphold. He exited the bathroom and in six paces reached the cottage's front door, nabbing his rain jacket from the wall-mounted coat rack. Slipping his arms into each sleeve, Draco observed the texture of the coat, purchased from a small muggle shop in town. The visual texture reminded him of candle wax and caused water to bead just the same, but felt rough to his touch rather than oily. He ran his hand over the opposite sleeve, brushing down towards the ground, then grasped the door handle with the same hand to reveal the overcast sun and sand.
He descended the wooden steps without touching the side rail, instead pushing up either of his sleeves. Draco ever-so-slightly smiled despite himself, trying not to ruminate upon the fact that he was still on her mind. It had been an awful past few weeks - four and a half, to be exact. After his mother had been killed, his father had altogether abandoned the country and his only son. Though it was the expected outcome, Draco had not been prepared for the prevailing silence that had encompassed his entire life.
He walked along the beach and thought of his and Hermione's time in the tower - the last time he had seen her in the waking world - hands deep in his pockets. For some reason - couldn't possibly imagine what - he had been completely compelled to kiss her. Alone in the quiet corridor, it had just been the two of them, side by side. Lightly kicking at the stone wall, he had wondered if she would break the neutral silence before he figured out what exactly he wanted to say.
"I want to formally thank you, Malfoy." Granger had said, bold enough to look him in the eye as he looked up from the tiled floor. "For everything, really. You're very brave, you know."
And just like that, something had shifted inside of Draco. brave. Coming from anyone else, he might have scoffed and accused them of patronizing language. To her? He hadn't an idea of what to say.
"I truly don't know what I would have done if you hadn't risked it all at the manor. Your aunt probably would have offed m-"
"Don't suggest that," Draco had stiffened. "That wouldn't have happened."
"You don't know-"
"I do." And he had meant it, too, from the core of his soul. "It never would have happened."
Then Blaise and Theo had showed up to deliver Draco the worst news of his life, forcing him to dive headfirst back into the tragedy that he thought had already concluded. He didn't remember leaving Granger, and tried his hardest not to think of how soft her skin had felt beneath his hands and, briefly, his lips. He had been with her one moment, then without her the next as he found himself scrambling to the ground, the rubble of what had been the greenhouse sharp against his knees. " MOVE! " Draco had shouted to the healer, whose identity he was still unsure. Collecting his mother into his arms, he allowed himself to exert a shaky sob.
"No, no, no," he cried, holding her close to his chest. "Mum,"
"My Draco," Narcissa's voice had barely been there, the two words drawn out as she used the last of her energy to utter them. Her blood had saturated the glass and stone around where she had been thrown, soaking into Draco's shirt and pants as they swayed in their final embrace. She had died then, breathless as he cradled her in his arms.
It had all simply been too much to bear.
He didn't want to think about or face any of it: the war, loss, what he had and hadn't done, her . So he had left it all behind, it seemed like the obvious thing to do at the time, but leaving could only do so much when he was inexplicably tethered to one of the things that haunted him most. He began to stay awake, though it was not sheer willpower that kept him going; Wideye potions and Invigoration draughts had assisted him immensely over the first through third weeks of his self imposed isolation. For up to fifty-two hours at a time - his personal best - Draco would wander around his room with a book or three to keep his mind stimulated - to keep his memories and dreams, and her, away. He would start in his bed, then move to the bathroom, after which he would find himself in the armchair that sat beside the fireplace, then perhaps perched at his desk. Sometimes, when he really felt awful, Draco would sprawl out on the floor in an undignified manner, splayed out on his back with his arms suspending a book above his face. He was quite convinced that if he continued to read, the contents would pile up tall enough to cast a vast shadow over his lingering thoughts of Hermione.
But now she was, in a way, back as she incessantly echoed throughout his consciousness. Her message was on replay in his mind, the sweet sound of her voice melding into the salty waves that crashed to his right. The sun graciously made an appearance through the thin white clouds, shining down to warm Draco's face and the sand below. She had once asked Draco if he intended to be brave - though in a much different context than the one they currently faced - and he had, then proved so by following through. Perhaps this time, too, he would choose to be courageous. because that went so well last time, as though everything didn't get fucked up regardless. Despite Draco's gloominess, the sun stayed out and the clouds moved away; he couldn't ignore the small flicker of hope that had ignited within his chest in spite of his irrational irritation. And he knew then, as he walked down the beach, that it didn't matter how hard his head was against the notion of a reunion - his heart was going to let her back in.
He went to bed early that night, blinds drawn and blanket tucked beneath his chin.
Finally, Hermione had tangible access to their dreamscape once more.
"Draco?" She called down the long stone hallway, her hand wrapped around a door handle, momentarily pleased at how tangible it felt in her grasp.
"Hermione?" Her name sounded like a form of relief as it spilled from his lips. "Hermione, can you hear me?" Rapidly, she pushed through the threshold to follow the echo of his voice toward a room on the right side of the wall, finding him on the floor in front of a fireplace. He appeared frail as he sat in the orange light and hugged his knees to his chest, though he still wore a formal, well-kept dress shirt and pants. Behind him was a worn, brown leather couch decorated with throw pillows and an ancient afghan blanket. Before sitting beside Draco on the floor, Hermione grabbed the blanket and draped it around his hunched shoulders.
"Hi there," She breathed, bringing a hand up to tuck a few blonde strands behind his ear. "What's happening?"
Without hesitation, he turned to look at his old foe with wide, watery eyes and whispered, "Something is wrong. I can't exactly place why, but I feel dreadful. Things don't feel right."
She nodded, accepting the answer as she looked into his eyes. "I'm sorry I wasn't there." Draco sniffed in response, pushing his head into the blanket to let out a few muffled cries. Worriedly, Hermione stretched an arm around him to pull him close to her chest, resting her chin on top of his head. "I'm so sorry, Dra — "
A deafening crash ricocheted Hermione out of her dream and into a waking panic. She looked around the room - no Ginny - then out the window and into the garden, frowning almost immediately as she had leaned forward to look. The culprits were unsurprising, the usual suspects: George, Ginny, Harry, and Ron. because who else would it be? The four of them had their backs to the Burrow, fronts to the field where George was conducting a makeshift firework display. The timing of it all was killing Hermione, rage filling in the space left behind by her then faded trepidation. There was no way that she had been ripped away from him again in a time of need. Her anger engulfed the guilt conjured by memories of Fred and childish ideas of loyalty - he had let her back in, and she, again, had been taken away.
how absolutely fucking foolish, she thought as she ripped the blanket from her torso. of all things, this is what invigortes the most emotion. Stepping from the bed and into her slippers, she swiftly pushed upwards and out of her bedroom. She was fuming by the time she reached the ground floor, irrationality nearly taking over as she stomped outside and approached the group.
"You all do realize it's not even half past seven, right?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms to contain the wrath of her irritation. The yard was littered with empty bottles and broomsticks flung every which way in the unkempt grass.
Ron turned around to give a dopey, intoxicated grin. "Morning, 'Mione."
"Well, look who's finally awake!" George quipped, waving briefly as he made his way from the group and into the field. He was holding a cylindrical shaped object, presumably another firework, and his wand in one hand, a beer in the other. "Don't fret about the time, we made sure to put silencing charms on the important rooms."
She scoffed, projecting her voice. "Did you just insinuate what I think you did?"
"Good morning, Hermione." Harry said, his voice a mixture of cheerful and sheepish, trying to break the faux tension. His arm was loosely draped around his girlfriend's waist. Hermione stepped forwards towards the couple and Ron, finding her place beside them.
"To be fair, that was Ginny's job!" George shouted from his spot in the distance.
"Shit," Ginny hissed, leaning into Harry's side. "That is my fault. Sorry, Hermione."
"Don't be," Ron said abruptly, a slight wobble to his voice. "She spends too much time up there anyway."
"You're not her mother, she can do as she wants." Ginny rolled her eyes, side-eying Harry's silence before elbowing him in the ribs.
" Ow! What was, oh… Gin!" Harry whined, stretching out the sound of each vowel. "Not fair! I haven't slept in ages!"
Ginny patted his chest with the palm of her hand as she repeated her apology. "Sorry we woke you, 'Mione."
Hermione uncrossed her arms and nodded her thanks, still certainly upset. "It's alright. Good morning, Harry."
Behind them, the Burrow's door creaked open. Both Hermione and Ginny turned to find Arthur standing outside on the dusty welcome mat.
"If you know what's good for you," Mr. Weasley looked past Hermione and at the others, mainly the eldest of the bunch. "You'll put a stop to this before your mother finishes with her shower."
"Last one!" George called from afar, shooting his dad a thumbs up as he began to jog back to the group. "Thor's Thunder Cracker, best of the best." Arthur shut the door behind him just as the firecracker exploded in the sky, a burst of neon orange and blue that reminded Hermione of the kingfishers from the morning prior.
The five of them made their way back indoors, chattering all the way. Hermione slid her shoes off as they entered the home, only half listening to the constant conversation. She wondered how they all had so much energy, if insomnia was really the only thing to blame, if Draco was still cornered by despair in his dreams.
"I say we do some debriefing - it's been ages." Ron said, sitting in his father's armchair. Hermione thought his voice to be far too cheery for end-of-wartime updates.
"You're not tired?" she grimaced, reluctantly following the group into the sitting room. Agitation sat like a rock in her stomach, prominent and unmoving; she was in absolutely no mood to converse.
"If only," Ginny sighed, patting the space on the couch between her and George. "You should come sit for a bit. They'll tire themselves out eventually."
i don't think i can handle even a second more of the ground floor, ginny.
Hermione sat regardless.
It wasn't so bad at first, for around five minutes. Harry, sitting on a misplaced stool, told her of Tonks miraculous recovery, that she and her son, Teddy, had been reunited a fortnight ago.
"Can't imagine how they're doing without Lupin," Ron shuddered.
"Probably about as well as we're doing without Fred." George spoke matter-of-factly, tipping his head back to down the rest of the beer bottle's contents.
"You know, Fred wasn't the only one who was killed that night after the battle. The explosion took out more of theirs than ours, which is ironic since it was Dolohov's doing." Ron took another swig of his beer, leaning down to grab the cardboard carton at his feet that held the rest of the alcohol, then passing it to his brother. "Makes me a bit sick when I think about it too much, Fred dying with all of them ."
"It's all bad, regardless of who died. Hell, I even feel bad for some of them - like Malfoy." Harry said, accepting a beer passed along by George.
Hermione felt her face grow pale as she rejected the offer of a drink. "What?"
"Yeah, you didn't hear?" Ron said. "His mum was on the other side of the blast, near the greenhouse. Crazy part is she was trying to recover Snape's body from in-there when it happened, that's what dad said anyway. He was already long gone by that point."
oh, fuck. Something was wrong, very wrong.
"No, I," Hermione cleared her throat. "I did not hear about that at all beyond… beyond Fred." She felt sick then, bile building at the base of her esophagus. narcissa is dead. draco's mom is dead. not injured, not taken, dead. The trepidation from before surged once more, this time rising along with the painful rage. Vision blurry and hands unsteady, Hermione tried her hardest to keep it all contained from her spot beside the rest.
"That's why you ought to spend more time down here, with us! Stay in the know and all that." Good intentions be damned, Ron really had a knack for interjecting the wrong things at the most terrible of times.
Hermione stood up, anger bubbling. "I'd rather not sit here and waste time trading ghost stories. It's over. It happened. It's finished."
"Bit harsh," Ron grumbled, sinking back into the armchair.
"No, you're being a bit harsh, Ronald!" Hermione erupted. "What do you even mean, that it was crazy for Narcissa to be retrieving the dead? That Snape was already long gone? Do you even understand what you're saying? You sound like a moron ."
"Really harsh!" George snickered from the couch.
"He bloody deserves it." said Ginny definitively, glaring at her brothers. "It's not funny, George."
"They're not ghost stories," Ron blurted out, sloppily defensive. "You of all people should know that, you saw what happened. Oh wait," His eyes narrowed. "You weren't there."
Hermione ignored the sting that accompanied his words as they hit her ears. "Well they are ghost stories when you're treating them as such, like something to just talk about." She pointed a finger at him. "You have no right to speak of the dead like that, no right at all. Imagine someone daring to say the same about Fred-"
"Do not," Ron warned, moving to his feet.
"Exactly my point!" Hermione scoffed. "And it's even worse, the fact you know it's cruel."
"I say it's time for a break," Harry interjected, standing up between the two of them. He wobbled on the balls of his feet, arms out and ready. "Ron, mate, let's get you to bed."
"It's midday; I'm not tired, and not done with this conversation."
"Your bedroom then, please," Harry pleaded with his best friend, motioning towards the doorway. "Let's go."
"And what about her?" Ron challenged. "You don't think she's being a traitorous-"
" Enough! " Ginny roared, joining the rest to stand. "That is enough , Ron!"
Heavy footsteps thundered down the winding wooden staircase, two sets of two.
"How many times," Molly hollered as she rounded the last few steps to the home's bottom level, her husband right on her heels. "How many times must we have this conversation?" Hermione looked down, her face and ears suddenly flushed with pink. "No shouting in the living room, no shouting at one another, no drunken, sleep-deprived bickering - none of it! " The matriarch's words reverberated off the walls, her eyes wild and impatient. Behind her, Arthur wore an expression that plainly read told-ya-so .
"I'm sorry, Molly." Hermione murmured, but Mrs. Weasley seemed more focused on her biological children. George put his hands up in surrender, an ere of genuine fear on his face.
"For once in my life, mum," he pleaded, though there was some jest in his tone. "It wasn't me." Ginny and Hermione nodded in unison, backing him up when Molly turned to them for answers.
"I don't give a damn who or what it was," Molly hissed. "It's finished, now disperse!"
Harry and Ginny filed out first, slipping past the elder couple to retreat upstairs. Ron was still huffing and puffing, looking back and forth between his mum and Hermione a few times, then making the final decision to follow suit. The last to stand, George stretched his arms out wide and let out a groan.
"Bedtime!" He declared, nodding to his parents and Hermione. "Sorry again for waking you, 'Mione."
"You never even apologized on the first go around." She grumbled, weakly waving as he followed the other three up the staircase with a shrug, leaving her alone on the dreaded ground floor with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. They looked at her kindly, though Hermione was certain there was a hint of pity mixed into that tenderness.
"Hermione," Molly said, her voice much warmer than it had been a minute before. "It's very good to see you downstairs. Don't let their rowdiness keep you from enjoying the morning, there's still a good chunk of it left - and beyond that, the rest of the day!"
"Good to see you as well, Mrs. Weasley." she said sheepishly, accepting a hug from the elder woman who was then off to make breakfast as though the conflict never happened. Hermione looked to Mr. Weasley, finding his curious eyes already waiting for hers. He gestured with his hand for her to come forward, pulling his wand out to cast a silent Accio charm. From somewhere else in the room, a thick parcel came zipping through the air to land in his palm, which he then held out for Hermione to take. On the front of the envelope, her name was written in a beautiful, cursive script - bold black ink then traced by a stunning silver that accented things in just the right way. Immediately, she knew who had sent the letter.
Of course it had been him.
"This came for you yesterday evening. I took it upon myself to perform all the necessary detection spells and whatnot." He said as she tentatively took the letter from his splayed hand. "I didn't go prying, so don't go on worrying about that - 'just thought it best to be safe." Hermione nodded, noticing the weight of the envelope in her hands but not yet daring to flip it over.
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley." She gave him a genuine smile, almost grinning. "I appreciate that, really, and the timing as well."
He smiled back knowingly. "It's no trouble, really."
They parted ways then, Arthur going to find his wife in the kitchen and Hermione quickly finding the door, not bothering with her shoes. The early morning breeze felt tinted with magic as it danced through her hair and across her skin. She made her way back across the lawn and towards the Weasley's elongated picnic table, making note of the air's dewey scent as her eyes wandered across the parcel, finally flipping it over. The opposite side of the envelope had been hand-colored a Slytherin green, with flecks of silver scribbled along the edges. It was evident that Draco had spent time on this letter - time on a gift for her . For the first time in what felt like eons, Hermione's heart began to flutter. Hermione smiled at the unapologetic craftsmanship, running her finger along the paper and taking a calming breath before she dug her index finger beneath the seal.
She ripped the paper as best she could, taking her time to carefully unbind the muggle packaging. Once inside, she found two separate things. The first item she pulled out was a twine-bound stack of postcards, many of them being from small towns and sights along some sea. Without freeing them, Hermione flipped through them and peeked at each design. They were all muggle photographs, frozen in place the way she preferred - the moving, looping images that wizards developed still caused her uneasiness, even after all her years in their world. She placed the stack down, mind reeling, then looked back into the envelope. The second item was a letter.
Hermione stared at it within the packaging for a moment in an attempt to prepare herself for its contents. He had written the message on muggle paper, a flat piece of stationary folded in half to fit the envelope just as the drawing had been. Trying her best to remain present in the current moment, Hermione took a breath and observed how the Earth felt between her toes, how the wood of the picnic table had warmed beneath her, how the air felt against her tired skin, until she had finally been able to even out her breathing. Then with courage, she looked at the note.
I'll be seeing you tonight.
-DM
"God damn it," she sighed, exacerbated again by the timing of it all. She sat down on the bench with her back to the picnic table, note pressed between her hands and forehead as she leaned forward, elbows propped up upon her knees. tonight will be different, She promised herself, and him. tonight, we'll be together again.
That, she was sure.
The scene was immediately familiar: a snowy clearing in an old growth forest, the two of them silent, their imminent individual departures looming as Hermione repacked her infinitely deep satchel.
"Well, where are you going?" She asked, just as she had the first time around. She secured the bag shut, pushing off one of her knees to stand upright. Draco wasn't fidgeting as much as he had been the first go around, instead defaulting to a far away gaze.
"I really don't know," he responded earnestly. "I didn't know back then either, you know."
Hermione nodded. "I assumed as much." There was an unusual amount of space between the two of them, much more than there would typically be while dreaming. "That's why I told you to stay safe."
"And then disappeared," Draco snapped his fingers. "Like that."
"Well of course I did!" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "That was before-"
"Before what? Couldn't you feel it too?" There was a vulnerable edge to Draco's voice, his tone desperate and words wavering ever so slightly. He stepped towards Hermione, closing the gap between them, as he reached out to cup her jaw with one hand and the back of her neck with the other. "It was before we had spoken on it, I know. But please, Hermione. Tell me you could feel it too."
Heart hammering against her chest, her hands moved to grab at Draco's waist, then nodding as she spoke. "Yes, yes I could feel it, but Draco you must understand-"
"Why must you keep discounting it, this?
"Will you quit interrupting me?" she barked, pulling back a touch. "I'm not… Well, I'm rather analytical, you know. It's not easy, putting my heart before my head to take an uncertain leap, but I quite often get there when the challenge presents itself." Her hands traveled upwards to slip into his, pulling them away from her face and neck, then holding them between their chests.
"Because backing down renders a challenge pointless."
"Or rather marks a point of contemplation." Hermione said as she withdrew, their fingertips lingering for a moment before she completely separated to walk in wide circles around him.
"How do you mean?" He was smiling as he asked, seemingly content with the situation.
"It's sort of like reading a difficult text. You have to put it down and take breaks to digest what's going on within it, instead of just railroading through it." she explained as she continued around Draco - each of her steps finding the indent in the snow from the one before to create an orderly loop of dashes. "That's how you miss the important bits, the content that gives you pause. Because it's a part of it all, the mystery of why you're not understanding, or feeling a certain sort of way. There's always a cause. And just because someone backs away from something, that doesn't mean they'll never come back to it, or meet it again in a different form."
"You may be the only person alive who lectures others while dreaming." Draco teased from his place in the center.
"I'm merely explaining," she corrected, a smile playing at her lips as she halted her motion. "You asked me to, after all, so the aforementioned lecture would be your own fault regardless." She returned back to Draco, who reached out for her the second she started to move. Weaving their fingers back together, she gazed up at him lovingly. "I'm not discounting us, Draco. My feelings have led me astray before, and the timing of it all, I had to be careful." Perching up onto the tips of her toes, Hermione slotted her nose beside his and lowered her voice to a whisper. "There was no time to waste,"
"No time with you is a waste," he whispered back, capturing her hips tight between his palms and her mouth firmly with his own. Without hesitation, her arms came up to loop around his neck, anchoring her body to his. The snow around them seemed to dissipate without leaving behind any meltwater as they embraced, revealing miraculously green grass and the sweet smell of spring. Draco pulled back to look at her, drinking in the way her mouth naturally curved up when relaxed, how sure she appeared even with closed eyes, arms intimate and secure around him.
"Stay with me here, please - just for a little while longer." he begged, holding her close to his middle. Hermione obliged, opening her eyes to nod before coming down from her tiptoes, then resting her cheek against his chest. Eventually, it all melted away.
Although achingly awake, Hermione felt more hopeful than she had in months.