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The pain in Draco’s chest wakes him. Deep lacerations that Snape had attempted to heal – that Pomfrey had blanched over – that feel as though they’re still bleeding under the thick bandages. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to grimace too deeply, tries not to move lest it causes another wave of agony.
“Are you awake?” Pansy’s voice. A hand on his forehead, gentle and cool.
“No,” Draco grumbles, half-opening his eyes to glance around the bed.
He can see the dark cut of her hair – Theo and Blaise as half-defined shapes behind her. And on the other side of the bed – Draco opening his eyes properly to see – is Hermione, clutching at her elbows and looking stricken and pale.
Draco flicks his gaze to Pansy and then towards Hermione again. An unspoken question as his fingers twitch against the sheets.
“She won’t leave,” Theo announces. “We tried.” He glares across the bed towards her, but Hermione avoids his gaze.
Her fingers tighten around her elbows as Draco sits up against the pillows. His chest burns – his stomach’s on fire – everything hurts – but if she’s here then he ought to keep some composure. Not just lie on his back like a pathetic weakling.
“I wanted to apologise,” she mutters, and she lifts her head to meet Draco’s stare. “What Harry did is unconscionable.”
“That’s it?” Pansy points across him and towards Hermione. “A shitty little apology? He almost died, you Gryffindor bitch.”
“I didn’t cast the spell.” Hermione’s gaze flickers from him to Pansy and her brows narrow. “And I’ve sat here for hours and listened to you complain about me as though I’m not even here, Parkinson, so shove off.”
He can’t remember her being so angry before – not at Pansy, at least. Draco lifts his hand – thank Merlin his forearm is bandaged too – and waves Pansy off before she starts a tirade.
“Look, give us a few minutes, okay?” Draco’s voice is thick and he desperately wants a glass of water.
Pansy huffs as she gets to her feet. “Fine. Be alone with your snotty girlfriend.”
Blaise and Theo flank her as she leaves and Draco rolls his eyes at their retreating backs. Theo turns and gives him a thumbs up, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Hermione relaxes – slightly – as the other Slytherins leave. She fusses with getting him a glass of water – a paper straw – holding it to his mouth and studiously pretending she’s not.
“I really am sorry,” Hermione murmurs as Draco gingerly sips at the water. “Madam Pomfrey said that you’ll always have scars.”
“Suppose they’ll make me rather dashing,” Draco grumbles. “Thanks.”
She puts the empty cup down and laces her fingers together. “I thought – there was so much blood – I was so afraid Harry had killed you.” Her voice trails off to a weak whisper as Hermione leans over and touches her fingers to his cheek. “You look ghastly.”
“Always so complimentary.” Draco closes his eyes and leans into her touch. A thought snakes into him, one he can’t shake off as he chews at his bottom lip. “Who were you more afraid for?” He opens his eyes to see her looking down at him, her eyebrow raised. “Me or him?”
“Draco,” Hermione says, pressing against the bed and leaning down over him. “I don’t want to have this argument again-“
“I’m not arguing,” Draco protests. “I’m just wondering.”
Hermione glances around and then presses her forehead to his. She’s warm, always so fucking warm that he curls towards her like a snake seeks the sun. Lifts a hand to twist through the ends of her hair that skim across the bed. “I wanted to kill him,” she admits in a whisper. “I was so angry, Draco.”
He knows that if it ever comes down to it, she’ll choose Potter. He’s the chosen one, the golden boy, the sun that they all revolve around. Draco is – at best – just the moon she enjoys staring at during the night, a reflected gleam in the darkness. But it makes him feel better all the same, knowing that she was furious on his behalf.
“You know,” Draco murmurs as he lifts his other hand and runs his fingertips over Hermione’s bare arm, “I’ve got all these wounds that need to be kissed better.”
“Stop,” Hermione grumbles, gently – featherlight – hitting his shoulder. “Your friends are right over there and you’re in a hospital bed-“
He leans up and kisses her. Cuts her off and gets an annoyed huff of air against his mouth for the effort.
But then she kisses him back, delicate and sweet, and it’s hard to resent Potter when Hermione is kissing him. When she’s here brushing Draco’s hair away from his forehead and half-sitting on the bed just to kiss him again, until Pansy groans and grumbles and Hermione blushes and lifts her head away.
“Don’t expect the same from all of us, mate,” Theo says with a grin as he steps back up beside the bed. “I don’t think Granger will enjoy sharing.”
Hermione flushes even redder than her Gryffindor tie. “Right – I’ll just – I’ll be back later.” She flusters as she grabs her bag and smooths down her hair. “Feel better, Draco.” She holds his gaze for a moment, smiling at him, and then Pansy snorts and she leaves in a whirlwind of hair and awkwardness.
“Honestly,” Pansy grumbles, “I don’t know what you see in her.”
Draco closes his eyes. There’s no point in telling her that Hermione is the sunshine – light and happiness and all the things he’s not supposed to have – the reason to get up in the bleak mornings and find a way to continue on – because she’ll just make fun of him with the self-assured candour of life-long friendship.
“That’s just because you like redheads, Pans,” Theo teases, and Draco lets himself fall asleep to the sound of his friends bickering around him, Hermione’s warmth still coursing through his veins.