Chapter 32

"Mr Malfoy, please," the Healer said, "you need to drink at least one more."

Draco scrunched up his face. "Well, it tastes vile, and I've already drank three today. I don't need it, my arm doesn't even hurt anymore," he lied.

The elderly witch gave him a glare, making it clear that she didn't believe him for one second. "If it doesn't hurt, it's because you are drinking your potions, so you need to keep drinking them if you want to continue not hurting."

"I don't want to," he said, realizing that he sounded like a petulant child, even to his own ear. "And weren't you supposed to bring me some soup?" he added, quickly changing the subject.

"I brought you soup." The woman pursed her lips, pushing her spectacles up on her nose, her patience clearly thinning. "You threw it out and said it was terrible."

"Well, it was." Really, it had been awful, with lumpy, undercooked vegetables, and floating bits that might have been meat and might have been clusters of food poisoning. "Surely you can find something edible to serve me. Is there some sort of luxury menu that I could order from?"

"Maybe," she began, drawing the word out in a way that actually gave him a bit of hope, "maybe if you drink your potion, I could bring you more soup."

Then she had the gall to smirk as she waved the potion vial that was in her hand.

Draco frowned, irritated that, for once, being a Malfoy was neither an impressive nor an intimidating fact. His faded Dark Mark was literally facing up in her plain view and she was still sassing him.

He opened his mouth to bring the full bore of his pureblood breeding down on the woman when the door opened, letting in a figurative breath of fresh air, in the form of bouncing chestnut curls and warm brown eyes.

He quickly shut his mouth again.

"Healer Robbins! How kind of you to help Draco with his potions today!" Hermione said, smiling brilliantly at them both. She looked at Draco, and the amusement in her eyes told him she knew exactly what she'd walked in on.

He glowered down at the blanket that covered him as he sat in his hospital bed.

"Hello Miss Granger," Robbins said, the fierce expression on her face softening into one of relief. "Lovely to see you again!"

All the Healers liked Hermione. Mostly because they knew that once Hermione was there, they could leave him alone. Maybe Robbins would take the vile vial with her, too.

"I'd best be getting on with my rounds, there's several more patients to see today, I'm afraid." Healer Robbins straightened her spectacles and looked up at Hermione expectantly.

"Oh, you can leave that with me." Hermione held out her hand for the potion, dashing Draco's hopes. "I'll see that he takes it."

The Healer happily left it in her hands, and then turned to give Draco an evil grin. "Have a lovely afternoon, Mr Malfoy!"

He wanted to howl at her, but refrained because Hermione was still watching him with her laughing eyes.

Once the woman had exited and closed the door behind her, Hermione's bright smile dropped.

"Draco."

He groaned. "It tastes terrible! And it makes my arm feel like it's being pricked with a thousand swords."

"I know, but you—"

"And she tried to starve me!" he quickly pointed out. "She didn't give me any lunch, and I need food to recover."

Hermione sighed. "You are the most awful patient."

Hooking her foot around the leg of a chair, she dragged it close to Draco's bed. She waved her wand, and a tray set up on the side of his bed.

For the first time, he noticed the bag that she carried in her hand, and from it she took out a carton of take-away.

"Witch's Garden Soup," she told him. "From Vallabard's Bistro."

His ears perked up at that. "With toasted pumpkin seeds?"

"Extra, actually."

His bad mood dropping at the prospect of good food, he reached for the rounded container.

She slid it just out of his grasp. "I've already eaten a lunch today, but I have no problem eating a second one if I need to, so that this one doesn't go to waste."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, contemplating whether he could wandless summon the soup to his hand. He'd probably burn himself in the process.

"You know what I want," Hermione said. She put her other hand on the tray and pushed an object across it to him.

When she lifted her hand, he could see the glass tube with the sickly orange and green bubbles that looked rather like vomit and tasted not significantly better.

He sighed. They both knew he was going to take the potion anyway, even if she didn't threaten him with withholding food.

He pouted. "Well, you know what I want, then."

There was a moment of silence in the room as Hermione regarded him, and he regarded the disgusting potion.

Then she smiled and leaned over, one hand resting lightly on his still-bare chest, and touched her lips lightly to his.

He reached up to cup her face, loving how her eyes had closed already. He tilted his head and gently nibbled on her lips, licking at her open mouth before kissing her deeply.

She sighed, and the sweet taste of it was a better tonic than any medicine.

After a moment, she pulled back, her eyes soft again.

He traced her cheekbone with his thumb, smiling back at her.

"Hi," she whispered. "Did you miss me?"

"Yeah. None of the mediwitches are as pretty as you are."

She tried to shrug it off, as she usually did when he complimented her, but he could tell she was pleased.

"And," he added, "none of them are as nice as you are. They're rude and mean, and they force me to take these disgusting potions."

She grinned, sitting back down. "If you don't want to take it, you don't have to take it."

Triumph streaked through him, only to be just as quickly thwarted when he saw her reaching for his soup.

"The soup smells lovely, anyway, I was almost hoping you wouldn't want it," she continued. She easily took the lid off and took an exaggerated sniff of the hot steam coming from it.

He really did howl then.

"Fine! I'll take it!" Before he could delay any longer, he uncorked the bottle and downed it all in one gulp.

Then he gagged, rather unattractively, but it served her right for manipulating him.

His arm and all the blood vessels between his arm and his heart erupted in fiery pain, like being stabbed with tiny, burning knives.

He gritted his teeth, glaring at Hermione, even though he knew it certainly wasn't her fault.

She wasn't glaring back, which took the fun out of it. She was looking at him rather worriedly, actually, chewing on the bottom lip he'd just recently nibbled. Her hand came up to push back a lock of his hair, and he felt how his forehead was already sticky with sweat.

Still, her cool hand was comforting on his overheated face, and he couldn't help leaning in just a bit.

After another difficult minute or two, the sensations finally subsided, and Draco exhaled noisily, laying back against the bed.

Hermione leaned over to give him another kiss, but he was too tired to return it with more than a meeting of the lips.

"Looks like someone earned his soup," she said lightly. "And if he finishes it all, maybe I'll give him his present, too."

"Present?" He lifted his head. "Is it chocolate from Honeydukes?"

She laughed, and on the tray she set another small bag with the Honeydukes logo. "That's not the present, but I do have those, too."

She slapped at the hand that had stretched out to grab them. "Not till after your lunch!" she chastised.

"I was just going to see what kind you bought!"

"Well, you can look after you eat." She shot him a pointed look and produced a spoon for him.

She didn't have to remind him again. He was starving. The food at St Mungo's was nothing like the culinary masterpieces he was used to making out of his own kitchen.

He sighed at the first bite. Perfect temperature, perfect consistency. He probably couldn't have done it better.

He took a few more bites, enjoying the subtleties of the delicate flavors, when he realized Hermione was still talking.

"Wait, what?"

She seemed a little put out that he wasn't paying attention. "I was just wondering if you wanted me to send an owl to your mother. She might have heard something about the incident with the Aurors and been worried."

He quickly swallowed his spoonful. "No."

Narcissa hadn't wanted him to be an Auror; she hadn't understood what would drive him to put himself at risk. She'd tried to talk him out of it, suggesting he just make a large donation to the department instead. Which he had, but not until after he'd passed his Auror training.

So no one could say he bought his way in.

She'd never been foolish enough to tell him he couldn't do it at all, but she met all his reports of his progress with tight lips and cold eyes, until he'd moved out.

The last thing he needed in any recovery was to have to deal with her disapproval on top of everything.

"I was just thinking," Hermione said, delicately for her, though Draco could sense the heaviness of her thoughts from a mile away, "that even if we weren't really speaking, that if I was a mother, I'd at least like to know that my only son was still alive."

The words made him cringe. There was a time being an 'only son' had felt like an incredible privilege. He was a Malfoy, as well as a Black, and the only son left of both of those lines.

But now, all he remembered was Voldemort's possessive stare as Lucius had introduced him as his son, his 'only son.' And the memory made his stomach lurch in protest.

He shoved another spoonful of soup in his mouth, anyway. Then another, until it was gone. Only then did he speak. "No."

He put the spoon down and Vanished the take-away container. "And I really don't want to keep talking about it, Granger."

Hermione looked at the tray, empty now except for the chocolate, and he could tell that she was disappointed in his cold response.

"Oh." She was suddenly quiet. "Well, it's not my business anyway, I guess."

The hurt sound in her voice made him flinch.

"Hermione."

"So, I got your favorites." She was opening the little bag, and taking out one of each kind.

"Hermione."

"You can have two for now, and then we need to see how your system reacts. If everything is fine by your next potions batch, you can have more."

He sighed again, and reached over to cover her hand that was resting lightly on the chocolate. Gently, he turned her hand over and held it in his own, tugging her to look at him.

When her eyes turned to meet his, they were just a little bit wet, and he marveled again how those eyes always made him feel so much. They could make him feel so energized and light, or they could make him feel heavy and dark, but always full—full of a range of emotions he'd forgotten he was capable of.

"Hermione," he started again. "I'm not really ready to deal with my mother right now, and all that would entail." He held her hand just a little tighter. "She knows I'm alive. There are enough magical charms surrounding Malfoy succession that she'd know instantly if I were to die. Can we," he stressed the word, " please talk about this another time?"

Slowly, she nodded her head the tiniest bit.

He could tell she was still disappointed, but the hurt seemed to have gone from her eyes, and somehow that seemed to lift a weight off of his injured chest. These last two days, she'd been very emotional about his near-brush with death.

He hadn't processed it all himself, but it filled him with warmth to know that there was someone at the hospital with him this time. Last time, after he'd rescued Ron, he'd had a miserable day and night in the hospital all alone with the terrible hospital food and the insufferable mediwitches.

This time he had soup and chocolate and kisses whenever he wanted. He liked that she cared enough to be a mess every time he had to take his potions.

His lips twitched at the thought, and he lifted the hand he was still holding to put a soft kiss on the back of it. "Thank you."

She smiled and pushed a brightly wrapped chocolate at him.

He playfully pouted. "I don't want to let go of your hand. Can't you open it for me?" His mouth opened wide, waiting for her to feed him.

"What a brat. How am I supposed to open it with only one hand, then?" She rolled her eyes at him as he sat, still waiting.

In the end, she used her wand to magic the wrapper off. Laughing, she stuck the chocolate in his mouth, his exaggerated enjoyment causing her to forget her brief melancholy.

"Well, now," he said, after he'd finished it. "I believe I get a present, too!"

"You did drink your potion and eat your soup," she admitted. She reached down for her bag and shot him a speculative look.

He thought that she seemed a little bit unsure of herself, and was intrigued about what she could have brought him.

Carefully, she set two cylindrical objects on his tray. She set them on their ends, rather than their sides, so they wouldn't roll away. They were a dull silver, thin and hollow, and only a couple of inches high.

Her eyes darted up to him, and she licked her lips, clearly nervous.

Draco looked back at the objects, not entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking at.

"Do you…do you like them?" she asked.

Thinking to tread carefully, he answered, "Yes, of course." He waited for her to elaborate on what the gift symbolized, but she just kept looking at him.

He picked up the smaller of the two items, and examined it. The surface was smooth and plain, except for a stylized drawing of a little animal, long with a sleek tail, engraved low to one side.

"That one's mine," she said, quickly. She held her hand out for it, and slowly, he gave it to her.

She pressed a tiny button on the side, and it swung open. With a swift movement, she put it on her wrist and then closed it with a click. Holding her wrist out for him to examine, she said, "I charmed it not to fall off or open by accident. You need to press the button with the intention of actually removing it."

He took her hand, examining her wrist, noting the little animal engraving had changed position, and was now sitting directly in the center.

Moving his head, he looked back at the other, matching object that still sat on his tray table, and felt warmth course all through his body as he finally realized what they were.

She'd made wrist cuffs for the two of them. Like the ones Ginny and Harry used. Like the one Ron had worn when he was on duty so that he could communicate with his partner.

She'd made them both wrist cuffs, so they would never have to be out of communication again.

"I just thought…that since you can't send a Patronus message, maybe there would be a time when you needed a way to reach me." She chewed on her bottom lip. "Or Harry, because I connected yours to his, too. If you ever stop being partners, I can remove the connection, though."

He couldn't deny the practicality of it. If he'd had this, he could have sent Harry instructions, and it might not have taken so long to find him buried under the earth.

But he wasn't admiring its practicalness. He was thinking of Hermione wearing a silver cuff on her wrist, worrying about him, wanting a way to reach him, linking the two of them together—proclaiming the two of them together.

Giddy at the thought, he wordlessly picked up his and found the tiny button. He carefully channeled a thought about opening it, and the clasp released easily. When he slid it onto his wrist and closed it, he noted that it fit perfectly, and that it wasn't cold as he'd expected the metal to be.

"I love it," he said, and he meant it. "It's perfect."

Her face lit up, excited at his approval. She grabbed her wand and tapped it against her cuff.

Almost immediately he felt a glowing warmth on his wrist and he flipped it over to read the message there.

On the bottom half, he saw words scroll across in a flowing script.

Your hair needs to be combed.

He scowled, well aware that he was not looking his best after spending two days in the hospital. Calling his wand to him, he tapped it to his cuff, sending a return message.

You're one to talk about hair.

Though he didn't see the words that were sent, he heard her gasp when she received his message.

Her previous message erased from the cuff, and a small engraving of a small animal with a sleek tail scampered across the cuff to take its place right in the center, awaiting the next message.

He squinted at it, suspicion blooming darkly in him.

"Granger, is that a ferret?"

She smiled wanly, "No, of course not, it's an otter."

Draco remembered that her Patronus form was an otter, and so he was slightly mollified. They were like tiny Patronuses, then, sending messages. Perhaps if he worked on his Patronus charm, he'd eventually be able to produce a corporeal one. Until then, it made him feel more than a bit warm and fuzzy to think of her otter on his wrist cuff.

He stared at it a little harder, noting its sinuous body and tiny little ears. Upon closer inspection, though, was the tail just a shade too thin?

"Granger, that is definitely a ferret!"

She laughed, then. "I'm sure you see ferrets everywhere, but I know what otters look like and that's what it is."

He continued to glare at the cuff suspiciously.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake." She reached over and dragged his arm towards her. Taking it off of him, she held the cuff up, a look of concentration on her face. She put her wand to it, and said, "Draconis Nuntius!"

The little animal now turned into a stylized dragon. It shook out its little wings before spreading them wide and sitting in the center of the cuff.

Draco liked that much better and tried to reach over to grab it back, but she pulled it away. Tapping the cuff again, she said, "Luter Nuntius!" and it turned back to the same animal as before.

It scampered back and forth across the cuff until it came to a rest with its tail curved around it.

"See?" she asked.

Draco presumed 'luter' meant 'otter,' but he wasn't going to tell her that he wasn't as knowledgeable about his Latin terms for animals.

"Why couldn't you leave it at the dragon?" he whined, trying but failing not to sound petulant.

She just looked at him, hurt in her eyes, "You don't want my otter on your cuff?"

Trapped.

He frowned, still uncertain, but her eyes were open and honest and he didn't want her to feel bad. So he held his arm out. "I want the otter. Give me the cuff."

She beamed at him, brilliantly, and clicked the cuff back into place.

As he looked at it again, he strongly felt that the design definitely looked more like a ferret than an otter. He wondered what would happen if he tapped it and said, 'Nuntius Whatever-Ferret-Is-In-Latin.'

But he figured he shouldn't try, because it would be just like Hermione to have charmed it to get stuck on the ferret design, and then he wouldn't be able to change it back at all. An otter was certainly better than a ferret.

Another thought occurred to him.

"How do I send a message to Harry?"

"You just think of Harry when you tap your wand."

He contemplated what to send him as a test message, and then tapped his wand on the cuff. The little otter (surely she wasn't lying about the otter, right?) scurried around, presumably sending off his message.

An instant later, on the top half of the cuff, words formed in solid block letters.

PARTNER :)

He held his hand out for Hermione to read the message. "Why did he send punctuation marks?"

She grinned. "It's a happy face."

He looked at the message sideways and it looked like the punctuation marks were smiling.

He scoffed. The sap. He'd sent Potter an insult, and the man had sent him a happy face.

He was pleased to note, at least, that the messages from Harry and Hermione showed up in two different locations on his cuff, and in two different styles of writing. Hopefully he never got them mixed up.

His cuff heated up again, and he looked at it hopefully, thinking there might be another message from Hermione, even though she was sitting right next to him.

BE THERE SOON.

Oh, great. Looked like he was going to be having another visitor. Hopefully Potter didn't bring his bald-headed progeny with him again. Last time, Baby Jamie had dropped a giant gob of drool straight from his mouth onto Draco's bedsheets. Everyone had thought it was funny, but Draco was far from charmed by the infant's antics.

The sound of several people clomping down the corridor gave him just enough time to feel a spurt of alarm, before the door to his room burst open.

A/N: Okay, who has been waiting for this moment with the cuffs? Me. I've been waiting. I've had parts of this scene written for years.

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