To be fair, Hermione hadn't always been awake. Only for about half of the time had she actually been conscious, listening to Draco mutter and complain. Somewhere around his ninetieth groan about being hungry she floated back into the real world, just in time to hear him slam the door behind him.
Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes. Why in the world would Draco Malfoy be in her room wanting dinner?
Hold on. Number one question: Why in the world was Draco Malfoy in her room at all?
Disturbing didn't even begin to cover it, Hermione decided, rubbing her eyes again. Some rule had to exist somewhere stating it was illegal for your archenemy to be in your room. And if that one wasn't written down, something about having such a confusing problem right after waking up must be. She would just have to find it later. After making a mental note to look it up when she reached Hogwarts, she groaned and buried her face in her arms again.
Wait—was that…?
Bloody hell.
Footsteps-- unhappy ones, mind you- clunked their way towards a door. Her door.
And before Hermione could grab anything to convince Draco he really didn't want to be there-- a knife or a fire poker or even a pencil (though what good a pencil could do, she wasn't quite sure—convince him to study more?)—before she could even raise her head and proclaim she had returned to the waking world, the door opened and one disgruntled ferret stomped in.
"Granger," he said in that familiar, pushy voice, "Wake up, I need to know a spell."
Fat chance I'm telling you anything, buster.
Crookshanks yowled at him. Good boy, Hermione wanted to say. I'll make sure you get tuna once he leaves.
Suddenly, the worst thing possible happened. Hermione got an itch. On her face. So much for scratching it inconspicuously ("Hullo, Malfoy, let me just scratch my face and then I'll go back to being asleep, no problem!).
To make matters worse, the blasted itch wasn't one of the ones that would go away if you just scrunched up your face a little. It was an itch that had set its suitcases down and announced, "Hello, Hermione, I'm here to stay! What's for dinner?"
And no matter how desperately Hermione wiggled her nose and waggled her eyebrows, the itch refused to budge.
"Bugger off," Malfoy was telling her cat, and Hermione seized this moment while his attention was hopefully not on her, and turned her face to the side, her sleeve rubbing the spot on her cheek in just the right way to make the itch subside. Ahhh. Bliss.
"Bloody hell," she heard her intruder swear. Poor Hermione could only think he must have gotten a look at her face. Did she really look that bad? Hermione almost reached up to rub her eyes again. In fact, her hand even twitched before she stopped herself by asking herself why she would ever care what Malfoy thought of her beauty. Or lack thereof.
She heard him start moving and prayed to everything he hadn't noticed her hand moving. To distract him, she mumbled the first thing that came to mind: "Don't forget the cookies."
Hermione didn't know Malfoy could laugh that hard.
And then the bloody itch returned with a vengeance. "You're not getting rid of me that easily," it cackled at her.
And now she couldn't even move her face. Bloody everything.
Only one thing to do.
While Malfoy was muttering something about her health, she rubbed her face against her sleeve. Hard.
Unfortunately, she forgot that her arm was only so big.
Her head hitting the wooden table with a loud "thunk" reminded her of the fact.
Ow, was all she could think at the moment. Malfoy kindly reminded her that couldn't be healthy.
If it wasn't for you, she complained silently, I would be in perfect health.
And then she just heard a lot of moving around interspersed with Crookshanks conversing with Malfoy. It was a little hard to make out actual words, what with the pain ringing in her ears. A very disgusted, "Alright!", however, was clearly heard and before Hermione could wonder what was all right, she found herself scooped up in Draco Malfoy's arms.
Well, then. That was certainly unexpected.
He was warm, was the first thing that came to mind. Not hot (as some of her Muggle friends would say, though that could be argued), just exceptionally warm. And very snuggly. In fact, Hermione could have stayed curled up against his chest for another few hours.
Unfortunately, the trip to the bed didn't last that long. He set her on the soft mattress and she sighed, mumbling something about the cookies to reinforce her "I'm asleep, really" theory. She waited a minute until she was sure he had exited her room, and then turned over onto her side—
--Just as she felt him slide into the bed.
Her face met with his bare chest and she couldn't stop her legs from pressing against his. One traitorous arm managed to sling its way around his waist, very unintentionally pulling his warm self closer.
Not. Good.
Well, she reflected, she had gotten her wish. A good ten hours stretched ahead before morning. And apparently, she would be spending every blessed—or bloody, however you wished to look at the situation— minute of them next to Draco Malfoy.
This. Is. Not. Bloody. Happening.
Funny, that was exactly what had left Ron's mouth when he heard the Chudley Cannons had opened a Quidditch camp.
"Ron," she sighed. I wonder how he's doing.
She felt Draco recoil in horror. A pause, as a horrible, horrible plan formed in her decidedly not sleepy mind.
"Harry," she giggled.
Hermione heard Draco make retching sounds.
And for the grand finale…
"Draco…"
She opened an eye and smiled into Draco's bare shoulder.
Thanks to Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy wouldn't be going to sleep any time soon.
Author's note: A giant, chocolate chip cookie from my bakery if anyone can guess the book title this chapter's title spoofed. Mad props to Kate, my most loyal reader!