School: Ilvermorny
Year: 1
Theme: An Unbreakable Bond
Special Rule: Only two people
Prompts: First line/Last line: Your death is an event that happens to everyone else.
Song: Your favourite song - Love Letter - JJ Heller
W/C: 1411 words
A/N: No song lyrics used
Balancing on the Precipice
Your death is an event that happens to everyone else.
"Well, that is cheery," Draco muttered, scrunching the fortune up and tossing it over Hermione's head towards the coffee table as he pushed through the apartment's front door. "And what exactly is meant by 'everyone else'? The only person my death will affect is you."
"Why would your death affect me?" Hermione lifted her nose from her book, plucking the fortune from its crease and dropping it on the sofa beside her.
"Because we are the only two here and, let's be honest, leave a dead body around long enough and it will begin to smell."
"What makes you think that I wouldn't just chuck you out? I could bury you in the garden. You'd be lovely fertiliser for the roses." Hermione tucked her feet under her, settling back against the arm of the sofa.
"What roses? Those brown, wilted things? Not even I could bring them back to life, no matter how fantastic I'd be as a fertiliser. And dinner is served." Draco walked around the sofa, the heavy takeaway bags pulling at his arms as they collided with every surface that he met.
"Ooo, what did you get?" Hermione asked, edging forwards on the cushion.
Draco dropped the bags on the coffee table and turned to her. He leaned over her, tucking her blanket around her and brushed a kiss against her forehead.
"Your favourite, of course." Draco lifted a carton from the bag and presented the orange chicken, her thin hands rising up to grasp the warm plastic. Draco spotted her shaking hands. "I'll just leave it there. You won't have to hold it then."
He gathered forks from the kitchen and returned to her side, fixing the blanket yet again.
"You really didn't need to do this." Hermione's hand brushed against the edge of the lid, fingers fumbling against the sharp lines.
"Here, I'll do it." Draco reached over and cracked open the lid of her dinner, the flavours of orange and chilli wafting through the air.
"Thanks. I just couldn't get it." Hermione inhaled deeply before beginning to cough. Strong hacks forced their way out of her chest, seemingly travelling from her toes.
Draco moved quickly, grabbing the bottle of water that was sitting on the floor and popping the lid off. He placed his hand on her back to keep her from falling, knowing there was nothing he could do but wait it out. The coughs began to subside and he pushed the cold plastic into her hands, watching as she gulped down the cool liquid.
"Better?"
"Yeah. I just can't seem to brush off this cough."
"It'll go. It just needs time." Draco rubbed her back, trying to push comfort into her tense shoulders. Hermione shrugged him off and picked up her dinner.
Draco shuffled over to his own side, grabbing his own container of sweet and sour chicken and dug in.
"I mean it, you really didn't need to do this. We could have rescheduled."
"No. It's date night. If you're sick, we'll stay in. When you get better, we'll go out. Friday will always be our date night, no matter the circumstances. For now, just eat your dinner."
His slurps and chews filled the silence, only punctuated by metal scraping plastic as their dinner disappeared.
"Would you really use me as fertiliser?" Draco asked, dropping his fork down to scowl at Hermione.
"Possibly. They might look a little more vibrant." Hermione paused her fork's path, her barely touched dinner still balancing on the table's edge and tilted her head back. Probably trying to glimpse the faded roses in the garden. "You really should look after them better."
"Why do I have to look after them? You wanted them so you look after them." Draco stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. One foot hit against the plastic-covered paper bag that sat propped against the leg of the table, rustling it before it tumbled over.
"I have a black thumb. They'll die on me."
"I think it is a little late for that, sweetheart."
"Fine, give up on them." Hermione pouted as she pushed further into the sofa and crossed her arms, her container wobbling on her knees as she shifted.
Draco dropped his head back against the sofa, then rolled his head to the side, taking her in. He settled a hand onto her foot and pulled the ice block towards him, rubbing to get the blood moving.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'll have a look at them in the morning."
Hermione exhaled shakily, her arms still lying protectively across her.
"If it was me, would you give up?"
"No. But I love you more than the roses." Draco dug another mouthful from his container, chewing slowly on the tangy chicken.
"There has to be a point where you give up on something though."
"True. But come on, Hermione, you're never going to let me give up on you. Even if you do die before me, something tells me you'll always be around to haunt me."
"You might be right." Hermione threw her blanket off and clambered up. Turning to face Draco, she reached her hand towards him. "Dance with me?"
"Excuse me?"
"Dance with me. Put some music on and dance with me. Please. It's been so long." She pushed her bottom lip out and widened her eyes. Those infamous puppy dog eyes. How could he resist?
"Fine." He pushed himself up off the sunken cushions and pulled Hermione into his arms. "Are you sure you're okay to do this?"
"Of course, it's only a cough." Hermione smiled brightly at him before tucking her head under his chin.
"If you say so." Draco lifted one of her hands and laid it on his shoulder, her delicate touch barely a weight to him. Clutching her other hand in his, he pulled her closer still with a hand on her waist until their bodies intertwined into one and he gently began to sway.
"There's no music, Draco." Hermione's whisper cut through the quiet.
Draco leaned back and grinned down at her. "Just wait." He resumed his swaying, resting his cheek on her hair and began to hum. The old lullaby filled the room as the couple slow-danced.
"You know we could have done this at the Yule Ball," Hermione whispered, closing her eyes as they rocked.
Draco paused in his humming and tilted back again. "You mean if I wasn't such a prick back then?"
"You said it, not me." Hermione leaned more heavily onto Draco, her breathing laboured as her thin stature struggled to stay upright.
"I think it's time for bed," Draco said, his hand rubbing gently along her spine.
"I think you're right." Hermione rested her forehead against his chest. "I just seem to be getting tired quicker and quicker these days."
"It happens. You just need to fight this bug." Draco left another lingering kiss on her head before extracting himself and turning them towards the bedroom.
Hermione stalled and pointed at the coffee table. "Draco, the dishes."
"I'll do them in the morning. You just need to go to bed."
Draco moved them towards the bedroom, his hand hovering over the small of her back as they made their way down the narrow hall. He led her over to the bed and settled her before moving to do his own bedtime routine.
As he stepped past it, he glanced in the mirror, his wrinkled face coming into view as the light bounced off his silver hair. He stepped nearer for a better look and poked at the crow's feet that lay around his eyes.
"I'm getting old." He frowned and watched as deeper creases settled in across his skin. "Really old."
"Yes, you are, dear. Are you coming to bed?" Hermione's low voice crept its way across the room. He turned to face her. She looked ethereal in her white nightgown, the lace flowing over her form as she lounged under the emerald bed covers, her curls landing around her head like a halo.
A soft smile touched his lips and he climbed into bed beside her, adjusting so that he lay facing her.
"Good night, dear," he said, lifting a wrinkled hand to stroke his thumb along her cheek, her sleepy smile covering her face. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, the soft cotton of the pillow still pressed beneath his hand.
Oh, look at me being all sixth sense-y...
