I Learned Your Pulse

"Damn, you guys can sing."

"I didn't know you sang," she said, between fits of guffaws that sounded too real to come from someone as pretty as her.

"I don't," he said immediately.

"You just did!" Hermione argued.

"As Anita," he argued back.

"Are you saying Tony and Maria are better singers?" she challenged. Her eyes sparkled with delight at this banter of theirs, and even he felt his chest grow lighter without the concerns of everyhting beating him down.

"No!"

"Then you're a good singer!"

"I'm not! You just laughed!"

"So did you," she pointed out.

"And that helps your case how?"

"Sing," she urged him, repositioning herself so her warm legs removed themselves from around his waist and her knees were by his side, her arm tugging at his. "Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?" she stuck out her bottom lip gently, and looked up through thick and long eyelashes at him with half heart-broken eyes, a prize-winning puppy dog face. Every time Pansy had given him that face, he'd succumbed.

He sighed. "Fine." it looked like Hermione was to be no different. She clapped her hands and squealed.

"Sing 'Tonight'!" she squeaked, clutching his arm tightly. Without saying a word, he pried his fingers loose one by one and removed them from the sleeve over the tattoo just visible through the fabric.

"I'm not singing any love songs," he told her, with an air of finality.

"You're singing?" asked Lavender, coming to stand by him. "Sing!"

And soon, there were a crowd of prefects surrounding him, and he had to cover his ears before he could think through the chants of "Sing! Sing! Sing!"

"Fine!" he roared, and they all cheered.

"Sing 'One Hand, One Heart'," Hermione demanded him.

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not singing any love songs," he repreated.

"Come on," she whispered suacily, grinning coyly, giving him the look once more. He sighed again, and closed his eyes against those of the watching audience. He really didn't like to sing.

" 'Make of our hands, one hand.

Make of our hearts, one heart.

Make of our vows, one last vow.

Only death can part us now.' "

He faltered and peeked up to see people pulling straight poker faces. He wasn't surprised. He really wasn't a good singer.

But he then knew they were being emotionless at the fact that Hermione had grasped his hands tightly, and her warmth was tingling through him, making his head go dizzy and his knees go weak, though he was already sitting. Her eyes met with his and held the gaze, making it impossible to think of anything but how she sung; her voice wavering slightly, unsure, and unused to this high of a pitch, but she reached the notes without screaming them and she sounded brave, like a true Gryffindor.

" 'Make of our lives, one life.

Day after day, one life.' "

All around them faded and everything seemed much more distant now. They were standing, no, sitting, on and in nothing, just them, and they sang together. When their voices were separate, they were painfully average; together, they were beautiful.

" 'Now it begins, now we start.

One hand, one heart.

Even death won't part us now.' "

Draco had never been able to read eyes before, really. He knew his friends' minor idiosyncrisies and facial expressions and he knew how to read body language, but Hermione's eyes told all. Pansy had confused him at times, her eyes saying one thing, her body sayng another, her mouth saying yet another, but he'd never been truly able to see into her. Hermione was... like a book. Like the books she read, she was open to him, it was just that he'd never thought of reading hr before. He could see past her eyes and into the nooks and crannies of her brain, and for a moment, he felt an emotion brush his skin on the left half of his chest.

And then he let go of her hands, and looked away. He looked down at his pants and crossed his legs. He then uncrossed them nervously. The whole room watched as they both fiddled with their thumbs or ankeles of other irrelevant body parts for a while, and then Ginny spoke up.

"Damn, you guys can sing."

Hermione's eyes, while looking anywhere but Draco, had found the clock. "I'm late!" she yelped, jumping to her feet, her bushy hair a wild mane around her flushed face. Her brown eyes were alight and he felt himself withstand a jolt of pressure where the fleeting emotion had been before, and then realized looking at her, natural her, had made his heart stutter.

"Late for what?" he called after her, but she had already disappeared out the doorway, the doors of which clanged shut behind her.

"She's going to Hagrid's," said Harry, by way of explanation, and then he switched topics. "I didnt know you could sing."

Draco shrugged. "Neither did I."

"Got a nice pair of lungs shouting insults at us from across the Quidditch pitch, did you?" asked Ron cheekily.

Draco couldn't help but smile, and felt all the tension in the room being cut with a knife. People dispersed in whispers, gossipping and talking about what had happened. The room was still filled with an empty sort of buzzing, and Draco hated the spotlight, and grabbed his mother's letter by way of distraction, picking up where he'd left off.

Well, I do believe it's time I told you why I went on that vacation. I was, in all honesty, looking for a wife for you throughout the strongest, most noble and most highly respected Wizarding families that have a daughter around your age, so you'd stop being so lonely and have friends outside your little closely-knit group. Well, every girl either had a partner, didn't want to marry you or weren't allowed to by their parents. After you send your next letter, I'm going off to talk to the Grevantiles, Lynelles and Joaffmons about their daughters Genevieve, Allene and Anastasia-Serendipity (what a mouthful, and her middle name is Arabella-Felicity. Yeesh!).

I love you, write back.

- Mother

Draco had discarded the letter, a bit put out, when Ginny's hand placed itself on his shoulder and her brown eyes looked down at him seriously. "We need to talk."