I own nothing but the plot.
Warning. Mature themes.
March 24th, 1999
"Woah, woah, easy!" Hermione dropped the stack of books onto the end of the bed, her hands pressing to the shoulders of the still unusually pale Head Boy, pushing him back down to the pillows as he tried to sit upright.
Draco just scowled at the witch, resisting her pushes before surrendering, slumping back into the pillows. He was sick of the hospital wing, feeling trapped and confined within the ward. He had been there for a week now after the incident on the top of the astronomy tower. He had slept for the first couple of days, and then spoken a fair bit to the Creevey boy. He had been relocated yesterday though, sent to St Mungo's for further assessment. Before leaving, he'd slipped a card into his bag, the name of a squib who had trained at a muggle university. Draco had spent some time speaking to the therapist before returning to school, encouraged by his mother's improvement after getting her own help. He was surprised by how well the muggles dealt with things without magic and was in half a mind to try and implement the same things into the magical world one day, if he could get the right backing.
"It's customary to bring snacks, not homework, Granger," Draco scowled at the witch, shifting one leg to make sure his foot didn't get crushed by the mound of books she had dumped on his bed.
"Looks like you've got enough of those already," Hermione blushed and gestured to the laden bedside table, chocolate frogs and Bertie Bott's every flavour beans covering the surface, a stack of cards discarded next to them from a surprising amount of well-wishers. In typical Hogwarts fashion, what had happened on top of the tower was mostly a secret, so naturally the whole school knew. More than a few girls had started sending cards of admiration after his dive to the tower, praising his heroism. He had grown tired of them quickly, but was amused at the look on Hermione's face, one that almost resembled-
"Jealous, Granger?" he smirked, folding his arms over his chest as he settled with his back propped How are you feeling, anyway?"
"I'm fine," Draco didn't drop his smirk, watching the flustered witch. He had to admit, it was sweet that she was here. No one had come to visit him in the hospital wing in their earlier years besides Pansy, and she barely counted, the vapid wench too concerned with herself.
"Are you sure?" Hermione inspected him closely, not overly happy with the fact that he was almost the same colour as the white sheets on the bed. It was concerning, given that he was already ridiculously pale. "You lost a lot of blood… I've never seen someone bleed so much." Hermione bit her lip, chewing at it as she thought back to last week. She had tried to grab him when he fainted, but wasn't fast enough to stop his head knocking off the flagstone bricks again, the gash on his head widening as bloody poured out. She had tried all the quick healing spells she knew, every single one that she had used on either herself, Harry or Ron while they were on the run, but nothing had worked, his blood not clotting. In the end she had pressed her hands to the wound, and held it as she levitated him down the stairs, commandeering the first group of students she found to help get them to the hospital wing. Already Professor Slughorn had had to come by twice to replenish Madam Pomfrey's stock of blood replenishing potions, Malfoy having used up her stores.
"You get used to it, Granger," Draco watched her, feeling a twinge of guilt at the anguished look on her face.
"I spent some time in the library, researching," Hermione fidgeted with the sheets, "do you know if you have any genetic –"
"Haemophilia, Granger. A lot of purebloods have it," Draco shrugged. He had grown up knowing to be careful his whole life, learning quickly on that small cuts were bad for him. His Father, for all the abuse and beatings he had delivered, had been careful not to go to that line. Lucius Malfoy was a bastard, but not a fool – even he knew that Draco was the key to the name of Malfoy continuing.
"The Royal disease…" Hermione scrunched her nose as she realised that Draco's words meant that most of the purebloods had interbred at some point. "Wait, so that time in third year, with Buckbeak…"
"Mongrel beast," Draco huffed.
"You weren't actually faking that, were you?" realisation dawned on Hermione, thinking back to every incident over the last seven years, and all the times her and the other Gryffindor's had made fun of the Slytherin for making up. "Wait… and all the potions you've been working on?"
"I found out that muggles have a… treatment for it. I wanted to develop a cure, a twist on the blood replenishing potion," Draco shrugged self-consciously. He had never told her what he was working on every day in their common room, or what he planned on doing after school. Potions was one of the few things that he found he really excelled at and enjoyed. He was hoping to secure a traineeship to gain his own Mastery, and without Snape around he wanted to prove himself to the wider community. If this worked, it was his golden ticket into making a new name for himself.
"That's… that's incredible, Draco," Hermione's eyes widened as she considered the possibilities if he was successful, his words from the tower about reshaping the magical word ringing in her ears. Her feelings about the Slytherin were still jumbled and more than a little confusing to her and mixed constantly with guilt for what she was doing to Ron. She was supposed to be with Ron, that was the happy ending for after the war… but she was doubting that it was her happy ending. The redhead frustrated her more than anything, whereas the blonde thumbing through an arithmancy book in front of her kept her intrigued. He was smarter than she had ever willingly admitted out loud, and the more she got to know him, the more she differenced this man from the stuck-up boy with a pointy chin from their first year. It didn't hurt that he was good looking either, and Hermione had to admit that she was trying hard not to jump his bones every time she saw him. She wouldn't deny that she was frustrated, a girl had needs after all.
Deciding to stop thinking for once, Hermione glanced around to make sure their section of the hospital wing was still empty. She could hear faint voices from Madam Pomfrey's office at the end of the ward, and she knew that someone was in there speaking to the mediwitch but they didn't seem to be a bother right now. Scooting her chair closer, Hermione reached out and placed a hand on the book in Draco's hands, pushing it down. She was met with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk on the blonde's face. He didn't really know where she was going with this, but whatever she was doing was bound to be good. Her heart was pounding out of her chest as Hermione leaned in close, rising out of her chair slightly as she moved towards his face, her lips seconds away from brushing his when the door to the office opened, heels clicking against the marble floors as someone strode purposefully through the ward.
She didn't care though, completely focussed on the blonde, her lips meeting his in a searing kiss. It didn't take long for the action to deepen, tongues dancing and teasing. Without thinking, Hermione's hand rested on his chest, feeling the strong muscles as it dragged down his abdomen, fingertips creeping towards his waist. He wrapped one arm around her to pull her closer, his head tilting as he swept through her mouth with powerful strokes of his tongue, tasting and claiming the witch, a groan muffled as her fingers slipped under his waistband. The groan spurred Hermione on, suddenly feeling bolder than ever as her hand crept lower, fingers wrapping around a rather large appendage, her fingers unable to close around the thickness now enclosed in her hand, and she swore she could feel every beat of his heart throbbing against her palm.
"Draco!" both teens froze at the sound that reached them, his name coming from a female that was definitely not staff. Hermione had a niggling sense in the back of her head that she knew the voice, but it had a stronger reaction on Malfoy, his eyes widening as he pulled back suddenly from Hermione.
"Mother," he tried to stop his voice cracking, scrambling to grab a book to cover his lap, trying to hide the reaction that Hermione's wandering fingertips had caused. Hermione quickly whipped her hand out from under the sheets, throwing herself backwards to put some distance between them. She was aiming for the chair behind her but missed, her heel catching it as she instead crashed to the floor, her cheeks burning bright red, the blush extending down her chest, her uniform dishevelled as she looked up at the still astoundingly beautiful, aristocratic face of Narcissa Malfoy.
