Labels || Drarry One-Shots

Hermione's Observations

Hermione noticed that in Eighth Year, Draco and Harry gradually grew closer. Neither of the teens made it a big deal, neither dramatically called the other out and demanded for a truce, neither fiercely confessed their apologies and begged for forgiveness.

Harry and Draco never intentionally sought the other out - not that they really needed to. It seemed that whenever Harry was in need of a friend to calm him down, Draco already knew where to go. If Draco was being bullied by bitter younger years, Harry was always available to stand up against them.

One night, Draco was alone in the Eighth Year common. He seemed fine earlier that day to almost everyone, but Harry would occasionally steal nervous glances at him. After the Eighth Years had retired to their beds, sore from much practical DADA work, Draco had a panic attack.

It was quiet, mostly, so nobody really knew the boy was shaking on the floor, cheeks flooded with tears, gasping for air between sobs, brain frantically thinking he was going to die. It wasn't until Draco let out a loud cry that Harry bolted from his sheets, where he had been unable to fall asleep, to rush to Draco's side and help him calm down.

Hermione snuck quietly down to the common room and, from the shadows, observed as Harry cradled Draco. He soon persuaded Draco to sit up and perform soothing breathing exercises, and in only twenty-five minutes Draco was taking shaky breaths but was mainly fine. "Draco, talk to me," Harry whispered, fingers tracing swirling patterns onto the back of Draco's hand.

Hermione crept back up to her bed, a smile stretched across her tired face.

A few days ago, the Eighth Years hand been practicing charms work, chatting idly and not truly paying as close attention as Professor Flitwick demanded was necessary.

The charm wasn't meant to produce a light. It wasn't meant to create any physical suggestion it had been cast or let out any sound, but somebody had messed up badly.

A green light flashed from the end of Seamus Finnegan's wand, causing the entire class to shriek, wide eyed with fear. For Harry, though, the light was too much to bear. He couldn't face anymore deaths than he had already, and in only a matter of seconds he had fell to the floor, breathing harsh and, as he recalled later, blood pounding harshly in his ears.

Before anyone had thought to make a move to aid the traumatized boy, Draco was bent over him, checking his face and his wrists and his neck just to make sure, to make absolute sure, that he was alive. "Harry, Harry," He coaxed Harry to lean against him and grasped Harry's face in his hands in what could only be described as a worried motherly way, "Everything is fine. Everything is fine. Everyone is fine." Draco continued to repeat these words in a soft, soothing voice until Harry was able to stand and be escorted to Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione and Pansy shared a brief knowing look and resumed their work on the charm.

At mealtimes, or in the common room, or in the classroom, or in the stands overlooking the Quidditch pitch, or anywhere else Draco and Harry happened to be seated near each other, they would always be touching in some way; it seemed to calm them down.

Today at breakfast, for instance, Harry had his knee pressed firmly against Draco's. A week ago, in the library, the two boys were studying in silence, their pinkies were intertwined. Hermione noticed they glanced at them every so often, which caused faint smiles to appear on their tired faces.

Around a month ago, a group of Eighth Years were playing some stupid card game Hermione couldn't bother to remember the name of. Harry had denied the offer to play, and Draco had lost quickly due to poor luck. Draco had scooted himself across the floor towards Harry, who was situated on one of the couches nearest the cheering players. Harry's legs were casually spread apart, and Draco absently sidled between them and leaned his head against one of Harry's knees. Harry didn't mind at all and grinned down at the former Slytherin, all the while playing timidly with strands of his hair.