Can someone explain to me the purpose of having a meeting during lunch and then not serving lunch? I'm tiny, it wouldn't have taken much to make me happy. A bag of chips, a bottle of water - I'm that easy. At some point I started thinking about the Hunger Games, so I missed an entire slide. Thankfully, that meeting had nothing to do with my job.
Chapter 7
Warm arms enveloped her as she woke. The room was dark but for the small night light near the door. Draco's soft snores and gentle exhalations tickled her neck. Rolling over, she watched him sleep. Even in the dark, she could make out the dark shadows beneath his closed eyes. Brows furrowed, lashes twitched, and his arm tightened around her as he fought off what she was sure had to be a nightmare. She stroked his cheek as he whimpered. "It's alright, Draco," she assured him, her voice calm as she spoke. "You're okay. Come back to me, Draco. Come back."
His eyes blinked open, sweeping around him as he took in the strange room. "You okay?" he asked in a choked voice as he loosened his grip on her.
"Did you have another bad dream?" she asked, ignoring his concern for her for the time being.
Letting go of her, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "Well, it wasn't great," he muttered. "They'd been stopping lately, or they've been less intense. But this one..."
"What was it about?" she asked, caressing his arm as her mother had done when she was younger.
His eyes remained trained on the white ceiling above as he answered, "You."
The answer unnerved her and Hermione pulled away. "Me?" she asked.
"Yeah," he replied. "You were worse. It wasn't just a fever or the flu. It was worse and you never woke up, never got better."
Hermione moved back to his side and laid down beside him, head on his shoulder and arm around his waist. "I'm okay, Draco," she assured him. "And I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper.
Sitting up, she took his face in her hands and directed it so his eyes would be on her. "Draco, I'm fine," she insisted. "It's just a little touch of the flu that I let get out of hand. It won't happen again."
Draco shifted into a reclined position, head still in her hands. "You'll take better care of yourself?" he asked, receiving a quick nod. "I'm serious, Hermione. Because you're my best friend, and I don't even want to think about-"
"Don't say it," she warned. Her hands slipped from his cheeks and she sat back. "Because if you don't say it, then you don't have to think about it. It's too soon to think about losing anyone else."
Tears clung to her lashes, and through the blur she could see his hand reach for her. Willingly, she went to him and he folded his arms around her. Her mind filled with the faces of those she'd lost - Dumbledore, Tonks and Remus, Fred, her parents. They were too hard to ignore when her carefully erected walls crumbled down with the use of one little word. Through her sobs, she could hear his tender voice promising her it would be alright. She wanted to believe him, to hold onto his words as if they were a gospel spoken by God himself.
"We're not gonna lose each other," he vowed, his voice soft but insistent. "You and I will eat breakfast and watch movies together until our teeth fall out and we go blind. Or until you get married and no longer have any use for me. Whichever comes first."
"That had better be a joke," she mumbled into his shirt.
"Which part?" he wondered, his hand skimming her back.
Hermione looked up and offered a hesitant smile. "The part about no longer having a use for you," she replied.
Shifting down with Hermione still in his arms, Draco settled his head back down on the pillow and smirked. "And what use will you have for me when you've decided to have a family of your own?" he wondered. "Gardener? Pool boy? Babysitter? Oh Merlin, don't let it be that last one."
She laughed, tears and sorrow seemingly forgotten. "You could be Uncle Draco," she replied.
Tickling her side, Draco elicited a gasping shriek from the witch beside him. "How about I just play chef," he suggested. "You've gone far too long without food, and you've got medication to take."
He climbed out of bed with Hermione hot on his heels. "You have to take it too," she shot back, following him to the kitchen.
When they were both in the same space, the same small space, Draco placed his hands on her shoulders, spun her around, and marched her over to the sofa. "Sit," he ordered. "Food will come to you. You and your sick, germy hands will go nowhere near the food."
"But if I can't go near the food, then how will I eat when it comes to me?" she inquired, giving him her best innocent look.
Draco rolled his eyes and groaned. "You're the genius, Granger. You'll figure it out," he replied, returning to the kitchen. He returned minutes later with two sandwiches, a bag of chips tucked under his arm, and a small cup of pills. He set them down, returned to the kitchen, and came back with two glasses of pumpkin juice. "Take them," he said as Hermione stared at the medication.
Hermione shook her head. "You first."
Sighing, he popped the pill the doctor had prescribed to him into his mouth and swallowed it with a healthy amount of juice. "Now you," he said, placing her medication in the palm of her hand. She eyed them wearily, but took them. "Good, now eat," Draco said, satisfied that she had complied.
They ate in silence, and when they finished, Draco gathered the dishes to wash. Hermione followed him to her kitchen and hopped up on the counter behind him. "I'm sorry if I got you sick too," she said just loud enough to be heard over the running tap. "I probably should have said that sooner," she added, blushing a bit.
"I feel fine," he assured her. "About that at least."
She poked his thigh with her bare foot. "What aren't you feeling fine about?" she wondered.
Shutting off the water, he dried his hands on his pants and turned around to face her. "I got a letter from my father yesterday," he told her. "I read it, balled it up, and came to find you. Then I forgot about it until I found it in my pocket while I was making breakfast."
"What did he have to say?" she asked, knowing prodding questions would be the only way to get any answers from him.
He pulled the note from his pocket and did his best to smooth out the wrinkles before handing it to her. "He wants to talk," he said before her eyes even had a chance to focus on the letters. Looking up, she asked if there was any part of him that wanted to do the same. "I wanted to be just like him when I was little. And then I had the chance to be a part of his world, to be like him, and I hated it. No, that's not even strong enough to convey how I felt about it. It made me sick and terrified and I begged for death daily. When the war ended and I had the opportunity to leave, I swore I'd never look back.
"He was so angry with my mother for lying to Vol...Voldemort. She was so scared of what might happen to her after that that she never opened to the door for anyone," he continued, unable to look her in the eye. "My father was home when she was killed. He let them in. He did nothing to stop the Death Eaters from killing my mother."
Hermione slid off the counter and wrapped her arms around his torso. "I'm sorry," she whispered, stroking his back. "I don't blame you for not wanting to speak to him. But if you change your mind and you need some moral support, I'd go with you."
Draco looked down at her and smiled. "Thank you," he murmured, lowering his lips to hers for their first kiss.
