Disclaimer: Not my characters. A little bit of steam in this chapter.
It was the middle of the night when Hermione woke again. They'd fallen asleep during the day—she must have slept the whole night after the attack—but when she woke, she still felt exhausted, as if she'd run a marathon or been awake for days.
"Hermione?" Draco's voice was wide awake and she wondered if he'd slept at all. "Are you all right?"
"What time is it?" Her voice was scratchy and her mouth was dry.
"Around midnight," he said, adjusting his grip on her. She knew he must be uncomfortable from lying in the same spot for so long, and even though her body was screaming at her to curl up in his arms and go back to sleep, she knew she needed to move and give him a break.
With a groan, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, acutely aware of her thin cloth gown. Draco had seen her in a lot less, but this seemed more intimate than anything else.
Behind her, she heard him sit up as a well. He stretched and various joints popped and cracked and she felt awash with guilt.
"You don't have to stay with me," she said as she wet her lips and stood. The room spun a little and she held onto the side table to steady herself.
"No one said I had to," he replied. She heard water being poured, and then he was there, looming over her, a cup of cold water in his head. She took a sip before realizing how thirsty she was and drinking it all in one gulp. He took the cup and refilled it without question.
Hermione stretched as well, her back cracking pleasantly, and then he was back with more water for her. She was able to sip it this time and she looked at him in the near dark of the room. The only light came from the lanterns on the street outside her window.
"Why did you stay?" she asked, letting her cold fingers wrap around the small cup, wishing it were warm coffee instead.
"I would think that was obvious," he said, crossing his arms in the way that Hermione now knew meant he was guarding himself.
"Pretend I'm daft and explain it to me," she said, her exposed legs cold. "I have other friends, but none of them offered to stay and have their magic leached away." She lifted her chin.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't have to pretend your daft," he muttered as he turned away.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, indignant, enjoying the rush of adrenaline their pseudo-fight brought as it woke her up.
"It means exactly what it sounds like," he said, running both hands through his hair as he slipped his exceptionally wrinkled slacks off and laid them neatly on top of his suit jacket. "If you don't know why I'm here, then you're daft." His button down followed.
"Well, if I'm so daft," she said, crossing her arms defensively and splashing a bit of water on the floor, "you'll have to explain it to me." Her hands shook where they were clasped against her chest.
Draco, in a white tee-shirt and a pair of gray boxer briefs, stood before her looking absolutely exasperated. "Let's just go back to bed," he said, his shoulders hunched.
"No," Hermione said, even as the thought of lying back down called to her. She felt so weak. "Not until you explain it to me."
"What do you want me to say?" Draco asked, voice raised. "For weeks I've spent nearly every evening with you. I've come to your flat and we've—" his cheeks darkened even in the dim light. "We've been together, and over and over I've asked to take you to dinner or to a show or something." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose again. His hair stuck up all over where he'd raked his hands through it. "And now you ask why I would stay here with you?" He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. He took another breath, then dropped his hands to his sides and looked at her, his eyes heavy with emotion. "I'm here, because in spite of numerous rejections, I want to be with you."
With this admission, he deflated some. His shoulders curled forward and Hermione took an involuntary step toward him.
"I know you aren't in a place to be with me right now," he said, sitting back on the chair that held his suit clothes, crumpling them further. "I know you're not over Weasley, though only Merlin knows why."
"What?" she asked, voice cracking. "What does any of this have to do with Ron?"
Draco scoffed. "Do you not remember the circumstances under which this all started?" he asked. "You, going to that vapid party to try and catch his attention?"
Hermione flushed hotly. "Yes, I do remember." She felt her heart in her throat. "But that was over a month ago, as you said." She sniffed indignantly, clenching her arms more tightly around her waist.
"You still have a picture of the two of you on your mantle," Draco said, his voice sad. "A picture of the two of you kissing in front of a Christmas tree." He met her eyes. "There are other pictures, of course. The one of you, Weasley, and Potter when you were small. One of you and your parents. A few candids that you're all in—the golden trio." He snorted. "But the one of you kissing that ginger moron is front and center."
"I am over him," Hermione said, knowing as the words left her mouth that they were completely true. "I wasn't on New Year's Eve, but I am now."
Draco looked at her for a long moment. With slow, controlled movements, he stood and walked around the bed. Gingerly, he took the half-crushed cup of water from her hand and put it on the table. Hermione was trembling.
Draco spread his feet so that he could wrap his arms around her waist and look into her eyes. "I want to be with you," he said. "But until you want to be with me—really be with me—I'll take what I can get."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but no words came. Tears filled her eyes. Inside, she thought she did want to be with him—really be with him—but something was holding her back.
"You need rest, Granger," he said, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to her lips.
She squeezed her eyes shut and a tear dripped from each.
Without waiting for her to answer, he moved back into the bed, lying down comfortably and curling his body around hers before covering them both with a blank. His arms around her waist were secure and as sleep overwhelmed her, she fought with herself in her own mind about what was holding her back.
Hermione woke to an empty bed and muscles that ached. She opened her eyes, squinting in the bright daylight, and had a moment of panic that maybe Draco had decided staying wasn't worth it. Not that she would blame him.
But then she heard his voice. Eyes blurry, she could just make him out standing in the doorway, conversing with someone through the shimmering barrier that surrounded her room. His words were low, but she could tell from the timbre of his voice that he was irritated.
As if he could feel her eyes, he turned toward her. He sighed as he turned back to the person at the door. "She's awake. Why don't I ask her?"
He didn't wait for a reply as he shut the door and walked over. His pants were back on, but he still just wore his white tee-shirt, which fit him like a second skin, and Hermione bristled that someone else had seen him in such a state.
"Granger," he said, his voice low, "you have a visitor. But if you're too tired, I'll tell them to leave."
"Who is it?" Hermione asked, pushing herself to sit, pushing back the tangled mess of her hair.
Draco exhaled heavily through his nose. "Astoria Greengrass," he said after a pregnant pause. Something in Hermione's gut clenched uncomfortably. "She wants to thank you for taking the curse for her."
"For her?" Hermione asked, hating that her voice sounded sharp instead of calm and cool.
"You thought he was going to attack me, didn't you?" he asked quietly. Hermione nodded and a slow smirk spread across his face. "Sweet merlin. You might actually care about me, Granger," he said, his voice low and deep.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course I care about you," she said, without thinking, and his smirk fell away to be replaced by a look of surprise. She blushed but didn't back down. "You Astoria wanted to thank me?"
Draco shook his head as if to clear it and looked at her, a smile taking the place of his previous smirk.
Hermione tried to smooth her hair back, knowing it was probably a lost cause, then tugged her blanket up for some semblance of privacy. Her gown was thin and she was without a bra.
Seeing this, Draco plucked his button-down from the chair and draped it over her shoulders. She slipped her arms into the sleeves as he, with deft fingers, untied the gown from behind her neck and let it fall forward. She was exposed for half a moment before he set to work buttoning the buttons. The shirt was made of a thick, white material and covered her better than the papery gown had. Quickly and quietly, Draco took each of her hands and rolled the sleeves up. When he was done, he smiled at her and kissed her forehead before going back to the door and opening it.
Before he could say a word, the golden wards shimmered, and in stepped Astoria Greengrass. She looked impeccable in a ruby red pencil skirt and form-fitting silk blouse in a light blush. Her dark hair hung in loose waves around her pale face and her lips were the perfect shade of crimson.
"Ms. Granger," she said, moving to the side of the bed and perching delicately on the edge before grabbing Hermione's hand. "I wanted to come by myself and say thank you. Your sacrifice has done more good than you know."
"Sacrifice?" Hermione asked, looking from Astora—who was sitting far too close—to Draco, just over her shoulder. He rolled his eyes and walked around the bed to sit on Hermione's other side, casually draping his arm over her shoulders in the process.
"To step in front of that curse for me—well—because of you I can continue my work raising awareness for the treatment of muggleborns and half bloods. Thank you for that!" she was gripping Hermione's hand tightly, and even though her words were melodramatic and more than a little insulting, Hermione could sense that the woman was sincere in her intentions.
"Um. Well, you're welcome, I suppose," Hermione said. Beside her, she heard a low chuckle resonate in Draco's chest.
"You've done those like you a great service," she said, pumping Hermione's hand once more before standing and smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. "Draco," she said, directing her attention to the blond, pointedly ignoring his arm around Hermione's shoulders. "We should meet again soon to discuss your contribution to my latest fund. Will a day next week work for your schedule?" She smiled beautifully and Hermione felt herself wither.
"I'm afraid not," he said as he leaned back, pulling one leg up onto the bed beside Hermione. "Of course, the Malfoy family is happy to donate to your organization as it stands for many ideals and beliefs we now support. However, I'll be unavailable for the foreseeable future."
"Oh, and why is that?" Astoria asked, her face a perfect piece of porcelain.
"Well, until Granger here is at one hundred percent, I plan to stay by her side." He shrugged as he leaned toward her a little more. "And if I'm being really honest, if she'll let me, I plan to stay there after she's recovered as well."
Hermione felt her cheeks grow pink. She could make a joke of it here and now or shift away from him, but instead, she listened to that impulsive, brave side of herself that told her to invite him into her apartment all those months ago and leaned back, ever so slightly, into his arm.
Astoria's face was neutral as she looked between them and Hermine felt herself sitting up straighter.
"I see," Astoria said, an emotionless smile gracing her face. "Well, I'll contact your mother then." She smiled stiffly, her eyes blank. "Ms. Granger, I do wish the speediest of recoveries to you," she said with a brief nod, and then she left, dark hair swinging behind her as the door clicked closed.
"You could have said something," Draco said into the tense silence. His arm still rested on her shoulder and he lazily played with a frizzy curl that lay across her arm.
"I didn't have anything of interest to add," Hermione said, cheeks blazing with heat.
Slowly, he sat and she looked over her shoulder to see his face. He was smiling devilishly.
When all this started on December 31st, Hermione had felt wild and carefree. Draco had swooped into her life to save her and after, she'd let herself get lost in the sensations he offered. She leaned forward and kissed him as she thought of all the times after that first time—Draco coming over in the afternoons and staying late into the night to talk and make her body feel things it had never felt before; conversations had between kisses and stolen bites of food in their underwear, all things she'd never let herself dream about in a relationship because they seemed like the things that you would only see in a muggle romantic movie. And yet, here she was, living it, and until now she'd been too blind to see that what he was offering her was more than just an amazing shag.
Her lips pressed to his and he smiled, but she wanted more. She didn't have magic to lock the door, so with a gasp she scrambled up, leaving him looking confused, and kicked the covers off to get to the door. She clicked it shut and turned to him, seeing his pupils go wide as he sat up.
"You look good in my shirt," he said before he wet his lips.
"Want to take it off for me?" she asked, and he was up and off the bed with a growl in his throat before she could take another breath.
His lips connected with hers as his hands surrounded her rib cage and he almost stole her breath. He kissed her with such passion that her knees went wobbly. He scooped her up, her legs going around his waist, and carried her over to the small hospital bed. Without thinking, Draco took his wand from the side table and tried to cast a spell on the small bed to make it larger, and when nothing happened they both stopped, chests heaving.
Hermione looked at him, eyes wide as panic lanced through her. She was sure he'd pull away. This was the first time either of them had seen the lack of magic his curse brought.
But instead, he just rolled his eyes, tossed his wand into the chair beside the bed, and attacked her lips again. He fell with her onto the bed and quickly made her forget her worries.
With a deep kiss that left her almost keening, he pressed her into the bed. Without warning, he slid off her, knees landing on the floor. She pushed up onto her elbow and the heated look in his eyes made her quiver. With warm fingers, he worked to unbutton each button of her shirt. She shivered as the cool air hit her skin. As the last button was released, he slipped the shirt away and used his mouth to cover every inch of her skin that he could.
His own clothes were peeled away as her lips tried to play catch up. When they were both bare, he joined her on the bed. This was normally where things picked up for them, but this time, Draco slowed his kisses and allowed his hands to leave slow, hot trails over her skin.
Hermione didn't have any magic, but there was something otherworldly in the air around them as they kissed, skin to skin, and when they finally did join together, Hermione was certain that if she'd opened her eyes, there would have been fireworks.