According to Potter, Shacklebolt had begrudgingly modified the Portkey and now Hermione and Ginny were due back within the hour. Draco and Potter were sitting silently on the couch, staring at the spot where the girls had disappeared from the previous day. It was Potter who finally spoke, "Did something happen?"
Draco exhaled heavily. "Her parents got a dog," he said quietly.
"What?" Potter asked.
"Hermione always wanted a dog when she was growing up, but her parents never let her get one because they worked too much," Draco replied tonelessly.
Potter furrowed his brows. "Hermione wanted a dog? I never knew that."
"I know you've known her half of your life, Potter, and I intend this with absolutely no offense, but I'm fairly certain I know things about Hermione that you'll never know," Draco replied in a deadpanned voice. He had been entirely exhausted by the day.
Potter snorted before he replied thoughtfully, "I suppose you're right."
"I think it was too much for her," Draco continued. "She was already hesitant about leaving, but I made her go."
"I hope Ginny's okay," Potter said nervously, his foot tapping anxiously against the floor. "Hermione probably had to drag her out of bed. She is not a morning person."
Draco picked absently at a nonexistent thread on his trousers and did not respond. Currently, he couldn't care less about Ginny. He wanted Hermione.
As if on cue, there was a loud crack and Hermione and Ginny suddenly appeared in the living room. Hermione's eyes instantly sought him, and she dropped the spatula she had been holding as soon as she saw him. Draco was on his feet the moment she appeared, but she rushed to him, throwing herself into him his arms. He caught her, pulling her into him. "Are you okay?" he whispered lowly into her ear.
Draco felt her nod against his shoulder. "Yes," she replied. "Yes."
Over Hermione's head, Draco could see Potter speaking to Ginny in a low tone. Ginny's face was bright red, and she appeared to be angry. Ginny noticed his gaze, her eyes flitting briefly to his face before she pursed her lips and looked back to her husband. Draco squeezed Hermione tighter, burying his face in her wild curls.
From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Potter wrap his arm around Ginny's waist and lead her to the Floo. They disappeared in a flash of green and then he and Hermione were alone. Draco pulled away slightly to look down at her. Her face was red and splotchy, her face puffy from crying. Draco cradled her face in his hands, peering down into her eyes. "Hermione," he said gently. "What happened?"
"It was too much, Draco. It was just too much," Hermione replied, beginning to cry again. "I normally go by myself—and that's okay, because I just watch them from afar and assure myself that they're fine, and that's enough. And Ginny—she just acted like we were on vacation—and—" Hermione cut off, gulping for air.
"What?" he asked, stroking her jaw comfortingly.
"You already know that they got a dog," she began. "And Ginny approached them to pet it and ask its name—because I wanted to know. And I don't know—maybe she was trying to be friendly—she asked them if they had any children—" she stopped speaking abruptly.
Internally, Draco was seething. The idiocy, the thoughtlessness—Draco hadn't even thought twice when Ginny had called it a girls' weekend. It was never supposed to be a vacation—it was for Hermione to check on her parents. His fingers tightened their hold on his face for a fraction of a second before he forced his grip to relax. "Oh, Hermione," he said quietly, leaning back into her.
"No, it gets worse," she continued morosely. "When she—when she asked—they said—they said that they'd never wanted any."
He felt her deflate in his arms, and his stomach flipped violently in his belly. He didn't know what to say—what could he say? "Hermione," he began in a hesitant voice, feeling that he needed to say something—anything.
She shook her head. "No. Don't. I've already thought it to death," she said dully.
"Okay," he replied, his voice strained.
"I just want to go to bed."
Draco said nothing. He pulled her up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, where he laid her down gently on the bed. She stared up at him with dark, sad eyes. He removed her shoes and socks, throwing them into the corner of their room. Then he pulled her pajama bottoms down, followed by her knickers.
"Draco, I—" she began to protest tiredly.
"Just trust me, okay?" Draco said, pausing his ministrations.
After a moment, she nodded. He pulled her t-shirt off and found her braless, which was just as well. He hastily pulled off his own clothes and settled into the bed next to her, pulling the green silk comforter up over their bodies. He pulled her close, wrapping his right arm tightly over her chest, his hips flush with hers, and his head resting against her shoulder. He didn't know quite what she was feeling—not quite—but he had an idea. Alone. Unwanted. Unloved. He wanted to make sure that she was knew was not alone, not unwanted, and certainly not unloved. He kissed her shoulder blade gently. Her body was warm against his and he felt instantly comforted, hoping that she felt the same.
Realizing he wasn't trying to have sex with her, she pressed herself into him, her fingers coming up to grasp his forearm where it was wrapped around her chest. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"I'm sorry," was his only response.
"Don't," Hermione repeated.
Draco squeezed her tighter, exhaling a deep breath against her skin and closing his eyes. He was exhausted. Between not sleeping the night before and the day he had, he was grateful for Hermione's presence—despite the circumstances—because it meant he could rest.
He was just beginning to relax when Hermione spoke into the dark. "Ginny's mad at me," she said. "She wanted to go to the beach today."
Draco sighed again, still unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry—when she said it was a girl's weekend—I didn't even think twice—I didn't realize—"
"I told you that I didn't want to go," Hermione said quietly. "But you didn't listen."
Draco's eyes shot open, and his body stiffened. "You wanted to see your parents," he replied.
"I did. But they don't know me. I wanted to stay here with you more. I told you I wanted to stay. I wanted it to be you with me in Australia."
She had said all that, hadn't she? Maybe not as explicitly as she was saying in now, but Draco knew her—he could read between her lines. She'd wanted to stay, and he'd made her go. He exhaled, kissing her shoulder again. "I thought you wanted to stay for the wrong reasons," he said quietly. "I don't ever want to hold you back, Hermione—I thought—what I thought doesn't matter, though, I suppose. You're right. I didn't listen. I just pushed you towards what I thought would be best for you."
Hermione pulled herself out of his arms, and a chill shot down Draco's spine. He'd fucked it up. Of course he had—
Her fingers came to rest lightly on his cheek and her dark eyes were staring into his own. "I wasn't entirely clear," she admitted. "I just—you know me—I wanted you to know—"
"I did know," he interrupted. "But I only realized it tonight."
"They're my parents, Draco. They will always be my parents. That will never change. But they are not my family anymore—and—" she gulped, "—they probably won't ever be again. I will visit them whenever I can to make sure they're okay, because I will always love them. But they—they're not my family." Hermione stroked his jaw. "You're my family, Draco. You and Harry, you're my family."
"Ginny?" he asked, lacking any other words.
"She's like—my half-sister. Also, she's a bitch and I'm angry with her right now," Hermione huffed.
"Next time you want to go to Australia, it will be me that you go with, Hermione. I promise you. If for whatever reason I can't—like now—we will put it off. It will be me, Hermione. And I'll do and say whatever you'd like, and you can cry, or we can go to the beach—or, we can go to the beach and cry—"
Hermione laughed, wrapping an arm around his torso. "You'll cry with me?" she asked.
"No, because that would just make you cry harder," Draco reasoned.
She laughed again. "True."
"Go to sleep, Hermione. You're exhausted, and I don't even know the time difference—"
"A lot," she said quietly, closing her eyes.
"Sleep, love. We'll talk more when you wake up.
Hermione awoke in the late afternoon the next day, groggy and grumpy. "Please tell me we have food," she said, as she strode out into the kitchen, wearing only a tank top and a pair of knickers. "I barely feel human."
"I think I've figured out the toastie if you want a bagel," Draco replied.
"Toaster," Hermione corrected with a smile.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Do you want one or not?"
"Please," she replied, hopping onto the counter.
Draco sliced the bagel with his wand, placing each side into the basket of the toaster, hesitantly pushing the lever down, his eyes flickering to Hermione, who nodded.
"The knob there, at the bottom, turn it a bit to the left. I want it a little burnt," she said.
When her bagel was sufficiently burnt and smothered in butter, she took a bite. "Thank you," she said quietly after a moment.
Draco stepped forward, settling his hands on her hips. "It's just a bagel, Hermione," he replied, grinning at her playfully.
"Not for the bagel," she continued. "For last night. I know it was—a lot."
He sighed and rested his forehead against hers. "You know that I hate to see you cry."
Hermione let out a small laugh. "That's true," she relented. "But still. Thank you—what I asked you to do—I know it was a lot."
Draco shrugged and kissed her forehead before he straightened himself. "I told you before that I'd do anything for you, Hermione. You wanted to come home, so I got you home," he replied in a falsely nonchalant voice.
She nodded and returned to eating her bagel thoughtfully, her legs dangling absently against the kitchen cabinet.
He studied Hermione as she ate, looking for any residual signs of her distress from the night before. She appeared fine, if not a bit tired and a bit more pale than usual. Draco wanted to hold her. The moment Hermione finished her bagel, Draco wrapped his arms around her waist and crushed her to him. "I'm glad you're back," he admitted. "I didn't like being without you."
"Me neither," she agreed softly. "Ginny had all these plans—all these things she wanted to do. But all I could think about was what you were doing here, all alone."
"I was okay, Hermione," Draco assured her. "Lonely, but okay. I stayed busy."
"Good," Hermione replied with a nod. "Did you see your mother? Astoria?"
"Both," he said quietly, not offering any other details.
Hermione raised her eyebrows, a clear indication that she wanted him to continue.
"Yesterday was an odd day," he offered, grimacing as he said it.
"Continue," Hermione replied with a faint air of amusement.
"My mother—" he began, then cut off with a sigh. "She had no idea who I was."
Hermione let out her own sigh. "I'm sorry, Draco," she said quietly.
Draco felt his mouth twist. "It's not just that—she just—she didn't seem to care. It was like I was seeing another person. She didn't seem like my mother at all—like a Polyjuiced version of her, maybe." He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "She talked about you a fair bit, actually—since you're the only one that visits her. She called you ferocious." Draco felt himself smirk faintly. "Apparently you've been yelling at Healer Wilson?"
"He's obnoxious," Hermione replied flatly. "Astoria?" she asked again, her eyes searching him.
Draco sighed, dropping his head to her shoulder and nuzzling against her neck. "I saw her, briefly. We had a fight," he admitted.
Hermione's arms wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in close. "About what?" she asked.
Against her, Draco shook his head. He didn't want to tell her that the basis of the fight, in essence, had been about Draco's drinking—or lack thereof—because it would simply cause Hermione to worry needlessly. "Apparently I'm not fun anymore," he muttered petulantly against her neck. "And I rub our relationship in her face. Oh, and I'm a terrible friend."
Hermione's fingers had begun to trace comforting circles into his shoulder blades. "I'd make the argument that she is not very much fun," she replied defensively.
"I'm afraid I have may have been a bit harsh on her," Draco continued with a wince. "But she pissed me off." Draco paused for a moment before he asked, "Am I boring?"
Hermione shrugged, her fingers never once ceasing their ministrations. "You don't bore me," she replied fiercely. "You've kept me on my toes since day one."
Draco nodded against her shoulder before he pulled away from her slightly, remembering what else he had done the previous day. "I also went to the Manor yesterday—come on, I want to show you what I did."
Hermione beamed at him before sliding off the counter and lacing her fingers with his, making her way excitedly towards the guest room. Draco had closed the door behind himself the previous day, wanting to surprise her when she arrived home, and Hermione pushed the door open hastily, revealing row after tiny row of shrunken books. Hermione's eyes gleamed as they roved over the stacks. She turned to look at him, a flush high on her cheekbones. "Will you resize them for me?" she asked. "I've already transfigured some of the old furniture into bookshelves."
He grinned. "Yeah, I'll resize them for you," Draco replied, planting a kiss on her forehead before dropping her hand and beginning his task of resizing all of the books, while Hermione began organizing and transfiguring more of the furniture to make space for the immense number of books Draco had brought over.
They worked in comfortable silence, Draco resizing each and every book before handing the books over to Hermione, who organized them thoughtfully on the shelves first by subject, then by alphabetical order. She had just finished filling a third shelf when she broke the silence: "This is what I would have liked to do this weekend," she said quietly, looking over to him and giving him a small smile.
Draco sighed. "I'm sorry that it wasn't," he replied, resizing one more book before he rose from his seat on the floor and took several steps towards her before reaching out his hand and tracing a fingertip from her bare shoulder down to her fingertips, twining them with his own. "I'm sorry that it wasn't."
Hermione squeezed his fingertips before she shook her head. "I should've told you what I wanted. Clearly." She shook her head again, seemingly at herself. "Sometimes I'm so bad at this," she admitted, her eyes flitting away from his.
"Hey," he said quietly. "Just—tell me what you want. Whatever you want, and I'll do everything I can to make it happen," Draco promised.
She smiled up at him. "I want to go to Australia with you, Draco Malfoy. I want to do it the right way, where we apply for a Portkey and wait begrudgingly for several months. I want to stay in an expensive hotel and order room service and Champagne—and I'll get drunk because I'm sad, and you'll just hold me and let me cry. I want you to see them—I want you to meet them, because I know you won't say anything stupid. That's what I want," Hermione said. "And I should've told you all that before."
"Then that's what we'll do. That's what we'll do, I promise," Draco replied. "Until then, we'll do this. We'll make your library." He smirked at her before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
In the other room, the Floo roared to life. "Why am I not surprised?" Draco said under his breath.
"Hermione! Malfoy! Can you open up?" Potter called in the distance.
"Give me a moment, Harry!" Hermione called back. "I need to put on pants!"
"Oi! Things I didn't need to know, 'Mione!"
Hermione rolled her eyes and looked pointedly at Draco. "You can let him in if you want. I'll be out in a minute," she said as she made her way towards their bedroom.
Draco nodded and headed into the living room to let the Floo open for Potter. "You know," he said just as the bespectacled man made his way through the fireplace, "Hermione and I spend a lot of time naked. Every time you show up here unannounced you run the risk of hearing about things you don't want to know."
Potter flinched. "Are you trying to traumatize me?" he asked, dusting a bit of dust off of his clothes.
"At this point? Yes," Draco replied wryly.
Potter rolled his eyes. "How is she? Is she okay?"
"She's okay," Draco answered lowly. "She just—I shouldn't have made her go."
Potter shook his head. "Ginny's so angry at herself—feels like she messed the whole trip up."
"It was fucked from the start, Potter."
Hermione returned from the bedroom, having donned a sports bra and a pair of his pajama pants that were much too long for her. "Hi, Harry," she greeted softly, biting her lip. "I'm sorry about everything, I know—"
"'Mione," Potter interrupted gently. "It's okay, really. Malfoy's filled me in and Ginny told me what happened." He shook his head faintly. "I'm just glad you're okay. I just—Gin's nearly beside herself, feels just awful. Wanted me to apologize to you—she was afraid you wouldn't want to see her. Practically forced me through the Floo."
Hermione bit her lip harder, her eyes flickering briefly to Draco before returning to Harry's. "She's not mad at me?" she asked quietly.
Draco's hand shot out instinctively to grab hers. She took it gratefully.
Potter's eye glanced briefly at their clasped hands before he shook his head. "Well, she was," he replied with a grimace. "But I told her what Malfoy told me—about the dog, and everything. And, well, she was a bit more understanding."
"Right," Hermione said, laughing bitterly as she gripped Draco's hand tighter. "Did she tell you what she asked my parents?"
Potter furrowed his brow. "No?" he asked, confused. "She didn't even tell me that she'd talked to them."
"Interesting," Hermione replied, her tone having become icy.
"What?" Potter asked.
Draco glanced briefly at Hermione, her posture rigid, before he turned to Potter. "Potter," he said quietly. "Maybe we can do this a bit later."
Potter's eyes shot to Draco, his expression tight. Draco faintly shook his head.
Potter nodded back. "Right, well," he continued hurriedly. "I just wanted to come over—say 'sorry' for Gin. I'll—I'll go," he finished, stepping into back into the fireplace.
Hermione remained rigid and still, staring at the fireplace for several moments before she scoffed. "Unbelievable," she said finally. "She doesn't even think she did anything wrong."
"Are you okay?" Draco asked hesitantly.
Her eyes flashed to him. "No," she replied icily. "I'm not okay. I'm pissed off."
"At me?" he asked.
Hermione's eyes softened a bit. "No. No. Not at you," she confirmed. "Ginny—she can be so oblivious sometimes. It's not that she's stupid—" Hermione winced. "Nothing like that. But it's like sometimes she just doesn't think. Harry's the same way, though."
Draco nodded, unsure of what to say and wondering if she even required a response from him. He gripped her hand.
"She's not a bitch," Hermione admitted. "I shouldn't have said that. Ginny is one of the nicest girls I've ever met, but—I don't know. She can be so unaware of the things she says—sometimes they don't even register. Clearly." She shook her head.
"What do you want me to do?" Draco asked softly.
Hermione looked back to him, studying him for a moment. She dropped his hand and Draco felt panic shoot through him for just the briefest moment before she was looping her arms around his neck, pulling him into her. He pressed his forehead against hers, looking into her eyes. "I would like you to make me forget," she said quietly before kissing him.
He kissed her back, his hands gripping her waist and pulling her body flush with his. "I'll make you forget," he whispered against her lips. Her fingers twined in his hair and she pulled his head down hard. When she broke the kiss, he pulled her up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.
Afterwards, she laid against his chest, absently drawing circles against his skin. "Have you ever wondered if your parents wanted you?" she asked finally.
"No," Draco answered immediately, flinching as he did so. He sighed. "I'm sure you remember my mother saying they struggled for years to get pregnant. What she didn't talk about was the miscarriages. Seven in all, I believe," he continued, wrapping his arms around her tighter. She shifted, nuzzling into him. "My mother gave up. I was an accident, really. But she wanted me. I know she did."
Hermione looked up at him from her place on his chest. "You were a miracle," she concluded, smiling softly. She pressed a kiss to the center of his chest.
"I suppose," Draco replied, laughing lightly as he stroked her hair.
"I'd never wondered before," Hermione said. "Not once. I was so sure that they wanted me—but now." She chuckled darkly. "Now I think about it all the time. What if they never wanted me?"
Draco let out a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. This was important. "They wanted you, Hermione. I know they did. Even if they didn't, originally—they did. They loved you. They loved you more than anything." He kissed the top of her head. He felt a slight wetness on his chest. "How could they not love you?"
"No one has ever wanted me," she said quietly.
He held her so tightly he was afraid he would crush her. "I do. I want you. You're mine, remember?"
"Yours," she agreed quietly.
"I will always want you," Draco added.
"Do you promise?" she asked weakly, her voice suddenly girlish.
Hermione was so strong, all of the time. He admired her for it—he envied her for it. It was rare to see her break. "I promise you, Hermione," he said thickly. "I promise you." She turned away from him then, seemingly content, and he wrapped himself around her protectively. Exhausted, either from her emotions or the sex, Hermione fell asleep quickly. Draco held her and tried to remain still. He was not tired—he was tense and anxious and worried about his witch. Everything else faded into the background.
She was fierce. She was a dragon. Draco tensed briefly before forcing himself to relax. She was a dragon.
The dragon? he wondered.
The dragon will protect you
Hermione protected him. Always. She always protected him. She was possessive, too. He was hers. And clever, too. Cleverer than anyone he had ever met.
They mate for life you know—Dragons
"I promise you," he whispered, closing his eyes.
He must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he opened his eyes, a completely nude Hermione was standing in front of him at the edge of the bed, shaking his shoulders. "Wake up. Draco, wake up!" she cried urgently, her brown eyes wide.
He grumbled before he sat up. "What is it?" he asked, stretching his limbs.
"Healer Wilson—an owl—" she began. "It's urgent."
The symptoms of sleep disappeared instantly "What? When?'
"Less than 10 minutes ago. I've been trying to wake you, but you're stubborn even in sleep."
"Let me see," he replied hastily.
Instantly, Hermione handed him the letter.
Mr. Malfoy,
Your mother's situation has taken a turn for the worse. Your presence is requested immediately.
Sincerely,
Healer Robert Wilson, MD.
Draco tossed the letter away, wrenching himself from the bed. "Get dressed," he ordered. "We've got to go."
Hermione nodded and rushed to the closet, pulling on the first shirt she could yank off a hanger and a pair of leggings she plucked from the floor. Within minutes, they had apparated into the alleyway and then pulled each other towards St. Mungo's. Draco wasn't entirely sure who was more desperate.
They made it to the 4th floor in record time and Hermione pushed open the door to Narcissa's room, yanking Draco inside. Healer Wilson stood at the foot of the bed, and several unknown healers flanked his mother's bedside. "What's happening?" Draco asked instantly, completely out of breath.
Hermione released his hand and stepped forward, absently pushing one of the healers aside. She cast a diagnostic charm and her face fell. "Draco," she said quietly, ignoring everyone else.
"What the fuck is happening with my mother?" he demanded.
Hermione narrowed her eyes before they darted to every healer in the room. They grew colder as they rested on Healer Wilson. "Everyone get out," she said coldly. "All of you—out."
The unknown healers looked to Healer Wilson, who merely nodded, his eyes wide. Everyone left the room. "Hermione?" Draco questioned.
"Come here," she said replied gently, reaching for him.
Draco obliged, taking her fingers and moving closer to his mother's bed. What he found astounded him.
She was pale. Paler than he'd ever seen another human, and gray. It looked like she would be cold to touch. Her eyes pupils were dilated, so dark he could not see any bit of her irises. Cold and unseeing. She stared blankly up at the ceiling. For a moment, Draco thought she was dead. Her chest expanded slightly upward, though, and he realized she was breathing. Much too slowly. Her lips were parted, and drool leaked from her mouth. Draco shuddered and looked away.
"Draco," Hermione said gently, grasping at his hand.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "You can fix her, right?"
"Draco," she repeated, squeezing his hand. "I can't fix this."
"What?" Draco asked desperately, looking at Hermione. "What do you—?"
Hermione nodded. "It's time to say goodbye, Draco," she said softly.
"She was fine—!" he cried.
Fingers on his back. Stroking gently. Trying to comfort him. Useless. How could he be comforted? How? "I know," a voice said quietly. "But—she's not anymore. I'm so, so sorry."
He tried to occlude. One brick. Then another. It was easy. He was surprised when the bricks tumbled and fell, then turned to a fine red dust. He gasped.
He was on the floor—where? He wasn't entirely sure.
It was like he was floating, far away. Untethered.
He wanted to vomit.
A choke and a gasp. It was coming from him—
He couldn't breathe—
Why couldn't he breathe—
He was outside his body, watching himself choke—
The fingers on his back again. "Breathe, love. Breathe," A voice. It was soothing—he wanted to listen to it. He tried to breathe but choked instead. A finger tracing his spine. It felt nice. "Look at me," said the voice.
He looked up and saw the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. A narrow oval face, pale skin smattered with freckles. Long, dark, curly hair. Wild. He wanted to twist it around his fingers. Dark brown eyes that stared down at him with concern. His hand rose of its own accord and gently stroked her face. "You're beautiful," he murmured.
"Draco?" she asked softly.
Draco.
Hermione.
Narcissa.
Everything made sense again. He gasped, feeling himself return to his body forcibly. "What's wrong with her?"
"Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes wide.
Draco nodded. "Fine. Had a moment. What—what's wrong with her?"
Hermione watched him for a minute before she spoke, "Her brain—parts of it have shut down completely. And it's—I think it's progressing," she said hesitantly, her eyes flitting away from his. She wasn't questioning her diagnosis; she was wondering how much to tell him.
Draco felt cold. "She's going to die?" he asked.
"Yes," she said quietly.
"You can't—?"
"No," Hermione replied softly. "I can't do anything."
"How long?" Draco asked, feeling numb.
"I don't know," Hermione said, taking his hand. "Could be days, maybe weeks—I don't know, Draco. I'm sorry."
"Can you go get Healer Wilson?"
"Yes," Hermione replied resolutely. "Will you be okay?"
Draco nodded shortly, staring intently at his mother as Hermione left the room. When she had disappeared down the hall, Draco dropped to his knees at his mother's bedside and took her palm in his own. Her skin was so cold. Draco closed his fingers over her hand into a fist, attempting to warm her flesh. Her eyes flashed to his, empty and completely devoid of any feeling or recognition. Idly, Draco wondered if she was even able to see him. "I found her, Mother. The Dragon," he said softly. "It's Hermione, isn't it? That's what you've been trying to tell me." A bit of drool bubbled at the corner of her mother, and Draco dabbed it away with the sleeve of his jumper. "I found her, and she'll protect me. You don't have to worry about me anymore, Mother. I'll be okay—with her," he continued.
Narcissa did not respond. She blinked slowly, her eyes glazed and completely unfocused.
Draco rested his head on the edge of her bed, staring at her intently. All she did was blink and drool. Draco felt the tears well in the corners of his eyes and he pushed them away with the sleeve of his jumper, refusing to cry.
Hermione returned with Healer Wilson in short order. Hermione looked enraged, and Healer Wilson looked to be on the urge of a mental breakdown. "Mr. Malfoy," he began. "I apologize—"
Draco interrupted him coldly, "What happened?"
Healer Wilson sighed deeply and took several steps away from Hermione, clearly attempting to put some distance between the two of them. "As you know, her memory has been increasingly erratic as of late—and truthfully, I don't know how I missed it—" he glanced briefly at Hermione, flinched, then looked away— "her brain has been deteriorating rapidly for the past several weeks. That's why her personality changed so drastically, and why she had no memory of you, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco stared at him in disbelief. "You missed her brain deteriorating?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.
The Healer looked abashed. "I did, Mr. Malfoy. I am sorry. Although, if it is any consolation, there was very little that could have been done for her even if I had caught it. She had a very severe stroke earlier this evening, which has accelerated rate of the deterioration of her brain."
"How long?" Draco repeated coldly.
Healer Wilson audibly swallowed from across the room. "I estimate that she has only a few hours left. Perhaps a day, but I believe that would be pushing it."
Hours, Draco thought. His chest tightened and he sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. "Get out," he demanded. "I don't ever want to see you again."
"Mr. Malfoy—" Healer Wilson broached gently.
"He said get out!" Hermione roared at the man, who grimaced and scurried from the room, closing the door behind him.
Hermione was beside him in an instant, kneeling beside him and brushing her fingertips down the length of his forearm. "Draco," she said softly.
He looked to her. "I finally figured it out," he said, laughing bitterly. "What she was trying to tell me."
"What?" she asked, her fingers tightening on his wrist.
"It's you," he said blankly. "You're the Dragon she's always talking about. I should've figured it out sooner, when she compared you to one."
Hermione seemed to think for a moment before nodding. "That—that makes sense, I suppose," she said quietly, seemingly to be at a loss for words. "Draco," she repeated. "Are you okay?"
Draco didn't answer. No, of course he wasn't okay. "Can we stay? Until—" he cut himself off.
"Yes," Hermione replied immediately. "Yes."
So they stayed.