Closer

Hours came and went, or were they days? Draco didn’t know. His sense of time had long since disappeared. The only aspect of life he had any grasp of kept a steady beat inside his chest – whispering the name of the only witch he had ever bothered to make room for. He had to see her. He had to know she was all right. And his only hope in doing so rested solely in the hands of another flame.

As per usual, a cloaked and masked Death Eater made their way to his cell, bringing with them a vial of nourishment and a washcloth for hygiene, though it barely helped at all. He couldn’t stand his own smell. It had been days since he’d bathed properly.

They slid the tray under the barred door to his cell and waited. Draco thought to take his time, but his stomach had been growling a storm for hours. He hurriedly reached for the vial, only then noticing the slip of parchment placed carefully underneath. He glanced up at the Death Eater, wondering, but whoever was underneath that mask didn’t seem to care. Figures Voldemort would hire a goon to look after his prisoners.

He chugged back the potion and quickly grabbed the parchment, rubbing the dirt from his fingers with the washcloth as he carefully unfolded whatever message awaited him.

She is well.

And that was all he needed. The raucous beat of his heart settled, in a way it hadn’t been able to since his fingers slipped from Hermione’s. This message offered him ease, but it was only temporary. She is well. That could have meant anything. But to know she was even alive meant the world to him.

~

Sasuke had brought her Sleeping Draught for the second night in a row. She was thankful, but still suspicious of his motives. From her experience, Death Eaters were never this kind to the enemy…especially those with Muggle parentage. He was up to something. He had to be.

“Do you stay here?” asked Hermione, eyeing the young Japanese man curiously.

He glanced at her from his post by her bedroom door. He was sent to watch over her from sunrise to sunset. “Pardon me, Miss Granger?”

“Do you stay here?” she repeated. “In this…fortress.”

“Oh. No. I stay in a small encampment just north of the property with the rest of the low-rank Death Eaters.”

For some reason she hadn’t pegged him out to be low rank. Something about Sasuke carried with it an air of responsibility she could only pair with a leader of some sort. Nevertheless, Hermione nodded and continued to write in the journal he had provided her. It felt nice to organize her thoughts. So much time had passed since she’d written anything other than a letter.

And after writing the last word to her latest entry, Hermione found her gaze drifting to the window. It was dark out, which meant the sun had set, and, yet, Sasuke was still there. She quickly shot him a glance, feeling the air in her lungs grow stale as he glanced back.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head. “Nothing. I…I’m just tired.”

“Ah. That is my cue to leave you for the night,” he said, bowing his head. “Have a good rest, Miss Granger.”

“You too,” she said, still feeling uneasy. “And thanks for the journal.”

“It was my pleasure,” he smiled. “I always liked having a journal, confiding my innermost thoughts in it. Sometimes it even felt as though the journal wrote back.”

The last bit of Sasuke’s sentence set off a row of dominos within her mind, but he left before she could get another word in.

She instantly glanced back at the journal. There was no gaping hole through it, which meant it wasn’t Tom Riddle’s diary, but from the moment she touched it…she felt something. It put her heart and mind at ease, in a way only one other person ever could.

Hermione cautiously dipped her Quill into the inkpot Sasuke had provided her and scribbled a few words smack dab in the middle of the journal.

My name is Hermione Granger.

She watched as the ink bled deep into the thick page. Moments passed, setting her over the edge with anxiety to the point that she felt slightly stupid. Perhaps Sasuke wasn’t trying to convey any sort of hidden message. Perhaps he was just that fond of journals.

After several minutes expired with no success, Hermione closed the journal, resigned.

Don’t be such a fool, she told herself, slipping out of her daywear and into her nightclothes. You’re smarter than this.

Confident in her newfound self-assuredness, Hermione kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed, drawing the covers over her body and facing away from the window until she heard something slam against the hardwood floor. Her eyes shot open in an instant. She knew exactly what had fallen and where, and as the sound of turning pages filled her ears, the young woman fearfully turned around.

The journal lay open, on the floor, turned to the very page she had written on just moments ago.

Except this time there was another message scrawled just below hers.

Hello, Hermione. I believe we know one another.

errr i know, it's weird. tell me what you think!

xo.