Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.
Chapter 13 — Shivers and Chills
Hermione rolled over in bed and grimaced. "Ouch," she muttered as she opened her eyes, immediately shutting them again. The bright mid-noon sun hurt. She tried to sit up.
"Big mistake," she mumbled as her head exploded with pain. She let out a deep cough.
"Great," she announced to the empty room, flopping back down onto her bed. "I'm sick."
She thought about doing homework but gave up on that idea the third time she fell asleep, spilling scarlet ink all over her sheets. Curse that Gary Rutlige, she thought bitterly, remembering the sneezing boy in the hallway. She cleaned up the ink with a wave of her wand and allowed herself to fall back asleep, dozing lightly in and out for most of the afternoon. Occasionally a house elf would come prod the fire, and she would rouse to consciousness, for once grateful of the servile presence that kept her warm in her bed.
"No thank you," she mumbled hoarsely when Dobby offered to bring her something to eat.
"Very well, mistress," the house elf said sadly, and disappeared.
How long she slept after that she didn't know. The hooting of an owl awakened her as it swooped into her room on the dying strains of the afternoon sun. It dropped something on her head, which abruptly bounced to the floor. She glared sickly at the menace, but it had already vanished out the window.
The scroll it had brought rolled to a stop beside her dresser. She reached for it, trying to move as little as possible; it was just beyond her reach. Suddenly, it disappeared.
"What in the world?" Hermione asked, pulling back her hand and sitting up. The sound of laughter filled the room as Draco Malfoy whipped off the invisibility cloak with a grin.
"Draco!" she coughed, pulling the covers up to her chin in surprise; she was very aware that she was wearing only a pale nightgown. "What are you doing here? How did you find me? What—"
"Slow down," he laughed, settling on the edge of her bed. "When you weren't at breakfast or lunch, I got worried. I wrote you a letter and then followed the owl when it came to bring it to you."
She shot him a questioning look as he pulled open her dresser drawer and set the scroll inside. "For later," he explained.
"I'm sorry I wasn't at lunch," Hermione said, smoothing the edge of her comforter nervously. "I'm afraid I've caught a rather bad cold."
"I thought that might be the case." Draco grinned and pulled a large goblet out from under his cloak. When he opened the lid, it steamed.
"I'm not really hungry," Hermione said, just as her stomach rumbled. Draco smiled widely.
"It's an old family recipe, guaranteed to cure all sorts of ills, from mumps to the measles to the common cold. I made it myself, so you can't refuse."
"Well, if that's the case, then I suppose I shall have to try it," she said. She reached for the mug but her hand shook so violently when she tried to hold it that Draco had to snatch it out of her grasp.
"Stop that, you're going to burn yourself. Let me," he said, pulling a deep spoon from out of his pocket.
Hermione was grateful that there was no one around to see Draco Malfoy hand-feed her his homemade soup. It smoked lightly on her tongue when she sipped, not enough to burn but hot enough that Draco had to blow on it softly first before giving it to her. She rolled the liquid in her mouth; its spicy flavor soothed her sore throat and warmed her insides most pleasantly.
"I feel silly having you feed me," Hermione complained, just to have something to say. In truth, she thought it was incredibly quixotic. Who would have ever thought Draco Malfoy would be sitting on my bed, spoon-feeding me soup? she wondered.
Malfoy just smiled and went to give her another spoonful, right as Hermione was seized by a fit of coughing.
"Ouch!" she exclaimed as she accidentally knocked the spoon from his hand, causing hot soup to spill down her front.
"Allow me," Draco said with a wink, conjuring a handkerchief out of thin air with his wand. Gently, he began wiping off the soup, his fingers moving in slow, circular motions across her neck, along her collarbone, carefully capturing every stray drop….
Hermione felt her head spin; the room was suddenly very bright. Draco's fingers clasped her under her hair as he leaned in for a kiss. She turned away.
"Draco, I'm sick, remember?" she began.
The confusion in his face faded away. "Oh, is that all?" Sitting back, he pointed his wand at his throat. "Preventaro," he cast. "There. Now I'm protected from your little Muggle germs."
Hermione blushed. She felt his hands pressing against her waist through the comforters, holding her in place. She couldn't move anyways. His eyes held her transfixed.
"Draco—" she breathed. His mouth on hers silenced any protest. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her throat, his lips lingering dizzyingly on her flesh. Her hands clasped his hair automatically, drawing him closer to her. He nuzzled her lightly, sending shivers down her back and into her stomach.
Abruptly he stopped, and Hermione leaned shakily back in her bed. She did not think her limbs were strong enough to hold her upright, now that Draco had let her go. "You know, I might almost suspect you had spilled that soup on purpose," she whispered.
"Would that I had spilled it all over you," he returned, running a finger down her nose and leaving her head abuzz. "I would have made sure to clean up every…last…drop."
He pulled her toward him, kissing her again, softly this time. He caught her bottom lip in his, nibbling tenderly and drawing it with him as he pulled away.
"Goodnight," he whispered, picking up his broom, his eyes never leaving hers. With a flick of his cloak, he was gone.
-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-
Back in the Slytherin common room, Draco leaned against the wall, struggling to catch his breath. He was nowhere near calm yet.
A huge smile played across his face. Merlin, but that girl could kiss! He almost hadn't been able to tear himself away from her — part of him still wanted to go back and take her in his arms again and….
No, he told himself firmly, reminding himself why he had torn away. Not this time. You will not ruin this.
He felt disgusted when he thought about the other girls he had known in the past, their easy surrender and his casual indifference to their feelings. Hermione was different, or else he was different. Maybe both. But he would never use her, never use any girl, that way again.
Draco took a slow breath, steadying himself. He would control himself around her and if he couldn't, he would leave. Hermione was coming to mean too much for him to ever want to hurt her.
And there was something else — something that startled him to discover. When he held Hermione in his arms, it was not lust that spurred him. His feelings were much deeper, much purer than any coarse desire could be, and they made him feel amazing. They made him feel like a man. In that instant, he knew that even if he never went any further with Hermione Granger, he would be content because being with her was all that mattered.
Feeling as though he had just left behind some very black and twisted part of himself, he gave a silent thanks to the elf whose concern had inspired him to bring Hermione a cup of soup. He really must find a way to repay him.
-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-
"Hermione, you're still in bed!" Ginny exclaimed in shock the next morning.
"Wha–what?" Hermione looked around her. Trunks were piled in the middle of the floor, and random bits of clothing were strewn everywhere as her returning roommates attempted to unpack. "You're back!"
"Of course I am. Are you feeling okay? It's almost noon."
"Yes, I feel fine now," Hermione said, and it was true. She felt marvelous.
She got out of bed and stretched. Suddenly, realization hit her. "You're back," she said, aghast. "Break's over, and I haven't even started on my potion's essay!" With something akin to a small scream, Hermione grabbed her satchel and fled out the room. A second later she was back, hastily tearing off her nightgown and throwing on some robes; she snatched the bag a timid Ginny held out to her and was gone once again, leaving Ginny to stare after her in wonder.
No one noticed Dobby come in to tend the fire, sporting a large grin and a very floppy hat.
Chapter 13 Summary:
Hermione gets sick, and Draco brings her some soup.