It was like putting her hand on a burning stove, but she kept them still. One pressed to Malfoy's forehead, the other to his bare chest. Regardless of the fact that he was violently shivering, he was on fire. Sweat was beading across his forehead, his skin turned a sickly-grey and his face was contorted with anguish.
She hadn't expected him to collapse. It had happened so suddenly... One minute they were screaming bloody murder at each other, the next, Malfoy swayed, paled, his eyes rolled back in his head and down he went, hitting the deck with a heavy thud.
Hermione had sprung into action, quickly forgetting about their fight as she extracted her wand from her sleeve. Her arm had quaked as she gripped it, but she tried with all her might to push down the anxiety as she waved it over Malfoy's lifeless form.
She couldn't find anything wrong with him though, even making sure to check the Muggle way for injuries. But still, she found nothing. It seemed he had just passed out. Perhaps it was stress, or lack of sleep, or over-exertion from their arguing, but she couldn't be sure. She didn't want to risk Renervating him because she had felt too shaky with her wand at that moment. Instead, she cast a less risky Mobilicorpus over his lifeless form and moved him to the sofa.
It was now a few hours after Malfoy fell. For the first fifteen minutes or so, he didn't move. Just steadily breathing while Hermione surveyed him from her armchair quietly as the fallout of their heated row came flooding to her and she failingly tried to dam it back.
Then he had begun to spiral. It started small; a timid whimper escaping his whitened lips. Then came the shuddering, gasps. When he started thrashing around, Hermione was forced to intervene. He skin paled to almost translucent, burning up and breaking into a sweat, yet still, he was shivering.
And this was how she ended up beside him, anchoring him to the sofa, trying desperately to regulate his body temperature with her cold hands as his jaw flexed and his teeth ground together, twisting his body, straining his muscles under her fingers as if he was breathing knives. It was horrible to watch.
What's wrong with him?
She was trying so hard not to cry, and to tell herself that she hated him and she didn't care what happened to him; that he didn't deserve her help.
And she did hate him. He didn't deserve her help. But that wasn't who Hermione was, and she couldn't help but feel sorry for him right now. She also couldn't sit by and watch someone... anyone suffer like that. It reminded her of the horrible nightmares she had watched Harry go through when they were on the run. Malfoy currently resembled the exact way Harry used to look.
Perhaps Malfoy was merely having a nightmare then? She didn't know. She didn't care either in that moment. He needed her help and she wasn't going to deny him of it, no matter who he was. She was sure he wouldn't appreciate it but she couldn't leave him alone. Especially not now that he was...
Were those tears on his cheeks?
"No... p-please..."
His wailing stunted her. His breath was coming out in hot pants against Hermione's face as she tried in vain to hold him still and push his wet fringe from his forehead, sucking back her own sorrow.
"P-please... please, don't..."
Oh, this was awful. So awful, in fact, that she was moved to tears. Tears over Malfoy. Before, he had been completely incoherent but now, hearing his anguish this way was heartbreaking.
He was definitely having a nightmare. Hermione could feel his heart beginning to thump uncontrollably in his chest. He was becoming more troubled, so Hermione began stroking the skin of his forehead with her thumb, softly shushing him as her own tears slipped down her cheeks.
She used to soothe Harry this same way when he was having night terrors, but it didn't seem to be working on Malfoy.
"Please don't hurt her... P-please!" he sobbed. "M-mum...no..."
Hermione sobbed silently, raking in a harsh breath, she turned her eyes away from him. This felt so wrong... She felt she was intruding on a very private moment, but she just couldn't bear to tear herself away.
She forced herself to look back on his pallid face, thumbing away his tears and softly, she cooed to him.
"Shh, Malfoy, it's okay..." she lulled, stroking his cheek. "It's okay..."
She really didn't know what to say to him, neither did she know if she was getting through to him at all. He was whimpering still, and trembling violently. Hours could have slipped by for all she knew, but eventually, she felt his body finally begin to relax under her palm.
"Granger..."
She snapped her eyes to his and clenched her breath, momentarily worried that he had woken. Luckily for her, he was still out cold.
She must have gotten through his torment and into his subconscious... Maybe he was dreaming about her? It would explain why he called her name.
Doubtful. She thought, shaking the notion from her head. If he were, he'd probably be spouting a slew of hateful words instead of her surname. It was definitely odd that he had called out for her though...
Either way, he now had almost fully stilled into a peaceful sleep. Hermione exhaled her relief and moved off of him slowly, smoothing the crease between his brows as Malfoy's breaths evened, then she sat back down in her armchair, watching him breathe steadily for a while.
She was currently very perplexed by him; how it was that he looked so... normal. His significantly pointed features seemed to have softened in his serenity. There was no trace of his trademark sneer, nor a spectre of his customary anger lining his visage. He looked just like any other sleeping person, nothing like the nasty little bully she was used to.
Sitting here now, watching over his sleeping form, she decided that he was rather a good-looking boy... objectively speaking, of course.
His china-white skin glowed under the waning moonlight and the remnants of his sweat-logged turmoil. The fringe of his platinum locks danced against his forehead, almost reaching down to his long eyelashes.
Hermiones eyes roamed down further toward his naked torso and she felt her cheeks heat. Malfoy's perfectly-chiseled chest rose and fell gently in time with his breathing. With each breath, his seeker-built muscles contracted slightly, shaping themselves against the shadows of her darkened living room.
Her gaze came to rest then on his left arm hanging over the side of her couch and the angry stain upon it. The Dark Mark had faded now, but against Malfoy's pale dermis, it stood out like a sore thumb.
Hermione expelled a deep sigh. Just looking at that tattoo made her squirm. She still couldn't wrap her head around the idea that Malfoy had been a Death Eater. Sure, he had been cruel and callous in school. And yes, he believed in a staunch, Pureblooded society. But despite it all, she just hadn't pegged him as the type. The way he looked when he slept... the stomach-churning wails of a small boy in agonising slumber...
She was sure that Death Eaters slept perfectly well at night. Draco Malfoy was no Death Eater. He was just a bastard.
"Do you make a habit of staring at people while they sleep, Granger?"
Hermione jumped a mile out of her skin, gasping loudly as her eyes came to focus against Malfoy's now open, intense, charcoal orbs.
.
.
Draco raised a questioning brow at her flushed face. His sleep-addled haze had cleared and the first thing he had awoken to find was Granger staring unabashedly at his left arm. More specifically at the tattoo that scorned his flesh. His Dark Mark.
He had no idea how he ended up here, half-naked on Grangers sofa, nor how he wound up the subject of her perverted sleep-voyeurism, but at this precise moment, he did not care.
He felt bloody awful. Like he'd been thumped by hundreds of relentless bludgers. It was becoming difficult to hold the intensity of his sneer and he had to break eye contact with her eventually, lolling his head back to the armrest and closing his eyes with a groan. Fuck, did he feel sick.
Draco heard Granger timidly clear her throat but he didn't look up at her, instead choosing to lie still and count his breaths, trying to distract from the queasiness wreaking havoc on his body. His ignorance didn't seem to deter her though.
"How... how are you feeling?" she asked, apprehensively.
Draco groaned in response. He didn't think he would be able to speak again, lest he pass out.
"Malfoy... I-I didn't know what to do..." came her watery voice. "You were burning up and...you just... y-you passed out so suddenly and I couldn't find anything wrong with you..."
Wait a minute... Passed out?
The last thing Draco could recall was screaming the odds at Granger over that blasted book again... Had he passed out then? It would explain why he couldn't think how that argument ended.
Draco weakly parted his lids and noticing that the living room was suddenly much darker than he remembered. He searched his memory, remembering that he had felt very uneasy during their confrontation and it had gradually worsened. He remembered the dizziness, the shortness of breath and the churning of his insides. He remembered... he remembered an orchard.
An orchard?
The strong smell of fruits and flowers and... and Granger... Her hair smelled like an orchard.
His vision rocked him and he closed his eyes again, feeling that sickly wave wash over him as his heart palpitated uncomfortably at the memory of her scent.
"I'm not asking you to like me. I'm just asking you to be a little nicer..."
She had begged him, hadn't she? Surrounding him with her stricken face. He could recall her pleading tone, her wide eyes shining with hurt. He remembered the nausea growing then that resembled his current state, and he shuddered. He remembered wanting to get away from her, badly. He remembered feeling overwhelmed and sick and trapped and... and...
"Do I deserve to die?"
His body moved of its own accord as Draco loudly retched over the edge of Grangers sofa, though nothing but bile came up, of course. Despite the enormous amounts of food in Grangers stock, he had been living on meagre scraps, having not swallowed his pride in order to ask her to cook him something decent.
The subject of his ire was off her chair and at his side in seconds, her hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles along his skin with her thumb, softly comforting him with some empty words he wasn't really listening to as he continued to retch onto her awful carpet.
When he'd finally finished, Granger put a hand on his shoulder and helped him levvy himself back up into a relaxed sitting position, and Draco tried not to think about how delicate and warm her small hand felt against him. Her touch left him quickly as it came, and Draco looked up to find her now handing him a glass of water, all the while gazing down on him with her seemingly favourite emotion. Pity.
Draco was too tired to berate her. He took the water, not meeting her gaze, and took small sips from the glass. A quarter down, he felt a little less dizzy and chanced a glance in Grangers direction, only to find her now intently staring down in the direction of his vomit.
His expression soured. What the fuck is she looking at?
His abdomen protested as he strained to lean over and look at where Granger had planted her gaze. Yes, she was definitely staring at his sick. Really, she was so uncouth.
He opened his mouth, intending to question her with some scorn, though it came out rather more like curiosity. "What in the name of Salazar are you looking at?"
It was as though she barely heard him. Her eyes flicked briefly back and forth between him and the floor before she faced him, finally. "Hm? I'm sorry?"
Draco huffed, settling back into the plush sofa. "I said: what are you looking at, Granger? Is my puke really that interesting?"
She rolled her eyes at him. "I know you're being sarcastic, but actually, yes. It is."
Repulsed, Draco frowned up at her askance, hoping she was joking, but finding that she looked quite serious. Perhaps this was some weird Muggle thing? To analyse someones puke? Draco had no idea, but he was positively disgusted. Disgusted to the point that he almost made an addition to the pile.
"That's revolting." he scrunched his face. "What, dare I ask, is so encapsulating about my bodily fluids?" he asked.
"Well," she began, pulling her wand from her pocket and pointing it at the offending liquid. "You expelled quite a bit." she said, studiously. "But it appears to be mostly, if not completely made up of bile. Nothing else." She brandished her wand toward it, meeting his eyes briefly. "Which leads me to a single conclusion." She flicked her wand, wordlessly vanishing its traces from her carpet.
"Does it, now?" Draco asked, rhetorically. "What is that then, oh brilliant one?" he rolled his eyes at her, tilting his head in mock inquisitiveness.
"You haven't been eating. That's why you passed out." She concluded flatly.
Draco blinked. He didn't exactly know how to respond to that statement. She was right of course, the bloody know-it-all. He had been neglecting himself as of late, but he had had no inclination to rectify it. For the last two weeks, Draco had been unable to stop his mind churning over their rather heated row about that book. He had been left with nothing but questions that he dare not reflect on.
Unfortunately, forcing his mind not to give into his thoughts had not stopped him from feeling its effects in other ways. His nightmares had peaked to new heights, leaving him bereft of slumber almost nightly. He hadn't eaten an actual meal in over a month, not just because he couldn't cook or because of his unyielding stubbornness when it came to asking Granger, but because food tasted like soot in his mouth. He had only been able to stomach glasses of water and the occasional piece of fruit if he was feeling indulgent.
But he hadn't felt truly hungry for a long time. He hadn't known the comfort of a good night's sleep, or the luxury of a sweet dream. He didn't even feel like trying to entertain himself, instead choosing to waste away in his room with nothing but the artex ceiling for company.
Draco had been merely existing rather than living. And he was barely doing that. If he thought about it realistically, he had been slowly killing himself.
"To be fair," Granger said, cutting off his train of thought with a quirked brow, "I had thought you weren't eating before now. Hardly anything has been touched in the fridge or the cupboards. You've left no rubbish or dirty dishes, save a few glasses."
Draco scoffed. He supposed he wasn't exactly being secretive in his behaviours. In fact, he hadn't given it any thought that Granger may notice his eating habits — or lack, thereof.
"Oh, well, 20 points to Gryffindor. Congratulations, Granger. Your observation skills are impeccable. It only took you two weeks to notice." he said sardonically, rolling his eyes.
Granger didn't react, she just continued staring down at him. "You can't cook without magic, can you?" she surmised.
"Fuck off, Granger!"
"You know, you could've just asked me, Malfoy." she said haughtily.
Draco snorted. "What, to have you throw it back in my face? No thanks, Mud-bore. I'd like to keep some of my dignity intact, if you please." he said, gesturing down to his unclothed form.
Grangers face turned crimson at the mention of his state of undress, but she chose not to address it, instead saying "I would never throw it back in your face. I'm not so cruel as to let you starve." she wrapped her arms around her small waist and fingered the hem of her top uncomfortably, never breaking eye contact with him.
Draco shrugged, turning away from her and tucking his hands behind his head, choosing to fixate on the black silhouettes of the trees outside the window. "Why do you give a shit anyway? Surely it would befit you to have me starve to death?"
"As I said, I'm not that cruel. Not even to you." she answered tenderly.
He flicked his eyes over her in a derogatory display. "Pft. Bloody do-gooder." he muttered, looking away again.
Granger moved away from him at last and sat back in her chair. An awkward silence descended on them once again and stayed that way for a long while. Draco was doing his best to ignore her little movements in his peripheral vision and trying hard to focus on the calming sway of the trees branches in the wind outside.
He knew she was looking at him though, and he couldn't ignore the feeling, like his heckles were raised as on the neck of a cat.
He chanced a glance at her and saw that she was, indeed, staring at him again. Not directly though, but at his arm. She was biting her plump bottom lip as her eyes roved his mark. Draco carefully watched her watching him for a while, as she nibbled away at that lip with a slightly furrowed brow.
As he watched her, he realised how tired she looked. When their argument began, it had been light outside, which meant he must have been out cold for a good few hours considering the pitch darkness smothering the room now. He wondered why she had stayed with him. If it had been him, he would have left her there.
But Granger wasn't like that, of course.
Though this had to have been the longest he'd slept in weeks, Draco didn't feel well rested. If anything he felt marginally disturbed. He was pretty sure he could remember a particularly rough dream now; one in which his mother was being tortured at the hands of The Dark Lord's men in the parlour of the Manor for daring to question his orders to kill Dumbledore. He shivered at the prickling memory, trying to wall it away with the rest of his past.
Granger sighed, distracting this train of thought as she wriggled in her chair, causing her sleeve to fall over her shoulder, accidently exposing a small amount of lightly-freckled skin.
"Draco?"
He heard his name fall from her mouth, but her lips hadn't moved. His memory flashed with a picture of her anguished features. Wide, tear-streaked eyes and screaming. Then it was gone as soon as it came. He remembered her voice, and then he remembered nothing...
This must have been the moment he lost consciousness. And she had called out his name...
Draco shivered again, more obviously this time and Granger caught the movement as she broke out of her reverie and locked eyes with him. She blushed once again at being caught staring. "Sorry." she said meekly. "It's just... well, I've never seen one up close before." she explained.
It took Draco a second to remember that she had been analysing his mark moments ago. He snorted, pushing the thoughts of his name on her lips aside. "I assure you, it is nothing special." he said solemnly. "Do you do this often? Stare at people?" he asked, pointedly.
She frowned. "No. I was just curious." she looked away, her cheeks still flushed from embarrassment.
"Well, don't. It's unnerving." he scorned, turning his gaze again to the darkness outside. "And frankly, it's rude."
Granger tutted in reply and crossed her arms, but he ignored her. A few beats passed between them until she spoke again.
"Malfoy," she started cautiously, "why are you like this?"
He snapped his eyes back to her in hot confusion. "Like what, Granger?"
She regarded him carefully for a moment before choosing her next words. With a deep draw of breath for composion, she met his hard eyes with her own. "Why is it, after all we've been through that you still hold such unwavering hatred for me?"
Draco's stoney glare hardened a little more, perturbed by her ridiculousness. "Seriously, Granger?" he responded mockingly, "I would have thought that was obvious?"
"Actually, no. It isn't. I'm not talking about the fact that your father is a notorious racist that ruined your perceptions of people—"
"Watch it, Granger." he warned.
She sighed on a roll of her eyes. "What I mean is; I don't understand how it is that you're still holding onto your prejudice. Everything we went through... Everything you went through... It doesn't make sense to me."
Her clarification mattered none, for it still hadn't changed his understanding of the question. Draco still felt agitated that she, the supposed 'brightest witch of her age' could be so idiotic. He bared his teeth threateningly and snorted.
"Honestly, and you're supposed to be the intelligent one." he muttered. "It's not a matter of 'holding onto my prejudice', Granger, because it's not a prejudice. Muggles are inferior. They possess no magical ability, it's not even lost in their DNA somewhere. Witches and Wizards have to be somewhat more evolved to be able to produce magic, it is really not that hard to grasp." he finished sharply.
"Then how do you explain Muggleborns?" she quipped. "If Muggles have no traces of magical DNA, then where do you think I come from?" there were no traces of anger in her voice, but merely what Draco recognised as genuine curiosity.
Draco didn't miss a beat when he answered. "You're an anomaly." he shrugged. "A freak of nature, obviously."
She frowned and snorted lightly. "So, I didnt steal my magic then, like the Pureblood doctrines teach?"
She was clearly being sarcastic, but Draco indulged her anyway. "I've never seen how that could be possible. You'd have to have even a pinch of magical ability to steal actual magic from someone. A Muggle couldn't just pick up a wand and make it work. They would still need magic within their core."
"So is that why you hate me then?" she asked, her tone laced with a hint of sadness. "Because I'm a freak of nature?"
Draco sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. Never in a lifetime did he think he would be actually have to explain to Granger, boffin extroadinair, why he thought she was dirt under his shoes.
"Look, Granger, a war is not enough to erase the facts. Muggles are inferior because they can't do magic. It's pretty fucking simple. Mudbloods are an accident. They don't come from magical talent and they know nothing of the world they are thrust into, which puts them at a constant disadvantage." The longer he went on, the more impassioned he became.
"Then they have the gall to enter our world, spouting biased sympathies about how Muggles aren't so bad, and how we should just accept them as equals and defile the sanctity of our Pureblood lineage, which has been upheld for generations, all because they don't have the comprehension to understand what they dont have!" His voice was sharp, but Grangers face had yet to change during his rant. She simply listened intently, barely reacting to anything he was saying.
"They come into our way of living and expect us to be the ones to change. Frankly, it's beyond fucking insulting. They preach about Muggles being the same as us, yet they don't hold a blink of anything that makes them special! Just like the Mudbloods themselves! Whereas we have magic that Half-Bloods and Mudbloods just don't possess, and never will! If I'm being honest, I think it's cruel to give them any opportunity to be part of our world; a world on which they can never truly compete." he raked in a breath and met her eyes.
If she'd noticed his growing disdain, she wasnt showing it, barely even gracing him with interest as she blinked silently back at him. His irritation piqued with her almost-ignorance, and he forced more spite into his tirade.
"I hate you, Mudblood, because you are the worst of them all. You, who were born into a second-class existence, waltz into my world and demand that family's like mine need to change, and that we are the one's in the wrong! You strutted around the halls of Hogwarts, your nose stuck in the air, thinking you were better than everyone else because you could recite every book in the Hogwarts library, but my family lived it, Granger. We lived things that your Muggle-tainted mind could never comprehend. You could read every book in wizarding existence, but it will never change your place. It will never make you pure. And you don't get to tell us that our ways are wrong! You weren't born into our world, you slithered into it. There's a difference!"
By the end of his speech, Draco could feel himself going red in the face, the earlier feelings of nausea crawling their way back inside as he watched Granger steel her breathing. He could practically see the cogs turning in her overfilled brain. It seemed he'd finally silenced the little know-it-all.
She sat opposite him, seemingly searching for something behind his iron eyes, flickering her own under her long, brown lashes. Then she uttered a most unexpected question. "Why didn't you give us away at the Manor?"
Draco stared back at her, nonplussed. "I–what?"
"Why didn't you give me, Harry and Ron away at the Manor when Bellatrix was interrogating us?" she reiterated slowly.
His eyes bulged and his carefully placed mask of irk fell into one of barely concealed surprise. After such an impassioned, lengthy speech, this had not been the response he had expected, and he had no clue as to why she would even ask such a question.
"Why should I bloody tell you?" he snapped.
Granger shrugged slightly. "You don't have to. But one has to wonder why you're so set against Muggles and Muggleborns if you were willing to defy your own, so we had a fighting chance of destroying the very way of life you hold so dear."
Her countenance gave away nothing, but her voice was laced with an air of smugness that wormed into his ears like a parasite. Merlin, did this witch piss him off.
He growled low in his throat, staring her down and debating whether or not to answer, or to simply tell her to fuck off. Draco could feel his insides roiling. He felt sickeningly nervous at the prospect of speaking so openly about this. He had never uttered anything about that night to another soul, yet here he sat, on the edge of divulging his angst to Granger, of all people.
Draco breathed deeply, unable to keep his eyes on her as she waited with baited breath for him to speak. He focused on the horizon, now aglow with the first light of dawn, as his lips parted of their own volition.
"I knew it was you three. Even through that bloody stinging charm, Potter's scar was instantly recognisable to me. That, and your monstrosity of a hairdo and Weasel's garish orange head, you were pretty hard to miss. I'm actually surprised no-one else could put two and two together."
She frowned, but didn't comment as he continued.
"I knew then, that the choice I made could be the difference between life and death for you all... and that meant that if I chose to identify you, The Dark Lord would have won the war there and then."
"Why didn't you identify us, Draco?"
He twitched at the use of his given name. To her, it was probably some odd way of trying to pierce his resolve, or to get him to soften and give her a straight answer. It didn't work.
His memory flashed again with crying Granger and her concerned face, his name slipping past her rosy lips... He screwed his eyes together and grit his teeth, fighting against the panicky feeling blooming in his chest. His mouth, again, moved of its own accord and Draco spilled one of his most shameful secrets. "Because I didn't want him to win."
"Why, Draco?" she pushed, unaware of the slight tingle happening at the base of his neck. "Why didn't you want him to win?"
"Because..." his heart palpitated as he tried to spit out his words. "Because I didn't want to live in a world where The Dark Lord ruled, alright?"
"But, why—?"
"Because he was barbaric, Granger! He killed innocent people! Muggleborns might not deserve a place in our world, but I don't think they deserve to be tortured and killed, okay?" he was beyond angry right now. She had no idea what it was like on the other side...
Where does she get off being so fucking judgemental?
"What do you take me for, exactly, Granger? You might not think much of me, but do you honestly think I'm capable of such evil?"
She sat back in the chair, rubbing a hand over her eyes, semingly seeking reprieve on a deep sigh.
It was a stark contrast to the pushy little witch she had been moments ago, the one trying to hone in on some of his innermost turmoil. He had no idea why he even told her, but something seemed to be compelling him to do so. Perhaps Draco was seeking some kind of relief from the weight the secret held. Maybe he was looking for a fight with Granger...
He didn't know.
He did know, however, that Granger had surprised him several times in the space of a few hours, and her next words were about to become another addition.
"I've never thought you were evil."
"You... what?"
Granger inhaled softly through those pink, nibbled lips and shifted, looking marginally uncomfortable under his disconcerted stare.
"I never thought you were evil." she repeated. "You never did anything I would constitute as something irrevocably harmful. You were a bully in school, sure. A bigot, definitely. Your words were often harsh and full of spite and your pranks were mean and childish—"
"Is this going somewhere, Gra—"
"Nothing you did though, was so awful that it couldn't be undone. When you let the Death Eaters into the school, it was obvious to almost everyone that you were being coerced. That's why we fought at your trial—"
Draco cut over her with a huff and an eye roll. "Gold bloody star for you—"
"As far as your involvement in my torture though," she raised her voice slightly, her chocolate irises fixed on him and her jaw tightened as she gulped heavily. "I don't blame you for not helping. I don't think I would have either, had I been in your situation. It was obvious, even then, that you weren't in control of your own decisions. I'd like to think that had the circumstances been different, you might have intervened."
Disbelief. That was the only thing he could feel as his winter-dark eyes scalded her emotionless face. Disbelief at her words. Disbelief at the notion that he might have helped. Disbelief that she didn't think he was evil. That she never thought he was evil. It was incomprehensible!
"Why on earth do you think I would've helped you?" he demanded.
She shrugged, causing her to reveal more of her freckle-spattered shoulder and Draco had to force his eyes to stay on hers. "I don't know. Maybe because, as you said, you don't believe I deserve to be tortured or killed?"
Clever little witch.
"Don't think you know me." he said flatly.
Granger did not reply, instead, turning her head to face the window. Dawn had broken over the horizon, giving way to peachy hues of orange and yellow in the waking sunlight. In the morning glow, he could make out her bedraggled features. Her cheeks were smudged with the afterglow of her tears and her eyes were lined with heavy purple stains. Her ridiculous hair jutted out at all angles, shining with the catch of the early-morning light. She looked completely worn, and if the tense way she sat was anything to go by, she was clearly overworked and sore.
As if to attest to this, Granger rolled her neck and rubbed at the back of her exposed shoulder with her hand, letting a soft moan escape her. Draco was so entranced by the movement that he didn't realise she'd spoken to him until she called his name again and his insides flipped.
"What, now?"
"I said I'm tired. I asked if you were going to head to bed." she said, barely smothering a yawn with the back of her hand.
"If you're tired, then why don't you go to bed, Granger, instead of asking me if I'm going?"
"No... I'm okay." she said through another wide yawn.
Draco sighed audibly and rolled his eyes. "You just said you were tired."
"I am, but I don't have to work tomorrow— well, today—"
"Granger, I am not a child, I don't need a fucking babysitter." Draco interrupted, realising her intention and scowling over at her.
She looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking again. "Will you go to bed then?" she asked him.
"I thought I told you not to tell me—!"
"I'm not bloody telling you what to do Malfoy, I was only asking." she cut over him in exasperation. "You may not be tired, but you look it, that's all. I was just going to suggest that some actual sleep might be good for you."
"I'm fucking fine, Granger! Stop treating me like a bloody Erumpent, I'm not going to fucking combust!"
She snorted in an almost amused fashion. "Could've fooled me." she muttered, a half-smirk playing on her lips.
He shot her a withering glare. "Very funny, Granger."
He was lying though. He was positively shattered. But he felt too vulnerable right now to close his eyes. He was wandless, defenseless, and furthermore, he had passed out in front of Granger and spilled to her some of his deepest, darkest secrets. He didn't feel like closing his eyes in front of her, only to wake to find her nursing him over his sick bed with her eyes rooted to the fading mark on his skin. It was too much and it made him feel inexpressibly discomfited.
"Okay, well, you should probably get some sleep if you can. Not that I'm yelling you what to do," she added quickly. "I'm going to bed though," she stood from the armchair and stretched, her top lifting, showing more of her creamy skin on the flat of her stomach.
Draco watched the movement with more interest than appropriate, noticing a smatter of barely-there freckles wandering across her hipbone. His mouth went dry and he had to force a gulp and look back to the sunrise.
She stopped stretching and he surveyed her through the corner of his eyes. She was now padding around the coffee table. She bent toward it, then started walking over to him and pointing her hand straight out toward the corner of the room.
A sudden jumble of noise filled the room accompanied by a harsh, white light from the corner Granger was pointing and Draco craned his head toward the source, wondering what kind of spell she had cast to cause such a racket.
He saw then, the odd little black box sitting in the corner was now adorned in moving, talking pictures, somewhat like the portraits from his Manor home or Hogwarts, except much louder, brighter and less like a painting.
Granger kept her arm out straight toward the box, aiming a long, black object —apparently not her wand— at it and the noise in the room significantly dropped. Squinting slightly from the stark light it produced, Draco stared quietly at the box until Granger dropped the little black thing in his lap.
"This is a television." she said. "It's something Muggles use for entertainment. Sort of like being at the theatre, except the shows are pre-recorded."
Pre-what-now?
"This," she crouched over him slightly and pointed to the object in his lap "is the remote. It controls the television, and you aim it like you would a wand. These buttons change the channel so you can watch something else if this isn't to your liking. These ones control the volume." she said to him as she indicated to the various different little squares upon the device. "If you do want to go to bed at any point, press this button at the top to switch it off."
She stood up to her full height again, her curls grazing gently past his face, offering him another wave of her orchard scent, causing his eyelids to briefly flutter closed.
"I'm going to bed. Do at least try to sleep. Goodnight Malfoy." she departed for her room and quietly closed the door behind her, leaving Draco alone in her living room with nothing but his troubling thoughts of their weighted discussion and the ever-changing pictures on the Muggle television-box.
.
