Anchor and Rose | Dramione

Three.

The floor squeaked beneath her shoes as she stumbled across the small room.

Her mind was so frantic, telling her; pack this, pack that, was the extension charm big enough to fit your things?

So frantic that she didn't even notice that the floorboards had turned a near ivory because the snow was seeping through the cracks in the ceiling.

She was too focused on getting out of the hotel.

Away from him.

Away from a Death-Eater.

For a mere moment, she had almost fainted. She had sat on the bed with her head in her hands, chest heaving like her lungs had been torn from her flesh.

Why was he here?

She threw a book against the wall in anger. A million questions ran throughout her mind, wondering if he was there to trap her, to take her to Voldemort for questioning on where they could find Harry. Because that's all she was known as; Harry's best friend. Harry's right-hand woman. Potter's Mudblood.

Without thinking, she heaved her bag-pack onto her back and slid her wand into her pocket, but she didn't remove the tight fist curled around it.

Without checking the room behind her, she slammed the door, pushing the keys into her pockets to return to Shunpike at the front-desk.

The corridors felt much narrower than she had remembered and the subtle wonkiness of the brown walls did nothing to help the awful sick feeling in her stomach.

She rounded the corner, ready to run down the stairs and out into the unknown of the snow, but her body collided with another.

She cursed Merlin for letting this happen to her.

Because of course it was him, with his white hair hidden beneath a black hat and bag on his back, just like herself.

Of course it's him, with his narrow blue eyes and his gauging stare-Of course.

"Granger." It's the first time she had heard his voice in what felt like years.

He sounded surprisingly different.

Almost as different as he looked, but she didn't dwell on it. Instead, she tried to squeeze past him, but it's too narrow which made it too easy for him to grip her shoulders with his palms and push her against the wall, trapping her with a gaze laced with fury.

"Don't fucking run from me, Granger. Don't you fucking dare."

She let out a dazed breath, catching the uncertain waters beneath the tone of his eyes.

"Let go of me." She pushed against him, but it was no use.

He was too strong, too conceding and too stubborn to let her escape. He had her pressed against the wall in such a way that she couldn't even pull her wand out, because in the midst of colliding with his body, her hand had fallen from her pocket.

"Stay still for fuck sake before i have to hex you." His eyebrows were furrowed and his forearm rested against her chest. She knew that his other arm, the arm that contained the mark of the Dark Lord, was stashed inside of his pocket, grasping at his wand incase she made any sudden movements. "Who sent you?"

She cocked her head to the side.

"Who sent me? I could ask you the same question." She kept her tone as low as his, thick with venom and thick with fear at the same time. "Did he send you? To track me down and have my blood spilled against the snow?"