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Draco Malfoy had the most exquisite hands, I decided.
It was near impossible to peel my eyes away from the way that they moved. There was something mesmerizing about it, their mannerisms and little idiosyncrasies, as if they had a mind of their own. Though, the boy that they belonged to was equally hypnotic.
I didn’t know how long I’d been looking at him —admiring him, rather— but it must’ve been a considerable chunk of time as he’d finished writing an entire parchment in the time since I’d first gazed over. With my focus on his hands, it was hard to ignore what they were working on. Some extra credit assignment on Felix Felicis that had him diligently paging through book after book for information.
The way he picked up his quill, his initials engraved into it (something that only the most elite bothered to do), dipped it into his ink on his right and elegantly swiped off the excess before applying it to the parchment was something I could watch him do forever. It was impressive how well-mannered he was in his writing; he had the most artistic calligraphy I’d ever seen a boy write with.
It was undoubtedly aristocratic. A characteristic that he just oozes of.
Being born into the most noble wealth, he didn’t have a single marring on his hands that would indicate any necessity to work. They were soft, yet masculine and defined, the most dangerous and alluring combination. Soft enough to be caressed, cared for and loved. Defined enough that the veins on the back of his hand lightly protruded at the grasp of his quill. His fingers were long and nimble, likely doubling the size of my own hand. They could so easily wrap around mine, encasing me like he did with his quill.
With the gentlest pressure, his strokes to the page turned into some of the most debonair marks a student could produce. He was undeniably intelligent, but his style of producing work was a feat in itself.
When he placed the quill down to refocus his attention on another page of reading, nosing for information, his fingertips always remained at just the top corner of each page. With great care for the quality of the book, he didn’t risk tearing it by sloppily grabbing at the bottom, or smearing ink around by dragging his finger across the page to follow the words. His eyes simply scanned, allowing for his fingers to gently caress the remaining pages as he did so, as if the book were the soft skin of a lover with particular sensitivities.
Oh, how I wished that I were that book.
I had been hopelessly fond of my best friend for far too long, and I was convinced that by this point, he saw me as nothing more. That was no surprise, as we’d known each other since birth. I couldn’t expect him to feel anything more for me when we’d grown up together, experienced every adventure until this point at each other’s side. My heart sank as I came to the conclusion that the love he felt for me must have been like that of a brother for his sister, not like that of the dashing hero for the damsel in distress in my romance novels.
But what distress I was certainly in.
The distress of loving one’s best friend ate at me everyday that I had the pleasure —or perhaps, torture— of seeing him. For better or worse, that was every single day. Every single day that he smiled at me, laughed at my jokes (even the unfunny ones), gently brushed up against my shoulder in the library when he sat just a little too close.
That was today’s dose of torture. We had decided to head to the library as he wrote his parchment, and I made up an excuse that I needed to study for herbology, just so I could spend the evening with him. We snagged our usual seats in the back of the library, hidden behind dozens of bookcases, the contents of which nobody bothered to check out as they were too far away from the main section.
It was private, secluded from the distractions of anyone and anything else. So private that we had all the space we wanted. Nobody ever came back here.
And yet he still sat so close.
The heat of his arm pressed against mine sent a warmth from my shoulder into my chest and dispersed in a shimmer down to my stomach.
How was I to focus on herbology when he was so close? With those hands writing so finely, as if to tempt me to reach out and intertwine our fingers. When he smelled so good, delicious with the light scent of green apples undercut by the masculine, sophisticated notes of his musky cologne.
I was quickly zapped out of my thoughts when I heard his deep chuckle, his body close enough that I could just barely feel the vibrations of his chest when he did so.
“Enjoying the view?” he questioned, his voice smooth and dripping of a sensuality he unknowingly possessed.
“Sorry,” I shook my head, fighting the blush that I knew was creeping its way up my neck, “I just can’t focus on this book. I’m more tired than I thought.”
“Still reading up on those water plants?”
“Yeah. I’ll probably be re-reading this over and over again tonight.”
“You’ve had a long day,” he hummed, turning slightly in his chair to face me. I suddenly missed the warmth that his arm against mine provided, but I was consoled by being able to look at his gray eyes. So full of darkness and mystery, yet never cold to me. “Why don’t you go lay down? I’d need a long rest, too, after dealing with Diggory all afternoon.”
At the mention of Cedric, I didn’t miss the slight crinkle of his long, pointed nose.
Cedric and I had been friends since before I started Hogwarts, our families knowing each other well. We got along like a house on fire, spending a lot of time together when situations allowed. We’d even gone to the Yule Ball together when I was in fourth year, however that was nearly four years ago at this point. Since he’d finished school two years before me, he always made an effort to come see me a few times a month. Earlier this afternoon, I’d gotten a chance to sneak away to Hogsmeade and be with Cedric while Draco and some of our other friends were at quidditch practice.
“I wasn’t out that long,” I slightly yawned, “it was just a lot of walking.”
He tapped his quill in the ink pot with a rhythmic beat before letting it rest.
“You were gone six hours,” he returned his attention to the book, although having finished the parchment a few minutes prior. His long fingers turned the pages at a more rapid pace than they had done earlier, the whip of pages turning audible.
“Was I?” I asked, trying to recall the events of the day. I left around eleven, and returned just before dinner; I supposed he was right. “I guess so… Well, that explains it.”
The ends of his pink lips lifted in something of a scowl before scoffing away, returning to their normal purse. “You should rest then. You clearly can’t concentrate.”
I furrowed my brows; usually he loved to have me around while he studied. He liked the company, although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else.
“I think I’ll lay on the couch instead,” I shifted out of the seat, sauntering over to the couch a few feet away from the table. I sunk into the leathery cushions, letting my body relax; I didn’t realize how stiff I’d been in the chair.
Draco was looking at me with an unpleasant expression. His brows were at a flat line, and nostrils flared.
“You do what you like,” he breathed out, still paging through the book.
I shrugged, pulling a fresh piece of parchment out of my bag as well as my quill, resting it on my lap. “I think I’ll write to him.”
His eyes snapped up to mine, as I raised a brow quizzically. What was his issue? He was working, supposedly.
“Write to him?” he deadpanned.
“I can’t digest any herbology, anyway,” I lazily marked the date in the top corner before looking back up to meet his eyes. “I might as well plan our next meeting.”
“But you just saw him two hours ago,” he drawled, his voice suddenly harder than it was a moment ago.
“Well, I can have my owl send this first thing tomorrow morning. You know it takes almost a full day before my owl returns, since Ced works in the city for the Ministry.”
“But you just saw him.”
“Yes?”
“Two bloody hours ago.”
“So we’ve established. Your point?”
I scribbled a “Dear Cedric” at the top in my much-less-than-perfect cursive, as he wasn’t anyone I needed to impress. All his letters were basically comprised of chicken scratches to me as well, sometimes even just notes he ripped out from his papers on his desk. I often felt bad for his poor owl that had to haul over just a note with a few words on it, all the way from the Ministry. I made sure to reward him with a treat for his efforts and we became acquainted as such.
“Don’t you want a break from him?”
A blank expression came over my face. Draco was well aware of the fondness I had for Cedric; I don’t think we’d ever even gotten into an argument. Considering I only ever had good things to say about him, I was a little distraught at the question.
“I get a break from him every time he goes back to work, Draco. I don’t see him that often since I’m at school.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he shook his head. “Don’t you want a break from him?” he echoed.
“I…” my voice trailed, not quite knowing how to answer that. “I suppose not. I anticipate the next time I get to see him, if that’s what you mean.”
Draco let out something of a huff, followed by something I couldn’t quite make out as he murmured it under his breath. He returned his attention back to whatever it was he was doing, although clearly not that focused.
Not taking his eyes off what was in front of him, he asked, “Does he write you letters, too?”
“When he gets the chance,” I coolly replied, still jotting some things down.
“Oh,” his ministrations on his book halted. He cleared his throat, the silkiness of his voice seeming to disappear for a moment as he continued, “And you… like them?”
I looked up at him, cocking my head slightly. “Sure,” I admitted. “Though, his are more of notes than anything else.”
“But letters,” he repeated, biting his lower lip with his teeth before releasing with a slight popping sound, “they’re something you like?”
“I always look forward to them. Draco, you’re awfully inquisitive tonight,” I lightly chuckled.
His cheeks flushed at that comment, something that didn’t usually happen. His pale white skin had a touch of color for the first time in quite a while, bringing his features to life and humanizing him a bit. With all the time I spent admiring him, seeing him have a rush of color made it feel like he touched the ground to mingle with us mere mortals for a moment.
“I am not,” he lightly coughed, adjusting the collar of his white dress shirt that he often wore on off-days. It was already quite loose at the neck, not stuffy or proper as if we were attending class. Still, his not-so-humble upbringing would never have allowed him to wear anything that wasn’t put together and charming. He adjusted the neck of it as if it were digging into his skin, despite looking rather comfortable.
“But now that you mention it,” he spoke up, dropping his dignified fingers from his neck and joining with his other hand, “I do have one question. Then, I promise I won’t interrupt out of turn again this evening.”
“You’re never interrupting me, Draco,” I cracked a grin, “but go on.”
He exhaled deeply, a bit of the red tint in his cheeks leaving with the air. His eyes were fixated on me in a more serious way, like he only ever did when we were alone in his room and having deeper discussions about life or our families.
“Is Diggory courting you?”
My lips instinctively parted at this question, completely unexpected. Courting ? Did gentlemen even court anymore? Sure, Draco was accustomed to the upper-class lifestyle of a pureblood society, where formal courtships, and even more so, arranged marriages were the expected norm. But the common folk? Cedric was only a half-blood, and therefore any pureblood rules as such wouldn’t apply to him. By even just talking to him, it was clear that he didn’t participate in any of those old-world traditions that some wizarding families clung to.
“Well?” Draco urged, yanking me out of my thoughts.
I must have let a little too long go on, as he looked much more impatient than he had a moment ago. His brow was raised, and teeth gritted the slightest bit. It wasn’t an unruly look, but I knew when his buttons were being pushed, especially by me.
“Oh, no, Draco,” I quickly denied, “nothing of the sort. I... it's nothing like that."
He continued to look at me quizzically, as if not quite believing me. Perhaps it was how long I took to answer, and when I did, I blurted it out.
"You two spend so much time together, and the second you're not with him, you get to writing him. That sort of behavior leaves a lot to the imagination," he reasoned.
"And what do you imagine about us then with the amount of time we spend together?"
Draco opened his mouth to speak, but then closed his lips again. He said nothing, but part of me wished he had.
“Alright then,” he breathed out, before looking back down.
“That’s… that’s all?” I questioned, desperate for an explanation.
“I told you I wouldn’t ask anymore questions,” he blankly replied, “I’m not one to break my word.”
“No, you said you wouldn’t ‘interrupt out of turn’,” I corrected. “This is hardly out of turn.”
“I find it out of turn,” he said with a tone of finality before reaching into his bag.
I knew how Draco was, and when he took this persona, there was no point in pushing him. It would only upset him more, and as it stood, he was clearly unhappy but not angry. I didn’t want to wake the beast in him, as it never ended well for anyone, but especially him. My mind couldn’t figure a good explanation for the conversation we just had, but I chose to ignore it.
As my attention redirected itself to the parchment in my lap, I could hear the rustling of papers coming from his own work space, as well as his quill making contact with the paper. Perhaps he had more work, but I was unaware of it.
The quill in my hand produced anything but the finest letter to Cedric. It was sloppy, tired, but it wasn’t something that I cared enough about to redo it or even pay it much attention. A few scribbles, asking when he’d be available next to do something. I added a pleasantry about his work and to wish his father well, but nothing special was written; we were good enough friends that it didn’t matter. Soon enough, I figured it was suitable for my purposes. I lazily folded it in half and shoved it into my bag, hearing the crinkling against other books and papers inside. My owl would deliver it in the morning. Seeing as I was done with what I planned on doing, I just let myself relax into the couch more, occasionally looking up to see what Draco was doing.
He looked so concentrated, perhaps more than I’d ever seen him before.
His eyebrows were knitted, the lines on his forehead making a rare appearance among his silky pale skin. Those icy eyes were so fixated on whatever he was doing, although it didn’t look like much. I’d watched him for a minute or two at non-consecutive intervals, before laying back again. Every time I’d look at him, he didn’t write a single thing. The quill simply sat, resting between the soft confines of his fingers. I couldn’t even hear the taps of writing when my eyes were closed, prompting me to think that he hadn’t accomplished anything.
I couldn’t say how long this went on, as I seemed to slip in and out of consciousness while resting on the couch. It wasn’t a full nap, but I’d lost track of time as my eyes were closed and my thoughts left, leaving the playground of my mind idle and calm for once, free of the noise and clamor I was busy with all day. The blackness of my mind was something I tried to relish while I could still soak it up.
Just as I was enjoying the feeling of nothingness mentally, I felt the couch dip, causing me to sit more upright and look over to my side. Expectedly, Draco had taken his seat there. It couldn’t have been anyone else, since I’d never seen another soul back here.
“Finish your… whatever you were working on?” I yawned, rubbing my eye gently.
“It didn’t turn out that great,” he shrugged, giving me a lopsided expression, “but I expect it’ll do the trick. At least, I hope it will.”
My head nodded in agreement, before casually leaning on the back of the couch again.
“You look tired,” he noted, his eyes scanning me up and down. “You really should get some sleep.”
“I will,” I murmured, not quite meeting his eyes as mine started to close. “You should, too.”
“I’m not tired. Quite the opposite, actually.”
A short scoff escaped my lips, along with a little smirk. “Got up to any crazy hijinks today that you’re on edge about?”
“Oh, yeah,” he sarcastically replied, “apparated myself to Paris and dueled with the king of France today. The usual.”
I lightly chuckled, still too groggy for a proper laugh. “Sounds about right. Make sure to tell the Pope ‘hi’ for me, next time you see him.”
“Will do,” he let out a low laugh. “I have to get going soon, though. Theo is having some boys’ night that I’m expected to be at.”
That caught my attention, causing me to look over with a playful look on my face. “Oh, really?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Surprise? No. Concern? Absolutely.”
Draco let out a hearty laugh, the kind that pulls me in like no other. It was deep and alluring, making me desire to hear more of it. It wasn’t that kind of laugh that would have one crying and laughing till their stomach hurt, but Draco hardly did that type of laugh; not since we were younger. Since we were about sixteen, I’d always have to settle for this kind. It was more mature, becoming a young man and not a boy.
“You know how Theo is,” he rolled his eyes, “jinxes, slipping love potions into drinks. It’s quite immature, if you ask me.”
“Totally immature,” I agreed, “but maybe you and Blaise can sophisticate him.”
“We’ll work on it,” he mused.
We exchanged a silent smile between us, igniting that familiar flame in my stomach that I knew all too well. Part of it was childlike wonder, a schoolgirl crush that made the butterflies explode. Part of it was a deep admiration, the kind of love that wouldn’t fade even with years to come and a handful of men to distract me. Falling for him was a thrilling, yet deeply chilling experience.
He gracefully stood up, extending a delicate hand out for me to grasp. I happily took it as he pulled me up from the couch with ease, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder for me. This was his routine when he was ready to walk me back to my room, as he never wanted to verbally say so and risk offending me. Not that he ever would, but it was gallant in a way how he wordlessly could convey we were done for the night.
We didn’t say much on the way back to my room, just chatting about their alleged boys’ night. We cracked a few jokes, and I made sure that he would tell me about whatever it was Theo had planned the next morning.
“By the way,” he piped up once we rounded the corner to my room, “I have a herbology book you might like. It helped me loads and might do the same for you.”
“That’d be great, Draco, thanks,” I pressed my lips to a thin line, not really wanting more homework, but I was pleased that he thought of me.
He rummaged around in his bookbag for a moment before pulling out a leatherbound herbology book that looked as expensive as it felt. Heavy, like it was weighted in precious metals on the side. A quick inspection on the spine would confirm that assumption, as there was a line of gold and a few jewels pressed into it. Far too expensive for just a book, but I had no doubt that this was from his private library, probably this copy being custom made just for his studies.
Our fingers lightly brushed each other as he handed over the book, a feeling that I savored and would replay over in my mind the rest of the night. His most beautiful hands were always on my mind, but especially after a light touch of his that sent my senses into a frenzy.
We exchanged goodbyes and sweet “goodnights” as we normally did before I walked back into my room. Seeing as the book was too costly to simply throw on my desk and leave there, I decided to page through it gently and see what it was about.
Sitting crisscrossed on my bed, I let my fingers explore the exquisite pages and enjoy the unnecessary luxury I got to have for the time being. The inside contents of the book seemed rather normal, though. Ingredients, how to properly care for certain plants, the uses of some natural amenities.
As I flipped to the beginning page on the chapter on water plants, a piece of parchment fell out and onto my lap. It must have been a note while Draco was studying with this.
I decided to open it up, perhaps he took good notes that I could copy.
Instead, it was anything but herbology notes.
My hands were shaking as I held up the paper to read it better, make sure what I was reading was real, not a figment of my imagination.
My love,
I’m atrocious at writing letters; I’ll never be the sappy type to put to paper how I’m feeling. But you seem to like it, so I’ll give it a try.
The Black Lake at this time of year is lovely for dates, so I’m told. Let’s test that rumor tomorrow evening.
D. Malfoy
P.S: My hands were shaking as I wrote this. Still, it’s meant to be as romantic as those sonnets you love to read. Pretend it is.