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Summary
“Great sound, isn’t it?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin, and would have reached for her wand hadn't she recognised at once whom that husky voice belonged to.
Struggling - and failing - to slow the rate of her heartbeats, Hermione enlarged her chest to drag air into her lungs as if that would be enough to give courage, and finally resolved to turn on her heels and face him.
In the furthest corner on the right, leaning against the chimney pot, Draco Malfoy was sitting on the floor, lit up by the lights of the street lamps and the surrounding houses, and by the moonlight. For the occasion, he had opted to wear a cobalt blue tuxedo which ignited the mercury in his irises.
She should have breathed deeper.