Chapter 3 - Granger

“...slips her arm through his and gives him a peck on the cheek. Then turns to me, like she’s only just noticed I was standing there and says, ‘So, you must be Bill’s little sister.’ Can you believe that?”

Had she not been standing in that same position, hands on her hips, feet braced, ready for a fight, he wouldn’t have recognized her. Hermione’s hair was cut short and dyed a deep burgundy. She wore stylish glasses and Draco thought she must have gone blind from staring at so many old tomes during her days at Hogwarts. But when she removed her coat, he saw what had to be the biggest change. Hermione Granger had gotten herself a pair of breasts. She was no longer the flat-chested, bushy-haired Gryffindor he had loathed and envied during Hogwarts. Hermione Granger was a woman and the thought had him smothering his laughter in his palm.

“What did you do?” Harry’s eyes were fixed on her but she looked away. “Tell me,” he prodded, grabbing her chin and giving her no choice but to look at him. “What. Did. You. Do?” She mumbled some sort of reply but it wasn’t enough. “What was that, Granger?”

“I slashed his tires. Okay?”

“You didn’t.” Potter didn’t look in the least bit shocked and Draco thought this must not have been the first time she had pulled such a stunt.

“Yes I did. And you know what? I’m not the least bit sorry!” She plopped down on the couch.

“You need to go back, Mione, and apologize.” There was a flash of anger in her eyes.

“Don’t you ever call me that. You know how I feel about that name.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” There was a moment of contemplative silence before Harry spoke again. “Look, stay for dinner. You can fill me in on everything that’s been going on and then you can go home and apologize. Sound good?” There was mutinous look in her eyes but she nodded anyway. “Good,” Harry began. “But first I need to tell you something. I have a guest...someone...well, someone from the past, you could say.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up and she moved closer to the edge of the couch. “Who? Oh, is it Dean? Hannah? Don’t tell me, it’s Ginny, isn’t it?” Harry laughed.

“No. None of them. Actually, it’s not really someone you’d expect, or like for that matter.”

“Well, who is it?”

Harry’s hesitation was obvious as he shot a quick glance to the hall where Draco was hiding. He flattened himself against the wall, hoping he hadn’t been caught eavesdropping.

“You can come out, Malfoy.”

“Damn,” he muttered as he steeled himself to face them. He could hear Granger’s voice from the other room. She was talking rather slowly, annunciating each word as if Potter were a child and she was explaining something to him for the twelfth time because he just didn’t get it.

 “But he’s dead, Harry. We’ve gone over this a million times. There was a funeral, remember? Draco Malfoy is dead.”

“So I keep hearing,” Draco drawled as he stepped out of the hallway and into the living room. “But as you can see, I’m very much alive. Hello, Granger.” He felt like he was sixteen again as he let his trademark smirk cross his lips.

She looked from Draco to Harry and then back to Draco again before crossing the room and stopping only inches from him. He raised an eyebrow, half expecting her to pinch him and see if he was real, when her hand connected hard with the soft skin of his cheek. The force was enough to make him wobble for a moment. When he regained his balance, he brought a hand up to the burning skin and glared at her.

“What the fuck was that for, Granger?”

“You bastard!” She lunged forward but a strong arm around her middle stopped her. “Do you know what he went through? What I went through? Do you know what you did making everyone believe you were dead? How could you? How could you? You coward!” She pointed an accusing finger at him.

“He doesn’t know,” Harry murmured into her ear. “He didn’t even know about the funeral. He doesn’t know.” Her body relaxed at his words and she pulled herself out of his arms and collapsed onto the armchair behind her.

“Oh god,” she breathed as she buried her face in her hands.

Draco looked from Hermione to Harry, confused. What were they talking about? Why would his death affect either one of them? “Potter, I–” But he never finished his sentence as he felt his knees buckle beneath him. Harry caught him under the arms before he fell and held him up.

“Malfoy? Hey, are you okay?” Draco looked up to find Harry staring at him with that same concerned look he had given him in the church.

“I just need to lie down,” he answered weakly.

Harry nodded then led him over to the couch. Draco lay down, ignoring the slack-jawed look Hermione sent their way. Potter grabbed the crocheted blanket that lay over the back of the sofa and placed it gently over Draco. He sat down on the arm and began to run his hands through the blond’s hair.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered. Draco knew he shouldn’t, knew closing his eyes and making himself vulnerable was not a smart move, but he was so tired and Harry’s hand was soothing. Reluctantly, Draco closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

~*~

“But you don’t, do you?”

Hermione’s voice drifted his way and roused Draco. He had felt so utterly relaxed after his nap that he had woken with a smile on his face. But at the woman’s words, he promptly shut his lids and listened closely.

“I don’t know. Do you know what it’s like to find out he’s alive? I still can’t believe it.” Harry’s voice was soft. The sound of dishes being removed from a cabinet were heard before he spoke again. “It hurts, Hermione. It hurts so much after all these years.”

“I know, Harry,” she soothed. “I know.”

When there was nothing but silence coming from the kitchen, he decided it was about time he got up. He made his way quietly over to the kitchen door and thought that this had to be the strangest three days of his life. Running into Potter, finding out the whole wizarding world thinks he’s dead, and now Granger’s maniacal outbursts. When was someone going to tell him what the hell was going on?

The site that greeted him in the kitchen didn’t help either. The two ex-Gryffindors were wrapped up in each others arms, Hermione’s face buried in Harry’s chest and his in her hair. It wasn’t a romantic moment, but no less intimate. They looked morose. As if they were sharing some loss, Draco contemplated. He watched them for a moment, torn between awe at the tenderness between them and envy that it was Granger sharing that moment with Harry and not him. But it seemed the latter was taking over and he cleared his throat, shattering the stillness.

“Malfoy, you’re awake.” She pulled herself away from Harry and he was surprised to not see a blush gracing her cheeks. The old Hermione sure would have had one.

“Yes, Granger. It would seem that way, wouldn’t it?” he drawled. He could see Potter rolling his eyes and had to fight the smile that was threatening to overtake him. “Now, is dinner done or will I have to starve for another hour?”

“It’ll be done in a minute, Malfoy. How are you feeling? You’re looking a bit peaky. Maybe you should go lie down and I’ll bring you your food in your room.”

“What? Do I look like a child to you, Potter? I’m fine,” he retorted. He didn’t want to be treated like an invalid. He had survived the last ten years on the streets by not showing any weakness and he never would. “I’ll be in the dining room, waiting for my dinner,” he threw haughtily over his shoulder as he stormed off.

“Still the same old ‘mightier than thou’ Malfoy we always knew, isn’t he?” he heard Hermione say behind him. Harry’s hearty laughter followed him out of the room.

Draco violently wrenched the wooden chair out from the table and dropped down onto it. He was not weak. He was not. Now, he just had to convince Harry of it.

When Potter appeared in the doorway carrying plates and glasses, he stopped for a moment to stare at Draco. The blond raised an eyebrow but Potter shook his head and finally entered. He placed two settings on one side for him and Hermione, then came around to the other side. Standing behind Draco, he leaned forward over his shoulders and placed a glass and plate in front of him. As he leaned back, he put both hands on Draco’s shoulders.

“Be nice to Granger, Malfoy,” he whispered in the man’s ear, hot breath tickling the soft skin. Draco nodded obediently and then cursed himself silently for it. He was so easily manipulated by Potter, so easily swayed and he doubted the other man even knew it.

Granger entered with two bowls of food and placed them on the table before heading back into the kitchen. Harry the took a seat across from him and started piling food onto his plate with a ravenous look. Noticing Draco made no move to start eating, he spoke.

“Thought you were hungry?” The question earned him a glare as the blond started scooping the pasta onto his plate. Hermione entered again, a plate of rolls in her hand. Once they were all settled and eating, Draco initiated the conversation.

“So where’s the other member of the Golden Trio? Don’t tell me he’s run off and gotten married to someone other than you, Granger. With the way you two swooned over each other at school, I’m surprised you don’t have a bunch of red-headed brats in tow.” He took a sip of his wine, oblivious to the seething looks the other two shot his way. “Perhaps Weasley’s at home babysitting?” The chuckle died on his lips the second he glanced up. Both Potter and Granger looked ready to kill him. “What?” he asked, truly confused.

“Always have to go and ruin everything, don’t you, Malfoy?”

Potter ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Draco, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what he had done.

“What?” he asked again, this time a little annoyed.

“Thanks for dinner, Harry.” Hermione pushed her chair back and stood up.

“Hermione, don’t go,” Harry pleaded, a hand on her arm. She took one long look at Draco and shook her head.

“I need to be getting back anyway. Bill and all.”

He nodded. “Don’t be a stranger, Granger,” he added, grinning.

“You’re such a nerd, Potter,” she said laughing, as she kissed him on the cheek. She grabbed her jacket and pulled something out of her pocket then turned to Draco. “Malfoy,” she said and nodded before disappearing into thin air.

Harry stood staring at the spot Granger had just disappeared from for a moment before heading back towards the table and starting to gather up the dishes. Draco stood to help, stacking his plate on top of the other two.

“Don’t.” Harry’s hand gripped Draco’s wrist. He looked up to find the green eyes staring back at him coldly. “You’ve done enough tonight.”

Draco stared open-mouthed as he disappeared into the kitchen. He still didn’t understand what had gone wrong. Why was Harry mad at him? Frustrated, he stalked off to his room. He was already settled into bed and half-asleep when he heard muffled footsteps outside his room. The door creaked open and Harry crept in. Draco watched the shadowy shape made its way across the room and then onto the bed beside him.

“You have to understand,” Harry said quietly, “that a lot of things happened. Bad things. It wasn’t easy. And finding out you’re alive is quite a shock. For ten years we thought you were gone. And now you’re here and it’s a little confusing.”

“I understand that. What I don’t get is what I said to make Granger so mad that she felt she had to leave.”

A sigh and then, “You shouldn’t have said anything about Weasley. Things didn’t exactly end on good terms between the three of us. We never mention his name and when you did, well..it brought up some not-so-happy memories, you could say. It’s not your fault of course and I’m sorry that I snapped at you. You didn’t know. Anyway, he ended up dying in the war.”

“Oh.” He had no idea what to say. There seemed to be something else Potter wanted to say, but for some reason or another was holding back. Draco decided that if he wanted to tell him, he eventually would. Right now there was another question he wanted answered. “Why do you call each other by your last names? You never did that before.”

“Something happened at the start of the war, something that changed everything between us. It wasn’t pleasant.” Harry was lying on his back, eyes closed, one arm behind his head. “We couldn’t even bare to look at each other after that. When Dumbledore set us to working together on some protection spells, we had no choice but to communicate. Since we had lost the familiarity that we once shared, we started calling each other by our last names. It stayed that way until the end of the war.”

“What happened then?”

“During the final battle, I was almost killed. That’s what the scar was from. She saved me that day and I’ll never be able to thank her for that.” His voice was full of emotion. “Eventually, we started calling each other by our given names again, but the last names thing stuck, so we kept it.”

It was an odd sort of moment. The two of them lying in bed together, no sarcasm, no uncomfortable silences, just relaxed and open. And to Draco, it felt like something they had done a hundred times before.

Draco removed his arm from the warmth of the blankets to push a stray lock of hair out of his face when he accidently bumped Harry’s own.

“Malfoy, you’re burning up!” A hand was brought to his cheek, then his forehead as Harry confirmed his suspicions.

Draco said nothing, just pushed the lock of hair out of his eyes. Potter threw the covers off the bed and whispered something under his breath. A bowl of water and a washcloth appeared on the night stand. Leaning over, he soaked the cloth for a minute in the cool water before setting it on Draco’s forehead.

“Malfoy? Malfoy, can you hear me?”

Draco’s eyes had fluttered shut moments earlier. He gave a small nod.

“Good, I need you to stay with me, Malfoy. Listen to me. I’m going to have to draw the fever down from your head. Okay?”

“I’m not dying, Potter,” his said dryly. Potter was making this out as a life or death situation and Draco found himself nothing but amused.

He could hear Harry shuffling about him and then the cloth was removed from his forehead. There was a splash as it was dipped into the water and then a moment later, the cool water was being swiped across his forehead and cheeks, down his neck, arms and legs. The process was repeated three more times. Each ministration stripped a layer of heat from his skin, the bare flesh tingling as the cool air hit it. And when Harry stopped, a part of him wished he would keep going.

The room became silent. He wondered if Potter had given up on him and left, when the mattress suddenly dipped beside him. Forcing his eyes open, he found Harry staring at him.

“Come here,” he said softly. Draco did what he was told, turning onto his side. “Body heat. We need to keep you warm so we can break the fever,” he said by way of explanation as he pulled the covers over them. Draco let his eyes flutter shut and snuggled in closer to Harry.

“Why are you doing this?” The words he had been wanting to ask all day finally spilled from his lips.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered, arms encircling Draco. “I guess I have my reasons.”

“Do you still hate me, Potter?” He didn’t know what had made him ask.

“I haven’t hated you for a long time, Malfoy. And you?” he ended with a yawn.

“No.” There was silence for a few minutes before Draco spoke again. “I don’t think I ever really hated you, Potter.” He held his breath waiting for some sort of response but when the room remained silent, Draco opened his eyes to find Potter had already drifted off to sleep.