…The floor crowds with tiny shards of crystal and large pieces of china, until there’s no safe space to walk.
And in some wild fever dream, the two of them hop down off the table. Laugh and scream and jump around in it like they’re splashing through puddles in the rain. Jump until they can hardly breathe.
Until they’re hunched over, gasping and red-faced.
Hermione closes her eyes. Heaves out smiling breaths at the ceiling. Then she shuffles her way through the mess, feeling sharp edges prick at her ankles and not caring a bit. She kicks aside the debris next to the wall and collapses into a seat against it.
Malfoy joins her moments later, sliding down and leaning his head back against the stone.
Together, their panting slows. Fades to quiet, simultaneous breaths.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, foot playing with half a teacup. “Destroying things.”
“Yes,” she answers instantly. She can’t think clearly in this moment. Doesn’t want to. She hasn’t felt a release like this since long before the war.
And for a good ten minutes or so, the two of them sit in complete silence. Comfortable with it. Not feeling the need to break it, unlike everything else.
A couple weeks ago, the lovely Onyx&Elm came to me asking if I can illustrate a particular scene (ch. 23) from her fic, Breath Mints / Battle Scars. This is what I came up with. Hopefully it manages to convey the cathartic breathlessness of that moment Draco and Hermione shared.
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