requirement | dramione

0.31

Draco seemed to lean harder against the cabinet then, as if he was physically leaning into her words. She watched him, scanning his face for any emotion that might have come into expression. His face was questioning; eyebrows lowered and gray eyes narrowed so slightly that it was hardly noticeable. 

"Only sometimes." She told him, rather quietly. She'd intended to lie and turn it on him, but truth came dripping from her mouth like a leaking faucet. "It's usually not so bad. But ever since spending so much time in here, I've turned away from my friends. Feels like usually we share the scary moments between us. But when there is no one to remember them with, they tend to come out in my dreams." 

He didn't move a muscle. He looked frozen beneath her words, with the exception of the orange shadow of flame from the nearby torch light that danced over the left side of his face. 

"Do you? Have nightmares?" Hermione kept her eyes wide, open, accepting– whatever she could do to seem welcoming, she wore it on her face. 

Draco stayed silent until the air between them grew stale, urging Hermione to lean closer. She noticed Draco's gaze flicker down to her lips, then arrive back at her eyes. She tilted her head so that the corner of her forehead rested on the wood.  

Then Draco's chin bowed. He nodded his head in a slow, reluctant way. His masked expression stayed emotionless and unknown to her.

Hermione felt like crying then, for some reason. She tried to avert her eyes, turning so that the back of her head rested against the cabinet and she could press her cold fingers against her eyes. 

Having sex with Draco was the closest she'd felt to anyone in so long, and yet she couldn't even work up the bravery to talk about her dreams with him. 

"Gryffindor–" he began, but didn't finish his advance. 

Don't be stupid.

She pulled paling hands away from her eyes and blinked for a quiet minute before she was able to turn back towards Draco. 

"What do you have nightmares about?" He asked. He'd waited for her to be ready for the next blow, she thought. Even though his face was still stern, his eyes were considering and calm. 

"Different things on different nights. And you?"

"Different things on different nights." He returned her quietness as he returned the phrase. The pressure on Hermione chest lessened. Or maybe it was the need to keep such a thick wall between them flickering. 

Draco pushed himself away from the cabinet, fidgeting with his hands before stepping back into the pathway behind him. He seemed to hesitate there for a moment, waiting for her. She caught onto his motion and stepped out from behind the cabinet, placing herself next to him. 

"What is it you dream about most?" He asked as he moved to place both hands in his front pockets. As he did, Hermione noticed the dark-red notches that lined his palms. Then he pushed his hands into the fabric of his pockets and stepped forwards.

She thought for a moment, matching the pace of his steps to stay right at his side.

"I'm not sure...." She was nervous to tell him anything. How much of herself was safe to reveal? 

She thought about the Department of Mysteries. 

It had terrified her ever since. The other morning, before catching Draco walking on the second floor, she'd woken up because of it and been too scared to fall back to sleep. 

She felt the burn of tears behind her nose again.  Now, she thought of Draco's father– wild and deadly. Bile threatened to rise up against her throat. One of her greatest nightmares was likely one of Draco's most poisoned thoughts too.