Draco and Crookshanks were stretched out over the duvet while Hermione got ready for bed.
“You really mustn’t scare Harry and Ron like that.” She said perching on the edge of the bed while removing her bobby pins. “They’ve been through a lot and they’re still quite sensitive.”
Draco raised a brow in response.
“Though…” Hermione continued. “Ron’s shrieking was rather nostalgic, actually.”
She brushed her fingers through her hair, scouring for any wayward hairpins before turning to face Draco.
“Malfoy… Can I ask you something.” She said in a soft inquisitive voice.
“I suspect you’re going to.” Draco said, pushing up from his elbows to a sitting position.
“Can I touch you?” Hermione asked in a voice just above a whisper.
Draco’s brow arched to meet his hairline, a lascivious grin spread across his face. “Have I died and gone to heaven?” He purred.
Hermione flushed scarlet. “Not like that!” She gasped, her brows furrowing. “Look- nevermind. I was just curious.”
Draco raised, what Hermione thought, was a placating hand, then he said. “Go on, Granger.” His hand remained outstretched, his face unreadable. “Before I change my mind.”
Slowly, Hermione raised her own hand to meet his. Though she knew that logically it would happen this way, she was still surprised to see her fingertips pass through his, touching air when she thought that perhaps she might feel him. “Oh.” She breathed, as she continued to move her palm through his. “You’re so cold.” She said, noticing how the temperature dropped several degrees while their hands intertwined.
Draco pulled away first, staring down at his own hand in silent disbelief, as if he too, were expecting to feel the connection that had been quietly creeping between them these past few weeks.
“Yes, well.” He said through a sharp exhale. “I don’t feel anything.” And he stood, striding several paces before Hermione asked him where he was going. He turned back to her and shrugged.
“Thought I might go haunt the west wing… perhaps rattle some chains and groan ominously-”
“Stay.” Hermione interrupted, her eyes widened as though she hadn’t meant to say it aloud. She looked down at the duvet and ran a finger over the embroidery. “That is, if you don’t mind. I’m still not used to how quiet it is out here and I’ve grown quite used to you hovering around.”
Draco folded his arms over his chest. “Hovering?” He said with a derisive edge to his voice.
Hermione patted the bedspread and Draco drifted slowly back to her.
“Alright Granger.” He said, taking up the spare pillow. He looked at her sideways through his lashes. “But if there’s a hint of snoring, I’m outta here.”
Hermione huffed and he tilted his head to face her.
“The afterlife has done nothing for your manners, you know?” She said softly, her eyelids already heavy. Draco offered her a small smile as her eyes slowly drifted closed.
After a few beats he rolled over to face her. Watching as her breaths grew slower as she fell into a deeper sleep.
His chest fluttered briefly and he cursed the absurdity of being plunged into such a state of liminality, still with the capacity to feel. He examined her features, now relaxed in sleep. She was rather pretty when her face wasn’t pulled into a scowl or a snarl; the light freckles scattered over her skin that he was sure were soft. Her dark lashes outlined against her cheek. The delicate point to her chin and the cascade of curls splayed over the pillow.
Slowly, he reached out his hand to cover hers. He hesitated a moment in case the change in temperature caused her to stir, he whispered. “Can I keep you?”
Though he knew he ought not to hope, he did so anyway.
