Chapter 9
Hermione was woken up in the morning by Mrs. Malfoy and three healers entering the room at the crack of dawn. She slipped out of the room as they were fussing over Draco, checking his wounds. Draco was protesting the intrusion, but was overruled.
The elves were still sad downstairs, some were still crying. Hermione reassured them that Draco was fine and there was practically nothing left of his wounds. Thanks to the healing potions there wouldn't even be any scars. She couldn't understand why they cared, but they seemed to have taken his wounding very hard. Breakfast was pushed forward today to accommodate the healer guests, but neither Lucius nor Draco attended. Mrs. Malfoy being the consummate hostess, entertained the healers and Professor Snape, who had apparently stayed the night. The dark circles under her eyes revealed that she hadn't slept much though.
Hermione left a tray of breakfast food for Draco in his room, but he was fast asleep again. He didn't normally sleep this long, but his body had taken a fair bit of trauma the previous day, so it wasn't unexpected. The curtains were drawn in the room, which was unusual and must have been done by his mother.
At midday, Hermione spotted Neville in the garden and went to grab her coat. It was starting to get pretty chilly outside now and it drizzled slightly. He gave her a big hug when he saw her before she joined him in weeding.
"I heard Draco got hurt," Neville said.
"I'm surprised you've heard," she said.
"If I've heard, then everyone has heard. I think the whole wizarding community is now a lot more concerned about this war with the muggles."
"I never figured losing Draco Malfoy would be devastating to anyone, with the obvious exceptions," Hermione said.
"If he can be injured, being the most coddled out of the pureblood next generation, then anyone can be injured."
"But he is a Deatheater, there are risks that come with the territory."
"They are all Deatheaters these days," Neville responded.
"So you think this will be a bit of a blow for morale?" Hermione asked.
Neville nodded. They continued weeding. Hermione heard the chimes which meant that one of the family members wanted her, Mrs. Malfoy this time. Hermione wanted to ignore it, but she didn't want to give them another reason to send Neville away. Instead she said goodbye and returned to the house. His coat really was too thin to be working outside all day, she thought. Maybe she could salvage some material from Draco's ruined robes to pad Neville's coat a bit. As winter was fast approaching, it was only going to get colder.
She noted that Mrs. Malfoy had new guests when she entered the house. Three women were paying a call to inquire about Draco. Hermione had to bring them tea, and had to return for more when two more pureblood women turned up. She could tell from the wall that both Lucius and Professor Snape weren't in the house anymore. It was close enough to lunch to assume that the women, at least some of them were staying for lunch.
The tension amongst the women was palpable. They were all very concerned about one of the youths being injured. Hermione wondered if they had been at all concerned about everyone she loved being killed a few years back. They deserved a bit of misery, she thought. None of the women could understand how this had happened.
During lunch the conversation moved towards Draco's single status, with the underlying message being that if he died without an heir, the Malfoy name would be lost. They all seemed fully aware that the Flints, of all people, would inherit the Malfoy fortune if there wasn't a Malfoy heir. None seemed tactless enough to mention that her position as mistress of this house may be in jeopardy as Lucius would probably have to take a new bride to secure another heir, but the knowledge was there in their eyes, Hermione thought.
All in all, it was a lunch filled with uncomfortable silences and fear. Neville was right, they were a lot less certain about this war with the muggles now. They left the lunchroom to take their leave in the main hall in hushed tones.
After lunch, Draco called her to him. He was sitting in one of the chairs in a dressing robe, but the curtains were still drawn. Hermione had his lunch tray, but he wasn't interested as he had just finished his breakfast. Hermione started to clear away the remains of his breakfast.
"So the vultures were here?" he asked.
Hermione assumed he was talking about the women friends of his mother and nodded.
"They were worried."
"I bet they were," he snorted derisively.
"I should take this downstairs."
"Leave it. Help me into the bath."
Hermione went to draw a bath and he followed her into the bathroom. He didn't seem to need much help. She noted that there wasn't a mark on him as he got into the hot bath. He had absolutely no qualms about his nudity, she noted as he lay in the bath watching her. From what she had heard, he had never been all that concerned about his nudity in school either. He had been caught quite a few times in states of semi-undress. And he had never cared. She would have been completely mortified in school if anyone had seen any part of her that she hadn't been willing to show her grandmother's Women's Institute friends. Things were different now, she thought, looking down at her dress that was short enough to border on the obscene.
"Do you want to get in?" Draco said teasingly.
"No," Hermione responded sharply.
He still had that glassy look to his eyes that told her that he was still under the effects of painkillers. He slipped his head under the water and stayed there for a minute. Oddly it seemed like he wasn't in the room when he was under the water. But the reprieve didn't last long.
When he got out of the bath, he dried off and pulled on the dressing robe again. She guessed he had no plans on leaving his room today. He made her play wizard chess with him afterwards. He won. She wasn't really trying. Never was a game she particularly enjoyed. Ron loved it, on the other hand.
An hour later, he picked a bit from his lunch tray and settled down on the bed.
"You don't read anymore," he stated.
"No."
"Why not?"
Hermione didn't know how to respond. She had just lost interest. She could easily find a way to read, but she just didn't want to.
"I don't have time," she responded.
"You have time right now."
She didn't say anything and didn't make a move to do anything either. She didn't want to read. She didn't want to be reminded of what was, the enthusiasm she had for magic and this world. She didn't feel that anymore.
"I never thought I would see the day when the bookworm extraordinaire would give up her books," he said was watching her.
"Never thought I would see the day that I would be sleeping in your bed," she returned to get a wide smile from Draco.
She would rather be cleaning something than sitting here doing nothing. She certainly didn't want to be thinking about the past, or even the present for that matter. There was a comfort in the mind-numbing, repetitive work involved with cleaning. And when you started cleaning something, there was always a clear and concise finish to the task.
"My father thinks the war is turning on us," Draco said.
"I don't think you have a chance," Hermione said with a challenging look.
"We'll see, mudblood."
Dinner was a pretty sombre affair. Professor Snape was back, as were three other visitors. Apparently Voldemort had lost support in France over the last month and their envoy had definitely told them that they should not be counted on for support. Even Bellatrix Lestrange was staying out of his way at the moment, Hermione heard.
Draco hadn't joined them for dinner, instead staying in his room. Hermione brought him his dinner and he ate while she bathed. The gloss in his eyes had now worn off, so the painkillers must have cleared his system. Hermione knew that he would be 'requiring her services' tonight. Although judging from his mother's lunchtime discussions, Mrs. Malfoy would soon be hellbent on making sure he spent his evenings with someone else soon enough.
Draco pulled her down into his lap when she had finished with her bath and returned to the bedroom dressed in a towel.
"Nice and warm," he said while stroking her thighs. "And smelling lovely. Just how I like you."
He undid her towel like he was unwrapping a present, exposing her completely. As he leant down to kiss her exposed, dewy skin, Hermione turned her gaze towards the outside, where the wind had picked up. It was too dark to see anything, but she could hear the wind in the trees outside. She hated that he was touching her, and hated it even more as he was taking his time. It was so much harder to suppress the sensations when he was trying to coax them along.
But he had enough of playing with her and led her to the bed, where didn't spend long getting to where he wanted, embedded in her thighs. Tonight was all about pleasure, no messages or games, just revelling in the sensations. On his part, that is. He took his time and savoured each stroke. His breathing told her his climax was coming along and he shuddered as it gripped him.
He fell asleep pretty much straight after, while Hermione searched out her towel to clean up a bit. The fire was dying out and the cold was making her skin prickle. Her appreciation for sleeping next to a warm body was increasing in line with the cooling of the weather, even if it was him.
Once snug in the bed, it didn't take her long to fall asleep either, she had been up since the crack of dawn and the gentle crackling of the dying fire was making her eyes heavy.
Hermione dreamt that night, which was unusual . Even more unusual is that she dreamt of the muggle boy that lived down the road from her, Ricky. She had a monstrous crush on him when she was fourteen. He was young and cocky, and really not her type. He was the kind of guy that the girls went nuts over and that in and of itself was offputting, but he was so very cute. Had the most amazing smile, with lush lips and perfect teeth. When he was a bit older, he rode a motorcycle and always had on this dark leather jacket, which she tried really hard to convince herself was so cliquey. That withstanding, she had dreamt of him on occasion and they were exciting dreams. Dreams that sometimes made the pit of her stomach drop out. And the pit of her stomach was at the moment lost somewhere in the wake of feeling she hadn't had in years, and they were reasserting themselves with a vengeance.
His skin on her backside, back and thighs were glorious, she slowly wiggled around a bit to feel the sensation of it, feeling the heat in her belly grow. Pushing against the thigh that was flush up against hers, even feeling the muscles in it with her hand. As reward, his hand moved up and cupped her breast, which sent shockwaves of sensation through her body. He was kissing her neck now and she couldn't help but let out a shuddering breath. She had never needed intimacy before, but her body absolutely craved it right now.
She gloried in the weight of his body as he pulled her back and slid on top of her. She was kissing the softest lips she had ever felt and the need in them matched her own. A part in the back of her head was warning her against the familiarity of the scent and taste, but she was well beyond caring, she just needed him inside her.
The sensation as he entered her was all-encompassing and it filled her up so completely, catering to the need that had taken over her. Her mind was giving her abstract pictures trying to interpret the sensations from her body. Her body was starting to strongly convulse around him. She didn't even need him to move, being inside her was all she needed, but the gentle thrusts were sending waves of pleasure along her spine and down her legs that were now firmly wrapped around him. She couldn't help her hands from travelling down to his backside and pulling him closer.
As her violent need was finally sated, she slipped back into the dark, comfortable slumberness that was calling her. He was back behind her now, pulling her close and gently kissing her shoulder. It all felt so lovely. Her mind was trying to tell her something, but she decided that whatever it was she would deal with it later.
