requirement | dramione

0.02

And when he breathed in, there was something like honeysuckle and morning rain. She smelt sweet. Like apples and the Malfoy Manor library, between the pages of the oldest yet most well kept books. She smelt like spring– spring on a sunny year, even though her hair was dark like the mud just before winter.

Instinct told Draco to release the Gryffindor, only Filch hadn't quite made it to the end of the corridor yet. And then there was the fact that her body seemed to have relaxed into his. More than that, their bodies seemed to meld together perfectly; he could feel her shoulders rise with each breath, her spine gentle against his chest, the small of her back fully against his belt.

A strange sensation flooded into his chest, the dripped through his stomach and travelled across his fingers.

Loneliness.

The longing for human touch.

Heat rose to his cheeks, suddenly guilt ridden.

Hermione felt her feet stutter beneath her, even though Malfoy's arm was still tight against her collarbone, holding her under his Disillusionment charm.

She tried to focus on Filch, who had almost limped his way to the next corridor now, but couldn't think of anything other than the rise of Malfoy's chest. The cold fingers of his left hand against her right shoulder. His right hand, hovering, holding his wand tightly, just above her hip.

Her eyes caught on his left hand. He was wearing a silver ring.

She tried to exhale– let out the breath she didn't know she had been hold, but Malfoy's cold hand was suddenly against her mouth.

The cat. Filch's matted, ugly cat had appeared. Malfoy must have seen her before Hermione did. Mrs. Norris' bulging, yellow eyes traced their exact silhouette, as if she could see through Malfoy's charm.

The bony cat stuttered, just for a moment, before trailing off after Filch once again.

Hermione released her breath, even though Malfoy's hand was still gently against her lips. She felt the boy shift behind her, his body leaning on her as he brought his lips just barely against her ear.

"Hush. She's still a cat. So long as we're in the same hall, she'll hear your noisy shoes the second we move."

His voice was nothing more than the smallest, slightest whisper against the shell of her ear. His lips danced, so gently they were hardly there, against her lobe. If he'd been another two inches away, Hermione wouldn't have heard him.

Hermione turned her head, whether it was to escape his hand against her mouth or face him– she wasn't sure. But when she did, she was met with the coldest eyes she'd ever seen. So gray, they were void of any color and sharp enough to slice right through her.

He smelt like expensive cologne and crisp hair gel. Mint tooth paste and vanilla and apples and, somehow, even though she'd never pictured herself here, it was exactly how she'd imagined Draco Malfoy would smell.

She felt her heart fall from her chest and into her stomach. For a moment, just the smallest shattered fragment of a moment, she adored the pale pink color of his lips. When her gaze raced back to his eyes, she could have sworn that he was staring at the freckles on her cheeks. She didn't have to wonder why– Malfoy was so pale and fair, there wasn't a single freckle or blemish against his skin.

His hands had gone to each of her shoulders, holding her firmly but without aggression. His eyes abandoned her and he looked back down the corridor– both Mrs. Norris and Mr. Filch long gone. In slow, silence steps, Malfoy lead her in the opposite direction. He did not release her until they'd rounded the next corner and his hands fell first to her elbows and then to her wrists and the gone entirely.