patience is a virtue (prompt 1)
Title: Patience Is A Virtue
Author: savepureness
Rating: G
Word Count: 596
Notes: Written for the dramionedrabble 2010 Valentine's Day 7 Kisses Challenge - Prompt 1: First Kiss
Curled under the blanket, Hermione shuts her eyes tightly and makes a wish - silence wouldn't bother her; silence would be welcome. The girls ought to stop whispering, and soon. It's not that she can't sleep; that, she has learned how to. Sleep without the usual hot cocoa in front of the fireplace, sleep lacking the furtive hugs she used to share with her two best friends. It's possible. It's been possible for months, since they left.
The girls ought to stop because they're speculating. Lavender speaks of Ron in a quiet, rushed voice, as if Hermione weren't present. They're not on speaking terms. It doesn't hurt; she's not losing any sleep over that, either.
They're speculating, though. Speaking in odds. It's just as if they'd wager on the boys' safe return. Horcruxes are a mystery to them, as they are to anybody else. Of reasons, they know nothing - just mere speculations: they're gone, they'll be back, they might not.
Sick with their gibberish, Hermione pushes the blanket away and reaches for a jacket. She can't be bothered to find her bathrobe, but finds the muffled slippers instead, and sweeps her feet inside them. They're comfortable; a Christmas present from Harry. Eyes tightly shut once again, she chases away all thoughts of him.
"I'm going for a walk", she mutters; as if they cared. Nowadays people are too scared to care for anybody else than themselves, and their families. Cowardice comes easier than bravery. Hermione thinks of all that while she slips through the portrait whole, unchallenged.
On the last set of stairs, she stops. She feels she simply can't make it farther. Sitting down uneasily, she hugs her knees with trembling hands; she rocks slowly fore and aft; she almost wishes she could sing for herself.
"Who's there?"
The voice cracks before reaching her. It's still a familiar voice. Hermione is startled, but not frightened - why should she be? She's sick of the rumours. She's had enough of quiet chatter in the dorm, enough of speculations; speculations.
"Granger?"
There's malice in his voice, perhaps. But Hermione knows better. Malice, the result of years and years of practice, of playing the perfectly composed, cold and calculated boy; the miniature golden boy who secretly dreamed to save the world.
It wasn't meant to be.
Hermione thinks he had saved her, though. Or maybe - just maybe - they could save each other.
"Malfoy. Where are your - erm - friends?"
"Where are yours?"
"In a better place; or should I say, with a better purpose?"
He doesn't reply. He doesn't know how to, doesn't need to. After a while, he sits down. Minutes fly till she makes the first move - she squeezes his hand; it's cold, and it feels frail within hers.
"Are you afraid?"
Draco's question remains unanswered. None of them are, not when they bump into each other at night, when each of them patrols the corridors, searching for something that isn't there. He's glad she can't see his haunted face.
"Are you?"
She leans her head on his shoulder; speculations. There's an odd ache within her.
"Not with you."
It costs him, the answer. His heart leaps. His pulse accelerates. Hermione raises her head and tries to catch a glimpse of his eyes in the darkness. She can't.
She feels his mouth upon hers instead.
It's a mild kiss; mostly probing; speculations. Hermione feels bold, and would like to push further, but she feels it wouldn't be right.
Patience is a virtue, her mother used to say.
It took them months to get here - so there is still hope.
Author: savepureness
Rating: G
Word Count: 596
Notes: Written for the dramionedrabble 2010 Valentine's Day 7 Kisses Challenge - Prompt 1: First Kiss
Curled under the blanket, Hermione shuts her eyes tightly and makes a wish - silence wouldn't bother her; silence would be welcome. The girls ought to stop whispering, and soon. It's not that she can't sleep; that, she has learned how to. Sleep without the usual hot cocoa in front of the fireplace, sleep lacking the furtive hugs she used to share with her two best friends. It's possible. It's been possible for months, since they left.
The girls ought to stop because they're speculating. Lavender speaks of Ron in a quiet, rushed voice, as if Hermione weren't present. They're not on speaking terms. It doesn't hurt; she's not losing any sleep over that, either.
They're speculating, though. Speaking in odds. It's just as if they'd wager on the boys' safe return. Horcruxes are a mystery to them, as they are to anybody else. Of reasons, they know nothing - just mere speculations: they're gone, they'll be back, they might not.
Sick with their gibberish, Hermione pushes the blanket away and reaches for a jacket. She can't be bothered to find her bathrobe, but finds the muffled slippers instead, and sweeps her feet inside them. They're comfortable; a Christmas present from Harry. Eyes tightly shut once again, she chases away all thoughts of him.
"I'm going for a walk", she mutters; as if they cared. Nowadays people are too scared to care for anybody else than themselves, and their families. Cowardice comes easier than bravery. Hermione thinks of all that while she slips through the portrait whole, unchallenged.
On the last set of stairs, she stops. She feels she simply can't make it farther. Sitting down uneasily, she hugs her knees with trembling hands; she rocks slowly fore and aft; she almost wishes she could sing for herself.
"Who's there?"
The voice cracks before reaching her. It's still a familiar voice. Hermione is startled, but not frightened - why should she be? She's sick of the rumours. She's had enough of quiet chatter in the dorm, enough of speculations; speculations.
"Granger?"
There's malice in his voice, perhaps. But Hermione knows better. Malice, the result of years and years of practice, of playing the perfectly composed, cold and calculated boy; the miniature golden boy who secretly dreamed to save the world.
It wasn't meant to be.
Hermione thinks he had saved her, though. Or maybe - just maybe - they could save each other.
"Malfoy. Where are your - erm - friends?"
"Where are yours?"
"In a better place; or should I say, with a better purpose?"
He doesn't reply. He doesn't know how to, doesn't need to. After a while, he sits down. Minutes fly till she makes the first move - she squeezes his hand; it's cold, and it feels frail within hers.
"Are you afraid?"
Draco's question remains unanswered. None of them are, not when they bump into each other at night, when each of them patrols the corridors, searching for something that isn't there. He's glad she can't see his haunted face.
"Are you?"
She leans her head on his shoulder; speculations. There's an odd ache within her.
"Not with you."
It costs him, the answer. His heart leaps. His pulse accelerates. Hermione raises her head and tries to catch a glimpse of his eyes in the darkness. She can't.
She feels his mouth upon hers instead.
It's a mild kiss; mostly probing; speculations. Hermione feels bold, and would like to push further, but she feels it wouldn't be right.
Patience is a virtue, her mother used to say.
It took them months to get here - so there is still hope.