Aesthetic of Breath Mints/Battle Scars written by @onyx-and-elm
“First to the end?” Malfoy proposes, breathless.
She breaks forth on one, giggling and kicking her way through the array of goblets as he shouts after her.
But he’s laughing and he catches up quick. In absurd unison, they smash their way through the rest of the table, kicking plates and bowls against walls. Screaming encouragements at one another. Laughing like she doesn’t think she’s ever laughed before.
The floor crowds with tiny shards of crystal and large pieces of china, until there’s no safe space to walk.
And in some wild fever dream, the two of them hop down off the table. Laugh and scream and jump around in it like they’re splashing through puddles in the rain. Jump until they can hardly breathe.
Until they’re hunched over, gasping and red-faced.
Hermione closes her eyes. Heaves out smiling breaths at the ceiling. Then she shuffles her way through the mess, feeling sharp edges prick at her ankles and not caring a bit. She kicks aside the debris next to the wall and collapses into a seat against it.
Malfoy joins her moments later, sliding down and leaning his head back against the stone.
Together, their panting slows. Fades to quiet, simultaneous breaths.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, foot playing with half a teacup. “Destroying things.”
“Yes,” she answers instantly. She can’t think clearly in this moment. Doesn't want to. She hasn’t felt a release like this since long before the war.
It doesn’t mean anything.
My fucking Amortentia smells like flimsy hot chocolate now and I’m not fucking okay with it.
If you love me don’t come for me.
“Are you ready?” Hermione asks, aggressively wiping away a few tears.
“I saw what he wrote,” says Pansy, voice quiet and inscrutable. “Draco. I read it over your shoulder.”
Hermione’s tone comes out more cold than she intended. “So?”
“He doesn’t want you to go.”
She bites down on the back of her tongue. Says again, “So?”
Only Pansy could ask it so bluntly. “So you don’t love him?”
A bitter, incredulous laugh bursts from her chest. She sniffs angrily and slaps away one more tear, then tightens her grip on her wand and takes Pansy’s wrist.
“If loving him means letting him die, then no. No — I guess I hate him.”
She touches her foot to the gargoyle, and they’re gone.
He forces himself to nod. Forces his eyes back open. “I promise,” he breathes. “I promise. I love you. I promise.”
She smiles brightly, then, a ghostly tear cascading down her cheek. “Took you long enough.”
He tries to put his hand over hers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “No. We both know I forgot to say it too.” She huffs a sad laugh. “We’re both idiots.”
“Idiots,” he echoes, nodding fiercely.
“But I do love you. And now I want to see you love someone else. I want to judge every stupid little mistake you make and I want to watch you fall in love all over again. Alright?”
“Good.” She flashes him a final smile, utterly incandescent. “Then it was all worth it.” And she lets her palms fall away from his face in the same moment the stone falls from his trembling hand. "Behave yourself, yeah?" she asks, voice faint — trailing off.
A moment later she vanishes.
Swallowing back a sob, Theo turns to look at Hermione.
It takes him almost half a minute to manage the words.
But then he whispers, “Thank you."
“Say it. Say you’re in love with him—”
“You’ll feel better once you do—”
“I swear to Merlin, I’ll—”
“I’M IN LOVE WITH HIM!” Pansy shrieks, and she sweeps an arm across the black marble table, sending crystal goblets flying against the hearth. Shattering them into thousands of tiny pieces.
“I’m not in love with Draco,” Pansy says again, completely composed, wiping at more stray tears. “I’m in love with—”
“Theo.” Hermione finishes for her.
And it all suddenly almost, almost makes sense.
Pansy releases a slow breath through her nose, face tight. “Theo,” she finally forces herself to say. Finally confirms.
