Cold as You by Silver Dragon Gemini, narrated by Briar and
Tones. I'd call that justice, wouldn't
you? One of the healers in Hermione's
rotation said, handing her the newspaper so that she could see
for herself. Death Count rises as dark magic
malady continues to plague Death Eaters.
Hermione felt her stomach royal. It was no secret that the
aftermath of the war had led to countless wizarding families
being imprisoned in Azkaban or disgraced from society.
Even five years later, anyone remotely connected with the
darker side of the war were practically exiled from
Wizarding England. The dark magic malady, which had
only started to appear within the last few months, had sparked
a resurgence in deep disdain for those who allied with Voldemort.
If you ask me, I think St. Mungo should issue a no
treatment policy. What's that old saying?
You made your bed, now lie in it.
Or something along those lines. Another healer added.
Hermione slammed the paper down onto the counter with a scoff of
disgust. I ought to report you both for
language like that. Honestly.
We took an oath to care for everyone.
You should be ashamed of yourselves.
The healers only rolled their eyes at her.
We'll treat them, Hermione, obviously.
Of course we will. The other added, reassuringly,
patting Hermione on the shoulder.
They may accidentally fall off my rounds for a shift or two,
but I'll treat them eventually. They looked at one another and
laughed, but Hermione felt I'll at their outlook.
She made a mental note to sign up for an Azkaban mediwitch
shift on her lunch break. If it kept imprisoned Wizards
off the shifts of healers like the ones in her rotation, she
would sign up for as many as necessary.
The first case of Dark magic malady appeared about six months
ago. It started with one report of
unshakable chills from an inmate at Azkaban.
They tried warming spells, blankets and even placing them
directly next to a fire, but nothing seemed to raise his body
temperature. One case then turned into four
and then nine. Within months, every convicted
Death Eater in Azkaban had been diagnosed with it.
At various stages of the disease, healers initially
determined it was directly linked to the long term use of
dark arts. Those who are more proficient
were hit first and hit hardest. Soon after, though, it was
discovered that those on the receiving end were also subject
to the harshest side effects of Dark magic malady.
Despite their infrequent use of spells, lower ranking Death
Eaters had regularly been punished with Unforgivables,
making them just as susceptible to having the Dark magic taint
their blood. Just as suddenly as the
diagnosis had started, so had the deaths.
When the first Death Eater died in Azkaban, the prison had
chalked it up to general deteriorating health.
After half a dozen, it was clear that the malady was claiming its
victims. The survival rate was abysmal at
best. To Hermione's count, she only
knew of three Death Eaters who'd managed to survive the illness.
They never fully recovered, still stricken with the chill
that seemed to reach their bones, but at least they were
alive. From the research she had read,
there were four stages of dark magic.
Malady level 1, Chills, Level 2 Fatigue Level 3, Memory Lapse
level four. Death.
Patients idled at various stages of the malady, but almost all
succumbed eventually. Hermione regularly looked into
the records of those who'd been diagnosed, curious to see if
they would also meet the same fate as the others.
She may be an optimist to a fault, but the war had already
taken so much from their entire community.
Regardless of the side they were on, Hermione hoped they would
survive checking in. The receptionist said to a man
standing at the front desk. Without looking up, the man did
his best to stifle the trembling in his body before speaking.
Yes, please. The receptionist wordlessly
started a chart for the man before her.
Name. Please, Draco.
Hermione said in surprise. The familiar frame of her former
classmate stood at the front desk of Saint Mungo's just as
she started her second rounds on her floor.
The sight of him caught her off guard.
He looked up and gave her a small nod before answering the
receptionist. Drake home, Malfoy.
The receptionist's eyes grew wide as she looked at him,
recognizing the name. Her eyes darted down to his
forearm almost immediately and Hermione felt a wave of concern
pass through her. Draco was one of the only Death
Eaters to not serve time for the Second Wizarding War.
Due to his age and Harry's rather moving testimony at his
trial, the Wisdom come Up motioned to dismiss his case.
Despite this, he had already been sentenced in the court of
public opinion, making him a free walking target for
society's grievances. Hermione reached over the
counter and grabbed the clipboard with a small packet of
intake forms. I'll get him checked in, Margot.
She gave Draco a kind smile and nodded toward a nearby hallway
to get him triaged privately. Draco leaned against the wall
and pulled his coat tighter around himself as he spoke.
I thought I heard you had taken to healing after the war.
Hermione nodded and wrote his name down on the form.
I enjoy it, it keeps me busy. She said with a shrug.
It suits you. Following Draco's trial, most of
their classmates, Hermione included, parted ways with the
former Death Eater. She hadn't done it
intentionally. It was more of a healing
response to put distance between herself and the war.
Hermione was decidedly neutral on all things Draco.
She didn't hold any ill will toward her childhood intimidator
and had come to terms with the wide range of feelings she had
experienced for the man over their years of history.
She knew how much she had changed in the last five years
since the war ended, and assumed as much to be true about the
shivering man standing before her shivering.
What brings you in today, Draco? Hermione scan Draco's figure,
trying to look for any of the symptoms that would indicate the
suffering was from a different affliction.
She prayed for a cough or a hint of a rash.
Anything. This bloody chill.
I can't seem to beat it, so I figured I'd get checked out to
get ahead of it. He crossed his arms tighter
across his body in a failed attempt to corral his warmth
over his core. And how long have you had this
chill? Hermione could feel her thoughts
starting to gain momentum and skew towards spiraling.
Draco shrugged. Maybe a month or two, It's hard
to remember. Truthfully, she hoped it was
just a turn of phrase, an inability to recall the timeline
of his ailments solely due to being too busy to keep track.
But Draco's choice of words was cause for concern.
One of the first rules of being a Healer was prioritizing the
patient's emotions. Hermione closed her eyes for a
moment and slowly built up a wall of occlamacy within her
mind to shield Draco from the concern that had begun to flood
her own feelings. She kept it thin, not wanting to
lose her bedside manner. Hermione nodded and jotted down
a note in his intake form. Exhibiting symptoms of dark
magic malady. Hermione took in a deep breath
and plastered on another kind smile, veiling her concern from
Draco's unaware eyes. You're in luck.
We have a room open on this floor so I can get you checked
out right away. She led him a few doors down the
hall to an empty hospital room and gestured inside.
Hospital robes are here for you to change into.
Go ahead and get settled, and someone will be in soon to get
you all sorted out, all right? Draco's teeth were faintly
chattering as he nodded. But thank you.
Hermione turned to leave, but at the last second opted to add a
bold warning to his chart. After the conversation she had
had with her fellow healers, consistent monitoring is
required. Being one of the younger healers
in her rotation meant Hermione often had the largest slate of
patience, and today it was no exception.
She had wrapped up a gruelling 14 hour shift around 3:00 in the
morning that had been filled with treatments ranging from
mending bones to reversing hex damage.
The volume had her ending the day practically asleep on her
feet. Eager to get home and crawl into
bed, Hermione decided to take a shortcut through one of the
patient wards. The triage apparition point was
closest to her, meaning she would be that much closer to
sleep. As she made her way down the
darkened corridor, Hermione noticed a faint glow of light
under one of the doors. Her brows knitted together in
confusion. Curfew for patience had been
hours ago. There shouldn't be anyone still
awake at this hour. Hermione sighed softly and made
her way to the door, knowing she wouldn't be able to sleep that
night if she didn't address whatever concerns had a patient
up well into the middle of the night.
She knocked softly on the door and peeked her head in.
Everything all right in here on the bed?
A man was curled up on his side, facing the wall away from
Hermione. With a quiet groan, he rolled
over and forced himself to sit up.
Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach.
Draco looked far worse than he had when she'd seen him at the
start of her shift, his pale skin grayishly gaunt and the
bags under his eyes were unavoidable to look at.
Hey, Grainger. His voice was strained when he
spoke, as if it pained him to do so.
Judging by his appearance, it was possible it did.
She hurried over to him and placed a hand on the inside of
his wrist while the other went to his forehead.
Trigger's pulse felt somewhat normal by her standards, but his
skin was frigid. What are you still doing up?
You should be resting, Draco. Her voice was soft and teeming
with concern. She gently guided him back so
that he had the incline of the bed to support him.
He went without protest. I believe you said someone would
be in soon to sort me out. Damn it all to Merlin, Draco,
please tell me someone came in after I left.
It gave her a knowing look. Of course, nobody had come in to
check on him. Even if she hadn't expressed her
concerns about him having dark magic malady on his chart, any
jaded healer would have seen the Malfoy name on the patient list
and considered the quality of treatment they offered him.
The realization made her blood boil.
Hermione conjured a diagnostic chart over Draco's chest to get
a gauge of where his progress was.
Patient name Draco Lucius Malfoy age 22, Suspected diagnosis Dark
magic malady Diagnosis Status Level 3 Developing prognosis
poor. The anger in her system faded
immediately and was quickly replaced by a sickening twist of
devastation. Draco glanced up at her, a tired
attempt at resignation written across his face.
Don't beat around the Bush, Hermione.
You can say it. She was too tired to occlude
well, but she did her best for his sake.
Hermione shook her head dismissively.
Black cat flew. It looks like chills and
fatigue, and you're in the thick of it, unfortunately.
He sighed and shook his head. I read the papers, I know what's
been happening at Azkaban. Jacob looked down at the
hospital, blanket covering his lap.
His eyebrows knitted together, and Hermione watched as a
fragment of emotion broke through his generally composed
demeanour. And I have it too, don't I?
It wasn't a question. Hermione suspected he assumed
this to be the case prior to coming in today, but had hoped
for a different outcome. She glanced at the chart one
more time, looking at the glowing prognosis paw at the
bottom of it. She nodded a little.
I'm afraid so. Draco's eyes shut as he let out
a shaky breath. How long do I have?
Hermione reached over and placed a comforting hand on his.
The skin was cool to touch. She could only imagine how cold
he must be from the chill that accompanied this ailment.
Let's get you warmed up and we'll go from there, all right?
Several blankets and an enhanced warming charm later, Hermione
found herself sitting beside Draco's hospital bed, trying to
recount everything she knew about dark magic malady.
She knew little about Draco's involvement in the war other
than his proximity to Voldemort during the last two years of it.
Harry had mentioned in his testimony during Draco's trial
that his minimal use of Unforgivable Curses further
supported his innocence, which the jury had agreed with.
If Draco hadn't been on the dealing end of curses, that
could only mean he was on the receiving end.
Hermione felt herself grow faint at the thought.
Draco had been so tired during their 6th year, the bags under
his eyes continued to darken over the course of their
schooling. He was irritable, reclusive, and
terribly anxious each time she'd see him, to the point that his
hands often trembled in class while he worked.
It was easy to assume that it had all been the product of
stress he was under due to Voldemort's task for him.
With her medical training, Hermione re evaluated those
physical and behavioural expressions and felt her heart
sink. Every single one was a textbook
side effect of the Crusiatus Curse.
How many times had Draco been subjected to it for those traits
to carry on for the entirety of the school year?
You don't have to stay here, you know.
I'll be fine on my own. Draco said, pulling her from her
spiralling thoughts. It's no problem.
Besides, if I stay, it guarantees you'll get treatment.
Unfortunately, I can't promise that if I leave.
She shook her head dismissively, feeling the familiar anger at
the inequality of care emerge. Hermione would lodge a formal
complaint first thing in the morning against whoever was
assigned to Draco's care. Draco arched a brow in
amusement. I have to say, I enjoy being on
this side of the famed Hermione Granger protection detail.
She chuckled some and shook her head.
That's not a thing and you know it.
You're mad if you think it's not.
He took a shallow breath and forced himself to sit up.
Hermione could see the slight quiver in his muscles from the
exertion. I remember at some time during
5th year you had stormed your way into the dungeons, hell in
your eyes, to scold Pansy Parkinson for calling a first
year a MUD. Well, you remember you
practically tore the door off the hinges, demanding to be let
into the common room to see her. Hermione smiled at the memory.
Being in Dumbledore's Army that year had ignited a fierce level
of protection for not only her core group of friends, but also
those in need of defence. Pansy Parkinson's wrath paled in
comparison to Hermione Grangers, and she had been determined to
make sure Pansy experienced that first hand.
I think had Theodore not shown up even 2 minutes later, I may
have throttled her, hexed her at the very least.
She covered her face with her hands, flushing slightly with
embarrassment. I was a bit of a Spitfire that
year. Draco pinched 2 fingers together
and crinkled an eye a smidge. He laughed a little, and
Hermione noted how frail it sounded.
It was missing the distinct aristocratic drawl he maintained
during their childhood. Speaking of not, there was also
that time the two of you went toe to toe in the Great Hall
because he wouldn't stop pestering Weasely about how
terrible the Keeper he was on the pitch.
Now that was a shouting match. Hermione smile faltered.
What? I think it was 7th year after
one of those house scrimmages, Drake.
Her thought on it for a moment and then nodded.
Yes, sometime in the winter of one of those oddball pickup
matches. She did her best not to grow
concerned, but her heart steadily picked up its pace as
he provided more fictitious details.
Draco, I wasn't at Hogwarts during 7th year, remember?
Do you possibly mean sixth year? Or perhaps it's someone else
you're thinking of? Hermione gave him an encouraging
nod, trying to coax him and to remember incorrectly, but Draco
remained firm. No, it was definitely 7th year,
and it was most certainly you. I'd remembered those curls and
that fury anywhere. He reclined back onto the bed
again, letting his eyes fall shut with little effort, as if
to replay the made-up memory in his mind.
Draco's diagnostic report had said that his malady progression
was already at Level 3, but seeing the deterioration of his
memory to this extent tugged at her heart.
You're right, how could I forget?
She reached over and gently squeezed his forearm even under
the hospital robes. She could feel how much colder
his skin had grown since she had arrived at his room.
He nodded, eyes still shut, and pulled the blankets around him a
little tighter. Why don't you get some rest, all
right? Draco stayed quiet for several
moments, and Hermione thought that he might have already
drifted off to sleep. His eyes peaked open
lethargically and he glanced over at her.
Would you stay if I did? She agreed without giving it a
second thought. He studied her face for a
moment, perhaps trying to gauge her truthfulness, before giving
her a curt nod and closing his eyes once more.
Hermione leaned back on her seat beside his bed and made herself
comfortable. She had no intentions of leaving
Draco's side. It was clear that whatever time
he had left was ticking by faster than even he was aware,
and the idea that he would be alone for any of it felt
unacceptable to her. Not when she may be the only
person that sent Mungo's willing to give him the palliative care
he so desperately needed. Drico drifted off almost after
they'd finished talking, giving Hermione some time to drop her
occlemency and be alone with her thoughts.
While she may have been neutral about Draco prior to his arrival
at Saint Mungo's, she was no stranger to holding a wide range
of emotion for him throughout the years.
He had been one of the first people to unlock some of her
more volatile feelings, such as hurt, frustration, and anger.
Those early years of knowing one another were littered with
emotions on that spectrum. Somewhere during 4th year she
felt anew enamoured. Emotion burgeon that had been
hard to come to terms with at the time.
In hindsight, Hermione attributed it to increased
hormones and a particularly rose tinged memory of the way Draco
had looked at the Yaw ball. Since then it had stretched and
morphed into compassion, concern, pity, and a slew of
other emotions over the years that had seemed to centre around
care for the Malfoy air. Hermione wasn't sure what to
call the feeling she had now. It seemed to be nestled
somewhere between regret and melancholy. 22 was so young.
Draco had so much life ahead of him, and the thought that that
might be cut short due to a mistake he made as a boy felt
cruel. He had no time to show the world
that he was capable of being more than who he was back then.
She rested her forehead on the side of his bed, frustrated with
the hand that Draker had been dealt and all that he had been
subjected to from such a young age.
Some time later, a soft groaning noise grabbed Hermione's
attention. She lifted her head from the bed
to see Draco stirring restlessly in his sleep.
She placed a soothing hand on his shoulder and stroked it
softly in an attempt to comfort him while he rested.
Hermione nearly recoiled at the icy feel of his body beneath her
hand. Oh, Draco, she said softly to
herself, dreading the way his diagnosis was progressing right
in front of her eyes. He whimpered softly, and
Hermione felt a surge of pain in her chest at the noise.
His distress was palpable even in his sleep.
Treko, can you wake for me? Let me give you something to
make you more comfortable. She kept her voice low as she
tried to rouse him awake. After a few gentle nudges, his
eyes finally opened, a grimace on his face.
Welcome back. She said, building back up and
occluding wall once again and putting on her best healer,
Hermione Granger smile. He groaned and shook his head.
How is it possible to feel even worse than I did before falling
asleep? Dark magic malady hits every
part of your body I'm afraid, and so discomfort is incredibly
common. She reached over her bag and
pulled out a small vial of an enhanced Pepper Up potion.
This should help some. She said.
She held it up to Draco, asking permission to administer.
He nodded and parted his lips slightly for her.
Hermione placed her hand on Draco's cheek and used the other
to bring the vial to his mouth, carefully tipping it back into
his mouth for him. Even after he swallowed it and
Hermione put the vial away, she found herself frozen in that
position, her hand resting on his cheek as she looked down at
him. His eyes stayed locked with
hers, filled with a vibrancy that was disproportionate to the
rest of his body. She allowed herself to swipe her
thumb once along his cheekbone before nodding and taking her
seat beside his bed once more. Draco let out a sigh of relief
as the pain relieving properties started to take effect.
MMM, thank you. He said, the tension melting out
of his voice as he spoke. Would you mind casting another
warming spell? I think this one has worn off,
Hermione, but her lip unsure how to proceed.
Her initial warming spell had been cast with a potent stasis
charm to ensure it didn't wane throughout the night.
It should have still been in full effect.
Let's try a different approach. Instead.
We have these lovely Muggle warming blankets that are just
as effective. Hermione summoned one from the
closet in Draco's hospital room and plugged in the electric
blanket beside his bed. She carefully draped it over
him, doing her best to make sure his core was adequately covered.
How's that? He hummed in appreciation and
nodded. MMM, better.
Hermione didn't want to, but she knew she needed to check on his
chart again to see how he was progressing.
She wanted to believe that there would be some positive momentum
with rest and some pain relief, but deep down she wasn't so
sure. She conjured it anyway and held
her breath. Patient name Draco Lucius
Malfoy, age 22, suspected diagnosis.
Dark magic malady diagnosis, status Level 3, developing
prognosis. Grim.
Her breath caught in her throat, and Draco noticed immediately.
Would you like to tell me, or would you prefer to pretend it's
not as bad as I know it is? Hermione shook her head a
little, doing her best to stave off his concern.
You did wait at least a month before coming in.
Treatment won't work overnight. She looked over at the clock,
watching as the hand ticked towards 4:15 in the morning.
We just need time, that's all. Drika turned his attention to
the ceiling and huffed out a wry laugh.
This is just bloody perfect, you know that?
Hermione turned to look at him. She could sense his comment was
mostly rhetorical, but she decided to press anyway.
Why is that? He closed his eyes and gave a
small, incredulous shake of his head.
I was doing better. Drika's head lulled to the side
as he looked at Hermione. I had forgiven myself for my
past, and I was ready to start making amends.
His expression was pained and tinged with grief.
What's? I plan to send you an owl about
meeting for tea next week to see if we could talk.
No, I probably won't even make it that far, Draco.
She chided softly. Don't talk like that.
He gestured feebly towards her. All right, you've seen my chart,
so you tell me, Can we have tea together next week?
If she were honest with herself, she didn't think she could have
tea with him even if they moved it up to a few days from now.
Hermione shook her head. No, but only because I don't
particularly want to have tea with you.
I'm more of a coffee person. A glint of a smirk crossed his
face, and she did her best to memorize how it lit up in his
eyes. Drico rolled his lips into his
mouth as he thought. Can I apologize unto you?
A different sort of ache resonated in Hermione's chest.
She had made peace with her upbringing and the tribulations
of war. She'd been able to separate the
actions from the people and could, to an extent, understand
that their decisions were informed by beliefs that they
thought to be true. People are inherently easy to
influence, and unfortunately for some, those who do the
influencing are not always the ones who should be in positions
to do so. She had forgiven those who had
hurt her to release herself of the painful emotions tied to
those years of her life. Draco was one of the very first
to receive that pardon. There's nothing to apologize
for. I've already forgiven you.
He reached for her hand and weakly squeezed it within his
own. Hermione, please let me do this.
Draco swallowed thickly and looked into her eyes.
I may not get to make amends with the others I have heard,
but please let me be worthy of the forgiveness you've given me.
Hermione pulled her bottom lip into her mouth to prevent any
sounds of heartbreak escaping. She nodded and squeezed his hand
in return. Just before he spoke, Hermione
decided to take down her occulancy walls entirely,
wanting to feel his apology for all that it was.
I wish I had stayed in contact with you after the war.
I would have loved to see all the steps you took in your life
to become this version of you. He looked down at their joint
hands, then back up to her eyes. I kept tabs to make sure the
aftermath of the war didn't force you into the darkness like
it did me. You always had such brightness
about you growing up. It used to drive me mad that you
never lost your lustre, even as I'd lobby horrible words at you
at every chance I could. Draco took a shallow breath.
I was so fascinated with you. You represented something I was
meant to hate about the world. For a while, I assumed that's
why I was so cruel to you back then.
It wasn't though. Hermione felt her body
physically react in confusion. If that's not why, then why were
you? I was grueled you because I was
so terribly aware that my fascination stemmed from a
pining fondness for you, and I knew it went against everything
I had been taught. I did it to punish myself for
having those feelings. I'd hoped that making you hate
me would burn the infatuation right out of me.
Draco made an effort to shrug. It made sense at the time, but I
know now just how daft ever thought process that was,
especially when it caused unspeakable amounts of pain to
you. Drako took in a wistful breath
and looked earnestly into her eyes.
I'm sorry, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive
me. After he finished speaking,
Drinker's eyes fluttered shut for a few moments before he
fought to open them again. The length of his confession
seemed to have tired him beyond measure.
Hermione's mind reeled at both the apology and the confession
he had woven into it. I had no idea you felt that way.
Was all she managed to say. He let out a breathy laugh and
nodded. Then I succeeded.
With her free hand, Hermione covered their joint hands and
smoothed his cold skin with her thumb.
She felt a tightness in her throat as she thought of the
younger Draco struggling with having feelings for a muggle
born witch and being so desperate to rid himself of
those thoughts. Behind all of the pain that
she'd been on the receiving end of was a lost child trying to
make sense of what he felt and what he'd been taught to
believe, never able to reconcile the two halves.
I forgive you for all of it, Draco.
She watched as his body noticeably relaxed at her
forgiveness. I can't tell you how long I've
wandered to hear you say that. Hermione felt her eyes start to
water with his statement. The fact that he'd been holding
on to the weight of his transgressions against her up
until that moment flooded her with grief.
How many other burdens was he bearing in the face of death
itself? What unpaid debts would he be
taking to the grave with him? Hermione.
He said softly after several quiet minutes, barely disrupting
the silence of the room. Hmm.
She hummed in response. I'm so tired.
She held his hand tighter and nodded despite his inability to
see it behind his closed eyes. Go back to sleep, all right?
You need to rest. He nodded in agreement and let
his breathing slow as he relaxed even further.
Would you humor me just this once with something?
Hermione was certain she'd find a way to give him anything he
asked for if it meant bringing him some comfort.
Anything. She said earnestly.
Draco was silent for several moments, and she feared he had
drifted back to sleep without getting to voice his request.
Will you lay with me? Draco finally said.
He added as a justification, just to keep the cold at Bay.
To keep the cold at Bay? Hermione repeated in agreement.
Neither believed it to be the reason or the solution, but she
slid into his bed regardless. Hermione gingerly rested her
head against his shoulder and let her arm curl against his
side. He shifted silently, allowing
himself to lean into her presence in the hospital bed.
Despite his need for warmth. Draco pulled an arm out from
under his heated blanket and draped it across himself and
some of Hermione. She shivered at the icy cold
touch of his skin, but allowed him to rest his hand on her
side. They stayed in comfortable
silence as the clock ticked, providing a faint thrumming in
the sterilized hospital room. Hermione's hand shifted from
being tucked into his side, displaying out across his chest
so she could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
I used to imagine what this would feel like.
He confessed softly. Hermione nodded and felt herself
lean further into him. I did too.
Drika's head shifted to look down at her with a trace of
surprise on his sleep worn face. Did you?
She felt her cheeks flush at the school age confession, but
nodded all the same. Quite a bit during 4th year and
a few times during 5th. A surprise laugh made its way
out of Draco, and Hermione rubbed his chest softly as the
rumbles echoed through it. If only I'd know then what I
know now. Hermione nodded in agreement but
tried not to let herself think of how different their lives
could have been if they'd been braver and confronted their
childhood crushes instead of suppressing them.
How different would the choices they made be if they'd had one
another in a different life? They might be lying side by side
in a bed they shared within a home they owned instead of
clinging to what ifs beside each other in a hospital bed.
I know I'm dying, Granger. She tensed and shook her head.
You aren't. Please just tell me how long.
His quiet pleas were almost enough to make Hermione build an
occupancy wall as strong as goblin wrought silver to avoid
feeling the impending grief that threatened to overtake her.
Her hand moved up his chest to his neck, and then his cheek.
You have plenty of time. When I go home today, I'm going
to put a date on my calendar to meet you for tea next Friday,
all right? He could see right through her
words, she knew that, but watched as he nodded anyway.
Whatever you say, Granger. Hermione waited for him to close
his eyes and settle onto his pillow once more before casting
another diagnostic charm to check his progress.
Patient name. Draco Lucius Malfoy age 22
Suspected diagnosis Dark magic malady diagnosis Status Level 4
developing prognosis terminal. Hermione returned her hand to
Draco's face and smoothed her thumb along his cheek, feeling
the cold practically radiating out of him.
I'll be here when you wake up. Without her defenses, Hermione
was left to the mercy of her emotions.
She was losing Draco when he wasn't hers to lose.
He'd been through so much, and just as he was on the verge of
turning things around, time was being stolen for him in
horrifying amounts. Thank you, Hermione.
He murmured softly, lips barely moving as he spoke.
Had she not been resting so close to him, she was certain
she would not have heard it. Thank you for being kind when
you didn't need to be. The tears threatened to fall
from Hermione's eyes, but she wouldn't let them, not now.
Instead, she angled her head up and pressed a gentle kiss to his
temple. You deserved so much more,
Draco. Her forehead stilled against the
side of his head briefly. So much more.
She could just make out the slightest upturn of his lips,
smiling at her words as he let sleep take him once again.
Hermione didn't leave his side, just as she promised.
She listened to him breathe as he slept, studying the way his
chest rose and fell into the early hours of the morning.
Her hand rubbed his chest soothingly, trying to encourage
heat to generate even as his temperature dropped further with
each passing hour. Hermione knew the exact time
that Draco died. Her eyes went to the clock when
he let out a breath that never returned. 7:19 AM.
Draco's body was still beside her, cold and unmoving, but she
allowed herself to shift closer to his temple once again.
Her hand reached for the one that sat limp on her waist,
pulled it into her chest as she whispered as many fond words as
she could think of to make Draco feel more appreciated in death
than he ever did in life. If she stayed here beside him in
bed, tucked into his side, she could pretend that he was still
with her. So she did exactly that.
Hermione closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine that
they were in a bed in a house that they shared, somewhere far
away from Saint Mungo's. Their alarms would go off, but
for now, they would stay in bed and sleep a little longer.
Thank you for listening to you Cold As You by Silver Dragon
Gemini, narrated by Briar and Tones.
As always, make sure to head over to AO3 and give the author
a big fat wet kudos. They earned it and see you soon.
Bye.