Anchor and Rose | Dramione

Six.

Living with Draco Malfoy in such close quarters exposed many factors about his personality Hermione was not sure she wanted to discover.

Like how he slammed doors without trying. How he clipped his toenails while sitting on the floor. How he left his clothes out next to the bed ready to wear when he wakes up. How he avoided her at every chance he got.

And that was all she had discovered within just one day.

It was probably nightfall by now, Hermione could hear the rush of the waves against the window and her body swung from side to side at a gentle pace as the water pushed against the boat in the harbour.

It made her feel uneasy, like her stomach was going to explode, but comforted all at once. She hadn't seen, let alone been on the sea for a long time.

As Hermione folded her clothes on the bed, she heard the door creak open. Though she could feel his presence enter the room, she did not bother to look up and greet him.

He hadn't spoken to her all day. Instead, he had spent his day sitting alone on the deck, doing nothing but staring up at the snowflakes falling from the sky.

She didn't have it in her to complain that he would catch frostbite.

As she spun to place her folded clothes in the dresser-the dresser with small round knobs that were falling apart and blistering with splinters-she caught sight of herself in the mirror against the curved wall.

Nausea became a stronger detective at this point, because she looked so so different from what she had remembered. Mirrors had become a commodity, she avoided them drastically since her brain started to spiral. But there she was, staring back at herself with wavy black hair and dark under-eyes. It was not the Hermione she knew. It was not the Hermione she liked. But it was her, and she knew she'd have to grow to accept it.

Depression did that to a person, and she knew it. It wrecked them from the inside out. Since the War began, it got worse. It festered inside of her, starting with her mental state to her physical state. She had lost weight. Her hair was tangled and bushy-She barely had the effort to brush it.

She was almost to contest with her own appearance that she nearly Draco's occupation in the room.

It took a few moments for her eyes to catch sight of him in the mirror. He was glancing at her with shallow eyes from the other side of the bed, something painful ridden on his features.

He looked just as different as she did. The round cheeks she had remembered were long gone and his jaw was one of a man. And that's not to forget the fact his most recognisable and famous feature; his snowy white hair, was now as dark as obsidian.

The worst part of it all was that Hermione couldn't deny he still looked decent.

"Finally sick of the cold?" Hermione asked, breaking the subsequent tension that filled the boathouse room. "I know you're probably too stubborn to cast a warming charm."

He tutted and pulled his black jacket from his body and hung it on the door-Hermione was still the smart one and had headed into Exmouth's small city center to fetch some things and had unconsciously picked him some clothes while she was there. She knew he wouldn't have an ounce of muggle money to his name.

He didn't thank her, but she didn't want his gratitude.

"Warming charms are for the weak, Granger." She almost mistook his tone for humour. Almost. "The cold is nice, being cold takes my mind away from things. Such as almost being killed yesterday."

Closing the draw, she sighed. There was no winning with him.

He was such a pessimist, with negative constellations running inside of his eyes.