𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨

chapter nineteen

Thursday October 1st

"Are you alright, Granger?"

It was two in the morning and there were bags beneath his eyes, sitting twiddling the strange pen Professor Evergreen had "given" him between his fingers.

Draco heard her sniffle.

His pleas were gentle, soothing to her shaking bones, "Talk to me."

A whimper in response.

"Please, Granger."

She sighed a broken breath and her fleece bedsheets shifted, the sound of paw pads hitting the cold floorboards which she'd carpeted with grey Sherpa.

"Can you come here? Please?" She blubbered, Draco watching as she harshly rubbed at her temples with her fingertips through their little hole in the wall.

His chest fluttered, and he stood from his bed with a rapid heart. He shut his door quietly behind him and as he placed his palm on the knob of her door, he heard the lock click, and it slid open with ease.

She was curled in ball when he entered, too shy to show her face as it was covered in salty tears, eyes puffy and pink lips quivering.

"Look at me," he whispered with silent steps, sitting next to her on the mattress as an orange Crookshanks watched curiously from the corner, body splayed on a pile of blankets she'd made him next to his food and water bowls.

Hermione shook her head no, face buried between her knees.

"Look at me, Granger," he repeated himself, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, nails rimmed with blue paint, "Which one was it?"

She slowly lifted her face with the help of a pale finger beneath her chin, and soon enough he was drying her tears with his thumbs, her jaw secure in his calloused palms.

He hated admitting it, how beautiful she was when she cried.

"It's not new, it's just one that I haven't told you about," she sniffled, staring up at him with dewy eyes, "I don't want — I don't think I can talk about it. Not right now."

Draco huffed in both frustration and understanding, pulling her blanket further over her torso as she was shivering, "Is it one of your memories, or a fabricated one?"

"Fabricated," she answered with immediate certainty, changing the subject, "Can you stay?"

His breath locked in his lungs, and his heart threw away the key. She'd never asked him to stay before.

"If you want me to," he whispered, blush creeping onto his cheeks as she shifted further into the mattress, close to the wall on the right side.

He was about to lay on top of her sheets when she lifted them, glancing at him with a sense of trust.

Vulnerability.

With a nervous breath he slid under her covers, as still as stone with the warmth of her body besides him. 

"Do you want a sleeping draught?" He asked.

"No," Hermione shook her head, resting her head on his shoulder, "No, I don't think I'll need one."

............

The smell of cinnamon filled his nostrils as he shifted awake, only to find his shoulder was utterly numb.

Her head still rested in between his upper arm and chest, and his hand was wrapped around her waist on the bare skin between her shirt and shorts.