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Soft morning light filtered through the curtains of their Santorini hotel room. Just beyond them, the sun was beginning to rise over the alabaster buildings and aquamarine sea, signaling the start to what promised to be a gorgeous day, perfect for swimming, sunbathing, and strolling hand-in-hand.
In other words, the perfect honeymoon.
A satisfied grin spread across Draco’s face. He’d actually done it—planned it all on his own. All the months of stress and secret-keeping had been worth it. The moment their portkey landed, Hermione’s face lit up as she took in the Mediterranean paradise.
She’d been so touched by his thoughtfulness that he’d been rewarded with the best blowjob of his life followed by several hours of making love to his new wife. Draco’s muscles were jelly, his body still sated from the night before.
He now had a lovely day in the sun to look forward to followed by another exhausting night in bed. If it was fully up to him, they’d spend most of their trip in bed. Perhaps even in the shower or out on the balcony if he was really lucky.
Because he was lucky. The luckiest sodding bastard in the world.
Draco rolled over in bed to drink in the sight of his lovely wife. He could hardly believe that she’d agreed to be with him, let alone marry him. After all he’d put her through in their childhood, it could easily be considered a miracle that this gorgeous witch kissed him every day and took his last name.
This bloody gorgeous witch was all his.
And he was entirely hers.
He really was the luckiest sodding bastard. Not just in the world, but in the whole universe.
He’d had similar thoughts yesterday at the altar. Only that time, they had made him cry.
Love swelled in his chest as he drank in her sleeping form. Draco’s eyes swept over the curls he’d once made fun of, now spread like a halo across her pillow. He stared at her long eyelashes and the curve of her nose; at her delicate earlobes and her kissable, rosy lips.
Just the thought of spending every moment with Hermione was enough to make him feel a kind of happiness that was new to him, the kind of happiness that filled him completely, stretching all through him and chasing away any doubts that still lingered around the edges of his mind.
As Draco continued to stare, he couldn’t help but notice that Hermione hadn’t stirred yet. She was normally one to rise with the sun. A morning person in every sense of the word. If they had been at home, she would have been up by now, puttering around the kitchen preparing coffee.
Even on holiday, he expected her eyes to flutter open in the early morning sunshine by now, a smile growing on her face as she whispered, “Good morning, love.”
But she didn’t do any of those things. Instead, she laid perfectly still, her chest unmoving.
Draco’s eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on the tanned skin above Hermione’s breasts. Surely, if he looked long enough he would see movement there and be reassured.
He stared.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Twenty seconds.
Unrest settled in Draco’s stomach. His heart beat heavier and he swallowed thickly as he waited on a precipice, sure his wife’s chest would start moving any second.
She was fine. She had to be. They had just gotten married yesterday. This wasn’t what happened right after people got married. They didn’t just go and… and…
It seemed so absurd. He reached forward and gently nudged her side, where she was ticklish. He waited for her to stir, to bat his hand away.
Nothing.
Concern turned to full-fledged panic.
Draco’s thoughts raced as he tried to piece together what to do. Should he Floo St. Mungo’s? Or perhaps reach out to local medi-witches or dopplers or whatever they were called. Maybe that would be faster. If Hermione wasn’t breathing, she had to get help immediately.
Adrenaline mounted inside him. He sat bolt upright, ready to spring into some sort of emergency action. He couldn’t lose his wife. Not like this. Not when they had so much waiting for them in life.
Fumbling for the room phone, Draco dialed zero to reach the lobby. Hermione had shown him how to use a telephone, thankfully, and he had a quick exchange with the concierge. Though he didn’t remember most of the words he spoke, he did remember the man on the other end assuring him that help would be sent up immediately.
As soon as he hung up, Draco was back at Hermione’s side, hovering close, almost afraid to touch her. What if she really was… gone?
But he had to be brave. She was going to be just fine.
Surely, there was something he could do while he waited for help to arrive. Stretching a shaking hand out, he placed two fingers on the side of her neck and waited.
“Draco Malfoy, what the hell are you doing?”
Hermione’s eyes shot open and relief coursed through his veins.
He froze, hand outstretched, brain struggling to catch up, and he suddenly felt like the biggest fool.
How had he forgotten that Hrmione just slept like the dead?
He had to play it cool. Like he hadn’t panicked and called for medical help.
Draco decided to play it off as a joke.
“I was just checking to see if you had a pulse, darling.” He threw a wink in her direction.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Very funny. Now come on! I heard there’s a fabulous old bookshop nearby.”
As she rolled off the bed and crossed the room, Draco clutched at his heart and took deep breaths. He wanted to crawl back into bed and start the day over again.
“Draco?”
“Yes, love?”
“Why are there paramedics with a gurney outside our door?”
Draco burrowed further under the covers. So much for the perfect honeymoon.