Chapter 9

The First Morning After - Spring 2002

Outside the rain fell in heavy sheets, obscuring the world beyond the windowpane. Thunder rolling in the distance was the only sound to be heard. Hermione blinked awake in the darkness of her room. She was glad she had had the foresight to unplug her muggle alarm clock, it would have gone off over an hour ago for sure. The house had electricity and a small amount of muggle appliances and she had planned to expose the boys to them gradually. That was before she had seen the horrible state that they were in.

As she slowly came more and more aware of her surroundings, she realised she could feel the warm puffs of his breath on the back of her neck: Draco. She could feel his thin body close behind her and he was breathing into her hair. The scent of her must have drawn him closer in his sleep, even if he wasn't responding to her while he was awake. He wasn't touching her at all which she had to admit was a bit of a disappointment, but his mouth was mere centimetres from where her wild curls were laying over the pillow. She'd been so upset last night that she'd forgotten to braid her hair before bed–she'd pay for it later.

She attempted to gain some hope from Draco's voluntary proximity to her, but the eeriness of his blank stare when he had watched her brush out Theo's hair still haunted her. It was almost like she had the ghost of him in her bed, but all the ghosts that she had ever met had been much more lively than he was.

Looking forward, Hermione became aware that Theo had one bony hand on her hip, with his arm thrown forward, his fingers weakly grasping her. His brow was furrowed in his sleep and there were dried salty tracks on his cheeks. He must have cried silently in the night.

Oh poor Theo. Hermione reached over and stroked his cheek. Surprisingly, he didn't stir. He must be exhausted. They both must be and almost certainly horribly ill. Their laboured breathing continued to worry her. Theo's rattling exhales had her so worried that she felt like pacing the bedroom floor listening for him to take his next breath. She wanted to do something about it immediately, but it was the weekend and there was no way that she was going to be able to arrange a house call today.

She hopefully had some muggle cough syrup tucked away somewhere and if she was lucky, one of her old inhalers. Neither of them seemed to be in good respiratory health, and it needed to be dealt with promptly.

The tension of Draco behind her and Theo in front of her made her feel taut like a bowstring. If only it were Draco's lips on her neck as Theo filled her cunt. It had been too long. But Gods, they were so weak now, it might take months before they were well enough to even consider making love to her. That was if she could even get them to emerge from their catatonic state. If these empty husks were permanent, Hermione thought that she might Avada herself. Could the killing curse be used for suicide? You'd have to mean it after all, and if they were truly lost to the world, she'd absolutely mean it.

Shaking off the melancholy, Hermione slowly removed Theo's hand from her, then shifted and turned. She sat up and shimmied down the bed, attempting to let them both sleep so she could use the loo.

When she turned back to look at them, Draco's hand was gripping the pillow where her head had been and she could have sworn she heard him whimper as he cuddled further into where her head had been resting.

Did he miss her in his sleep? Was he aware, somewhere inside himself, that they were together finally?

Sweet Circe, she hoped so.

She did her necessities and then took a quick shower so that she could wash and braid her hair. Without being damp and using plenty of conditioner, it was impossible to get her hair to do anything useful.

Once she felt like less of a savage, she threw on a house robe and peeked in at the boys again. They'd shifted slightly closer to each other in their sleep. There was just a hair's breadth between their hands at the moment. Hermione wondered what would happen if she bridged the gap and made them touch, would they wake like Sleeping Beauty? Somehow, she doubted it.

Heading into the kitchen, Hermione made a few fluffy pancakes and then added berries to yoghurt and brought a plate for each of them to the bedroom on a large tray she had.

Gently, she first shook Theo awake.

"Theo, darling," she kept her voice low as she tried to wake him. "I made some breakfast for you. Will you wake up and eat for me please?" Theo was so horribly thin that it made Hermione want to vomit up every meal that she'd eaten in the last three years. Every banquet, fancy evening out, or muggle brunch seemed to have turned to acidic bile in her gut. "Theo," she begged, stroking his cheek.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked at her owlishly. Seeing the plate of food, he sat up and as soon as she sat a pillow on his lap with the plate and silverware, he tucked into the food. He ate robotically, without acknowledging her presence, as if he wasn't even aware she'd stayed to oversee him. He had yet to meet her eyes like Draco had the night before, and Theo's actions were utterly ate because he'd been told to.

Coming around to the other side of the bed, she sat the tray down and stroked Draco's cheek just as she had Theo's. "Draco, can you wake–" The words died on her lips as his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. He did not speak or look at her, and his mercury eyes were clouded, but he was touching her.

Not trying to get her wrist free, Hermione levitated the plate up and grabbed it with her left hand. As she brought it to where he could see it. He released her wrist after he sat up as Theo had done. Did they often feed the inmates in their beds? Were the cells so small that there was nowhere else to eat?

They made quick work of their food while Hermione ate hers in the chair in the corner of her room halfheartedly. She left hers sitting on the side table when they finished and took their plates and utensils to the kitchen. She'd wash them later.

By the time she came back, both men were sound asleep again, but she was pleased to see that they left her spot in the centre empty. Almost as if they were waiting for her.

She crawled back into her place with a book that she'd been reading the prior week about the history of the French Werewolf Purge of the late 1700s. Despite how interesting she found the book, eventually exhaustion overtook her and she fell asleep too.