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Nightmares	By : Tnteacups Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 12275 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from this writing.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Too Soon to See

She watched herself standing in front of the mirror, poking her stomach, and looked over to see Malfoy looking at her surreptitiously, his eyes barely cracked, an amused smile playing on his lips as he watched her examine her belly.
“It’s too soon.” He said, making the memory girl jump. Hermione waved her wand, skipping past what she’d seen in the dream, the short conversation, and Dippy bringing them breakfast. She resumed the normal pace of the memory as they ate silently, watching as her own head dipped over a tray, and she tried to hide her face from Malfoy, who kept looking over at her from his desk.
“Are your eyes broken, Malfoy?” She finally snapped, setting her fork down with a clatter, and staring up at the surprised blond.
“No. Just making sure you’re eating.” he answered blithely, “I’ll not have a malnourished son.”
“How do you even know it’ll be a son? It could be a girl.” Hermione huffed, turning her head back to her plate, and lifting a piece of bacon.
“It’s a boy. It’s always sons. I think there’s only a few recorded cases of Malfoy daughters, and they’re never the firstborn.” Malfoy reasoned, lifting a coffee cup to his lips. His eyes looked more alert after half a cup, but the dark circles, pallor, and slight tremor never abated.
“You should really sleep. It’s not healthy for you to be so jacked up on coffee.” Hermione’s counterpart voiced, cocking her head at the frazzled blond.
“It’s not healthy to order a Malfoy around, either, yet you seem to be doing just fine.” Malfoy quipped, setting the small mug down, and giving her a look of censure.
“Hmph.” was the only reply he got as Hermione nibbled at her food. The substantial Hermione could almost feel the queasiness written on her own face as her half-starved stomach was filled with savory fare.
“When’s the last time you had a decent meal, Granger?” The memory asked, watching her pick at her food.
“Probably… The wedding?” She replied, trying to think back.
“Wedding?”
“Bill and Fleur’s. It was right before Death Eaters attacked the Weasley's home.” She recalled. Draco nodded, remembering his own version of that time.
“Are you done? I’ll get you those books.” He said, standing, and leaving his own half-eaten meal behind as he strode to the door. Both Hermiones watched him depart, hearing the click of the lock as he shut it behind him, and the memory faded out, swirling to the door reopening, and Malfoy entering, carrying a stack of books.
“I wasn’t sure which you’d like so I brought all of them.” He said, dumping them on the bed, and staring down at them with a satisfied smile. Hermione rose from the chair she’d been occupying, and climbed on the bed to inspect the books carefully, looking each one over, and reading any indexes they had.
“Thank you, these should be helpful.” She replied politely, as though trying to set an example.
“Well, have fun. I’m taking a bath.” He announced, wiping his hands on his trousers, and heading into the bathroom.
“I don’t think you’re wanting to see me bathe.” Malfoy said from beside her, surprising Hermione as she’d almost forgotten he was there, watching his own memories with her. He’d raised his wand, and was bringing up the moment he came back from the bath, with only a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Put some clothes on!” The bushy-haired memory shrieked, averting her gaze from the bared chest of the Malfoy heir.
“Oh, come on. You can’t be that much of a prude.” Draco laughed, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
“I am!” Hermione declared, not bothered in the least that he’d meant it as an insult.
“If it bothers you, just don’t look.” Malfoy smirked, pulling the towel from his waist, and bringing it to his damp hair, rubbing the blond locks with vigor as both Hermiones shrieked, and turned further.
“Still overmodest, Granger? What has Weasley been doing these past months?” The real Draco snarked, his expression matching his memory’s perfectly. Hermione felt her face burning, and peeked behind her to see if the memory held anything more untoward. Draco had disappeared behind another door, and Hermione had turned her back, her face buried in a book as she ignored the rest of the room. She turned to watch herself read, as Draco re-entered the room, wearing a pair of black slacks, and buttoning a charcoal silk shirt. Hermione averted her gaze from the disappearing white flesh.
“Would you like a bath, Granger? No offense, but there’s only so much that cleaning spells can do.” He held his hands up in defense as Hermione gaped at him from the bed, looking offended.
“Fine. I’ll take a bath.” She snapped, rolling from the bed, and marching from the room, leaving the pair of observers alone with the memory of Draco. He hummed to himself, and walked to the bed, looking down at the opened books, reading for a short while, before picking up one of the books, and carrying it to the desk, sitting down to immerse himself in it.
“I don’t have clean clothes.” Hermione’s voice called from a crack in the bathroom door, her eyes peeking around the frame.
“Oh, I’ll grab you something.” Malfoy said, jumping up from his chair, and opening a separate door. Hermione could see the chest of drawers inside, along with a neat looking row of hanging garments. It was a rather large closet, and Hermione had the feeling it held more than it looked like it did.
“Here you are.” He held out a pile of black to the bathroom door, keeping his head turned politely away as her bare arm snatched the pile from him.
“Thank you.” She called, snapping the door shut.
“You’re welcome.” He muttered, sitting back at his desk, and picking his book back up.
“Do you have a brush I might borrow?” Hermione asked reopening the door a few moments later, and stepping out, dressed in black silk shorts, and a black t-shirt.
“Sure.” Draco replied, opening a drawer, and holding out a brush without looking up from his book. Hermione took it, and sat on the bed, grabbing a handful of hair, and yanking the brush through the tangled wet mass. She grunted, and winced, fighting her own hair.
The blond at the desk looked up, watching her yank the brush down her hair a few times, before he sighed, and stood, walking to her, and snatched the brush from her hand.
“Hey!” Hermione fussed, reaching for the brush he’d taken.
“Sit still, Granger.” He ordered, holding the brush away. “If you keep on like that, you’ll have no hair left.” She glared at him, and he knelt on the bed, taking a handful of her wavy mess, and brushing quickly through the tangles at the bottom, moving up slowly, and moving on to another clump, repeating the process over and over, ignoring the unhappy stare he received from the owner of the hair.
“I think I know how to brush my own hair.” Hermione grumbled, crossing her arms, and resigning herself to the assistance.
“If you knew how, then why were you just yanking it out?” Malfoy jibed, his hands working their way quickly up the tendrils.
“Shut up!” Hermione snapped peevishly at him, glowering at the far wall. Malfoy smirked behind her, his hands slowing slightly, as he pulled the brush away, combing through a long swath of wet brunette.
“Your hair’s longer than I thought.” He murmured, his fingers combing through the forming curls as he brushed, following their path to her waist.
“That’s because it hasn’t frizzed up yet. It’s not really that long.” She pouted, tilting her head back slightly as he pulled the brush through the top of her hair.
“Do you usually brush it when it’s dry?” He asked, continuing to brush through the smooth mane, though the tangles had all disappeared.
“Yes. It’s easier to get a brush through, then.” She nodded, closing her eyes, and bringing her knees up to support her crossed arms as Malfoy continued to brush.
“I’ll get you a comb.” Malfoy guaranteed, the smile leaving his face as he pulled the brush through her hair a few more times, before removing it, and himself from the bed.
“You’re done?” Hermione asked, her voice holding a note of disappointment that she tried to hide with a glare.
“Yes. If you brush it too much, it’ll make it worse.” He said, sitting back at his desk, and facing his book again.
“How do you even know, Malfoy?” She shot at him over her shoulder, and pulling her own book toward her.
“My mother’s hair is naturally curly. Like my aunt’s.” He answered in a bored voice, flipping a page.
“Oh really?” Hermione sounded disbelieving.
“She uses potions to straighten it. Every morning. It takes her a half hour to get it in order.” He answered, his eyes roaming the page. Hermione stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he was lying or not.
“Is that true?” The the real Hermione turned to the observing Malfoy.
“Yes. If you’d like proof, hang around the Mansion more. She hasn’t been bothering to keep it up recently.” He said, shrugging, his eyes never leaving the scene of them reading silently.
Hermione lifted her wand and sped along a bit, until Malfoy pushed away from his desk and stood, stretching slightly.
“I’ll move if you’d like the bed. I’m going to be up for awhile reading, anyway.” Hermione offered, looking up from her book.
“No, you need to get some sleep.” He admonished, straightening his sleeves, and twisting his neck back and forth. “I have some business to take care of, so I probably won’t be back for awhile. Call Dippy if you need anything before I’m back.” He said, taking long steps toward the door.
“Alright.” Hermione answered as he swept from the room, the memory fading out as the door closed.
- 9
- 10
- 11
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Nightmares