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The Best Of...	By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 13808 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I own nothing of HP nor do I profit in any way from these missives. I almost own the laptop I'm writing this fanfic on, tho'.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
”Ac…”

The swelling jaw prevented any charm from being spoken clearly. The concussion prevented any wandless magic. The booted feet kicking him while he lay helpless on the corridor floor prevented any defense. Miles Bletchley and a few younger Slytherins observed the assault dispassionately before continuing towards the Dungeon.

“My sister died…”

“…killed my old gran!”

“..let you off too easy, you fucking…”

“Where’s your Death Eater father now?…”

“MALFOY!”

Her voice arrived as the avenging sword. In a halo of electricity she reigned fire and lightening on those who tormented him. Draco Malfoy might survive this assault.

Alarte Ascendare! shrieked his protective angel in his head. The demon attacker shot upward and away. The pain lessened. His other assailants attempted to scatter but she’d been tempered in the fyre of the War with Dark Magic.

Anapneo! aimed his way cleared the blood blocking his airway.

Colloshoo — Expeliarmus! disarmed his escaping assailants and glued their feet to the floor. There would be no anonymity to stave off punishment.

“DRACO! Draco — speak to me!”

Her soft breasts, cushioning his aching head, began the healing of his many injuries, some dating back to his birth in a pure-blood family. Impaired brain cells would never again form thoughts and opinions in quite the same manner.

Tipped off too late to prevent the ambush, Blaise Zabini arrived and assisted by lifting Draco so Hermione could break the school rules and apparate them all directly to the Hospital wing.

Some of the damage to Draco Malfoy’s brain would be irreversible.

______________________

“Why can’t I see him!?”

Poppy Pomfrey steeled her voice to be civil with the shrew demanding entrance to her hospital.

“As I informed you the first six times, Mr. Malfoy is still unconscious and not able to have visitors.”

“But we’re engaged to be married!” Pansy lied wishfully.

“While you may well have a special relationship with Mr. Malfoy outside of my hospital, inside my hospital fiancées are NOT immediate family. You cannot visit him at this time.”

Angered at the old witch separating her from Draco, Pansy shot forward unexpectedly and moved past the healer. Unfortunately for Pansy, the aurors' wards stopped her dead in her tracks.

“As you seem unable to understand the seriousness of Mr. Malfoy’s condition, I will provide a simpler response: No, Ms. Parkinson, you may NOT see Mr. Malfoy until he approves your visit himself.”

Quiet on the ward shattered when Pansy recognized the witch sitting at Draco’s bedside.

“Why is that mudblood Gryffindor bitch here!?” the Slytherin witch shouted, pointing at the Head Girl. Thankfully, a silencing charm had been placed on the entire facility.

“Ms. Granger has been deputized by the Aurors’ Office to protect Mr. Malfoy during his recuperation. She is authorized to be here.”

The healer flicked her wand behind the ill-behaved, spoiled pure-blood to administer a deep-sleep spell. In zero time Pansy sagged against the levitation charm Madame Pomfrey quickly followed up with. With a final flick the healer’s patronus, a large Saint Bernard canine, accompanied a floating Pansy to the dungeons of Slytherin House.

“Draco Malfoy would be well rid of that Slytherin rubbish…” Poppy commented to no one as she regarded her patient and the witch protecting his life while he recovered.

From a hidden sconce outside the hospital wing, another student barely concealed his frustration with the changes affecting Gryffindors and Slytherins alike. He agreed completely with Pansy; Slytherins should care for their own. Pansy’s prone form floating by elicited a single comment —

“Fuck this inter-house unity shite.”

______________________

The semi-rhythmic high-pitched hiccup sound pulsed in tempo with the headache it provoked in Draco’s skull.

“Turn it down…” a raspy-voiced Draco pleaded.
“Draco? I’m so sorry — I should have gotten there sooner! The aurors warned me —”

“Hermione? Please. Don’t shout…”

“How are you f-f-f-feeling?”

“Granger, tell me the truth. Am I dying?”

“Why would you ask that!?” and she couldn’t help shouting at his fatalistic question.

“You’re crying. I must be close to death for you to be soaking my blanket with tears and making that head-splitting noise.”

Her sadness bothered him. Gallantly, Draco tried to cheer her up. He’d collect soon enough for the pain that weak smile cost him. Hermione, however, immediately put paid to the bill when she held the back of his bruise-covered hand against her cheek. His hands and arms had valiantly tried to protect his head and brains from the assault.

“I’m never leaving you alone again.”

She’d meant to add “in this school” to the end of her words but a shudder at the thought of him dead consumed the phrase. At her words, tingling suddenly radiated down his limbs and displaced some of the pain; she felt it too, like his hand’s were two ends of a live wire and she’d completed the circuit.

“Be careful what you promise, Granger. My recovery will take months; I’ll need to be waited on.”
“You’re an arse, Malfoy.”

Back on turf both understood, Draco caught up on the goings on since he’d passed out.

“When are you taking me home?”
“‘Home’? We share a Commons, not a bed, Malfoy.”

“Pansy reminded me of the same thing a month ago.”

“We can share a bedroom if it will annoy Pansy Parkinson.”

Laughing hurt. So did smiling but the reaction proved involuntary after Hermione’s quip.

“Ooh, not friendly. When will you collect me?”
“Madame Pomfrey says you can come ‘home’ Sunday.”

“What day is it?”

“It’s Halloween night.”

They were meant to be chaperoning the Halloween Ball; Draco was to be her escort. At Draco’s pestering Ginny Weasley had finally talked Hermione into a ball gown instead of dress robes. He’d forced 3000 galleons on Ginny, begging the youngest Weasley to take money Hermione would never accept from him and buy the gown as his gift for Hermione’s legal efforts over the summer. What followed comprised the most confusing non-conversation Draco’d ever misunderstood:

“You like her, don’t you?” Ginny posited, charming the cumbersome pile of galleons into her small purse.

“Like who? I thought you were smarter than Weaslebee, Weasley!”

“Two clueless geniuses…”

“The ball. Your gown — I never got to see it.”

“It’s fine, Draco. I hope you didn’t arrange that beating to get out of escorting me.”

“Don’t worry, Granger; I fully intend on seeing you in that gown before we graduate.”

Or out of it…

Bandaged parts of his body near his nether region hated him for those thoughts as little space remained to expand upon them. If he thought she’d do it, Draco’d have asked Hermione to unbandage his aching hard-on and apply some not-so-tender mercy to it. Already his other swollen hand made its way at a crawl towards his groin, attempting to practice old habits.

“WHERE IS HE!?” shattered the quiet.
“Lucius,” Poppy Pomfrey hissed as she glided towards the angry parent powering down the hospital aisle, “he’s here and he’s much better. Keep your voice down!”

“Where are those damnable aurors who are supposed to be protecting my son!?

“They’re stationed around the wing, Mr. Malfoy.”

“What is she doing here!?” Lucius spat out, pointing to the source of the answer to his security question.

It was then Lord Malfoy noticed; Hermione held Draco’s hand. The young woman before him no longer feared Lucius’ wrath or his threats. Communicating their new arrangement through her glare, Hermione turned back to Draco without further concern for his father.

“I’ll be back in the morning. Goodnight, Malfoy; sleep well.”

A quick squeeze and she released his hand.

“Goodnight, Lord Malfoy.”

In his life Lucius Malfoy had never been so thoroughly dismissed by another being except Voldemort.

“Do close your mouth, Father. Granger has that effect on most aristocrats,” Draco chuckled, experiencing mirth and pain in equal amounts.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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