Hermione sighed and turned to face him, taking his chin in her hand to inspect his injuries. “Ron’s not really weak minded,” she said, reaching for her wand.
Draco gave a small snort. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”
“He just… listens to his heart more than his head.” With a quick charm the swelling in his lip began to fade and the pressure on his jaw dissipated.
He hummed. “And you?” he asked, ignoring how bare his face now felt in the absence of her hand. “Which do you listen to?”
She let out a little chuckle and put away her wand.
“Me?” She turned from him, resting her elbows on the stone railing of the balcony and looking out over the river. “I suppose I take both into consideration.”
“Ah,” he mused,
mirroring her position, putting them shoulder to shoulder. “And in the event of a draw?” He watched her face, saw her lips pull slightly to the left as she thought.
“Then…” she bit her lip, thinking carefully of how to answer the clearly loaded question. “Then I chose the one better equipped for the situation at hand.”
“How very practical of you,” he teased.
She smiled, her nose crinkling and her cheeks turning a faint pink. “Well I am a very practical person.”
His gaze lingered on her for another moment before he willed himself to look away. “So I’ve noticed.”
“You’re an angel, and I am not. But I’ll hold onto the sin of selfishness if I have to. If everything ends, I’ll let it,” he softly whispered before leaning down to cup her face. “But then, above all, I’ll be holding you closer the most.”
- Almost Perfect, Almost Yours
It wasn’t as though she were looking at him for the answer, but she was curious as to what his response would be. She saw him swallow, frown, avert his eyes, and furrow his brow. He sat up, his eyes burning holes into floor in front of him.
“Malfoy?” Hermione reached out, but he pulled away.
“You shouldn’t,” he snapped.
She frowned. “Why, because of that mark on your arm?”
Her heart dropped when he looked up at her, his grey eyes dark and full of anger and hatred - but it wasn’t directed at her.
“Because I’m a coward,” he spoke through his teeth, his voice fighting to leave his throat. “And you should never trust a coward.” (x)(x)
His eyes flickered over her face. Something broke over the sternness and the barrier he was so good at putting up. She caught its blinding flashes, felt the heat of his glare: longing. Or something an awful lot like it.
“Why do you get to be happy?,” she asked, wanting to unstick the words from the bones in her throat, “and I don’t?”