Yay new chapter! Hope it satisfies all your Dramione cravings...shout out to faithful (and good) reviewers TwinzLover and ariah23.
We are starting with Hermione, again. XXXXXX is POV change, of course, and new to this chapter is xxx, which is a passage of time within the same POV.
Malfoy and I had awkwardly navigated each other as best we could whilst getting ready for bed, and had awkwardly said goodnight. He had reached for my shoulder automatically, one last reassuring, protective touch before the short separation of the night. He'd also made me promise to keep my door open—I suppose so he could be assured that he would shave valuable milliseconds when rescuing me, should my wardrobe decide to strangle me in the depth of my sleep.
I heard him settle onto his cot as I slid beneath my sheets. I thought how strange it was that I began this day in the hospital—it seemed longer. I began to think of what the next few weeks would be like—we had both decided to take the time to fully understand the Phenomena. Before I could comepletely think it through, however, my eyelids became unusually heavy, and I began to drift off.
I was walking around a park I had frequented as a child. I passed a swing set, an old couple on a park bench, a family having a picnic. The noonday sunshine dazzled my eyes, making only the bottom half of my normal field of vision perceptible. I walked past several pairs of legs and torsos, unable to recognize any faces on account of the white sunlight, and unable to close my eyes or escape the bright glare. The brick path turned to cobblestone, and I tripped on an uneven stone and fell to the ground. When I stood back up, I found that the sun had set, and I could see again, but I was in a deserted Diagon Alley. I passed Ollivander's and instinctively took out my wand, but it wasn't my real wand, it was Bellatrix Lestrange's. Without intending to, I raised it and blasted away half of an unfamiliar storefront. I dropped the wand, horrified, and began to run as I heard screaming from the wreckage. I ran and quickly found myself lost in Muggle London. I saw Harry at the end of a street and ran to him. "Hermione, did you do it?" he asked me. "No, Harry, I promise, I didn't! It was her wand, Harry, I had no idea–" "No, Hermione, did you do your astronomy homework? I really need to look at it; I didn't have time for mine." "I didn't even know we had homework, Harry!" I called to him, for he had begun to drift backward, slowly, until he disappeared. I ran after him to get more information about the homework, but I ran past the spot where he vanished and found myself on my front porch. I went into the house, and straight to my bedroom—it must have been midnight by now, I knew I needed to go to sleep. When I pushed open the door, there was a tall, faceless shadow of a man, waiting. I reached for my wand, but it was still in Diagon Alley. The man grabbed me. I screamed. He flung me onto my bed and towered over me—he suddenly had a face, a face I had seen only once before. He tried to pin me with his weight, but I rolled off the bed, escaping the only way I could. I hit the ground painfully, and the impact rendered me unable to breathe. I stared up at the man from my frozen position on the floor; he had become shadowy again. He crouched over me. "Granger!" he said. How did he know my name? He said it again, and his voice was breathless and panicky.
"Granger!"
I opened my eyes to find myself lying on the floor next to my bed, Malfoy crouched over me concernedly.
XXXXXX
I had fallen asleep quickly, the cot being not at all uncomfortable. I had been awake for quite some time, and my worry about Granger was at a relatively low level, having convinced her to sleep with her door open.
I was, then, sleeping pretty heavily when a scream pierced the shell of my slumber. It took approximately two seconds to realize the scream came from Granger.
SHIT.
I threw off my covers, tore out of bed, and reached her doorway in time to see her roll out of bed. She was still sleeping; the scream was a response to an event in a dream. I paused infinitesimally at the door, to make sure there was no actual danger, and then leapt forward, intent on ensuring that Granger was fine, and more importantly, wake her from her nightmare. I also was slightly wary; the last time Granger had awoken to my presence, she hit me across the jaw. She was holding her side, and from the position of her other arm around her head, looked to be bracing herself for a coming attack.
I called her name, unable to keep the worry out of my voice. I resisted the overwhelming urge to touch or shake her before she was awake, and called her name a second time. Her eyes flew open; she was breathing heavily and still holding her side. Our eyes locked, I observed panic and frenzy in hers. I tried to keep my voice calm.
"Granger, are you alright? You fell off your bed, you were dreaming."
"It was a dream?" She looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded. She started to slow her breathing.
"That's right, you're safe. Just take a minute to relax." Unable to hold off the urges of the bond any longer, I placed my hand on her forehead. She was clammy. I wanted to check for injuries right away, but I knew it would be better if she were more collected first.
"Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I'll just get back–" she made to get up, but I stopped her using my hand on her forehead and another on her arm.
"Wait a minute. What happened, in the dream?" I wasn't about to let her risk further injury by getting up too hastily.
"Oh…" she brought the fingertips of one hand to her mouth and scrunched her brow, trying to remember. "Lots of things…I was in Collin Park, and then in Diagon Alley with Bellatrix's wand…I think Harry was there too…then I came home and there was a man in here. The man. I think I rolled off the bed to get away."
"You screamed, too." I tried to keep my overwhelming anger under control; anger that this man was still haunting Granger's dreams.
"Did I?" She paused. "Extreme actions taken in dreams sometimes result in real bodily movement, especially when–"
I didn't have time for analysis. "Granger, not right now. I promise, I'll listen to all your explanations later." I tried to be kind, but I was still worried, as Granger was still holding her right side, the side furthest from me. She had fallen almost a meter, from my estimate.
"Are you hurt? Do we need to go back to St. Mungo's?"
"No, no, I think it just knocked the wind out of me."
"Granger, please, be honest," I pleaded.
She sighed. "I can take care of my own injuries, you know. I realize I have to let you make sure I'm fine and everything, but I just want you to know I'm very capable and self-sufficient." She was such a know-it-all.
"Yes, yes, I know. Now please, are you hurt anywhere?"
"I think I bruised my side," she admitted resignedly. "But it should be fine."
"You were holding your head when you woke up," I informed her. I would take no chances.
"Oh, yes. Well, I hit my head, didn't I? Of course it hurts a little, but I don't have a concussion or anything. I'm fine." She was getting annoyed, but I was still uneasy, and therefore, she wouldn't be brushing anything off as irrelevant.
"May I please look at it?" I kept my voice patient, hoping she would comply.
"Malfoy, you don't even know anything about healing!"
"Granger, I won't be able to sleep if I don't. Can I just make sure it looks okay?"
"Fine." She turned her head to the side, and I bent closer, gently running my fingers over the area near her temple. I felt a small bump, but any bruise that might have existed was concealed by copious amounts of hair. I sat back on my haunches.
"There's a bump." I informed her.
"Well goodness, I do hope it isn't terminal." Her sarcasm annoyed me—I didn't feel that I was doing anything extreme.
"Are you feeling calmer about your dream?"
"Yes," she retorted, defensively. I understood that she probably wasn't, but that she was too stubborn to show it, especially as I was already insisting on treating her possible injuries with such caution. I considered, at that moment, simply returning to my cot, but I knew I wouldn't be able to. The bond was keeping me there, and though she wasn't in immediate danger, I wouldn't be able to move without making completely certain that Granger was alright.
"I'm sorry, but may I please see your side?"
"No!" I understood all facets of her hesitancy: she was sensitive to my seeing a place that was usually covered, she was angry about her dream, she was angry about my reaction to her dream, and she was angry that she wasn't being allowed to look after herself. They were all valid, and though I recognized them, there was nothing I could do about the need to tend to her myself.
"Granger, it's the Phenomenon, it isn't me. If you get up and try to go to bed, I'll only be able to stand here until you let me examine it."
She sighed so heavily it was almost a growl, but she lifted her shirt to show her right side, and then used both her hands to cover the parts of her stomach that I didn't need to look at. Stifling, an eye-roll, I rested on my knees and leaned over her.
There was indeed a light purple splotch covering the lower part of her ribcage. I extended my hand to assess the injury physically.
She reached up and stopped my arm in midair, clasping her hand around my forearm. I noticed that her face betrayed the tiniest wince of pain as she did so.
"What are you doing?" she asked incredulously.
"I was just–" I began.
"No, I'm sorry, I'm drawing the line." In her mind, the matter was finished.
"Fine," I sighed, "do you think you may have cracked a rib?"
"Probably not."
"I think if it gets worse tomorrow, we should go back to St. Mungo's."
"Of course it'll be worse tomorrow, bruises get worse over days, not minutes." She yawned, and immediately I became concerned with getting her back into bed and letting her sleep.
"Well, just keep me informed then, I suppose," I said worriedly.
"I will. Are you satiated? May I go back to sleep?" Something told me she wasn't really seeking my permission as much as calling attention to the fact that she didn't need to ask my permission.
Instead of answering, I scooped her into my arms, stood, and placed her carefully in her bed.
"Now really!" She exclaimed through gritted teeth. I couldn't tell if they were gritted with pain or frustration. "I could have gotten into my own bed!"
"Now you don't have to," I smirked happily. The fact that Granger had shown signs of pain had made me quickly decide to lift her to bed, and despite her anger, I was glad I had done it. Truthfully, I enjoyed it—the reassurance of her safety I felt when she was that close to me couldn't be paralleled. She was now sitting up in bed as I stood next to her.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Granger, but didn't we agree earlier this evening to be patient with the bond, and by extension, each other?"
She turned red with what I assume was a combination of anger and embarrassment.
"You don't have to answer, because I know you were scared, and I understand why you're upset, but I also understand that you can take care of yourself. It just happens to be that a major part of these exciting new instincts involve doing just that."
"…I know," she replied, looking at a spot on the wall past my head.
"Good. See you in the morning," I said, and strode out of the room.
XXXXXX
After Malfoy left, I sat in bed, arms crossed, both fuming and confused. I was angry, rightfully so, I believe, because I had woken up scared and cornered, and I hadn't been allowed any control over my circumstance. I was threatened by my dream, and then again my loss of control. I was confused because suddenly, Malfoy had become the more rational one, and I, completely unable to be rational. I knew Malfoy was right: that I was refusing to allow him to do what he felt he needed to do only hours after we agreed to work to bring all aspects of the bond into the light of our full comprehension; even so, I didn't want to. It was as if the night (and my dream) completely reversed our roles. I decided, sitting in bed letting my anger abate, to be the most rational I had ever been in the morning, but not to apologize.
I was still reeling from the invasion of my personal space that had culminated in Malfoy actually lifting me into bed. It occurred to me for the first time that he must have lifted me in some way after the attack, in order to apparate me to St. Mungo's. Tonight, he had lifted me with a small amount of my midsection visible, which had been uncomfortable enough for me. That night, I had only been covered by my jacket from the waist up—he would have supported me with one arm under my bare back. I scrunched my eyes closed tightly at the realization that technically, Malfoy had seen me half-naked for a short time. It made my stomach drop, it made me want to wipe his memory, and it made me want to stay in bed for as long as possible.
In accordance with my brand new pledge of rationality, I would have to talk with him about it. I flung myself violently backwards, into a prone position. Assertion one: the truth and the facts are the most important part of any situation. Assertion two: discussing that night with Malfoy will make me uncomfortable. Assertion three: if I don't, it might cause more permanent mental harm. Conclusion: it's the most rational thing to do.
Dreading the morning, I decided to savor my last few minutes of irrationality. I fished leaned over and reached under my bed at the spot where I knew Hogwarts, A History would be. My eyes scanned the familiar words in Chapter 9 until I drifted back off to sleep.
XXXXXX
I re-occupied my cot unsure of the interaction Granger and I'd just had, but feeling distinctly that I had won. I laid awake thinking alternately about Granger's side and hoping it was okay, and trying to deny the fact I had found Granger entirely attractive during the whole incident.
After exhausting all other possible topics of thought, however, I finally allowed my mind to consider it. This turned out to be a mistake, as the minute I gave the matter any though, I became severely guilty and disturbed with myself. I had never been one to get off on a sexual power trip, despite my high position in society. Now, I was looking after a girl who had been assaulted, and she looked best to me when she was vulnerable and scared. Was I any better than her attacker? I wrestled with the concept, and tried to figure out what part the bond played in the attraction—if I could prove it was controlling me, I could let myself off the hook. Somewhere in the deep considerations of how to prove this to myself, I drifted off to sleep.
The next thing I remember, I was turning over on my cot violently, before sitting up quickly and noticing that it had become morning. I also noticed that I was breathing heavily and my heart was throbbing. Why was my heart pounding? I had been dreaming…of exactly what, I couldn't remember. I leaned sideways against the wall, closed my eyes, and tried to steady my breathing. I tried to recall whatever situation had me so frenzied—the picture of the scene of the attack flashed in my mind. Had I too been dreaming of Granger's assault?
I wasted no time in peeling back my covers to find Granger. Her bedroom door was open, she wasn't in it. I could hear her, however, only meters away in her tiny kitchen. I crossed the main room and turned the corner, and sure enough, she was standing at some shiny mechanical device, already dressed. It was only 7:30, according to my watch. I stood a few paces behind her, attempting to judge from her back if she felt any pain.
I cleared my throat. "Good morning," I said, already wondering if she'd let me check her side again.
She turned, smiling. "To you as well," she responded brightly. Merlin, she's a morning person. The thing behind her made a popping noise. "Would you like some toast?" she asked, after hearing the sound.
"Uh, sure…" I paused, and looked around her at the silver contraption. "What is that?"
She laughed. "It's a toaster." She reached up, opened a cupboard and retrieved a plate.
"Do Muggles use it, then?" I asked, taking the plate, now with two browned slices of bread, from her hand.
"Yes," she said with a hint of exasperation, "but I'm convinced electricity will make its way to the wizarding world eventually. You aren't all still using outhouses, are you?" This, I gathered, was rhetorical. She handed me an open jar of red jelly with a knife sticking out. We made our way to the tiny two-person table, Granger carrying two glasses of orange juice. Once I was seated across from her, and she had passed me one of the glasses, I spread the jam—raspberry—across my toast.
"Aren't you going to eat?" I asked, and then licked the jam off a finger.
"I already had two pieces before you got up," she replied, looking at the toast on my plate.
I took a bite, then sipped my juice. "It's good, thanks."
She smiled, clearly in a much better mood than the middle of last night. It was such a stark contrast, in fact, that I was put a bit on edge—I didn't want to be caught unaware by anything because she had lulled me into feeling safe with some toast and a smile.
"How are you feeling?" I asked after a minute of silence (interrupted occasionally by chewing).
"Much better," she stated quickly. "I wasn't thinking entirely clearly last night."
I smirked inwardly at her deliberate lack of apology. She had thought about this response, obviously.
"And your side?" I asked warily.
"It's fine. Not bothering me in the slightest," she answered calmly.
I took my last bite of toast and looked at Granger, deciding whether to ask my next question. I realized, however, that I would likely go insane if I didn't.
"May I…" I paused, choosing my words carefully. "…examine it? To make sure?"
She inhaled deeply and held her breath for a moment, finally releasing it through a pursed mouth slowly and evenly. This strange behavior increased my worry.
"After a moment," she replied, eyes closed. "I need to talk with you about something first."
I had no idea what she wanted and I was slightly uneasy, but I was also glad to see Granger's rationality and perseverance in the matter returning. She seemed not to want to have this discussion, but was determined to go through with it regardless. It was something a Slytherin would never do, certainly, but as it was very Granger, I felt that she was back to her usual self after her distressing night.
I didn't say anything in response, but instead raised my eyebrows in anticipation.
"After I was placed back in bed last night," she began, with a hint of scorn lingering in her tone, "I started thinking that you must have picked me up before, after the attack, correct?
I always found it difficult to be calm at the mention of the incident. My heart quickened angrily and I clenched my jaw, but I answered, "Well, of course. I picked you up and apparated us to St. Mungo's." I was bemused, slightly, by this line of questioning, but I tried not to let on.
"I just…last night, I couldn't stop thinking that…" her face colored deep pink, and she talked at the table "…all I had covering me was my jacket." She looked up at me, eyes shining with apprehension.
"Oh, is that what this is about? Granger, believe me, I couldn't get your jacket over you quick enough—it was nothing, I barely remember. Even before I crossed your magic, it was priority one." I rushed through my words, trying to reassure her as quickly as possible. It was natural that she should worry about it—she had a lodger who, theoretically, had seen her topless.
But actually, the mental image had done nothing but incense me more whenever I thought about the attack. Her hands were tied above her head, she was crying, something in my head reminded me, and that man was sitting on her, having cut off her shirt, cutting her in the process. Rage again flooded my veins and clouded my vision.
Granger must have seen the quick darkening of my face and mind, because she hurriedly reached across the table and clasped my wrist.
"No, no, no, calm down," she urged. Her touch, of course, dissipated most of my anger and brought me back to the matter at hand.
"Anyway, Granger, try not to worry about it," I advised after a minute, when I could again think completely clearly.
She smiled. "I'll do my best."
As her best was usually the best (annoyingly so), I felt that she would soon put the matter behind her.
"We're getting better at this," she grinned, withdrawing her arm.
"Yes, you reacted quite quickly that time," I said, sincerely grateful. I loathed those moments, when I was taken out of the present and trapped in my own recollections and nightmares.
"And you came out of it very well," she replied, her tone patronizing. I did not appreciate it, and clenched my jaw.
"Thanks ever so," I replied sardonically.
She rolled her eyes, but didn't respond. It was infuriating; I wished she would snip back.
"I just thought that given our new and rational understanding, I should discuss my concerns with you," she said. Her voice betrayed her renewed feeling of superiority at having behaved more rationally than I. "Is there anything similar you would like to discuss with me?" she asked, as if she was asking for the answer to homework she had given me.
"No," I replied quickly, defiantly, and untruthfully. Her patient expression, however, undermined my determination.
"Yes," I groaned, cursing our agreement. I swallowed a lump in my throat. "The fact that I see you as…attractive…when you're vulnerable concerns me," I said, hand on forehead. "Last night, after I was certain you were alright, it happened again. You were lying there worried and…how am I any better than a rapist if I respond like in suhc a way to helplessness?" I paused, and then words came out without my permission. "After I fell asleep, when I dreamt about the attack, I was…I was the attacker." I said this as if I had known it since I woke up, and perhaps I had, subconsciously. It made my stomach turn over.
She looked serious for a moment, and then shook her head as if shaking of the concern altogether.
"No, Malfoy. It's the Phenomenon. I'm sure of it."
"How can you possibly be sure?"
She tilted her head kindly.
"Because this sort of thing has never happened to you before, clearly! You're immensely worried about it—if it's never been a problem, and it is now, it must be the bond. It's only logical."
I wasn't completely sure logic could be applied in this situation, but I was ready to trust her if it meant I wasn't severely disturbed. I sighed, relieved.
"May I please see your side now?" I asked, betting that she hoped I'd forget.
It was her turn to sigh, but she slowly and carefully lifted her t-shirt on the right side. It was a dusky purple, but looked only marginally worse than the minutes after she fell.
She dropped her shirt and it fell, a curtain over the biggest worry of my morning.
XXXXXX
The morning's interaction, more than any other, gave me confidence that Malfoy and I would be able to get along, as well as eventually accomplish the equally Herculean task of overcoming the Phenomenon. I saw, in his worry, a true person that I had never seen before. He wasn't worried about me, and he wasn't worried because he had to be—he was worried, understandably so, that he was a bad person. It was wonderful to see, and it illustrated how completely he had changed since I'd known him at Hogwarts.
After I reassured him, we sat across from each other at the table having a friendly, normal, pleasant conversation. Eventually, I raised a question I'd been avoiding.
"Malfoy…don't you have to go back to work? Tomorrow's Monday."
"Granger, I own four businesses."
"Really?" I hadn't expected him to be so industrious.
"I don't ever have to work if I don't wish to." Ah. Perhaps not. "I only run the MPI because I like it."
"Why?" I was genuinely curious.
"It's sneaky. Requires cunning and know-how. All things I possess," he said with a cocky smirk.
"Do you ever take cases?"
"Sometimes. The most interesting ones, usually. The rest I dole out to the others. I have seven working for me there."
How surprising, I inwardly joked of his selfishness.
"So, if you have four businesses…why do you still live at the Manor?" I asked, having previously assumed he was waiting on an inheritance to live as lavishly as he wished.
He shrugged. "It'll be mine eventually. Doesn't really make sense to move out."
I pressed my lips together tightly at the thought of the Manor, but answered, "I suppose."
A moment later, I said, "Well, I have several job offers, so I just have to choose one, and I'll be able to–"
"What?" he interrupted, suddenly very alarmed. "You can't work, I'd have to go with you! How do you expect that to work out, exactly?"
"How do you expect me to advance my career if I can't work?" I asked, equally ardently.
"Well…you can work for me." He said with finality.
"I—what?" I sputtered. "Don't just hire me because you don't want me to work anywhere else!"
"Look, would you have taken if I'd have offered it to you under normal circumstances?" he asked plainly.
"Well, yes, but would you have offered it to me after that disastrous interview?"
"Oh please, you know you're qualified." He flipped his hand, gesturing as if banishing my objections from the air.
"Fine, I'll work for you. Thank you." I smiled, trying not to let on that such an offer had been in my plans from the beginning. I knew Malfoy wouldn't let me work for anyone else if it meant he had to tag along.
"But I'd like to wait a week."
This I hadn't expected. "Why? If I work for you, we'll still be around each other," I reasoned.
"I know, Granger, but I'd really like a week to make sure everything's under control. Please." As long as he was asking for himself, and didn't doubt my capabilities, I supposed it would be alright to wait a week to start.
"Okay. A week. We can sit around here and stare at our knees for a week," I joked.
"I'm sure you've needed to catch up on your reading, anyway," he quipped back sarcastically. I then took the last sip of juice out of my glass, stood, and sent the dishes flying to the sink, where they made themselves busy washing up. I turned back around, and Malfoy was standing as well.
"Ginny's coming by later," I mentioned.
"What for?" he asked, one brow raised suspiciously. For heaven's sake, it's just Ginny.
"Wedding stuff," I said non-descriptively, as even I couldn't discern what Ginny would want to plan on a daily basis.
"When is that, anyway?" he asked. I wondered why he cared, but answered.
"December 4th."
"That's more than three months from now!" he exclaimed, as if weddings were something that could be thrown together over a weekend.
"There's quite a lot to plan actually, given that Ginny's actually marrying someone with money, and doesn't want to put Mrs. Weasley through another backyard wedding." I said, trying to be patient and not at all condescending.
"Well," he exhaled loudly, "as much as Potter would love to have me at his wedding," he smirked, "I'd like to have this Phenomenon beat by then."
"It's a good goal." I hoped an achievable one, as well.
"So, what're you doing until she gets here?" he asked, before holding up his hand and continuing, "Don't tell me. Studying."
"For the next few hours, yes. Would you like something to read?" I inquired, making a mental list of titles he might enjoy.
"No, thank you, I should write some letters. My friends know nothing about this; they'll be expecting to hear from me sooner or later."
I accioed a quill and parchment for him, and a book (Intricacies of Magical Extradition Policies) for myself, and he guided me to the couch with a hand placed automatically on the small of my back. He, in turn, sat on the floor, using the coffee table to write his letters.
xxx
Hours later, just past noon, there was a knock on the door—normally Ginny would have walked right in, but it seemed that Malfoy's wards were doing their job. I rose and (after shaking off a slight dizzy spell) walked to the door, bringing with my tall blond shadow. I opened the door as he waved his wand, lifting the enchantments.
As soon as she was in view, Ginny was smiling playfully. "Hello you two," she said. "Nice of you to answer together, present a united front," she said.
"Hi, Gin," I breezed, ushering her in as Malfoy turned to reoccupy the living room floor. Ginny, seeing his monopolization of the coffee table, reached in her bag and pulled out several sheaves of parchment.
"We're going to need this space, Grand Protector," she said with an air of authority. I stifled my laughter at Ginny's ability to joke about anything. "We have flowers and desserts to discuss."
"How scintillating," he smirked, but picked up his letters, finished and un-finished, and relocated to the dining table. I hugged her as we sat down simultaneously on my sofa.
"First of all," she said, spreading out her plans, "Harry's nixed anything that grew in his Aunt and Uncle's garden, so that rules out begonias and several others," she sighed.
"They're not coming to the wedding, are they?" I asked. I didn't know the full extent of the abuses Harry had suffered as a child, but I knew he hadn't had an easy time of it.
"Mmm…he's still deciding on whether to send them an invitation that he claims they'll turn down anyway. His cousin's coming though. They get on alright now," she said distractedly, crossing out something about mums.
XXXXXX
The Weasley girl had blazed in and filled the apartment with wedding plans. I mused, from the table, that it was rather surprising Potter had landed her, as she was quite the knockout, and he skinny and unkempt. I suppose fame can accomplish wonders. I finished up my last letter (to Goyle) after writing quite lengthy letters to Blaise, Nott, and my mother. I folded them, and made a note to ask Granger about an owl later. I knew I could simply summon an elf and have him mail them, but I felt that it might be presumptuous to do so without her permission. I looked over at the wedding conspirators, and finding them deep in conversation, heads together, I resigned myself with the notion that I would once again have to pick entertainment from Granger's very dull bookshelf.
XXXXXX
I noticed, as Ginny and I were discussing pros and cons of shortcake, Malfoy inspecting my bookshelf. I pointed my wand behind the couch, causing a book I guessed he'd enjoy to pull itself out of the ranks and wave in front of his face. He looked over his shoulder at me, and I smiled over Ginny's still-bent head. He nodded once, amused, picked up the book, and returned to his chair, looking mildly interested in the volume.
Ginny seemed to have sensed something, because she looked up at me, then turned to look at Malfoy holding my book, and back at me.
"If I could have a few moments of your time, Miss Maid of Honor," she teased, "I'd like to discuss orchids."
"Gin," I chided half-heartedly. "You know you have my full devotion."
"Does that include refreshing beverages?" she queried. "Because I could really go for some tea."
"Certainly," I said, and stood to oblige.
As soon as I did, I felt incredibly light-headed, and watched my field of vision grow smaller and smaller, eventually going completely black.
XXXXXX
I saw Granger stand out of the corner of my eye, and though I was actually interested in The Chronology of Knockturn Alley, I was instinctively drawn to keeping a watchful eye on her. It was a good thing, too, because I saw her tip and fall, and was able to leap out of my chair, heart pounding uncontrollably, and catch her before she hit the ground.
There you have it. I couldn't resist having him catch her—cliche, I know. Sorry for the tiny cliffhanger. Review for me, please?
