Living with Draco was a whirlwind and a half. Half the time, Hermione didn't know if she wanted to hug him or strangle him. As always with the man, however, she found it was both. Always both.
Day 1: Draco started acting strangely, even for him. After having the audacity to steal her bag, with all her belongings inside, he wouldn't even look her in the eye once he returned home! She'd tried to talk to him, tried to get them back into their easy banter—back to normal—but it was as though Draco forgot how to use basic motor skills.
For instance, speech, using a spoon, or even sitting on the couch. She managed to get him to take a spot in her dad's chair across from her, and everything seemed alright, if not a little awkward, until she asked him to help her get their rooms sorted.
The man officially went mad. Well, madder than he already was.
"Witches always start with kicking us out of the bedroom," Draco said with a smirk. "Next you'll be kicking me out of the house."
"Very funny, Draco," Hermione huffed. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm also kicking myself out of this room." When he didn't say anything, she groaned out loud. "I'm turning this into a dedicated research space!"
She hated the unspoken question.
"Nobody should be sleeping in here. This was my parent's room—and now it's going to be a lab, so go! You have a whole room to yourself so you can go primp as much as you want."
Truly, Hermione was trying to inject some humor between them, but when Draco grumbled under his breath the whole way back to his room, it left her feeling guilty.
He didn't verbally talk to her for the rest of the evening.
That night, it was Hermione who sighed and muttered under her breath while she wrote George and Ginny at the counter. She still had Saturday and Sunday traditions to upkeep with them. Asking Draco if she could borrow his owl only got her an eyeroll, so she took it as a yes.
That was the first night that not having magic proved to be a bit of a problem. She hadn't considered needing a silencing charm before checking the time and remembering Draco's room was right next to hers. It wasn't like she could ask him to put one up, either.
She'd stayed up as late as she could, made them both a passionflower tea, and prayed for a quiet night's sleep. She should have known better.
It was the first time she woke up to a pair of hands gently shaking her shoulders and Draco's face, twisted with fear and worry, hovering above her.
"Shit, Granger! I thought you might be getting murdered in here."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Hermione rasped, trying for a weak smile.
By this time, Hermione's throat being destroyed was normal to her, but judging by the stiff jaw and narrowed eyes she got in answer... not so much.
"How long have you been having nightmares?" Draco snapped.
"Two years," Hermione answered automatically.
"And Potter hasn't tried to help you? The Weasel? Weaselette? Nobody?"
Hermione shrugged. "Silencing charms. Look, Draco, I'm—"
Draco swept out of the room before she could finish her sentence. The ex-witch scoffed and rolled over, prepared to go back to sleep. She was nearly there, too, when the hall light crept back into her room. Hermione turned over, ready to complain, when she saw a steaming cup on his hand. "Drink this," Draco ordered. Hermione took it and obliged... begrudgingly. Her throat really did hurt.
He left without another word. Her throat also stopped hurting.
Day 2: Coffee and breakfast was less chaotic, so that was a plus. She learned that Draco preferred his morning brew much like she did hers: with vanilla creamer and sugar. The only difference, really, was the sprinkle of cinnamon she liked to top hers with. The spice always reminded her of Christmas.
Hermione internally reeled. Christmas! How could she have forgotten? It was only three weeks away! She quickly worked to keep the shock off her face as she studied her roommate across from her.
He looked as though he hadn't slept a wink. The dark circles under his eyes were getting worse, and Merlin, his hair and robes were disheveled! It was rather alarming by Malfoy standards.
"Hey, Draco?"
"Hmm?"
Hermione strode around the counter and quickly went to work trying to sort the poor man out. Draco automatically leaned back—though it was so slight one would barely notice it unless you were her—and reached to stop her hands. It was pure instinct to swat his hands away. She's had to do things like this for as long as she could remember.
"What are you—?"
"I'm fixing your tie. Calm down."
One it was straightened out; Hermione took to straightening his robes while she tipped her head back to look up at his eyes. Draco was fantastic at covering his emotions, but his eyes hid nothing from her.
"Draco, you're exhausted," Hermione stated firmly. She didn't think twice about reaching up on her tiptoes to straighten his hair. While she personally loved it this way, it wouldn't do to go teach a class. She did, however, have to stop herself from thinking too much about the fact that he froze under her touch. She reminded herself not to be hurt when he relaxed after she took her hands off him. This was the way of things. It was for the best.
"Says the witch who hasn't properly rested in two years," Draco muttered.
Hermione took a step back, taking care to just link her hands together behind her. "What on earth were you doing last night?"
"Before or after your screaming got me out of bed?"
Hermione sighed. "Never mind. Just forget I said anything." She turned and strode back to the cabinets, searching for a thermos. She ignored the eyes boring into her back and set to work filling the container with enough prepared coffee to get him through at least half the day.
She ignored the way his eyes widened when she roughly handed it to him. "Sorry for waking you. Now, you better be getting to the castle before you're late."
"Granger—"
"Draco—"
Hermione couldn't read him when he sighed and disappeared.
She spent the next hour writing letters to Harry, Ron, Neville and Hannah, letting them all know she was alright, that she missed them, and that she was at her parent's house so they wouldn't worry too much.
Next, she wrote Amanda. Hermione decided right then and there to offer a promotion straight to shop manager, obviously with an accompanying raise, as Hermione herself couldn't properly run the shop herself anymore. Once she wrote Gringotts, informing them of the coming transition and adjustments to be pulled from the business account, she sent them off with the poor owl responsible for sending off so many letters at once.
With that out of the way, Hermione decided to get something going in the slow cooker and set up her new potions/research lab.
It took an astonishing amount of willpower to keep from posting her notes all over the walls—in plain sight, where she could easily reference them whenever needed. Regardless, she poured over dozens of pages filled with scribblings, scattered around her in the epitome of organized chaos, five enormously daunting books in front of her. Hermione's hand raced as quickly as her mind, theories and speculations pouring out of her like never before.
She was prepared. Four different sized cauldrons were already set up along the length of the back wall; the closet converted into a well-stocked supply cupboard. A propane tank, connected securely to an outdoor burner, was brought in from the back porch and now waited to be used for an entirely different purpose. Hermione was ready to prove that you didn't necessarily need magic to brew—at least, prove it to herself. She was sure that squibs did this often and nobody knew about it.
She was compiling her fifth stack of notes when she heard a wonderful, familiar sound. Her eyes fluttered closed with pleasure. Rain on a tin roof.
Rain!
Hermione scrambled to her feet, feeling renewed excitement. She'd be able to mark off another thing on her bucket list. She pulled her crimson cardigan tighter around her as she bounded down the stairs. She was never allowed to do this as a child. When she got older, she was afraid of what others might think. Now—she didn't see the point in caring about anyone's opinion.
She never felt freer as she rushed out the back door, delighting in the taboo feeling of water soaking through her hair, her clothes. She spun around in utter glee as the raindrops fell against her upturned face and renewed her weary spirit.
"The bloody hell are you doing, Granger?"
Hermione hadn't realized she'd been out there so long. She spun towards a very bewildered Draco, who stood underneath the awning. She felt so giddy, so alive, that his harsh tone couldn't touch her. Instead, she flashed him a brilliant smile. "Living!"
"Are you mad? Get back inside before you catch your death!"
She shook her head, a bubble of laughter exploding out of her. Hermione couldn't believe her ears. He sounded just like her mum! "Don't be silly. I already have, Draco!"
Her laughter quickly dried when she looked up and suddenly Draco was right there, in the downpour, with her. Her body may have been soaking wet from the rain, but her mouth was dry.
Draco's hand had never been so soft, so gentle, cupping the side of her face. A pair of storm clouds pierced her, intense and warning in a way that both warmed and chilled her to the bone. Dripping white hair clung to the side of his face, a stark contrast to the gray, and yet she didn't think she ever saw anything more beautiful. She wondered what it would feel like now.
She wanted to touch him, wanted to trace the slippery angles of his jaw. She wanted to brush the water off the bridge of his snowy nose, run her thumb over the dark circles under his eyes.
She wondered what rainwater would taste like on his lips.
It took her longer than it should have to realize that his arms were exposed. The black tee he wore was painted on. Strong shoulders drawing her eye across every outlined plane and muscle, down his chest and stomach. Her body warmed; her stomach flipped, and she had to find the strength to swallow.
"Get. Your arse. In the house. Now, Granger." Draco's quiet command might as well have been lightning that struck her.
Draco made sure to bring tea when he shook Hermione out of another nightmare this time. Just like the night before, he left as soon as she could hold the cup.
Day 3: Thank Merlin it was Saturday. Hermione was just compiling a list of possible solutions based on her research when she heard two distinct apparition cracks. She really needed to connect her parents' fireplace to the Floo. Every time she heard a loud noise, she wanted to reach for a wand she couldn't use.
But she didn't have time for deep musings today. Today was Slackers Saturday, and that meant catching up with George. Who would have come with him? They had a strict rule about not bringing in outsiders. This was their time, born from a joint desire to comfort each other after losing Fred. As they grew closer, these days became their catch-up time—which also meant George getting drunk while she laughed at him over a butterbeer.
Hermione walked a little slower down the stairs today. Yesterday's exertions and nightmares wore her out more than she'd like to admit. It didn't take long to find out why there were two pops instead of one.
"Ginny! George!"
The pair was already seated on the barstools, making themselves at home as Hermione made her way toward them. She took her honorary sister in a tight hug while giving George the slightest of glares. "I thought we didn't do thirds on Slackers Saturday."
George just smiled and shrugged, completely unaffected. "I know, Minnie, but—"
"But I missed you, you prick," Ginny laughed.
Hermione only squeezed her tighter. "I missed you too, Gin."
George leaned against the counter with a wide grin that overrode the mock hurt on his face. "Hey, you never hug me like that. Now I'm just insulted."
Hermione snorted and strode over to him instantly. "Alright, come here, you big baby."
George's eyes sparkled. "See, you do like me. At least a little."
As Hermione nestled her head under his chin, she tightened her squeeze. "Don't ruin it, Georgie." Laughter that she desperately missed filled her kitchen. This is what home was supposed to feel like.
A great thought popped into her head. Hermione turned on the spot, causing George to drop his arms. "Ginny, since you're here, can I ask you for a favor?"
The younger redhead's head tilted to the side just a fraction. "Sure, what is it?"
Hermione reached for her hand. "Come on. Follow me."
As soon as they were out of earshot, she asked, "Do you think you could put up a silencing charm in my room?" Ginny's eyebrows shot up as a wide, catlike smile spread across her face. "Got something you want to keep quiet, Mione?"
Hermione snorted. "Something like that."
Her friend lit up, dragging her inside her room and shut the door. "Alright, who is it?"
Hermione shook her head. "Nobody, Gin."
"Oh, no you don't," Ginny pressed, waggling a single finger in front of her. "Spill! Who's the bloke?"
"It's not..." Hermione sighed. "Like that."
Ginny groaned. "Don't tell me you're still hung up on Ron."
"No!"
"Shh!"
After a couple of beats, Ginny whispered, "It's not George, is it? Because..."
Hermione shook her head furiously. "Merlin, no. He's just a friend, Gin. Really, there's—"
Ginny's eyes widened. "No," she gasped. Her voice then dropped so low Hermione could barely hear her. "You're hung up on bloody Malfoy!"
The curly haired woman desperately wished her face didn't burn as she grit her teeth and all but spat, "Absolutely not, Ginevra."
"You know, I have noticed a pretty big change in the ferret this year. Especially after you were hospitalized..."
"Ginevra Molly Weasley," Hermione hissed.
"It's not that I don't see the appeal," Ginny grinned. "Every girl dreams about the bad boy who has a soft side just for her..."
"OH, COME ON!"
"I bet he'd like you to... on him," the redheaded menace said wickedly.
Hermione hid her face in her hands. This woman was impossible.
"It's alright, you don't have to admit it right now," the fiery witch said, satisfied with herself. A quick wave of her wand later, she stepped out the door, only stopping to pass a sly comment back at her friend. "All done, Hermione..."
Hermione sighed, exasperated already. "Thanks, Ginny."
The two women walked back down the stairs, arm in arm as they've always done, but Ginny all but waltzed into the kitchen.
"Alright, you two," Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she stepped to the fridge. She was in good spirits, so she pulled out three beers. "Catch me up. What have I missed?"
A mouthwatering aroma wafted from the oven and half the counter was littered with beer bottles three hours later. "Alright, alright, alright, my turn!" Ginny grinned. A squeak of a hiccup interrupted her, causing the group to laugh loudly. "'Miney!" She slurred.
Hermione, totally sloshed, was stretched out between three barstools. Her head rested on George's lap while her feet rested on another one in front of her. She barely lifted her head, raising the bottle in gesture. "Yup," she said, grinning.
George grinned down at her, and she back up at him. It seemed like a good idea, so she reached up to poke his nose. "I... boop you!" She said, giggling. He shook his head. "Yeah. You got me, Minnie." Hermione giggled. "You're funny, you know that?"
George lightly tapped her nose, causing her to scrunch it in response. "You're funnier."
"No," Hermione protested. "You're... the funniest person ever." The drunk girl's attention instantly turned back to her other friend. "Ginny," Hermione said loudly. "Ginny!"
Ginny giggled. "Miney!"
"Isn't Georgie funny?"
Ginny snorted. "Not as funny as a drunk Miney!"
Hermione pouted. "You're no fun."
Ginny's eyes flew open wide. "Miney! I want to play a game."
Hermione, drunk, pulled on George's arm so she could sit up. "What game?"
She did not like that mischievous grin on Ginny's face. That never meant anything good. "Fuck, Potion, Hex!"
Okay, that seemed harmless enough.
"Alright... who am I pickin' from?"
She paused, obviously thinking this one through. "McGonagall, Blaise Zabini, and..." Her eyes glinted. "Malfoy."
Hermione immediately flopped back down on George's lap. "Your sister's going to kill me, Georgie."
George snorted. "I know, right? She couldn't even throw me in there."
Hermione groaned. "Not helping, Georgie." Hermione's exaggeratedly pointed at Ginny. "Get her!"
"Oh no," George laughed. "I'm out of this one."
Hermione's arm flopped over her face. "Ugh!"
"No back-outsies," Ginny sang.
"Fine!" Hermione groaned. "I pick... Merlin help me... Potioning McGonagall..."
Both Weasleys laughed loudly.
"Hexing Blaise..."
Hermione groaned.
"andfuckingmalfoy."
"Whazz that?" Ginny leered.
"I said," Hermione groaned, "THAT I'D FUCK DRACO MALFOY, HAPPY?"
Ginny nearly fell off her barstool laughing.
"Hell, Granger. You should've just said that from the start."
Hermione wanted the earth to swallow her whole. Ginny was still hysterically laughing.
George, however, just snorted. "Well, come on, you great git! Join us!"
Day 4: With Ginny and George still passed out from the night before, Hermione thought it might be time to hook up the fireplace to the Floo. Once that was done, she realized it would be the perfect opportunity to get some Christmas shopping done.
The curly haired brunette quickly found that the solitude was a welcome change. She bounced from store to store, seriously studying everything she saw. She had to find the perfect gift for all the mad people that she loved in her life. Her feet stopped directly in front of a jewelry store. She'd never seen anything so perfect in her life—never dared to think that something like that would exist.
She found the perfect Christmas gift for Draco.
Later that night, Hermione sat alone in the kitchen, contemplating on the whirlwind that had been the last four days. Was something going on with her roommate? Is that why he'd been acting so strangely? She'd grown accustomed to his moods being directed at everyone else—not at her. Since that first night...
Hermione nearly dropped her cup. Draco has admitted to not sleeping much. The dark circles under his eyes. Was he, could he be...?
She bolted up the stairs, scrambling towards Draco's room. Once she stood outside his door, she leaned against the door frame, giving herself a minute to catch her breath. It's getting worse, Hermione noted. No time for that right now, though.
She eased the door open and was mortified at what she saw.
The man she cared deeply about—his eyes were screwed tightly shut; mouth open wide. Screaming. His hands desperately clawed at the bedsheets as he tossed and turned, body shining with what was obviously sweat. Hermione would recognize agony anywhere.
She didn't dare stand there a moment more.
Hermione scrambled toward the bed and didn't think twice about it. She climbed atop him, straddling his waist. She gripped each of his shoulders and shook them firmly. For as tightly as she gripped his shoulders, fear also gripped her. She hated going through these alone. He shouldn't have to. The onslaught of the mind was torture in itself.
"Draco! Draco!" Hermione cried. "I'm here, Draco. I'm here. It's just a dream."
The tortured man's eyes flew open wide before they rounded with shock. Hermione didn't allow herself to second guess her decision. She lifted one of her trembling hands and cradled his face. "It's alright, Draco," she whispered. "It was just a dream."
"Hermione," Draco croaked, and she wished she'd brought some tea.
"It's okay. I'm here. It wasn't real."
She nearly cried with relief when his breathing began to slow and even out. Feeling a little braver, she cradled the other side of his face with her free hand, silently begging him to hear her. "You're alright. I promise."
Finally, mercifully, the corner of Draco's mouth curved up into her favorite smirk. "You know, it's not every day that I wake up with a witch on top of me. Is that a Gryffindor thing? Ambushing unsuspecting wizards?"
Thank goodness. He's alright.
Hermione rolled her eyes at him.
"You're insufferable."
Draco's smirk only widened. "Says the witch straddling my lap."
Hermione sighed. "You need some tea."
Except Draco didn't let her get up. Instead, his arms shot around her waist, pulling her down onto the bed with him. "Fuck the tea," he whispered. "Just stay."
"Draco—"
"Stay. Please."
Hermione blinked. "Okay."
It was the first time in four days that they both slept soundly.
