Somnium Perditum - A Dream Lost

Chapter 6: Amplexus in Tenebris

Notes:

TW: Mention of Self Harm, Domestic Violence, Anxiety and panic Attack

November: 10 days later (10th week of school)

Hermione

The library was quiet, save for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scrape of a chair against the wooden floor. Hermione's eyes scanned the rows of shelves until they landed on a familiar figure, tucked deep within the stacks, his head bent over a book. The faint glow of the enchanted lamps bathed him in a soft, golden light, illuminating the pale strands of his hair as they fell messily across his forehead.

Draco Malfoy.

He hadn't noticed her yet, completely absorbed in whatever he was reading. His posture was relaxed but purposeful, his quill scratching rhythmically against the parchment beside him. She watched as he pushed the hair out of his face, a small, frustrated motion, and adjusted the cuff of his sleeve with a precision that seemed almost compulsive.

He looked different here—untouchable yet human. The lines of his jaw, the subtle curve of his shoulders, the way his fingers moved deftly as he underlined something in his book... it all felt unfairly mesmerizing. And then there was his focus, sharp and unrelenting, as if he were trying to lose himself in the words before him.

Hermione's grip on her own book bag tightened as her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to that night.

The kiss.

It had been haunting her for days, resurfacing when she least expected it—when she was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling; when Ginny was talking to her, and she realized she hadn't been listening; when she was here, in the library, and the memory of it would sneak up on her like a warm blush.

She'd kissed Ron before, of course. Clumsy, awkward, heated kisses that always felt just slightly... off. Too hurried. Too rushed. Too much teeth.

But with Draco?

It had been different.

It had been everything.

His touch had been slow and deliberate, as if he were afraid she might shatter under his hands. The way his lips moved against hers—gentle yet desperate, like she was the only solid thing in a world that had slipped through his fingers—sent shivers down her spine even now. He'd kissed her as though he needed her, and in that moment, she'd needed him too.

She could still feel the faint brush of his fingers against her cheek, the warmth of his breath as he leaned in, the way he'd trembled against her as if the kiss wasn't just an act, but a release. She'd never felt so seen, so connected, and it terrified her as much as it exhilarated her.

And then... the tears.

He'd been crying.

The memory of his tears, warm and silent as they streaked down his face, twisted something in her chest. They hadn't ruined the kiss—if anything, they'd made it more intimate, more raw—but they'd also left her with questions she couldn't answer. Was it regret? Pain? Guilt?

She didn't know. She hated not knowing.

But he had been avoiding her ever since. Ten days. Ten whole days of not showing up to the tutoring sessions they'd scheduled. Ten days of leaving rooms the moment she entered. Ten days of watching him slip further and further away.

And now here he was, pretending like nothing had happened, like that kiss hadn't flipped her world upside down.

Her chest tightened with frustration as she stared at him, his quill moving steadily across the page, completely oblivious to her presence. Something inside her snapped.