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Mudblood Fever and Lingerie	By : Tnteacups Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 36612 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters within. I am not, nor will not be making any money from 'Mudblood Fever and Lingerie.'

Chapter List
- 26
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- 28
Blackout

Hermione followed her friends down to lunch, her bag slung over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the small groups of students for the one that hadn’t come back that morning. He’d been gone, seeing whoever, for hours now, and she was starting to worry that though he’d said he’d forgiven her, he’d decided to ignore her, or worse, gotten into a fight with Ron, and gotten them both in trouble. As they entered the Great Hall, Hermione disproved one of her worries nearly instantly by finding the tall mop of red hair that sat at the Gryffindor table.
The blonde ringlets sat next to him, and Hermione glared daggers as she approached, sitting purposefully as far from them as she could get without being obviously evasive. Ron’s blue eyes found hers, and he glared back for a moment, his face paling before he turned to Lavender, and gave her all the attention he never had for Hermione. The brunette Gryffindor scanned the Slytherin table, only to find it lacking. Where was he? What was he doing?
She was so focused on the table and it’s occupants she nearly shrieked when a body plopped down onto the bench next to her, straddling the seat in a casual, comfortable way.
“Draco!” She breathed, staring up into the pale face, wan smile, and nervous silver stare. “What’s wrong? Where have you been?”
“I’ll tell you after lunch. Meet me in the classroom? The one near the closet.” He described cryptically, waiting for her nod before he stood, and carried himself to his house’s table, tossing only the briefest of dirty looks at Ron.
“What classroom’s that?” Harry asked intrusively, leaning across the table.
“The one filled with none of your business. Probably around the corner from the never you mind.” Ginny chirped with a grin. Harry gave her a disapproving frown, but decided to focus his attention back on his lunch instead of questioning further.
“Thanks, Gin.” Hermione offered the red-headed girl in an undertone. She was glad She had some help keeping her private life private. Merlin knew her own excuses and evasions were going a bit stale.
“No problem. He seemed sick or something. He alright?” Ginny shot her glance to the blond in question, and then back to Hermione in concern. Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes, quite unexpectedly at her friend’s unbiased worry.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him since he left us in the library. I hope he’s alright.” Hermione said, blinking away the heat in her eyes. Her morning had been much to rocky, and she really hoped that whatever Draco wanted to talk to her about wasn’t going to be the tipping point of her dangerously teetering emotions.

Draco put food on his plate and pushed it around with his fork, barely eating three bites as he stared at the hourglass, waiting for an acceptable amount of time to have passed before he could leave again. He didn’t look up when the headmaster entered, and managed not to glance too frequently at the Gryffindor table. He wanted to stare at Hermione, to reassure himself that she was safe. The entire time he’d been in Professor McGonagall’s office, he’d been thinking of her. Worried that Weasley would verbally bash her in front of her friends. Worried that his father might come searching for him again, and decide to have a ‘chat’ with her.
He took a sip of water, trying to keep his nausea at bay until he could gather her in his arms and feel for himself that she was still in one piece, unharmed.
“What’s the matter Draco? You look ill.” Blaise Zabini offered his unwanted commentary, his lip curling with distaste at the state of the Malfoy heir.
“Maybe I’ll go to the hospital wing, then.” Draco jumped on the opportunity and pushed away from the table, scurrying from the Great Hall as quickly as he could, ignoring the calls of worry and curiosity behind him at his sudden departure. He knew it wasn’t right to leave his friends abruptly when they were obviously worried about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn back and apologize. He had to get away from them, away from anyone who could send word to his father. Anyone who might be an unwanted pair of eyes and ears.

Hermione watched Draco disappear into the Entrance Hall not ten minutes after he’d arrived. He did look rather ill, and her stomach twisted with worry. She’d only ever seen him so upset over one thing before. Lucius Malfoy.
She bade her friends goodbye and followed him swiftly from the dining hall, not caring at all how suspicious it might look that she’d left so soon after him. Everyone already knew they were dating, who cared if they had a laugh over imagining the pair sneaking off to snog in some secret alcove?
She found their unused classroom quickly, and entered without hesitation.
A wand was pointed right in her face, and she froze in her tracks, staring at the wand, and then at Malfoy’s stern face.
“Prove you’re Hermione Granger.” He said in a low, dangerous voice. Hermione swallowed, instantly worried. This was the same sort of precautions the Order had been using. Something had to be very wrong indeed if Malfoy was this worked up.
“The first time you told me to call you ‘Draco’ was in the dream.” Hermione supplied, hoping it was sufficient proof. She wasn’t certain he hadn’t told anyone about the shared dream, but she certainly hoped he hadn’t. The way his face relaxed, and he lowered his wand arm gave her all the confirmation she needed.
“What’s going on? Where were you all morning?” She stopped herself from voicing the million other questions she wanted to ask. Just barely.
“I was talking to Professor Dumbledore.” Draco answered into her hair, his arms circling her as soon as his wand was put away. Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist, her brow furrowing with instant alarm.
“What about?”
“My father. He… said something…” Malfoy sounded evasive, and Hermione hugged him tighter, trying to reassure him wordlessly. “He’s planning something. I’m not sure exactly what, but he said enough. Remember two years ago? Potter was going on about You-Know-Who nearly coming back? Apparently it was true, and my father was there. They’re planning on trying again, I think.”
“Oh, god.” Hermione muttered, an involuntary shiver of horror running down her spine. She’d been one of the few to believe Harry, but she’d never thought that his followers would try again. Surely the monster was well and truly dead?
“Don’t worry, you’re going to be safe. I won’t let it happen.” Draco sounded completely sure of himself, and Hermione found it easy to believe him. He’d already confided in Dumbledore, and the old wizard would definitely have a plan. Voldemort would never rise again. They’d make sure of it.

Draco breathed in the scent of her, taking comfort in the warmth of her arms around him, the feeling of her chest moving with breath. She was safe, and alive. And he’d keep her that way, even if it meant betraying his father.
“He really wants you dead, you know?” Draco mumbled, still shaken by the words his father had spewed. “I’d thought all that pureblood rubbish was just a superiority complex, but… It’s more.”
“I’m sorry.” Hermione sympathized, squeezing tighter. He basked in the tenderness she displayed. If she was the garbage his father thought, then he was Merlin himself.
“No, I’m sorry.” Draco whispered, pulling back slightly to look in her eyes. He could count on one hand the times he’d offered apologies, and it seemed like half of them were to this bushy-haired vixen.
“What for?” Her expression was pure confusion, and he felt his lips quirk in a smile at how dense she was sometimes.
“For ever trying to be like him. For calling you a Mudblood. For not standing up to him when he insulted you to my face.” He offered each of his sins to her, and her face never once held an ounce of revulsion.
“Apology accepted.” She said it instantly, as though he’d committed no wrong in the first place.
“So easily?” He asked, feeling inept at the entire situation. Were apologies supposed to be like that? “You’ll so quickly forgive that someone was berating your very existence, and I didn’t say a word in your defence?”
“Yes! What could you have possibly said to change his mind? Nothing. There was nothing you COULD say.” Hermione reassured him, proving further just how wrong his father had been. He’d be hard pressed to find a better person than her, let alone a better witch. He squeezed her to his chest once more and let his eyes drift shut, basking in the simple comfort of their embrace.
“It’s enough that you admit he’s wrong, that you told Dumbledore about his plotting. You, trying to stop his foulness despite the dangers it must hold if you’re ever outed, in my mind, redeems any childish name calling or bad parenting.” She mumbled into his chest, and his heart thumped madly in his chest as he thought of exactly that. What his father would do to him if he ever heard of today’s betrayal. He’d be disowned, disinherited, and cursed in the very worst of ways. He’d seen some of the dark magic his father knew, only a small fraction, but it was enough to make his palms sweat, and his veins pulse with each hard heartbeat.
“Oh Merlin… He’s going to kill me…” He couldn’t feel the air in his lungs, only fire, and instead of the girl he loved, and the classroom they stood in, all he saw was black. He heard her voice calling his name for a brief moment, and then that too faded into a drumming heartbeat and pulsing darkness.

Hermione felt him swaying in her arms moments before he collapsed, and just barely managed to catch his sudden weight, keeping him from bouncing his skull off the stone floor. She lowered him to the ground as gently as she could, calling his name, and touching his slack face. There was a light sheen of sweat across his forehead, his lips were pale, and his cheeks were flushed. She slapped him gently across the cheek, calling his name once more, but nothing seemed to rouse him.
She felt panic clog her throat, and she pushed herself back to her feet, and bolted from the room, heading to the nearest person she knew could help. She made it halfway up the corridor before she ran smack into the black-clad figure she’d been running for.
“Granger! Five points from Gryffindor for running in the halls.” He sneered, his eyes narrowing shrewdly at her in distaste.
“Professor. Come quick. Malfoy’s fainted.” She panted, grabbing at his sleeve, and tried to tug him along after her. As soon as her words registered, his feet moved, his ebony hair and cloak flapping behind him as he strode hastily after her, following her summons straight to the pale figure still sprawled on the floor.
He knelt down beside him, and Hermione stood back, biting her nails as he inspected Draco’s face, pulse, and eyes.
“Will he be alright?” Hermione asked after a few moments, worried by the potion master’s silence.
“He’ll be fine. What happened here?” He asked, his nostrils flaring as he faced her, as though he could smell the past. Hermione flushed dark red at the thought that maybe he was searching for the hint of lingering passion.
“We were speaking, he became agitated, and he collapsed.” Hermione replied, her eyes darting from Snape’s piercing black gaze to Malfoy’s unconscious face. He looked to be regaining a bit of his color, but showed no signs of coming to.
“Speaking about what?” Snape demanded, flowing to his feet, and pinning her to the spot with another nasty glare.
“His father…” Hermione disclosed, looking down at her lover, so she wouldn’t have to meet that unnerving stare.
“I suppose he was blabbering about what he confided in the Headmaster?” Snape sneered, his eyes never leaving her. She simply nodded in response. “I’ll take him to the Hospital Wing. You go back to lunch, and don’t run your mouth, girl. As far as I’m concerned too many people already know.”
“Yes, sir.” Hermione breathed, watching him magically lift Draco, and ferry him from the room, before she began trudging her way back up to Gryffindor Tower. She didn’t really feel like continuing lunch, and as her fear for Draco’s health was dwindling, it left her feeling tired, and weak. The day was only half over, and it felt like it’d begun a lifetime ago. She’d woken up in Draco’s arms, had a lovely bedside breakfast, and then everything had gone downhill. Ron had tried to rape her. Draco’s father wanted her dead. Voldemort was threatening to rise once more.
Before she knew it, her vision had blurred, and she barely managed to hold off tears until she reached her bed. She pulled her curtains closed, and slid underneath her blankets, harsh, overwrought sobs shaking her as the day finally hit its breaking point. She buried her face in her pillow, and let her body release what her mind didn’t want to process.

Draco’s eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he realized was that it was still dark. The second was that he wasn’t alone. Hermione’s frizzy hair was tickling his hand, her head resting on folded arms, her eyes closed tight, and for the second time in his life, he saw her sleeping soundly next to him. Granted, she was sitting in a chair, her head lying on his hospital bed, but it made his heart stutter all the same. He brushed stray hair from her cheek, and watched her sleep a moment, drinking in the sight of her.
He’d seen her relaxed as only one could be after being consumed for hours by pleasures of the flesh. He’d seen her petrified in a hospital bed in second year. He’d seen her knocked unconscious by one scrap, or spell, or another. But before the previous night, he’d never seen her truly asleep. He’d never before seen the tiny crease that divided her brow, the slight twitch of her fingers, or the heavy, slow breathing that made him want to drift back to sleep himself, curled tight around her.
He let his hand stroke along her head, feeling the rather coarse hair, the soft cushion of thick curls that gave slightly under his palm. She stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open, and she sat up, stretching her arms skyward in a way that pulled her cotton shirt tight across her chest. Draco gazed unabashedly at her form for a moment, and smiled across at her sleep-filled eyes. The nap had made her hair messier than usual, and he felt his smile widen, loving how she looked as she blinked owlishly in his direction.
“You’re awake?” She asked rhetorically, covering her yawn.
“So are you. Shouldn’t you be in bed.” He glanced at the large clock above the ward’s door, and saw it was slightly past midnight.
“Probably, but I couldn’t sleep.” She shrugged. He didn’t mention that she’d been sleeping fine a moment ago.
“How’d I end up in the Hospital Wing?” He asked instead.
“You… erm… fainted.” Hermione said, giving him a sympathetic look, as his face flushed with sudden mortification.
“No…” He shook his head, as though denying it could turn back the clock. He couldn’t have fainted. Malfoys did NOT swoon.
“No one else knows, don’t worry. Well, no one besides Snape…” She muttered, looking down to her hands.
“What do you mean?” He asked, his brows pulling together. Snape? Had she told him what they’d been talking about? Had Snape already gotten word to his father of their ongoing relationship? He felt his breathing accelerate, and his hands curled into fists.
“Well, when you collapsed, I thought something might be wrong with you, so I went for help, and found Professor Snape. He made sure you were okay, and brought you up here.” Hermione explained.
“Did you tell him what I told you?” He asked, fear making the words harsher than they should have been.
“He already knew.”
Draco cursed his own stupidity. “Of course. He’s a Legilimens.”
“He is?” Hermione asked, surprised. “I know Dumbledore is a skilled Legilimens, but I never thought Snape… Anyway, that wasn’t it. It seemed as though Dumbledore had already told him.”
“What!?” Draco nearly leapt from the bed, desperate to hunt down the Headmaster and demand why he was telling his father’s Death Eater friends that he knew of their plans.
“Calm down, Draco.” Hermione’s warm hand was on his arm, and he stared into her deep brown eyes, taking comfort in the calm there. “He’s not going to sell you out to your father. He’s… on our side.” Hermione said it with only a brief pause, but long enough for Draco to see the flicker of mistrust in them. Did she not fully believe that Snape was on their side? Or did she not quite trust the he himself was?
“Are you sure?” He asked, lacing his fingers through hers. “He and my father used to be incredibly close.”
“As sure as I can be. Dumbledore trusts him, and every time Harry’s suspected him of foul play, it’s never been the case.” She explained. Draco smirked, imagining Potter hunting Snape through the dark halls, trying to catch him in any sort of misconduct.
“I guess we’ll know for certain, when my father either does or doesn’t hear about this.” He tried to relax back into his pillows, but could feel his muscles still filled with tension, his mind still whirling with worry.
“So why’d you come down here if you couldn’t sleep?” He asked, hoping to distract his mind from the dangerous outcomes of the game he played.
Hermione lowered her eyes once more, pink spread across her face, and he barely heard her whispered answer. “I thought I’d be able to sleep if you were there.”
“It seems you did manage that.” He nodded, enjoying the coy look on her face in the darkened room. She so easily lost herself in the passion, but when confronted with her feelings in an open conversation, she always turned bashful. He thought it was a rather charming quality.
“Are you feeling better, then?” Hermione asked, quickly changing the subject. He smirked down at her evasion.
“Much better. In fact, I think I feel well enough to leave this damned bed.” He swung his legs over the edge, and slid to his feet before she could protest, enjoying how she stood instantly, her hands gripping him worriedly.
“Don’t! You could collapse again.” She worried, her hands on his waist, helping to steady him should he fall.
“I’m not going to collapse.” He sneered without venom. He pulled her closer, pressing her body to his, and wrapped his arms around her back to secure her in place. “I bet I could get YOU to collapse though.” He purred in his most devious tone.
“Oh…” Her voice was quiet, but he heard the hesitation there, and tilted his head back slightly to look at her. Her brow was crinkled with worry, and her eyes were fixed firmly on his chest.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, loosening his grip, instantly on alert.
“It’s nothing.” She quickly asserted, but wouldn’t meet his gaze. He searched what he could see of her face, noted her hands balled into fists around his nightshirt, and the way she leaned away from him, ever so slightly.
“Something’s wrong. Tell me.” He kept his voice low, soothing, and brought a hand up to stroke her hair again, doing his level best not to scare her off. She looked about three inches from fleeing like a rabbit.
She shook her head mutely, and he saw the most horrifying thing he’d ever witnessed. Tears were forming in her eyes. He could see them sparkling on her lashes, and he felt his heart tighten, and drop.
“It’s been a rough day, that’s all.” Hermione muttered, looking to the side, uncomfortably.
“Is this about Weasley?” Draco asked knowingly, loosening his grip further, and leaning back to look more fully at her. She glanced up at him nervously, but said nothing, confirming his suspicions. “I told you I’m not upset with you.” He tried to reassure her, but she pulled further away, breaking out of his arms, and sat on his bed, staring at the floor.
“It’s not that.” She opened and closed her mouth a few times, obviously trying to speak, but nothing came out. Draco sat next to her, and waited, full of anxiety, but said nothing. Had she thought more about it, and decided to change her mind about taking the weasel back?
“He just wouldn’t stop, you know? He wasn’t listening to me, or- or… paying any attention to the real me. He knew what he thought I wanted, and, I was afraid that- that he’d…” She trailed off, a haunted look on her face, and Draco could see tears welling in her eyes. He slowly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, testing to see if she pulled away. To his surprise, she leaned into his chest, wrapped her arms around him, and began sobbing. He froze, holding her delicately, not sure what to do. He’d never really had to deal with a truly upset woman before. Pansy only ever fake cried to get her way, and he always just ignored her. But this was Hermione Granger. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her cry this horridly before. A few tears of distress now and then, sure, but not these body-wracking sobs.
He tentatively rubbed her back, and made gentle cooing noises, as his mother used to when he’d fall and skin his knee. It seemed to work, as her sobs slowed to hiccoughs, and she began sniffling every so often. He closed his eyes, new worries filling him. All he could see were all the dangers that threatened her, inside and out of the castle. At least Weasley he could deal with, head on.
“Shh, you need to sleep, love.” he murmured, pulling the girl more fully onto his bed, and hugging her to his chest as they got comfortable. Her sniffles became less frequent, her breathing evened out, and eventually, her hands unclenched from the fists they were in as she fell asleep in his arms for the second time. He stroked her hair, taking comfort in the deep restful rising and falling of her chest. She was breathing, she was resting, and most importantly, she was completely unconscious. He knew she’d be even more upset if she woke up and he was missing, but he’d slept too much already and had things to research; so he slipped carefully from under her, covered her with the sheets, and snuck from the hospital wing, heading straight for the library.
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Mudblood Fever and Lingerie