Anchor and Rose | Dramione

Seven.

The bed was not void when Hermione woke up.

Draco was astray, but it was not empty.

Rather than himself, he had left a sketch on his pillow. It was torn at the edges.

Hermione was almost too afraid to look. Every other time he had left her a drawing-it had made her sick. They always included death. Her death. Her dying.

It almost disappointed her when she held it beneath the light.

She had to wipe her tired eyes to make sure she was seeing the pencil markings correctly.

It was a drawing of the boat, which she couldn't deny was fantastically detailed, half submerged by waves. In the window drawn beneath the water, her face, screaming for help, with bubbles streaming from her mouth.

Written beside it in the familiar scruffy hand writing; Born Hermione Granger, drowned as Rose Waterlily.

She then noticed Draco had drawn the boat being dragged down into the dark ocean by an Anchor.

-

Hermione had never questioned Draco's magical ability.

He had never been a great wizard to her, but he'd never been a bad one either. She had just simply never thought about it.

He had never showcased his magical ability back at Hogwarts, but she couldn't remember him ever failing a test or botching a spell in the classes they took together. Though she could remember him hexing Theodore Nott to the potion classroom wall in a 'friendly duel' more than once, and now she thought about it, he had seemed pretty powerful then. Unless Theodore Nott was just extremely weak.

That seemed to be the only time she saw force leak from his wand-When he was showing off or being belittling to another.

Only then, sitting on the deck in the snow, did it cross her mind. She thought about the charm he had cast-their hair had still remained the same shade of obsidian since he casted the appearance-changing spell six days ago. That took magical ability. Charms like that could wear off in a few hours if you weren't a smart or strong enough wizard.

Only now, as she watched Draco cross the deck and cast a warming charm, did she consider maybe he was a greater wizard than herself. Because those days, she couldn't seem to make a warming charm last through the night.

There had been a few times Hermione had debated asking Draco for his opinion regarding her faltering magic, but she had always decided against it. She knew he'd scoff at her, or suck his teeth, or tell her she's being 'thick'. Deep down, she knew it was better left unsaid.

Hermione closed the pages of her novel when she realised she had stopped reading the words ten minutes ago. Instead, she let her eyes follow the pacing shadow in-front of her. He nearly faded into the smog behind him.

"Do you think they are still looking for me, us?" She barely caught his voice in the midst of her daze. He didn't sound happy, which did not surprise her. She was not happy with him either. "Fuck sake Granger, i'm talking to you!"

"What?" She had to squint to see him clearly within the growing fog.

"Bellatrix, Stanley, the rest of the Death Eaters." Draco stood over her, his wand wrapped tightly in his hand.

Brave, seeing as a muggle could walk past on the harbour and see it in plain sight. He didn't care.

He scoffed. "Stop acting so thick."

"Are they after us?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, pulling the blanket that was drapped over her feet up towards her chest. "It's only been five days since we lost them, of course they are. You don't think Bellatrix Lestrange would give up the chance of handing us over to Voldemort so promptly, would you?"