Draco could safely say that he'd never been better fed in his entire life. And that was coming from someone who'd been raised up in Malfoy manor and had attended Hogwarts, though he couldn't claim to ever have been a big eater. It wasn't so much that there was a lot to eat now—just that he was required to eat all of it. Fortunately, the thought of eating very much was no longer as off putting as it had been.
He was beginning to see what Potter had meant when he'd termed it as mothering.
Hermione would've put St. Mungo's to shame. It made his headache worse just watching her bustle around, though he spent a lot of time sleeping.
She'd brought him to what had evidently served as her makeshift home after being shut out from her friends. It was a rickety old house located God only knew where, but she did the best she could with it. She'd obstinately cleaned it as much as it would allow, at least in the room he was staying in, though he suspected there wasn't a whole lot more to the house. She wasn't about to let him on his feet, so he had no chance to investigate that notion. There was also a notably large strip of roof missing from the ceiling, though she'd charmed it so that no moisture could get through.
Once he caught her muttering about bringing him to her parents' house, but that was the only mention he ever heard of that. He wondered if her parents knew even half of what was happening in regards to their daughter.
It may have been a rickety old shack and a bed that smelled vaguely funny, and not in an amusing way, but it was better than what he'd had to offer her during the previous week. All of that seemed more than a little unintelligent now in hindsight, but he was just happy where he was for the moment. Even things like having his wand at the mercy of Potter and his cronies didn't really bother him. He would sort that stuff out later.
While he had plenty of time to socialize with this newly revealed motherly side of Hermione, they mostly avoided talking about the variety of serious topics that the past week had been so kind to provide. He did break down the first night and confessed to her what he'd done to the Death Eater, and she had consoled him appropriately. Still, there was a distinct distance that she seemed apt to keep from him whenever possible, and he came out of the admission feeling a bit silly. Better, yes, but silly as well.
By that first night he was feeling antsy and was sitting up in bed whenever he could, though he wasn't brave enough yet to try his hand at getting out. Her careful and methodical healing had remedied the worst of his complaints, but she still insisted that he keep in bed. The whole distancing thing became even worse as it got darker, and she grew jumpy. He supposed this was a good example of sexual tension at work.
"Now if there's anything at all, even the smallest thing that you need, don't be afraid to wake me," she was insisting as she bustled about the room, preparing for bed.
He listened to her stream of instructions and watched her setting her sheets on the floor for a few more minutes before politely cutting in. "What are you doing?"
"What do you mean, what I am doing?" she asked stiffly, keeping her eyes away from him.
"You are not actually going to sleep on the floor, are you?" He eyed said floor distastefully.
"Well, of course," she gave a little laugh, "Where else am I going to sleep?"
That was a good question that practically demanded an awkward answer.
"Well—" he fought desperately against flushing, "The bed is plenty big enough—I wouldn't think of making even a House Elf sleep down there—" he pushed onwards at her doubtful expression, "And don't worry—it's not as if I'm in any shape to pursue any—impolite nocturnal activities—" He cut off there, feeling he had made his point.
But even his eventually more confident and sensible arguments couldn't sway her position, as white knuckled as she clung to it. So they spent the first night like that, and well before morning he became aware of another sensible reason against inhabiting the floor. The opening in the roof wasn't charmed to keep the cold out, and what turned out to be an unusually chilly night had him shivering, even in the bed. He spent most of the night trying to pass the bulk of the covers around to where they were needed most, wishing he was bold enough to get up and make her get off the floor.
She put on a brave show the next morning, but it was still painfully obvious she'd had an even worse night than him.
There was also something else. Perhaps it was from everything that had happened to them, but Draco felt like if he didn't get out exactly how he felt about her, he was going to miss his chance, and maybe this time for good.
So he seized the opportunity when she unexpectedly stopped mid-bustle and sat down next to him on the bed.
"Malfoy," she began uncertainly, frowning as she stared down at her hands, "I was thinking—wondering—what you thought of me."
"Thought of you?" he echoed as his heart began to beat hard and he scrambled to hide his surprise and collect his wits.
"Yes," Hermione seemed to gain confidence after sneaking a peek over at him, "I mean, after everything that has happened—what I did to Harry. What do you really, honestly think about me?"
"Honestly?" he cleared his throat and frowned, "Well—I—" he stuttered, trying to remind himself that English was his native language, "Honestly? I—think some of what you did was wrong, yes, but I—still like you."
He was breathlessly watching for her reaction, so it was kind of a shock when her expression cleared and she looked up at him almost relieved.
"Kind of how you like Harry?" she asked with a small smile.
"I—what?" he said, on the brink of being horrified. Some of the thoughts he'd been indulging at the back of his mind involving her and some of the more ridiculous and pleasing things she could say and then do were suddenly intruded upon rather rudely by the Boy Wonder. He couldn't lie—he probably did think about Potter too much, at least when they had been back in school, but there were some kinds of thoughts that he never wanted to even fathom Potter participating in. "No—no! I do not like Harry Potter!"
"Oh, come on," she was smiling warmly now, and he began to get the impression she was severely mistaking the operative definition here, "I've known you for long enough—you were the one that offered to be his friend the first year, after all."
"As a friend—maybe," he choked, willingly giving her that as the lesser of two evils, "But—I don't like him, not like that."
"Oh," she smiled again as she apparently understood his appalled response, before her face fell. "Oh." That was probably when she remembered that he'd just used that term, to which they finally seemed to have mutually attached the correct definition, to describe his feelings towards her.
While he couldn't claim to ever have had an abundance of experience with girls, since Pansy didn't count for a lot of things, he still knew that this was the time to come clean.
He gave a tight smile, and when he found he couldn't come up with anything at all to say, he laid his hand over hers. How was it possible that anyone could have such soft skin?
She gave a brittle kind of smile and nodded weakly, her eyes wide. She looked only a couple notches above speechless, though she tried. "But—but what about—"
Ginny. It was like she didn't even have to finish the sentence. Though Draco had trouble understanding what Ginny had to do with anything. He'd admitted to liking her, yes, but that was all. He was perfectly capable of liking more than one girl, after all.
"Or—" she stammered.
That sentence might have been intended for Pansy, but Draco shook his head slowly, to whatever she meant. He stared into her shocked eyes, not really sure what kind of look he should be giving her at the moment.
Sometimes it took her an inordinate amount of time for what should've been a simple thing. Surely his bold behavior at that one particular night's campfire had been something of a big hint.
"Oh," she nearly squeaked again, absently patting his hand over hers in what was probably supposed to be a friendly manner. The next several seconds were a blur, but by the end of them she had hastily retreated out of the room, almost looking more terrified than he'd ever seen her. And that was saying something, considering their previous week together.
Somehow that warranted a warm feeling of satisfaction. Instead of feeling furious, as past attempts had made him, he felt rather content. Maybe it hadn't come off in exactly the ideal manner, but it could've been worse. She was just extremely startled, and in an endearing sort of way.
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The rest of the day passed quickly. When she reappeared some time later, there was some hesitation, but she seemed happier than he could remember seeing her in a long time. The distance she'd been keeping before was now barely observed, and it seemed to him like she was testing it, testing to see if he had been serious. He did everything he could to show that he had been.
In fact, he could remember very little about the rest of the day at all. It passed with a lot of laughing and non-consequential, warm conversation. He even largely forgot about how much he itched to get out of bed.
But as evening rolled around, the problem from the last night resurfaced. No matter how much he insisted though, he couldn't get her to change her mind, even after last night. If anything, she seemed even more nervous about the prospect, albeit now in a completely different way.
So he eventually gave up on her stubbornness and resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to convince her otherwise, though it seemed to be even colder than last night. The heating charms she placed on both sets of their respective covers didn't last long.
But after waking up to pitch-blackness, following a nightmare he couldn't remember, he lay still. Gradually, he convinced himself that he wasn't imagining things and that he could hear soft breathing at the other side of the bed. When he tentatively reached out and found a warm bundle facing away from him, he could only smirk at her nerve of sneaking in after he'd gone to sleep.
Finding it wickedly difficult to get back asleep, he spent a long time listening to her breathing before cautiously scooting over, until he was nearly touching her. It was still terribly chilly, even now with both pairs of covers.
He drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours until it grew lighter. As the sunlight slowly crept through the room, faintly illuminating what he had only been able to guess at in the darkness, he spent most of the time watching her.
After awhile, when she began to toss slightly as she neared waking, he swallowed down his fear. Leaning closer, he gently wrapped his arm around her.
When that didn't appear to wake her, though her breathing had gone quieter, he decided to risk it while he still had a chance. Much as he really didn't want to believe it, what were the chances of her actually warming up to him? Probably slim to nonexistent, if she had anything to say about it.
Gently, and hoping that his heart wasn't really as loud as it seemed to him, he pushed her tumble of hair away slightly and lowered his face to the softer, feathery curls that graced her neck. Breathing in deeply, he brushed his lips lightly against her skin.
He froze when he felt her stir.
She turned herself over beneath his arm, her face a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
He had to say something. "You've—you've got a beautiful taste." He said softly. When he realized just what he'd said, he felt like smacking himself in the forehead. "I mean—" he started.
"No," her fingers reached out to touch his lips as she smiled softly, "That's okay. I kind of liked it."
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The Stone of Sorrow, curious oddity of an obscure wizard remembered only by the most diligent, rested lightly at the hollow of her neck, its dimensions discernable for the first time since it had glimpsed its bearer's deepest sorrow.
But as the girl and the boy slowly woke to each other, each in their own way, the Stone drifted back into its own dreams, drowsy and sated from its labors.
Amidst the revelations that the morning brought, it went unnoticed for a long time.
Epilogue Note: Sorry, but this little loose thread completely slipped my mind until about two hours after posting the last chapter. This officially wraps up everything.
AN: Whew, finally finished. Thanks so much for everyone reading, and especially those who have left reviews. Have fun with the seventh book.