requirement | dramione

0.26

end of november, 1996

Draco and Hermione spent the next week meeting in the late hours of the night. Teasingly, frantically, kissing and pulling at one another after they'd grown too tired to keep staring at the Cabinet. 

She'd made note of his good days and bad. Whether she'd seen him in the corridors or in lessons. One night, he even smelt of fire whiskey and was especially witty in his remarks. Hermione would grow tired much faster than he appeared to, but by the end of the week the dark circles beneath his silvery eyes deceived him. 

"Do you stay for much longer? After I go back to Gryffindor?" She lost her positioning and leant against the finicky wardrobe. 

"Hmm?" He mumbled from the other side. She waited quietly until he finished whatever he was inspecting and came to her, slowly rounding the corner of the Cabinet and standing in front of her. He crossed his arms over his chest– looking especially exhausted. 

"After I leave. Do you stay here long?" 

"No." He lied without fault. His face a cool mask. She would have believed him if she wasn't in possession of a certain charmed map. She waited for a moment, hoping he might elaborate. 

"It's a long walk back to Slytherin, I wouldn't blame you if you stayed. You look tired." She did her best to keep her voice light, tilting her head as she spoke. 

She watched his nostrils flare, but it was the only visible waiver of his illusion. 

"I am sick and fucking tired of everyone saying that."  

Her eyes widened instinctively. Hermione hardly ever swore and wasn't often the target of foul language, with the exception of Draco. 

"It offsets me. You look– like you're draining yourself. Just last week I thought– well, you seemed happier." He looked like he was being eaten alive by stress, but Hermione didn't know how saying that would go over. 

"It's nothing I can't handle, Gryffindor. And nothing that you need to exploit."

"Exploit?" She was instantly insulted. Heat rose into her face. "Exploit?  You surely are joking." 

He didn't flinch or take his prying eyes away from her. She wondered if he were as angry as she felt, somewhere underneath his careful cover. When had he gotten so talented at concealing himself? As a schoolboy, Draco Malfoy was readable from across a room. 

"If I wanted to exploit you, Draco, I already would have. For a number of things." 

"Do go on, Gryffindor." He mocked her, expression unwavering, but he leant forward in anticipation. "Please enlighten me." 

"I just want to understand you– honestly. Understand what we're doing up here with this thing that clearly isn't mending itself. I've spent just as much time up here with you recently than I have on my studies– which is absolutely infuriating anyhow. So forgive me if I am alarmed by the thought that if you passed out on my, we'd likely both end up in the hospital ward with some explaining to do."  

"Fine. Note taken. Pass out away from Hermione Granger." 

"Do you not let anyone care for you?"

"Gryffindor– I don't need anyone telling me that I look tired. I right fucking know it." He slumped, then, as if she'd finally weighed down on him enough to crack his mask. She watched as he sunk onto a wooden chair. 

Hermione felt as if they stood on opposite ends of a balance bean. Even the slightest shift in weight could knock her off, causing her to lose any progress she had made, so she held her breath.