Caelum Ignis Ch29: "Painkillers"

A Dramione fan fiction

Her sleep-deprived mind still fought with a lot of Snape’s words, what he said and hadn’t said, but she understood them well enough to set her alarm for three hours from the moment she’d last finished applying dittany, and to go collapse on her own bed.

That time, she actually slept.

She woke up in a panic when the alarm went off, positive she’d overslept, despite what the clock told her. She ran back into Draco’s bedroom.

She stood in the doorway, staring at the cat, which had moved from between Draco’s legs to stretch out by Draco’s side and near his right arm. The reason why became clear the instant she walked forward enough to look down at his face.

Draco’s eyes were open.

They were glassy, half-lidded, and his face looked so pale and sweaty he might have a fever, but he was definitely awake.

He looked openly relieved when he saw her looking down at him.

She couldn’t help noticing the dark circles under his eyes, or the way he gripped the blankets with the hand not stroking the cat, or the overt pain she could see in his expression. She immediately felt guilty, wondering how long he’d been awake.

Snape had said the pain would be bad.

It might have been the thing to finally force him awake from Dumbledore’s spell.

He started to sit up, grimaced, and sank back down.

As she got closer, she realized his chest had a sheen of sweat on it, too.

So did his arms, and his neck.

She didn’t know if his silence and the blank look in his eyes was from him using occlumency to cope with the pain, or from blood loss, or from tiredness, or from shock, or from the pain itself. His jaw clenched tightly for a few seconds before he spoke.

“I can’t move,” he said simply.

His fingers were still on Crooks, now tugging on the cat’s ear.

Crookshanks didn’t seem to mind.

“Of course you can’t move.” Her voice came out scolding, without her really meaning it to. Tears threatened, and tried to choke her. “You shouldn’t move. You’re badly hurt. Lie still.”

She felt so much looking at him, she couldn’t really deal with any of it. Relief. Worry. Guilt about the pain he was obviously in, and definitely feeling like she’d slept too long and left him alone with that pain for far too long. Fear at how pale and feverish he looked. Anger at herself for not sleeping in the chair, in here, where she would have woken up sooner.

Still, a lot of what she felt was relief.

He was awake.

He was alive.

Just seeing him looking up at her, recognizing her, was an enormous relief.

She could admit to herself now, she’d been more afraid than she could really deal with the night before. She hadn’t let herself acknowledge any of it. It wouldn’t have helped him, or her, for her to be an emotional wreck when she needed to focus on fixing what was wrong with him. So she simply hadn’t allowed herself that. She’d focused on the times and the alarms and the dittany, and refused to sink into some weepy headspace that would have made her less logical and exacting. She’d blocked all of it without ever having made a conscious decision to do so.

Now, it all seemed to crash down on her at once.

He might have died.

Harry really might have killed him.

Somehow, seeing him like this now: weak, in obvious pain, barely unable to move, and pale as a ghost, made the reality of how close it had been painfully real.

If Snape hadn’t found them––

Her throat closed at the thought. She avoided his eyes. She walked straight to the bureau, and pulled down the bottle of dittany that was now less than half-full.

“Fuck,” he said. He tried to reach for her, and grimaced again. “Is that all I get?”

She was reading labels on the bottles.

“All you get as pertains to what?” she asked, not looking over.

“Is that all you’re going to say to me?” Frustration colored his words. He reached for her again, and groaned. “Godric-damn it. Will you at least look at me? I know you’re angry––”

“Stop moving!” she scolded. “And I’m not angry!”

“Come. Here,” he said through gritted teeth. “Please. Merlin, please.”

“Calm down,” she warned. “And stop moving. I’ll be over there in a minute. I need to get––”

“COME HERE!” His voice was hoarse.

“Stop moving and I will!” she snapped, turning on him. “Do you have to be an impossible git the instant you open your eyes? I just spent the whole night trying to keep you from dying… could you please just give me a second to get the right medicine now?”

When she met his gaze, he seemed to deflate.

He sank back into the bed.

She plucked a bottle of the blood-replenishing potion off the bureau and set it aside next to the dittany. She started to reach for the two bottles Snape told her were to manage Draco’s “condition,” but Draco watched her pick the first one up, and immediately snapped at her.

“No. Absolutely not. I’m not fucking drinking those.”

She exhaled, put down the first bottle, which was as far as she’d gotten, and turned to look at him.

“Why on earth not?”

“I hate what they do to me. I hate it. They make my mind fuzzy. They flatten me out. They fuck with my magic. I won’t drink that right now. Not on top of everything else. The only thing helping me right now is my magic…”

“But you drink them every day,” she pointed out, exasperated.

“Yes, and I fucking hate them. These days, Snape usually stands there and watches me take them, since he no longer trusts me. He reports to my father if I don’t.”

“What makes you think I won’t tell Snape?” she retorted.

He gave her a flat smile, his eyes glassier. “Because, try as you might, you’re not enough of an actual cunt to do that, Granger.”

She grimaced, looked at him a few seconds longer, then exhaled, giving in, at least for the moment.

“Are you in any pain?” she asked, subdued.

“No.” His chalk-white face grew even more taut. “Why? Do I look like I’m in pain?”

She bit her lip.

Admittedly, it had been a stupid question.

He definitely looked like he was in pain, and a lot of it.

She grabbed the pain-alleviation potion from the collection of bottles, one dose of the healing potion, one dose of blood-replenisher, the dittany, and the essence of murtlap salve Snape brought in that morning. She stuck the last container in the pocket of her shirt, and realized she was still wearing her uniform clothes from yesterday. She hadn’t even changed her socks.

Godric, she must smell.

She desperately needed a shower.

She considered fighting him on the caelum ignis concoctions a second time, then decided to wait until she’d dealt with the rest of it. He might be more reasonable if she took care of his pain first, especially if he really was using his magic to block the worst of it. The blood replenisher and healing potion should make him feel stronger, too. She gathered up all the bottles she’d set aside and walked around the bed to reach the opposite side of the mattress as the cat.

She uncorked the pain killer first.

“Just be good, will you?” She slid her hand behind his head, and put the green bottle to his lips. He surprised her by not fighting her at all. He seemed to relax as soon as she put her hands on him. He swallowed the potion as soon as she put the glass to his lips. “I’ve got two others for you to drink, as well. We can negotiate anything else later.”

“What is it?” he asked warily. “This one you’ve just given me?”

“That was a pain-alleviation potion. It should help.” She held up the blue one over him next, showing it to him before she uncorked it. “This is blood-replenisher.”

She bent over him and fed him the the same way with that one. Her palm and fingers cradled the back of his head as she brought the blue bottle to his lips.

He drank the entire bottle down obediently that time, too.

“This one…” She held up a darker, red-tinted glass vial. “…Is supposed to make you heal faster. Snape didn’t tell me what was in any of these by the way, but I imagine they’re pretty standard healing potions.”

“What did you put in your pocket?”

She exhaled tiredly at the wariness in his voice. “I have dittany, which I’m going to put on your cuts once I crawl up on that gigantic bed of yours, and a salve that’s also supposed to help with pain. I’m going to put that on you, too.”

His eyes relaxed. He looked openly relieved.

“Do I get a snog if I drink all of these?”

She rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t snog half-dead idiots who duel in the pouring rain.”

“It was a bathroom, actually.”

“Even stupider,” she retorted. “There’s only this one left, Draco.” She set down the empty bottle and uncorked the last one. “You need to drink this one, then you’re finished.”

“Why should I?” he quipped. “What’s in it for me?”

He smiled, but his face still looked taut and overly pale.

“Drink, and maybe you’ll find out.”

He drank down the healing potion in the blood-red bottle slower than the first too, but he didn’t fight her after their initial back and forth. He swallowed it all down, licked his lips, and she lowered his head back down to the pillow.

“Tastes like bubotuber pus.”

“Eaten a lot of bubotuber pus, have you?” she asked.

“It had better work, is all I’m saying. Because it tastes nasty––”

“Are you hungry?” she asked, ignoring that last.

He glanced over at the table, and the remnants of her breakfast feast, which she’d barely touched. She couldn’t remember if she’d eaten so much as a single bite of pancake or fruit.

“That’s got to be stone cold,” she told him. “I doubt you’d want it. I more meant I’d ask Dobby to bring you something else if you were hungry.”

“Ah.”

A shadow crossed his expression. He didn’t say anything else, or actually answer the question of whether he wanted food, but just lied there, his eyes closed.

“Did the pain potion help at all?”

“A little. I feel high now, does that count?”

“I’m not sure. Are you just high but still in pain?”

“That wouldn’t be an inaccurate assessment.” He exhaled, and she couldn’t help frowning at how taut his face looked still. “But I think the pain is less.”

He turned to watch her when she climbed up on the mattress to her usual spot.

She had no idea why she’d continued walking around the entire bed every time to kneel on the opposite side of him as the bureau. She’d done it that way since the very first time, when Snape had been in the room, and now it was pure habit.

Maybe she just didn’t want to bother Crookshanks.

Anyway, she’d worked out a whole order in which she applied the dittany. She applied the tincture the same way every time, wound by wound, cut by cut, and that order would get screwed up if she had to figure out how to do it in reverse.

He swallowed thickly he watched her.

When she stopped moving and knelt next to him, her knee barely touching his thigh, he relaxed visibly.

She pulled out the eyedropper on the dittany, and started to apply the tincture along the largest cut on his chest. He hissed as the medicine hit the cut, but kept his hands and arms out of her way. She noticed, even up close, that none of the gashes or lines had re-opened while she’d slept those three hours. She also noticed the wounds all looked markedly different now than when she’d first started using the dittany. They were less thick, less ragged-looking, and they looked less deep. There were fewer angry streaks of color decorating his chest under the skin.

It must be the dark magic from the spell that was hurting him.

According to Snape, the fact that the cuts hadn’t opened for those three hours meant she could use the essence of murtlap salve next. She had to hope that would help more than the pain potion had. Maybe Dreamless Sleep could help with that, too.

The cuts did look redder than she remembered when she’d finally left to go to bed. She saw that redness fade slightly as the dittany sank into his skin now.

She released more drops of the tincture over every line in his flesh. He didn’t hiss when she decorated the next few cuts, but she knew, somehow, he was in a lot of pain still. Maybe it was the way he looked away, or the way the muscles in his stomach tensed, even after he’d drunk all three of those potions.

She felt his eyes on her as she worked over his face, neck, and jaw.

“Am I horribly ugly now?” he asked her.

“Hideous,” she confirmed.

He snorted.

When she leaned back briefly, she felt his fingers brush along her leg. When she didn’t move away, or react, he immediately wrapped his free hand, the one that wasn’t still stroking Crooks, around her thigh.

“I definitely feel a little drunk now,” he informed her.

“Yes, you told me that.”

“It still hurts.”

She winced. “If the essence of murtlap doesn’t help with that in a real way, I’ll give you another bottle of the potion.”

“Are there any more drugs you’re planning to give me?” His voice slurred the faintest bit. He craned his neck as he peered over at the collection of potion bottles on the bureau. “I see a few more concoctions on there you haven’t poured down my throat yet. Is that a Calming Draught? Are you going to drug me with Dreamless Sleep, Granger, and invite all your friends over to write obscene words on my naked body?”

“Tempting, but no.”

He watched her for a few seconds more as she concentrated over him.

“I really want you to kiss me.”

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“Absolutely not.”

He exhaled, and leaned deeper into the pillows. He closed his eyes.

“You seem out of sorts with me, Granger,” he remarked next. “If I didn’t know the idea were utterly and completely mad, I might think you’ve been the tiniest bit worried about me.”

She scoffed, but wouldn’t meet his eyes when he opened them again.

“Worried?” Her throat closed. She snorted a bit too loudly. “Why would I be worried? Annoyed, yes. Thinking it’s all a big ploy for attention, yes. Thinking you’re a ginormous prat, yes. You did, after all, completely wreck my plans for the evening.”

“Ah. Of course. Apologies.”

“I’m missing the Hogsmeade weekend today, too.”

“Oh.” Real guilt shone in his eyes. “Apologies, Granger.”

“The Hogsmeade you were supposed to take Ginny to, incidentally,” she couldn’t help adding a little spitefully. “I guess it’s good you broke up with her, or she’d likely be pretty hacked off with you right about now.”

“I will never not hear about that, will I?” he asked. “About Ginny?”

“Not sure yet, honestly,” she said.

He closed his eyes. She bit her tongue, and avoided looking at his face as she put more drops of the dittany on yet another line cut into his chest. He hissed softly that time, and she avoided dealing with that by clearing her throat.

“I’ve still no idea how you managed to get yourself turned into Frankenstein’s monster in the first place,” she said. “So far, no one’s bothered to tell me a thing. Obviously, I know Harry was involved––”

“Franken… Frankincense who?” he asked, opening his eyes blearily. He really did sound drunk. “What in Merlin’s beard did you just say to me, Granger?”

She motioned over his chest without meeting his eyes.

“It’s a muggle reference about a mutilated monster made of dead bodies who also happens to be hideous.” She swallowed, fighting real anger. “I’m just wondering what you said to Harry, exactly, to convince him he needed to actually murder you.”

She said it all in an indifferent-sounding voice, telling herself it was just more banter to keep things unserious, to throw words back and forth with him, and to avoid dealing with the rush of feelings she couldn’t really manage, much less catalogue with him staring at her face from so close. But as soon as that last thing left her lips, Draco fell silent.

She finished aiming a line of dittany drops along a cut in his arm before she finally let her eyes flicker up. Grief stood out in his, and a repentant look that took her aback.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Her stomach dropped.

She bit her lip, averted her gaze.

“What did you say to him?” she asked.

He exhaled, and tilted back his head. “Does it matter?”

She bit her lip so hard it hurt, mostly to stay silent.

She looked down so he couldn’t see her face. She knew she was dangerously close to either screaming at him, or bursting into tears. She stared down at the dittany vial in her hand for a few seconds until she’d regained control.

“Look.” His voice remained contrite. “I’m sorry, Granger. I really am. I’m sorry about last night, and Hogsmeade, and you being stuck with all this––”

“How did it happen?” she asked, still staring down at her hands. “Did you really pick a fight with him?”

“I think it would be more accurate to say, I let him pick a fight with me.”

“Why?” Tears rose without warning, real ones. She wiped them away angrily with her knuckles, but refused to look at him again. “Was this like the Astronomy Tower? The same impulse?”

He didn’t answer.

Somehow, she got the sense her question knocked him off balance. The painkillers probably didn’t help with that.

She clenched her jaw. She told herself not to push it any more just then.

He was drugged. He was probably in shock.

He was still in pain. He’d just told her he was in a lot of pain.

She was exhausted.

She was irrational.

He could easily slide into a more intense kind of irrational, too.

Neither of them could deal with this right now. She shouldn’t be talking to him about anything serious until he was better and not drunk on painkillers. She’d help him drink a bottle of Dreamless Sleep, then go take a shower herself, and maybe sleep another hour or two in the armchair in here before she got up and checked on him.

When he continued to not speak, she made herself focus on applying the dittany. She finished with the one arm, then switched to the other. She covered the largest two cuts on his chest a third time, then dropped a bit more of the liquid on two more.

Finally, having dusted off the last of the second bottle of dittany, she realized she might have over-applied it this time. Well, it likely couldn’t hurt him to have too much. She screwed the cap down tight on the heart-shaped bottle, then tossed it over with the others.

She pulled out the metal tub filled with essence of murtlap salve.

“Who brought me in, then?” Draco asked finally.

A hint of apology was audible in his voice. He sounded sad, and a little bit worried. His fingers were stroking Crookshanks’ head compulsively.

She realized he’d taken his hand off her leg. It just lay on the mattress now.

“It wasn’t Potter, was it?” he asked. “Who brought me here?”

She unscrewed the top of the salve container, and set it on the bed.

“Snape. Dumbledore. Harry.” She kept her eyes on the round tub of salve as she dug some of the oily goo out with her fingers. “Everyone else thinks you’re ill, along with me. We’re officially in quarantine.”

“And they left you alone with… all this?” he asked.

He sounded even more drugged now.

“Snape was pretty thorough with his instructions.” She forced a smile. “Of course, he was his usual, charming self while he went through it all… only a bit more so, maybe. He was pretty furious with Harry. I’m not sure what happened to him yet.”

She hesitated, looking down at the cuts on his chest, now a much less angry shade of red after the recent application of dittany. She’d gotten so used to looking at them, she’d almost ceased to see them for what they were, at least while Draco was unconscious. It felt different now, with him watching her. It was his body again.

It made her more shy about staring at it, and about touching it.

After going back and forth on the best way to do it, she finally just smeared a line of the salve down the center of the largest cut.

Draco let out a heavy, shocked groan. His back arched slightly off the mattress.

“Fuck… Granger. What the fuck…”

She’d already jerked her arm back in alarm. “Godric! I’m sorry! Did that hurt?”

He was already shaking his head, panting. “No. No, no, no. Don’t stop. It’s fucking orgasmic. I want to marry you right now.”

She flushed at his words, then felt like an idiot for having such a stupid reaction. She bit her tongue, and avoided looking at his face.

“I think it’s Snape you want to marry,” she pointed out. She waited for him to laugh, but he didn’t. “Are you sure you’re okay? You want more of it?”

“I would literally take a bath in that stuff if you let me. So yes, more. Fuck yes, more. Please.” He hesitated, and she could see sweat standing out on his skin. “Just maybe… save a little for later. In case I wake up like that again.”

She heard the meaning there and her guilt returned.

Even now, he was hiding the pain a lot.

He was hiding it too much; she’d had no idea it was that bad.

“I’ll ask Snape to bring more,” she said. “I’ll give you another of the pain potions after I finish with this, too.”

Draco hesitated, his eyes still closed, then nodded. “Alright.”

“You should have told me it was that bad,” she added, sharper.

“I’ve dealt with worse.”

Anger flared in her without warning.

“Well, that’s… that’s just stupid!” she shot back in disbelief. “And it’s hardly the point! You think I’m going to be impressed with you for hiding that from me? I’m not your father. This isn’t a test, Draco. Tell me if it bloody hurts!”

He didn’t answer.

She saw him wince a little at her words.

She ended up coating and smoothing the murtlap over and into each and every one of his wounds. A relatively small amount of salve actually went a long way. Even after she’d put a decent coating on every cut on his body, she’d barely used a fifth of what Snape had given her.

By the time she’d finished, Draco was lying there, boneless, his eyes closed. The taut, pinched look on his face had finally smoothed.

He’d even regained a little color.

It struck her again that she had absolutely no idea how much pain he was in. It made her wonder just how used to pain he was, too, which brought another stab of frustration and guilt.

She started to move back, to crawl off the bed, but he grabbed her wrist.

“Hey,” he said, soft. “Granger. Look at me.”

She resisted at first, then forced her eyes to his. As soon as she did, as soon as she saw the concern in his gray eyes, she felt hers sting.

“I’m all right,” he said. “Hey. I’m all right. The pain isn’t your fault.”

“Just tell me,” she said. “Fucking tell me, so I can do something––”

“I will. I’ll tell you. And I really am sorry about––”

“I don’t think I’m ready to talk about this,” she cut in thickly.

He fell silent.

She shook her head, and for a few seconds, he didn’t try to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry they left you alone with––”

“I’m not mad at them!” she snapped, ignoring what she’d just said. She wiped her eyes with her free hand. “I’m not even sure if I’m mad at you. But you’re out of suicide attempts, Draco. You’ve officially used your last one. You try it again, and I’m done.”

“Hermione, I wasn’t trying––”

“So maybe not suicide,” she said, her voice warning. “But you know what I mean. Self-destructive stunts you know could get you killed… and you don’t even seem to care it might get you killed.” She watched him close his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. Give me credit for knowing you just the tiniest bit by now. This is partly about what happened in the classroom with me. You went looking for someone to beat you up, and you found Harry––”

“Potter might’ve been a bit more accommodating than I expected––” he admitted.

“The principle still holds,” she warned. She bit her lip, then said it anyway. “If I really am your… your girlfriend…” she said, her throat tight. “…Then I should get at least some say in what kind of condition you’re in on a regular basis. Especially if it means you being levitated in here, covered in your own blood, and me having to stay up all night, thinking you might fucking die if I close my eyes for even a few seconds…”

There was a silence after she spoke.

He tugged on her arm, lightly though.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?” She gave him a distrustful look. “Is that a real okay?”

“It is.”

“Do you promise?”

He exhaled as he looked at her. “I do promise. But you need to tell me something, Granger.” He paused, his eyes baleful, grave looking. “Am I really hideous?”

There was a silence.

She let out a faint snort, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, I apologize,” she said sarcastically. “I didn’t realize that was the priority here.”

“Well, I really have no hope of keeping you at all if I’m suddenly hideous, do I?” He closed his eyes, his fingers still stroking the cat. “On a scale of one to ten, how much more hideous am I now than I was prior to Potter having a go at me?”

She grimaced at his words, but kept her voice light.

“I see,” she said, pretending to think. “I might’ve misunderstood the question earlier. I hadn’t realized you were asking me if you were more ugly than you had been before. Were you looking for some kind of objective comparison, then?”

“Yes. Perhaps I should have been more specific.”

“I mean, it’s difficult to say if there’s a quantifiable increase in hideousness, compared to the prior level,” she said. “Can you give me some sort of criteria?”

“I think I was wrong about you not being a terrible person,” he told her.

“I think the words you used were ‘an actual cunt’––”

“Granger.”

His voice suddenly grew serious. He tugged her arm until she looked at his face.

The smile left her lips when she saw the serious way he looked at her.

“Please don’t leave me alone in here right now.” He glanced at the cat, then at the other side of the bed, where she knelt. “I appreciate the cat. And I don’t mean you can’t leave me alone at all… but before you came in, I was here for a while, and––”

Understanding reached her, and she gripped his hand where he held her arm.

“I won’t,” she promised. Her throat closed again, and she averted her eyes. “I do need a shower, though. And I’m going to order you food. Do you think you can eat? Or are the potions making you nauseated, too?”

He thought for a moment, then nodded. “I think so.”

“Do you know what you want?” she asked.

“No. You choose.” He winced as he adjusted his back on the mattress. “Does it have to be Dobby, though? My father was an absolute prick to him. He…” Draco trailed briefly, then swallowed, and shook his head. “He was pretty awful to all of the elves. I can’t imagine Dobby wanting to bring me food… or anything else, for that matter.”

She blinked, then felt stupid.

It was impossible to mistake the heavier meaning in Draco’s words. How had she completely forgotten Dobby came from Malfoy Manor? She tried not to think about everything Draco hadn’t said just then, and what it might mean.

Now wasn’t the time to get Draco talking about his childhood under Lucius Malfoy, or the kinds of things he must have witnessed or been a party to at the Manor while growing up. Not when he was high on painkillers, possibly in shock, and visibly teetering into some level of emotionally volatility already.

“I’ll order the food,” she said after a pause. “Dobby doesn’t have to know it’s for you. But I think it’s a bad idea if we involve more of the elves, at least without talking to Dumbledore first. Dobby already knows you’re like this. No one else is supposed to know.” She started to tug her arm from his fingers. “I’ll go downstairs before I call him, okay? But then I really need that shower. I’ll come right back when I finish.”

He hesitated, then released her with obvious reluctance.

“Okay,” he said only.

Impulsively, she bent down and kissed his mouth.

He kissed her back. He tried to turn it into a real kiss, but she placed a hand carefully on his shoulder to separate them.

“You really don’t know what you want to eat?” she asked, more gently that time.

He looked up at her, and his silvery gray eyes looked sad.

“Surprise me,” he said.

---

When she got out of the shower, threw on clothes, and left the washroom, she felt so much better she could have cried. Really, she could have sprawled out on the sofa right there and fallen asleep in front of the fire.

Even apart from her promise, she didn’t want to be away from him, though.

She made her way upstairs, now wearing olive-green, stretchy cotton trousers and a pink, clingy, long-sleeved T-shirt. She wouldn’t have minded a jumper, since the stone rooms were cold, but decided to wait and see about the temperature of Draco’s room first. He couldn’t wear a jumper, or even a lot of blankets yet, so she might need to build a fire and cast warming charms over the entire room.

She got inside and realized the fire had been lit by someone already, probably Dobby.

She was even more shocked to see that Dobby was still there.

He stood on the mattress, maybe a foot from Crookshanks. The half-kneazle was watching the house elf warily from where he’d curled back up into a fluffy ball between Draco’s hip and arm. The cat had his chin resting on his paws, but his eyes stared at the elf unblinkingly, as if listening to every word that passed between them.

Draco saw her then, and closed his mouth in what looked like the middle of a sentence. She hadn’t heard anything they’d been saying before the conversation died. Dobby followed his eyes until both of them were looking at her.

She’d interrupted them talking.

The realization felt strange.

As soon as he saw her, Dobby smiled and bowed politely. He said a few things about the food he’d brought that she didn’t really listen to, then vanished with an audible crack!

Hermione looked at Draco.

When he didn’t say anything, she lifted an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

He gave her his best occlumency blank stare in return.

She couldn’t help noticing he still looked shockingly pale, and the dark circles under his eyes looked even darker. She tore her eyes off him, looked in the direction of the table, where all the food had been laid out, then walked over there, making her own face blank.

“I’m not sure if I can eat,” he admitted.

She lifted the silver tray and looked at what Dobby had brought.

After doing a brief inventory, she loaded a plate up with things she figured he could maybe eat, starting with toast with butter, fruit, some juice. Then she grabbed the larger of the two bowls of soup. It was so thick it was nearly stew.

“I can barely lift my arms,” he complained when she walked over with all of it. “There’s no way I can eat the soup, Granger.”

When she picked up the spoon anyway, he rolled his eyes.

“You are not going to feed me like I’m a toddler.”

“You mean, like an injured person.”

“No, Hermione.”

“You’re being absolutely ridiculous,” she told him, exasperated. “I’m not going to argue about this. You’ve got to eat, and you said it yourself, your arms can’t move well enough yet. I’m here. I’m perfectly able to feed you until you’ve healed more. And I won’t have you undoing all the work I did and opening up the cuts again.”

He rolled his eyes when she sat down cross-legged next to him, the plate in her lap, the bowl of soup in the center.

“The only thing that makes you a toddler in this situation is you throwing a fit and refusing to eat,” she added, when she held up the first spoonful.

He gave in a minute later, but continued to avoid her eyes.

Despite his clear annoyance with the entire process, he ate every spoonful of the large bowl of chicken, potato, and vegetable soup Dobby brought. He ate the toast with butter, then asked for jam and she got it for him. He ate a few strawberries with cream.

He even ate the piece of chocolate she fed him.

But when she got up off the bed to put the empty bowl and plate back on the tray, looked over the sandwiches and fruit and cupcakes Dobby brought them along with the soup, she found she wasn’t very hungry herself. She ate a few strawberries, a few bites of a chicken salad sandwich, and a few bites of cupcake.

She described everything on the tray and asked Draco if he wanted anything more.

He shook his head.

“Maybe the Dreamless Sleep potion now, Granger,” he said.

He hesitated after he said it, watching her as she re-covered the tray of food.

“I’ll stay in here,” she assured him, reading the faint worry in his eyes. “There’s plenty of room, even with you and Crooks hogging most of the bed.” She glanced down at the cat, where his fingers rubbed lightly behind Crooks’ ears. “There’s still two hours before I need to put the dittany on again, and hopefully you’ll sleep through me doing that, anyway.”

“When is Snape coming?” he asked.

She frowned. She hadn’t thought of that.

She didn’t fancy Snape coming in and finding her asleep in Draco’s bed.

She looked over at the softer, squishier reading chair he had in the corner of the room by a small window. She decided she’d sleep there, at least until after Snape came.

“No––” he began, annoyed.

She cut him off.

“You’re really not going to take those potions?” she asked with a sigh. She motioned towards the bureau. “The ones for your… condition?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” he said coldly. “And stop avoiding the other thing. You’re not sleeping on a chair, Granger, after being up all night playing nursemaid. At least transfigure it into something more comfortable––”

“Snape was pretty adamant that you had to drink those,” she said, ignoring him. “He said it could be dangerous for you not to drink them, that you’ve been drinking some version of them your entire life.”

“It’s my body, and my magic. I’m not fucking drinking them. Are you really going to make me? Are you going to force it down my throat like he would? Or my father?”

She stared at him.

Seeing the pained, stubborn look in his eyes, she made up her mind.

“If you tell Snape I did this, I’ll hex you in your sleep,” she grumbled.

Surprise flickered in his eyes.

Without waiting for him to make sense of her words, she walked over to the dresser and separated out one of each of the caelum ignis potions. She went back through Snape’s collection then, and plucked out a Dreamless Sleep and another of the painkiller potions and set those aside for later.

“I’ll give you those when we get back,” she said.

“We?”

“I’m assuming you need the toilet.”

His eyes cleared. “Yeah.”

She walked over to him, and helped him sit up, then to stand.

He leaned on her heavily, but at least held himself up better than she would have expected. She’d honestly wondered if she’d need to levitate him.

She scooped up the two caelum ignis potions and stuck them in his pockets since she didn’t have any in her own trousers.

“Cheeky,” he said to her.

He leaned down enough to kiss her face.

She walked him carefully downstairs to the washroom. While he waited for her, leaning against the wall, she cracked the seals on each of the bottles of potion, and dumped them one by one in the toilet. She took the empty bottles with her.

He smiled at her.

“I’ll wait outside,” she said. “Can you get back to the door okay?”

“Yes,” he said.

She leaned against the staircase railing outside the door, and thought about what Snape would do to her, if he’d seen what she’d just done. He’d probably give her a month’s detention if he knew, if not something worse. She decided it wasn’t her decision any more than it was Snape’s, however. She wasn’t going to guilt Draco into taking them, much less force them down his bloody throat, like he said. Anyway, for all she knew, those potions might harm him more than help him right now. There was no way of telling without knowing what they did, precisely, but she couldn’t really see how weakening his magic would be particularly useful right now, whatever Snape said.

When Draco came back out, his hair was damp, presumably because he’d tried sticking his face under the faucet. He looked too pale again, presumably from the exertion, and he didn’t say a word as she helped him back upstairs. She ended up casting a weightlessness charm after the first few stairs, when he was less able to help her on the way up.

It didn’t actually make him weightless, but it made him weigh significantly less.

She got him situated back on the bed, this time without his trousers and with his legs and waist under the blankets. Once he was down, she finite’d the charm, then plunked the empty bottles of the caelum ignis potions on the bureau with the rest of the empties.

When she turned back towards him, he lifted an eyebrow, but she saw the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You are a very good girlfriend,” he told her.

He sounded so serious, she almost laughed.

“Please don’t tell Snape,” she said. “I know how you like to fuck with people, but please no ‘my girlfriend doesn’t make me take drugs to dampen my magic’ comments.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Granger.” His smile slid into a smirk. “I’m going to have to think up an adequate reward for you, though, for when I feel better.”

She scoffed. “I don’t need a reward for not being a terrible person.”

“You’re nowhere near a terrible person, Hermione,” he said somberly. He still sounded drunk, but also deadly serious. “You have no idea how much I’m kicking myself for not coming back right after class yesterday and dragging you up to your room instead of mucking about in the Slytherin common room and with Potter.”

She flushed a little, but only sat on the bed, that time on the Crookshanks side.

The half-kneazle had jumped back on the mattress not long after she got Draco situated under the covers.

She uncorked the second bottle of painkiller potion, and held it to his lips.

He drank it down without hesitation, then licked his lips.

It was distracting.

“Instead I fucked myself up,” he muttered, watching her face. “Now I can’t do anything I want to do. Of all the times to be a total fucking idiot, I do it now.”

“Poor baby,” she said, smiling.

“Vicious.” He studied her eyes. “Vicious, cold-hearted, sex-kitten tease…”

She rolled her eyes. “So I’m vicious again? And to think, just seconds ago, I was nowhere near a terrible person.”

“You can’t help being a tease… or heartless… or a sex-kitten lion.” He swallowed, closed his eyes, then shook his head. “Just more bloody proof I’m an idiot. It’s Saturday. I could have been naked in bed with you all day. We could be in Hogsmeade, driving your friends fucking crazy while we snog and I grope you in the Three Broomsticks. Instead you’re stuck with your hideous muggle Frankincense monster boyfriend, spoon-feeding him soup and half-carrying him to the toilet…”

She snorted a loud laugh. She couldn’t help it.

She uncorked the Dreamless Sleep potion and leaned closer to him. “You can’t possibly be thinking about snogging right now,” she teased. “You’re just super weird on painkillers, and trying to wind me up.”

His glassy, silver eyes met hers.

“I’m not thinking about snogging,” he said. “I’m thinking about shagging.” He closed his eyes, swallowed. “You think I’m messing with you, but I’m not. I’m just high enough to be honest about it.” He opened his eyes to stare at her. “I want to fuck you so badly I can taste it. I wish I’d tried last night. I wouldn’t have gone anywhere if I’d thought…” He trailed off, then swallowed again. “If I wasn’t such a bloody coward I would have come back here, anyway. I would have asked you, at least. I might try eating you out until you let me. I figure if I can hold you off long enough, you might even ask me for it…”

She flushed hotter. “You’re ridiculous. You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“I think there’s no way you could actually want sex right now.”

“Put your hand on my cock. I’ll prove you wrong.”

She exhaled, but still avoided his eyes. “You should stop talking. You might remember all of this later, and then you’re going to be weird to me.”

“I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care anymore. Are you really telling me you haven’t thought about it? Because I’ve thought about it a lot.” His fingers curled around her knee. “I’m completely mad about you. You know that, right? I was fucked from the first time I saw you. That wild, crazy-bright magic of yours… on the train. I’d never seen anything like it. I’ve still never seen anything like it. You were asking about a toad, and I just knew… I knew somehow… and I couldn’t get you out of my head…”

She stared at him in disbelief.

When he met her gaze, she looked away. She fought for a sarcastic reply, struggled to speak, then shut her mouth.

“Drink this,” she said, instead. “That should kill any lingering interest from the hormonal side of your brain, at least.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. He closed his eyes. “I wouldn’t count on it lasting long, Hermione.” He exhaled. “Fuck. Hermione. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should shut up…”

She put the bottle to his lips and he opened his mouth obediently. He swallowed as she poured the potion down his throat.

She sat on the mattress once he’d finished, and corked the bottle. She watched his face as it gradually slackened, and his eyelids fluttered closed.

Within a minute, he was fast asleep.