Isolation [Dramione]

Chapter 15: Glass

The final days of November were misty and bitter, and December crept in before she'd even noticed.

The nights were the kind that made you long for company; cold and eerily silent as nature slowly died by the frost. The winds had faded, and for that she was grateful, but Oh God the silence was haunting.

She was doing everything possible to keep busy, spending less time in her quarters, and flitting between the library and organising the ball with Michael and the Prefects. The dorm had become so suffocating after her fight with Draco, and she didn't dare spend more than a few moments in his presence. Despite the fact that their stormy altercation had happened just over two weeks ago, she still felt uneasy. Anything more than a necessary moment, and her body would start to react; heat crawling into her cheeks and pixies fluttering in her stomach.

Draco, on the other hand, seemed to seek her out whenever he could, randomly emerging from his room when she was in the kitchen or sitting area. In the last fortnight, they had crossed paths no less than ten times, and it was all due to his efforts, much to her confusion. She always made a quick exit and tried to avoid his eyes, fearing they would drag her in, but she had yielded and caught them once or twice. Her breath would hitch and her mouth would go dry, but she always managed to keep her expression indifferent as she ducked into her room, with his stare always boring into her back.

In the days since their kiss-come-argument, Draco had seemed to deteriorate; his features becoming worn and defeated. She ached to interact with him, if only to chase away some of the pain etched onto his face, but she was determined to keep a healthy distance from him. She still cooked the meals, of course, but that was the extent of her Malfoy-related activities, even if she was yearning to do more.

Despite her best efforts not to, she still cared.

But distractions were plenty with Michael requiring her help for the Ball and the end of term arrangements, and Ginny had successfully managed to convince her to go dress-shopping. The students had been given today, Sunday, to visit Hogsmeade and buy their formal outfits; and Hermione had hoped that the village's festive atmosphere would warm her mood.

She had always loved Christmas, but the cheer seemed forced and awkward this year, and she was very much aware that she wouldn't be spending it with Harry and Ron or her family. The risks were simply too high. Even the snow, which she adored with the appetite of a toddler, seemed to be in hiding, and not a flake had fallen this winter.

There was still time though...

"What do you think?" Ginny asked as she pulled back the dressing-room curtain. Hermione raised her head and felt a genuine smile tug at her lips. Her beautiful friend had selected a charming black dress with an intricate bead pattern across the bust and seams, and it suited her perfectly. "Well?" she prompted eagerly, flicking her fiery hair over her shoulder. "Is it okay?"

"You look stunning," Hermione told her affectionately. "Really, Gin. Didn't you like it in the mirror?"

"The mirrors are charmed to bullshit that every dress looks good," the younger witch scoffed. "Are you sure you're not just being polite?"

"No," she shook her head. "That's the one, Gin. You look wonderful."

She grinned and smoothed down the fabric. "Thank you," she said. "Is it good enough that I should take some photographs for when Harry gets back?"

If he gets back...

"Definitely," she nodded instead, deciding that dampening the mood was unnecessary. "He would stutter like a fool if he saw you in that dress, although I'm sure Neville will do the same."