Chapter 16
“DRACO MALFOY"
It was the next night. Halloween night. The night when the Goblet of Fire was to announce the names of champions for the Triwizard Tournament. And it had. Everything had gone to plan and all champions from the three European Wizarding schools had been selected. The Hogwarts Headmaster had just finished giving them a speech about supporting one another and the strength of working together or something, when the cup had caught fire again.
Draco had been just about to take a sip of pumpkin juice when he'd looked up in surprise. In fact, the entire hall had looked up in surprise, and they'd all watched in shock as another piece of paper came flying out into the hand of the Headmaster. Draco was fairly certain this wasn't supposed to happen. And then he'd heard his name.
"DRACO MALFOY." The two words echoed in his head repeatedly as he froze. Was that him? Were they calling him? To join the tournament? But how is that possible? Draco wasn't old enough. He shouldn't be eligible. At the very least, the Durmstrang champion had already been selected, hadn't it?
The Great Hall had gone silent, the headmaster’s voice echoing across the room as everyone watched the flames retreat once again from the goblet's edge.
“Draco Malfoy.” Dumbledore repeated.
For a moment Draco wondered if he’d heard wrong, surely, he had. But when he looked around, every eye at the Slytherin and surrounding tables was on him. He turned to his brother to find Theo watching him carefully. His face betrayed nothing of what he felt, but he nodded towards to stage. A clear indication that Draco should go. Fine, Draco set down the glass he'd been about to drink from and stood.
A cacophony of whispers arose from every corner as he walked. For a moment Draco wanted to glance across the hall and to glimpse Hermione’s reaction at the strange turn of events, but he decided against it. There were enough eyes on him. He would find her once it was over.
The Hogwarts headmaster met him at the bottom of the stairs.
“Sir.” Draco nodded to the man.
“Mr. Malfoy, through the door just there, please.” Dumbledore told him seriously.
Draco didn’t answer but did as instructed. The door led to a long hallway filled with portraits, each one whispering about him as he strode past. He rolled his eyes as one asked its neighbor if he was from the same line as the CygnusMalfoy. Obviously. Malfoy hair was unmistakable.
As he walked down the hall, unsure of how he ended up there, Draco was forced to face a brutal truth: He’d gotten too comfortable at Hogwarts. There had always been a Draco Malfoy, catered to the whims and wishes of his father. And in some small way there may have been a different Draco known only to his mother and Theo. But recently that had changed. He’d begun living a double life of sorts since arriving his arrival at the school. With his father unable to reach him for the time being, and his mate's reentrance into his world, he'd slipped up.
He'd let his time with Hermione distract him. Caused his guard to fall when it shouldn't have. And now he would face the consequence. Far too many people considered themselves his acquaintances. Clearly, someone had thought themselves able to mess with him. Draco would show them the truth.
As he opened the door at the end of the hall, it was like slipping on an old glove.
His posture was perfection, and his face entirely blank when he strode into the room. Immediately he took it in. Roughly the size of a classroom, it was shaped in a circle and centered on a fireplace against the furthest wall. The windows lining the walls meant that there were three possible exits, though only one utilized a door. Three antique sofas surrounded the hearth and that was where he found his company.
Krum leaned against the fireplace, scowling into it while the other two students stood in front of one of the chairs. All three of them turned expectantly as he entered. He vaguely heard the end of whatever the Hogwarts champion had asked him, but not nearly enough to indulge the question so he ignored it.
“What are you doing here?” Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion, asked him.
Draco liked Fleur. She was significantly less incompetent than some of the other students he’d encountered from her school. And she didn’t beat around the bush when speaking to him. On the first full day after their arrival at Hogwarts, the girl had approached him. Without explanation she spoke to him in French and informed him they would be allies and good friends. Normally, Draco would’ve told her to fuck off, but something about Fleur reminded him of his mum so he made the decision to let her.
“I'm not sure yet. They called me after you left.” He told her.
“What do you mean?” She asked.
“Je veux dire, ils ont appelé mon nom depuis le gobelet.”
"They called your name?" She raised a brow and Draco scowled.
“I just said that.” He snapped.
“Anyone want to talk in English?” The Hogwarts boy chimed in—Diggy, his name was? Draco hadn’t paid attention. But he cut Fleur off when he spoke, so Draco immediately disliked him. "Some of us also want to know what's going on."
“I said, my name came out of the cup.” Draco told the boy stiffly.
“How’s that possible?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Obviously, you must’ve done something or cheated.” He insisted.
Draco sighed. Idiots were tiring. And had he mentioned he was exhausted lately? “I mean, I didn’t put it in.”
Diggy —Draco was just going to go with Diggy— scoffed. “Bullshite.”
He was still deciding whether or not to respond when a swarm of people entered through the doorway. They were arguing and it was loud. Draco caught the eye of his headmaster who immediately stormed over to him.
“Got something to say?” Karkaroff demanded and Draco was sure a part of him died. They’d woken early for training that morning and he hadn’t gotten enough sleep to speak Russian as well. French with Fleur was natural to him. His mother had raised him speaking the language. This required him to think more.
His response was short. “No.”
“You are sure?”
“Is anyone ever?” Draco drawled sarcastically in English, the wizard practically twitched.
“What the fuck did you do, boy?!" He snapped.
Draco tsked and rolled his eyes. “Swearing is for the weak-minded, you know? And I have not done anything.”
“Remember your place, Malfoy.” Karkaroff ordered.
Yes, that was all well and good. Except Draco did nothing but remember his place and now he remembered his bed.
“Are we done?” He asked.
His headmaster watched him for several moments, but Draco didn’t care. He might’ve been terrified of his father, but others had no such effect. He knew his place. And at the core of it, while Karkaroff might be his professor, Draco was destined to inherit the vaults and power of both of the wealthiest dynasties in the world. One of them undoubtedly held more control.
He didn’t blink or look away once. But he could feel the tension growing in the room as those surrounding turned to watch them. It was almost stifling until someone stepped in. A tall and large man moved in front of Draco and blocked Karkaroff from his view. “Headmaster Dumbledore, I think it’s best if you Mr. Malfoy and I have a little talk. . .privately.”
He had one real eye, and one fake. The latter seemed to wander the room aimlessly at all times. Draco recognized him as the man who taught Hermione’s defense class: Professor Moody. Recalling the stories his mate had shared, Draco immediately disliked him.
“Yes, I think it would be wise if we did.” Dumbledore answered. The old man was watching their interaction carefully, though he peeled away to look at his colleague.
“Fine.” Draco said, though he was interrupted off by his headmaster’s scoffing.
“I will not have this.” Karkaroff shouted. “You will not speak to my student without me present.”
“Why? So you can defend him?” Moody questioned angrily. Not even seconds had passed before Karkaroff and him were shouting and throwing insults like school children. Draco had to fight to withhold his sneer. Surely this kind of behavior was beneath them?
After enough time had passed that Draco realized no one else would step up, he decided to speak. Their arguing was out of hand. He couldn’t say it was out of kindness for his professor necessarily, but more embarrassment for himself.
“If you would remember yourselves for just a moment, there would be no need for this.” He spoke calmly and carefully.
Those who could hear quieted immediately, their eyebrows jumping in surprise. Those who couldn’t —the two wizards drawing their wands pathetically as if they might duel over this bullshite— quieted when they noticed the silence that had befallen the room.
“Clearly,” Draco continued. “I was not the one to put my name in the goblet. The level of incantations that would have been required to unravel the wards are extreme. Obviously, it was not done by a fourth year.” Draco emphasized his age.
“So how do you explain it then?” The Hogwarts charms professor Flitwick asked.
“I don’t know.” He told them. The answer was unsatisfactory though and lead to more annoying whispers. Draco started to grow on edge. “But I don’t see why it’s even relevant how my name ended up in the cup because it’s against the rules. I am not eligible to compete.”
“Well, that’s the issue.” A new voice rose and Draco watched as a man stepped out from the cluster of adults. He was significantly shorter than Draco and wore expensive robes that didn’t match his posture. Ministry worker, he thought. The man visibly debated approaching him, but seemed to decide it was best to stand next to Dumbledore, Draco agreed. “Ludo Bagman, Mr. Malfoy. It’s an honor.”
“I’m sure.” Draco responded stiffly. Why was a ministry employee speaking to him?
“Right.” He tsked. Realizing Draco had no interest in giving more, he continued. “As I was saying, that seems to be the issue.”
“How?” Draco cut in. He didn’t have time for excuses, this was all ridiculous.
“Well, Mr. Malfoy, you must understand that the Triwizard Tournament is ancient, magical, and contractual.” Not helpful, not helpful, not helpful, Draco thought to himself. “Which means. . .” The man got a strange look on his face that likely intended to display immense excitement, but had Draco more concerned he would wet himself in front of them. “you must compete!” He said grinning.
Draco froze, staring at the man and processing his words.
“I did not enter myself into the cup.” He told Bagman, slowly.
“I’m afraid that doesn’t matter. If your name came out of it, you must represent your school!” He beamed and Draco scowled.
“Durmstrang already has a champion.” The Diggle boy answered for him.
“Yes!” Bagman practically squealed. “And for the first time in history they will have two! In fact, for the first time in history the tournament will feature four champions!”
“But zat iz againzt ze rulez.” The Beauxbatons headmistress spoke up.
“I’m afraid the rules do not account for it, Madam.”
““Zis iz wrong. We shall not ztand for zis!”
“You already have.” He informed her.
“What if I don’t compete?” Draco asked.
“You have to.”
“But—"
“Malfoy!” Karkaroff cut him off, gritting out so no one but them could understand. “Stop speaking now."
Draco gaped at the man. Then he turned to Krum who was glaring at their headmaster as well. Oh, for fucks sake, Draco wanted to shout. A moment ago he’d been angry at the idea of Draco’s name having been pulled, but as he watched him now he realized Karkaroff was actually quite pleased. He wanted Draco to compete.
“What did he say?” he heard one professor ask another, but Draco held the other wizard’s gaze and ignored them all. Fuck. He was going to make him do this, wasn’t he?
“This is ridiculous”Draco told him.
“Do I look like I care? Do as you are told. ” He ordered. When Draco did not answer he raised a furious brow and hit him with a final blow he knew Draco would not refuse. "And imagine how proud your father would be. His son, the winner of the Triwizard Tournament."
If he were a smarter wizard, perhaps he might’ve said no. Perhaps he might’ve argued and said to hell with his father. But Draco wasn’t a smarter wizard. And maybe he wasn’t a smart one at all because he was considering it. Nothing he had ever done had been good enough for his father. He was never strong enough, or smart enough, or fast enough. Draco had been raised understanding that his existence itself was a failure. He couldn’t even pinpoint why it had begun. But maybe he could find a way to end it.
The Triwizard Tournament was famous and dangerous and deadly. Even Lucius Malfoy would be unable to deny the social award that it was to be chosen. And to be the first ever fourth champion? Maybe he could do it. If he won. Yes, winning was the only option. But he’d known it even before that if he’d been eligible, he would have stood a chance.
Draco could see it the moment Karkaroff knew he had won. The wizard got a menacing smirk across his face which Draco resented.
“Fine.” He spoke. He hadn’t noticed the arguing going on around him while he’d decided, but it stopped then. “What do I need to do?” He asked.
Bagman turned and grinned like a sheep in wolf’s clothing. “Perfect.” He snapped his hands. “Then we shall reconvene in the morning for our press circuit.”
Draco's scowl was likely to become a permanent fixture after this.
“Prez circuit?” Fleur asked.
“Yes of course! The Daily Profit will be here at ten to interview each of you. It’s standard procedure for the tournament in general but now . . .” He turned to Draco, “I think we’re going to have quite a show! Quite a show indeed.”
There was more conversation regarding what each of them needed to be ready for the next morning, and more of meetings to come, but Draco was barely paying attention at all. If he’d been exhausted before, he felt ready to drop now. Were he anyone else he might’ve hugged the Dumbledore when he finally ended Bagman’s tirade.
“Right, well, perhaps it would be wise for us all to take the evening off?” The older man suggested. “I think we all might be in need of a little bit of rest. We will reconvene in the morning as I’m sure we all would do well with some time to think.”
Draco couldn’t agree more and, from the murmurs around him, he suspected the others felt the same.
“Mr. Malfoy, Diggory, Krum and Ms. Delacour, if you would all head straight back to your dormitories, please. We will talk after breakfast tomorrow. I know this has been an unexpected night for all of you, but I expect you all to behave yourselves in a way that would befit your schools. Thank you.”
Draco gratefully took the dismissal and followed the others out through the corridor silently. The Hogwarts castle was surprisingly quiet. Draco guessed they must have sent everyone to bed early after his name had been called. None of the champions spoke as they walked back, and each one parted ways as quickly as they could until just Draco and Krum were walking to the ship.
It wasn’t until he’d closed the door to his room behind him that Draco felt himself finally breathe easier. His mind was a mess. His muscles ached, his hair was trashed and he didn’t even think twice before he began to remove his robes, reading rid himself of the day entirely.
That is, until he’d taken off his shirt and heard a gasp from behind him. Draco turned around, expecting to see Theo coming out of their washroom, but there was nothing there. He was sure he’d heard a sound though, so he pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the empty room. “Homenum Rev—”
“No stop! It’s us!” Someone shouted. Draco was dumbfounded as he watched Hermione, Theo, and Harry all materialize out of thin air in the middle of his room. A cloth fell to their feet, and he frowned.
“What—”
“Invisibility cloak.” Hermione answered. Draco wanted to ask questions because a) what were they doing under an invisibility cloak, and b) where the fuck did they get an invisibility cloak?
Instead, he shrugged carelessly and drawled, “Naturally.”
“Sorry,” Potter spoke. He walked towards Theo’s desk and sat on the edge of it with a strange familiarity. Once again Draco found himself filled with questions. Too tired to think much though, he decided to ask the most important one.
“What are you doing here?”
“We wanted to see you.” Hermione said.
“So, you decided to secretly watch me change in my room?”
“No,” Her cheeks flushed. “No. We—well, we wanted to see you, but we knew we wouldn’t be allowed to, so we took the cloak so no one would see and we’ve been with Theo for a while now as we waited but then we heard footsteps and someone unlocking the door so we jumped under it in case it was a professor and they were checking for someone and we got caught, but it was you and then it seemed weird to come out after but . . .”
“Oh.” He supposed that made sense, except, “Why did Theo hide under it?”
“Er,” Hermione turned to the wizard in question and chuckled. “I think that part was my fault. Harry said ‘hide’ and I kind of grabbed him to come with me.”
Draco noticed the small grin that grew on his friend’s face at her words. He supposed it must be what Theo had always wanted, to go with her wherever she went. Hermione wanting to protect her brother —even without knowing who he was— meant a great deal.
Draco smiled at the thought. “Well, I’m glad you’re alright.” He told them.
Theo nodded, “What about you?”
“About me?”
“Are you a champion now?”
“It appears so.” He shrugged. “Whatever. Some ministry minion says its required and Karkaroff thinks it’s a good idea so . . .”
Hermione’s eyes went wide. “They’re going to make you compete?!” She shouted and Draco cringed. He wasn’t ready to share the part about doing it for his father’s approval with her yet though, so he deflected.
“Er, muffliato.” He said first, directing his wand around the room before looking at her. “They want to.” Draco carefully omitted the part where he wanted to compete as well, desperation was not a flattering trait.
“But you’re too young! It’s dangerous! That’s absolutely ridiculous!” Hermione’s concern for him had something deep inside him feeling quite pleased.
“Apparently it’s the law.” He explained, at least a part of it was.
“You could get hurt!” She walked towards him.
“I’ll be fine.” He shrugged, trying not to stare.
“People die, Draco.” She stepped closer.
“I’ll live.”
“What if you don’t.” Then she was in his space, only a foot away and she must’ve showered beforehand and used a new soap because she smelled incredible, and it was distracting him like never before, which must’ve been a side effect of his exhaustion.
“I will.” He managed to say, barely coming up with the right words as his witch’s attention was trained so intensely on him.
“Draco, it’s dangerous. They cancelled it before for a reason. The age limit is there now for a reason. You’re a fourth champion, there’s never been a fourth champion. Draco, what if—”
“Hermione,” He cut off her worries with a smile. Draco's hand grabbed one of hers and pulled her to him. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.” He brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles softly.
At the contact, Hermione shivered. Draco worried she might be cold and he reached down to offer her his jumper only to realize he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He dropped her hand like it had burned him and jumped back, horrified.
“Ah, sorry. I—I didn’t mean to…” Draco turned around quickly, covering himself from her view as much as possible. His face red at his own embarrassment and fear. Fuck. He couldn't look down to check without drawing attention so he just hoped the lack of gasps was a sign. Draco moved into his armoire and grabbed the first shirt he saw, throwing it over his head and tightening it down. “Sorry.” He repeated. “I—”
“It’s fine.” She told him.
“Right.” Draco nodded and stepped back again. “Good. Right. Yeah…Theo” he looked to his best friend, hoping for help. Instead, he found the wizard sitting across the room on his bed with an amused look on his face as he watched them. Potter was sitting beside him now, flitting through something as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
It was, in fact, unnerving.
“Yeah?” Theo asked.
“Er,” Shite.
“You nervous about the tournament?” Potter spoke up and Draco wanted to thank him for the new conversation.
“Not about beating the others.” He answered.
“So, about the challenges?”
“They’re a mystery.” he conceded.
Potter's lips twitched and he nodded across the room. “You know, Hermione’s great at mysteries.”
Draco watched as her face broke into a mischievous grin and she walked over to her brother’s bed. “Oh, Harry,” She laughed beautifully, the sound soothing to Draco's soul. His mate patted Potter’s knee patronizingly. “You’re just really good at finding ways to almost die.”
Potter nodded. “This is true. And it’s not even intentional.”
“Well, do us all a favor and don’t try it again.” Theo said from beside him, though he was staring intently at the wall. Draco bit back a smirk at his brother’s protectiveness. He listened to the three of them banter together for a few minutes before deciding they would likely be there for a while longer.
Draco needed a bath desperately, and he needed a breath to let his anxieties take control before he could truly relax. He moved quickly to grab his night robes and moved himself into the washroom. Once alone, Draco turned on the lights and was faced with his own reflection. Fuck, he was pale. Draco was always pale, but even he could admit this was unusual. He undressed himself then, heaving a sigh of relief at his perfect torso. Before waving a wandless ‘finite’ over his abdomen, revealing the marks that would never fade.
Lucius Malfoy was particular, and cunning. Under normal circumstances, his anger left no scars that could not be removed easily with magic. The heir to the Malfoy line needed to look perfect for the public so Draco’s father was careful to ensure he always would.
But there had been a few times over the course of Draco’s life, when he’d encountered abnormalcircumstances. For example, the deep purple line that ran from the top of his left shoulder to just above his waist had been a result of detrimental news. A cursed blade thrown across the room out of anger, just moments after they’d been informed of his father’s best friend’s death. The others . . .Draco tried to forget how any of his scars had arrived, the only part that mattered after was their result.
He’d known how to glamour away wounds for years. Draco could do it with or without a wand, and likely he could do it in his sleep. These, were the things he kept from Theo. Because Theo wouldn’t understand. He hadn’t been raised like Draco. Duty had been a job to Lord and Lady Nott. It was something they could set aside when they wanted to. For Draco, it was his life. Everything, revolved around his duty.
If Theo found out how far it went, he would try to convince Draco to fight back or leave. And when Draco inevitably did neither, Theo would leave him. But Draco didn't know if he could survive Theo leaving. Bearing the weight of his disappointment alone was difficult enough. This was Draco's burden to carry.
So, he lived with scars. Permanent scars. And magical ones that were damning because they couldn’t be glamoured at all times. If left on too long or too often, the magic in them would fight back and deteriorate the glamour until it was gone. As he got into the shower, Draco hoped to Merlin they’d let him cast new ones when he was done.
If something like earlier happened again, he didn’t want to know what Hermione would think of him when she saw them
---- ---- ---- ----
“Hermione?” Draco said when he opened the door. The room was dark, but she was sitting on his bed reading something with her wand for a light. At his voice, she looked up.
“Yeah?” She whispered.
“What happened? Why are the lights out?” He came towards her, careful to sit several feet away. She may be his mate, but he was still a gentleman.
Hermione sighed and pointed her wand across the room. “Theo and I were talking when Harry fell asleep. And then Theo started to fall asleep, so I figured I’d let him shut his eyes and read while I waited for you. But then Harry woke up again and got mad at the light, so he kicked me out and told me I had to go over here.” She grimaced and started to move. “Sorry, I didn’t even ask if I could go on your bed. I would probably flip my lid if one of the boys did that to m—”
“It’s fine.” Draco stopped her before she could get up. He liked the idea of Hermione in his bed—wait fuck. No. Not in his bed. Definitely not like that. No. Moreso, on his bed. Yes, that was it.
He liked the idea of her on his bed. Or in his space. His mum had once told him he was as territorial as his namesake. But the idea of Hermione sharing his stuff made him happy.
“Are you sure?” She asked and Draco smiled.
“Yes, of course.”
“Great.” She grinned, scooting back again, into his pillows. Briefly, Draco wondered if they might smell like her shampoo when she stood up. Then he remembered he was trying not to be creepy and cursed his thoughts.
Hermione started reading again and Draco found himself feeling awkward and unsure what to do. Normally, when she read, he would do it with her, but tonight he couldn’t. There wasn’t even enough energy in him to pick up a book. So, he sat there on the corner of his bed staring at the wall like an idiot.
He couldn’t sleep obviously, there was a girl in his bed—on his bed. That would be improper. And he couldn’t very well share with Theo because it appeared Potter had already beat him to it. Briefly, Draco resented the societal stigmatisms that prohibited him from sharing a space with a witch, but not Theo from sharing his space with a wizard. He resolved to be an absolute arse about it to him in the morning. Draco was considering the pros and cons of collapsing onto the floor instead when he heard a voice.
“Draco?” Hermione asked and he turned to look at her. She was perfect in the soft light, her hair was fastened into some form of twists that sat on either shoulder, and she looked exceptionally comfortable.
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing?”
“I . . .” He tried to come up with some explanation, but instead landed on the truth. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want to lie down?”
“Yes.” He sighed, watching her somewhat helplessly.
“Well, why don’t you?”
Draco frowned. Didn’t she get it?
“Because you’re there.” He told her and her brows jumped.
“Sorry, do you want me to move?” Hermione began to do so, and Draco found himself lunging over to stop her.
“No.” He protested. Unfortunately, though, a side effect of his movement was that he now sat, sprawled across the bed and impossibly closer to her. Something about her scent felt stronger as it invaded his senses and he had to force himself to focus.
“Oh,” She startled. “Um, then I don’t understand.”
“It would be improper.” Draco tried to explain. He wondered if her parents never taught her the rules of society. Surely, muggles still had some sense of decorum.
Hermione laughed in response. Softly, but it was nonetheless it was a laugh. “Draco, what are you talking about? It’s 1994.”
“It’s wrong. I can’t.”
“You already have.” She scoffed. “Twice, might I remind you. Three times if we’re counting last night.”
“Last night?” He frowned.
“You fell asleep on my shoulder. I daresay that counts as resting in close proximity. And that time in the hospital. And the one in Regulus’s house.”
Well, he supposed that was true. But also . . .
“This is different.”
“How? It’s just sleeping.”
“Hermione” He groaned and rubbed a palm over his weary face. He was beginning to wonder if his mate might be a bad influence.
“You don’t have to.” She said softer. “Obviously, I’m not going to force you, and I can leave if you’d like. I’m just saying, I don’t mind.”
And Merlin help him because he was considering it. Almost as though she could read his mind, Hermione nodded to the bed across the room.
“Do you think what they’re doing is improper?” she asked, and Draco held tightly to his last hold of resistance, brittle as it may be.
“No, but it’s different.”
“It’s really not. And anyway, it won’t even be for that long. I don’t want to wake him up yet, because honestly, he looks kind of peaceful and Harry doesn’t really get a lot of peace. But I’m going to wake up him in a half hour and we’ll to take the cloak back to the castle.” Hermione told him.
Her words had their intended effect, though perhaps more than she expected. Because Draco didn’t like the idea of Hermione walking back in the dark, even with Potter’s cloak. And though he tried to shut the train of thought down, Draco really didn’t like the idea of her leaving at all. His mind warred on what to do, all the while his eyes were barely staying open.
“I’ll go now.” Hermione’s voice cut through the fog. She had crawled to the edge of his bed and was beginning to climb down when he noticed.
As her feet hit the ground, something in his tired head began shouting with desperation and Draco heard himself make a decision. “No.”
“What?” She looked at him.
“I mean,” Draco licked his lips, thinking. “Leave whenever you’d like, really. But I—” He sighed and gave in. “Stay, please.”
Hermione watched him silently for several painful seconds before nodding. The next thing he knew she was back, reading against his pillows, and smiling softly as Draco settled beside her.
“Thank you,” he murmered, closing his eyes.
“Draco, it’s your bed.” There was laughter in her voice, and he felt as she ran one of her hands through his hair, slowly.
“I know, but . . .” He was drifting off then. “Thank you.”