requirement | dramione

0.32

"No." He lied quietly. 

"Nightmares?" 

"Yes, Gryffindor." He responded after a moment in which she'd held her breath. "I'm just haunted by the image of Filch in a short dress. Truly. It keeps me up every night." 

"Oh, you poor boy!" She groaned and, even though his eyes were still closed, he could hear the smile in her voice. 

"Not so badly as the thought of Crabbe in tights, I'll admit.... Or being sorted into Gryffindor and having to live up here. Snape's long pointed nose. McGonagall on a broom. The cats in Umbridge's office."

"Detention in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Oh, absolutely horrified. And.... Sitting too close to that Irish boy- Finnigan? and having my head blown off."

"Buckbeak the hippogriff?" 

"That old beast? Of course not." Draco replied with a scoff in that same low voice. 

"You're joking. You cried like a little girl!" She laughed, then, and Draco opened his eyes to stare up at her. She was smiling and glowing in the color of the lit torches nearby. 

"No, no, Granger. Had you been more observant,  you would have realized that I am just a very talented actor." 

"Liar!" Hermione bit back, playful and truthful at the same time. Then her spirit faded away from her face and she tilted her head an inch towards his. "Had you been a better actor, maybe your plan to have Buckbeak killed would have worked." 

Draco felt his eyebrows knit together. His father, of course, had told him that the animal had not been executed. While he didn't quite understand how Hermione knew such a thing, it seemed fitting that she would be involved. She'd slapped him across the cheek that very night, actually. 

"Clever girl...." He hummed. He lifted a hand into the air and took the end of one of her braids between his fingers. He stared at the ends of her brown curls in order to speak. "That fall, my father made it my responsibility to have Dumbledore in trouble with the school's Board.... Hagrid had proven to be a source of concern for the Board and Ministry before. So, I thought that he would make a good place to start." 

"That's horrible, Draco."

"I never argued that it wasn't." 

"No– Draco." Her hand found his. She wrapped her fingers around his own, forcing him to stop playing with her hair and look up at her. "Not you. Your father. That he asked you to do something like that." 

Her brow was furrowed in concern. Her deep brown eyes searched him, slow and thoughtful. He fought the urge to shrug away from her and discard the conversation. He felt like an entirely different person. Felt like the boy who fucked all those girls and loved the thrill and partied until his atoms ached was somewhere far away. 

Draco's mouth felt dry and empty. He felt himself pale. He wanted to be angry with her, but her thin fingers were still wrapped around his and all irritations evaded him. He watched as her gaze landed on their hands and, slowly, felt her fingers flatten against his palm and open his hand. 

There was day-old torn skin on the ball of his palm. Four scabbing crescents lined into the thick skin. A bad habit he'd only just picked up.  

"How did you free the hippogriff, then?" He questioned in hope that she wouldn't ask about the tiny lacerations. 

"What gave me away?" She was grinning, even though her eyes still hovered on his palm. 

"You did, just then."