Knots In Our Heartstrings [Dramione]

A Box of Rice

The riverbank felt so quiet. The gentle chorus of the water, and the trees and the bugs and the birds, and the distant traffic were washed away in an instant. All that remained was him, and her; and the muffled squelching giggles and moans of Blaise and Theo in the mud beside him. And then pansy laughed, snorted, really, an amused little scoff as she jabbed a finger into his side and said, "Ohh, Draco." At least she was amused by the whole situation. At least she was finding some joy in the wild and inexplicably dreadful sense of utter embarrassment that had washed over him, cleansed him of the river water and drowned him in something anew. " Where are we?"

She still stood there, mug in hand, steaming under the streetlights. He watched as the light caught on the loose curls around her head, tangling amidst them and glowing in the amber light, a gentle halo that cast soft shadows over her brow and shoulders.

Perhaps he may stay hidden there in the dark, if he was quiet enough. Sink away slowly into the mud and grass. The river stood between them. That was enough. That bought him enough time and shadows to just hide away if only he was quiet enough.

"Draco?"

She saw him. He felt her eyes meet his as she watched him. She watched him. Sitting there in the mud and the grass; the river the only thing between them.

"Where are we, Draco?" Pansy asked again. She was polite enough to not sound so thrilled about it that time around. He thought maybe she'd realised he'd been holding his breath, pretending to fade away.

A stifled gasp was all the warning they got before a quiet crack drowned out and washed away the writhing beside them. He didn't dare look to check, couldn't bring himself to pull his eyes from Hermione's, not even to witness the silence. Theo and Blaise were gone. Pansy sat beside him. Hermione stood up by the railings, with only the river between them.

"Draco," Hermione called again. "Are you... Are you alright?"

He scrambled up slowly to his feet, trying his hardest not to slip over in the soft ground. His shoes squelched uncomfortably as he did so, the water seeping out from between his socks and toes, cold to the bone and rapidly numbing.

He waved, thought perhaps that seemed somewhat an appropriate greeting. His coat stretched tight across his shoulders, and pulled and pinched at his armpit and elbow with the odd jilted movement.

"Hey," he said, as if he didn't stand there soaking wet and freezing; as if the river didn't stand between them.

He dropped his hand, and flexed his fingers in the cold air, his knuckles were sore and his fingertips numb. So he hid it away, stuffed his hands into his pockets amidst his sodden possessions, tucked away under wet wool.

"We were just..." He knew he sounded absurd – couldn't think of an excuse that wouldn't sound absurd. "We were just..." There was no way not to sound absurd. "Swimming."

He was absurd.

"Swimming?"

He saw her smirk. He heard her little laugh. Watched, as she took a sip of her drink.

"It's not really a river for swimming in," she said.

She sounded amused by the matter. He could deal with amused. Decided then and there that amused was the superior alternative to concern as to why he'd shown up alongside three of her old classmates, fully clothed and swimming in the river that ran outside her house she'd warded to the high heavens in the middle of the night. Amused. She was amused and he could deal with that.

"Oh," he said. "Is it not?"

Hermione laughed; fondly into the night.

"No," she said. "No, it isn't. Not really. Not until you swam in it, I suppose." She paused, took another sip from her steaming mug, and repositioned herself along the railings, her forearms resting along the length of them as she crossed her arms in front of her. "But I guess, any river could be for swimming in... If you so choose to swim."