Hogwarts had fucking outed them.
Of all the people to stash in the bottom of the lake for Draco to rescue, they had chosen her.
She was wet and shivering, pale as a sheet, balled up in his arms.
Lucius was somewhere in the audience. Reporters snapped photos rapturously. Draco could feel Pansy’s eyes burning holes into his back from somewhere in the stands. It was too late to feign indifference. To pretend it had all been a fluke, that Draco had merely rescued the first person he could get his hands on in the Merfolk Colony.
Hermione’s icy fingers dug into his sides.
“You’re safe,” he murmured against her damp forehead. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
Pomfrey bustled over. Blankets stacked in her arms. Draco wrapped one around Hermione’s shoulders as Pomfrey cast a Warming Spell. He rubbed Hermione’s arms over the blanket.
They’d left her down there for hours.
Hermione’s eyes darted up. “You can’t.”
“How did they even know…” He stopped short, aware they were in public.
Hermione merely answered: “The Room of Requirement.”
After receiving an earful from his father, his ex, and a Howler from Narcissa, Draco slipped through the stone archway into their little sanctuary.
She was already there, bathed in firelight, cheeks flushed with colour again. She wore a thick knit jumper two sizes too big, his Slytherin one, and knee-socks. A textbook lay open in front of her.
“Rough day?” she teased, but he noted the tightness in her eyes. Hermione wore her heart on her sleeve and Draco knew every heartbeat.
Before she could reply, he cupped her chin and kissed her hard on the mouth. She slipped into his lap, and he held her tightly, like they might steal her away again.
His stomach lurched, remembering.
“Better now.” She kissed the hollow beneath his jaw. “The Gillyweed worked.”
He didn’t want to talk about the second task. “I don’t need the accolade or the Galleons.”
“We’re so close to winning. You can’t give up now.”
“Stop.” He envisioned her ghostly figure, curls plastered to trembling arms, the knobs of her spine like pale marbles in the low-back swimsuit.
She nudged his cheek, meeting his gaze. “If you forfeit, I lose too.”
She was right, of course. Draco’s name had been drawn from the goblet, but Hermione had been with him every step of the way. Her cleverness had not only kept Draco alive, but also at the forefront of the competition.
When he didn’t respond, she added, “I’ll help Viktor win if you back out.”
“Granger,” he growled. She knew how Draco felt about Viktor and his stupid moony eyes that did nothing but track Hermione all day long. Low blow.
“The tournament is ours.” She clasped his hand. “It’s just as much my victory as it is yours.”
What could he say to that?
He’d never expected Granger to lead him to the dragons the night before the first task. Weasley had told her. And she’d told him. He didn’t know why she did it, but it shifted something between them. A tension that sparked last year and imploded into this unfathomable, precious partnership.
He was pretty sure he loved her.
And Malfoy men never said no to the women they loved.
“I’m assuming that’s research for the next task?” He motioned towards her textbook.
“Duelling spells. I’ll practice with you.”
He brushed his knuckles against her cheek and lowered his gaze, resigned. “Whatever you want, Granger.”
(593 words, photo prompt from twitter)
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