Wanderer

Snowfall

Chapter Nine- Snowfall

Draco Malfoy needed Hermione Granger.

It was something he didn't like to admit to himself, even though the fact sometimes crept up on him. He found himself looking for her in a crowd, craning his neck to catch sight of that bird's nest on top of her head, or straining to hear a snippet of her voice. The only lessons he could bear without twitching and tapping his fingers against his leg, counting down the seconds until the bell would ring and he could leave, were the ones she was in. He started eating breakfast in the Great Hall simply because he knew she'd be there too. He made sure she was eating. If Blaise wouldn't let him starve to death, then he'd be damned if he let Granger escape the same way.

So yes, Draco needed Hermione Granger.

Blaise knew it. He would be talking and when he realised his friend wasn't listening in the slightest, he would stop and sigh or smirk. Draco would look away hastily at that smirk. But at least he no longer tried to sneak food onto his plate or interrogate him on his sleeping patterns, or lack thereof.

Hell, Hermione Granger knew it. She was significantly less smug about the fact since the words had been wrenched from his unwilling lips and seemed, if anything, just as embarrassed about the whole situation as he was.

Still, Draco refused to recognise that the stubborn Gryffindor, who'd slapped him so hard in Third Year he'd had to ask Pansy to cover the bruise up with her charmed makeup, was likely the only thing helping him sleep.

She found him sitting on the banking of the lake that evening. She would find him in the oddest places, slipping beside him, that Draco had come to wait for her presence, whether he wanted it or not. Now, Granger sat beside him on the grass, rubbing her hands together and blowing them.

She commented numbly, "Snow will be falling soon."

Draco glanced at her, then followed her gaze, craning back his neck to take in the heavy, grey clouds and naked trees. He hadn't noticed but he supposed it was cold. The dying sun dropped behind the trees another inch. "Yes. I suppose it will be."

"It's so unfair," she said and he wondered if she was aware that her voice trembled. "Why does life get to move on as though nothing has happened?"

Draco sighed. "Because that's what life does, Granger."

"What about us?" she asked.

"The ones that can't keep up get swept under the rug and left behind. We don't get the choice."

She was quiet. It was something he wasn't really used to: Hermione Granger silent. Whatever relief it might have ignited in him before was doused in the discomfort it sparked now. He didn't like it.

"Can you keep up?"

If she found the question odd, she didn't show it. She simply stared out across the lake, eyebrows pulled together in a small frown, as if she was truly contemplating her answer.

Eventually, she said, "I'm not sure. I think so."

They were quiet for a few more moments and then her eyes slid sideways to him and she said, "Can you?"

Draco didn't reply.

They let the sunset soak over them, catching their breaths when they froze in the air, caress their sweet and tangible youth, and allow them to feel as if they would retain that youth forever.

"I think you can," she said quietly.

Draco felt the anger flare up inside of him and before he could stop himself, he snapped, "Oh, because you know me so well, Granger?"