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Daydreams	By : BitterWind Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 8997 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, settings, etc from those books or movies. I do this as a creative writing exercise and do not earn any money from writing this fictional story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
Chapter Ten: Painful Realization

Reading the spell caused terrible eye strain. There was something about the way it was written, in faded script on aging parchment, maybe even something purposefully added to create distress or fatigue by the crafter, something that caused them both to have ringing massive headaches after just 15 minutes of looking over the complete spell.

Naughty touching, even if it had been a sincere thought, was the last thing either could contemplate. They didn’t even consider going to the nurse for some kind of remedy. How to explain the spell? There was nothing expressly forbidden about this kind of older, basic magic, but they were still in a school, even if they were not attending as students and it just felt wrong...somehow.

“Come to my room, I think I have something that might help.” she said slowly and with great deliberation, eyes squinched as if the candlelight in the library at this time of night was blinding her with it’s sunlike fury.

Draco stood up, and almost lost hold of his stomach. He looked blearily at Granger.

“Really, Granger. Not tonight. I have a headache.” he smirked through his nausea.

“Ha ha.”

They walked slowly upstairs, taking advantage of the late hour, thankful that few were up and about. No one to see Malfoy as he followed behind Granger. Followed behind her up to the staff hallway. To several doors past his own. Through the door. And into Granger’s room.

Sounded skanky and darkly exciting. Would be anyway, if he didn’t feel like his head was about to fall of his shoulders. That was one spell that didn’t want to be read.

She wearily gestured to the dark, tweed couch set near a broad stone fireplace. Before he laid himself limply down, he noted that she had not been remiss in enlarging and enhancing the room she’d been given. While not grossly huge, her rooms appeared to include a larger sitting room, with a fireplace, and a hallway to the left where he say at least two more doors.

Granger opened one and he saw glimpses of a long broad bench table lined with glass jars. Her own private potions cupboard, perhaps. Impressive. It spoke to long hours of study and experimentation that she had her own room for this purpose alone.

He groaned as his head began throbbing and his eyes blurring. Through the pain, he noticed her standing in the doorway, looking at him, her face unreadable. It seemed that perhaps she was studying him in a decidedly unromantic way, before she turned and reentered the potions room, shutting the door softly.

He slipped his own bottle slowly from his pocket and took a sip, keeping his eyes trained on the door. Not inclined to trust and acceptance, he couldn’t help but feel nervous about the look in her eyes as she stood in that doorway. After all, here he lay, all but defenseless, he her longtime enemy, no one had seen him go with her. She could do just about anything to him. And no one would know.

Several moments later, she opened the door and stepped out, a steaming ceramic mug in her hand. She walked forward steadily and stood before the couch, looking down at him. He lay there, looking up at her.

“Are you cold? You’re trembling.”

He was actually disgusted to find himself near tears. The pain was almost excruciating, so that must be it; nothing to do with the fact that he was contemplating how this might have been one big set up to kill him. That her kisses and acceptance had been just a trap laid with kindness.

“I’m cold,” he said, thickly.

With a flick of her wrist behind her, a fire leapt up in the fireplace, instantly filling the room with a warming, red-orange glow. Shadows leapt up, but the room stopped feeling so strange and ominous.

“Can you sit up, a little? Just take a sip of this, and you will feel better.”

“What is it?” he croaked.

She smiled sadly, acknowledging, with a look, his distrust.

“Draco.” He flinched. “Draco, I think you are feeling so much pain because your scar...Not Voldemort! I promise. He’s gone. But I think your scar, the Dark Mark he placed on you, had dug its roots deep within you. Somehow I think it knows we are trying to eliminate it.” She shrugged. “I know that sounds farfetched. But i think that it’s true. I felt bad, but not like how it’s affecting you. This…” she lifted the mug. “This is just a very strong pain reliever I’ve brewed in some hot chocolate. I promise. It will help. I already drank some myself and I feel much better.”

He lifted himself up, looking at her, staring at her, this tall, composed witch in front of him.

“See? It’s actually quite good chocolate.” She took a big sip from the mug, her eyes sad. She held it out to him.

He had to make the choice.

Taking the mug from her, he swallowed the contents whole. If in fact, this was the end, well...it wasn’t such a bad end, before a warm fire, his eyes on her.

She sat down next to him, taking the cup and setting in on an end table nearby. He watched as her wish self came into view. She looked remarkably, exactly the same as the Hermione by his side. She sat down, again overlapping herself, as she had in class. And in simultaneous motion, she and the real girl, pushed slightly on his shoulders until he was laying down with his head in her lap. Two hands that were one, brushed the hair off his forehead and slowly began caressing his temple, with gentleness.

Granger’s solicitude was genuine. She wished to be doing exactly what she was doing. And as the pain receded, he felt the comfort and care provided by the warm fire, the taste of chocolate in his mouth, and the touch of her fingers on his skin. His muscles began to relax, the feeling of pain easing away, leaving behind heavy limbs and a tired mind.

He brought his own hand up and cupped her face. She leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around them. And when she kissed him, she smelled of chocolate and cinnamon.

She pulled back. “I think you should sleep.”

The thought of leaving this room was impossible. He never wanted to leave. Instead he pulled her down, edging into the back of the couch, so she had room to lay down beside him. She and her wish self were still in agreement as she did so, somewhat stiffly though, holding herself awkwardly, unsure of how close he really meant her to get.

He dispelled those doubts by wrapping his arms around her. She in turn relaxed against him. He felt her breath on his neck, her body warm and soft in his arms. The fire popped and danced nearby.

Pain gone. Enmity erased. Peace, only peace. Then, sleep.
- 9
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Daydreams