Harry Potter: Among Shadows and Silence

The whole incident seemed like a weathered whisper across her memory, somewhere between reality and a forgotten dream. She could have been watching him for minutes or hours when signs of life began to slowly influence his body; just little twitches and a rousing sigh before his eyes opened with a flutter of blinks.

She half-wished he didn't notice her, because she knew it would lead to one of the most awkward moments of her life. Just as she was contemplating closing her eyes and pretending to be asleep, he cocked his head, and their eyes locked.

She'd expected nothing but rage and embarrassment, but she saw only irritation and a hint of shame swirling in his rain-cloud eyes. The silence seemed to spark between them as the eye contact refused to shatter, and Hermione's voice found her before she could turn it away.

"How do you feel?"

He looked away then, and she honestly didn't expect him to answer. "Like shit," he muttered, his voice a little hoarse.

The witch observed him intently as he pulled himself into a sitting position with some difficulty and a reluctant grimace, keeping his injured hand under the blanket. He bent his knees and clenched his eyes shut, bowing his head and massaging his temple with lean fingers. She chewed her bottom lip and silently scolded herself for leaving her couch, gathering the blanket about her shoulders as she neared him.

What the hell are you doing...?

She could have sat on the floor next to his sofa. It would have certainly been a more rational idea than nervously settling herself on the couch by his feet. If he had screamed at her then, she wouldn't have blamed him, because she had no idea why either. But Draco barely moved. This was one of the most bizarre situations she could ever remember getting herself into, and considering the last six years of her life, that was saying something.

"What were you thinking?" she blurted before she could douse the urge, frowning when he still didn't lift his head. "Do you have any idea how dangerous the wards are? You could have died, Malfoy-

"You didn't come back," he interrupted with a low mumble.

What the-

"What?" Hermione breathed, trying to study every detail of his face to gain a clue. "What do you-

"You didn't come back," he repeated, finally glancing at her from under his eyelashes. "Last night."

"I...I don't understand-

"Nobody else knows I'm here." he hushed her, his words strained and quiet. "If something happens to you then I am royally fucked-

"McGonagall knows your here," Hermione pointed out. Her voice was soft and patient, as though she was comforting him, and Draco was too confused to be disgusted by it. Despite his best attempts to ignore it, there was something about Granger's proximity that steadied the remains of his tempestuous soul, and for the moment, he didn't want her to leave. Not yet.

How could he have forgotten McGonagall? It was all that ancient cow's fault he was imprisoned here in the first place.

"And if something happened to her?" he questioned harshly. "I would just rot away in here until some fucking third year noticed the smell?"

"Draco," she gasped, flinching at his bitter words. "If anything happened to McGonagall, the wards would stop working and you would be able to leave."

He blinked.

Hell, he'd never even thought of that, and now he felt like bloody fool for his dramatic escape attempt. He snapped his glare away from her and despised himself for getting into such a state. If he thought that Potter wandering into the bathroom last year had been the most degrading thing that could happen to him, he'd been wrong.

But...

But she was different to Potter. That immortal prick had been nosing around and trying to interfere, as he always bloody did, whereas she looked genuinely concerned for him. The very thought should have repulsed him, and his fingers itched with the instinct to shove her as far away as possible, but he didn't. Instead, he scrutinised her heart-shaped face for any indications of trickery or deception, but the witch practically glowed with sincerity.

"Why would you help me?" he asked her, narrowing his eyes into suspicious slits.

"Because you needed it," Hermione shrugged, as though it was nothing. "The wards are strong and dangerous, and you could have-

"You hate me," he hissed, perhaps more to himself than to her. "We loathe each other, Granger. Why the fuck would you-

"I don't...I don't think I really...hate you," she stuttered shyly, and Draco clamped his mouth shut with an audible snap. "Hate's a strong word. I would never wish anything fatal on you-

"Wouldn't you?" he growled cynically.

"No, I wouldn't," she affirmed with that familiar determination of hers. "And I would hope you wouldn't wish it on me."

Draco snorted, but she would be deaf not to notice the lack of conviction there. A memory of the Quidditch World Cup invaded his mind, and he recalled himself warning Potter to get her away from the chaos. It had been a random impulse that he had questioned relentlessly for weeks afterwards, but there was no escaping that he'd considered her safety, and he still had no idea why.

"Let me check your hand," Granger's voice stole him back to the current predicament. "It looked pretty bad this morning-

"It's fine-

"No, it's not," she cut him off with a stern glare, extending her hand. "Look, I'll just Petrify you if you insist on being difficult. Wouldn't you rather we just got this over with?"

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