Bad Medicine

Chapter Ten

Against his will, Draco found himself pondering Hermione's words. He wasn't terribly surprised to learn she was willing to die for Harry Potter, as he'd always felt that to be something of a Gryffindor trait. They seemed to think nothing of nobly laying down their lives for each other. If one Gryffindor leapt from the castle wall, the rest would likely fling themselves over, as well. Like lemmings.

What disturbed him was her listing of Harry's oh-so-lovable traits. Good and kind and gentle. Draco could be good and kind and gentle. Well, maybe not good, but he could pretend to be good, which was close enough to actually being good to pass in most situations. He could certainly be kind and gentle, when he chose. Which wasn't often, granted. It was the whole thoughtful and honest and loyal thing that Draco was having a problem with. He was certain she hadn't meant thoughtful in the sense of sitting around thinking, because no way in hell did Potter possess that quality. She must have meant thoughtful in the sense of thinking of someone else rather than themselves. It had Draco stymied. He couldn't remember having been thoughtful in quite some time. If ever.

Her inclusion of the word honest didn't disturb him too strongly. Gryffindors put far too much stock in honesty. Truth was a weapon and Slytherins did not willingly hand over weapons. If the truth could be used against you, it was far better to bury it under a stack of lies than be cut by it. If it could be used in your favor it should be wielded without mercy.

And loyalty. A Malfoy was loyal only to a Malfoy. Draco had learned from his father that loyalty was a mask you wore to insure your own survival. Lucius had pretended loyalty to the Dark Lord when he was in power and when that power waned; the loyalty was transferred to the Ministry of Magic. Should another power arise, no doubt Lucius would be a most faithful servant of the new regime. Likewise, Draco's loyalty was to Draco. The very idea of staying faithful unto death to any person or ideal was ludicrous. Things changed far too frequently to remain rooted. Sometimes swapping sides was the only reasonable alternative to going down with a sinking ship. Yes, loyalty was overrated.

But the others... kind and gentle and thoughtful. Draco could pull that off.

In love with Harry Potter.

Draco would see about that.

Hermione had a cold. She had taken a Pepperup Potion, cure for the common cold, but apparently she had contracted an uncommon cold, for the potion had done little to combat the malicious virus.

She dragged through her classes in a fog and sneezed throughout Care of Magical Creatures while Hagrid happily showed them how to care for streelers. Hermione wondered how the giant snails survived in the snow, since they were originally from Africa. Knowing Hagrid, he probably kept the venomous creatures in his hut and made up a nice warm bed for them next to his own. The thought of a nice warm bed made her shiver miserably. She was suddenly enveloped in heat, as though a warm blanket had been wrapped around her.

She sighed in contentment and glanced sidelong at Draco, the only person she knew who could have known such a spell and had the ability to cast it silently. Her brow raised in puzzlement. He'd never done anything even remotely kind before. Possibly in his entire life. His eyes sparkled at her and she smiled gratefully for the barest moment. She was overcome with a rush of emotion that surprised her. A month ago she would have laughed hysterically at the idea of Draco Malfoy easing her discomfort instead of causing it. It was confusing, but damned welcome.

After class, she wanted only to slip into Gryffindor tower and sleep, but as she passed the statue of Artemisia Lufkin she noticed that Lufkin's stone robe had a different clasp than usual--the signal that Draco wanted to meet with her. She sighed and debated not going. In her weakened state, she wasn't sure she could deal with him. He had been so bloody nice lately that the protective walls she had built to keep him out were crumbling like day-old cornbread.

It would be polite to see him, though. If only to thank him for the warming spell. She stayed behind when the other Gryffindors left for dinner by pleading a headache, which was quite true. After everyone had departed she made her way upstairs.

"You look perfectly dreadful," Draco said by way of greeting.

"Thank you. I feel perfectly dreadful."

"Well, take your robe off. Come over here and lie down and I'll give you the old Malfoy family remedy."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"Does it involve thumbscrews and electric eels?"

"No, that's the cure for severe acne."

She noticed the couch for the first time. It sat against the wall close to Draco's original chair.

"Where are you getting all the furniture?"

In the past month, he had dredged up a small table and three mismatched chairs, a large rug that was unraveling on one corner, a small writing desk, and a wrought iron coat rack.

"Here and there. The couch was dusty and a horrid shade or chartreuse when I found it."

"So you turned it Slytherin green?"

"It was either that or black."

He sat down and gestured to her imperiously. She tossed her robes aside and sat next to him tentatively. He maneuvered her around until they were both resting comfortably. Draco's back was propped in a corner of the couch and Hermione leaned against him with her head on his chest. He had draped a blanket over them both.

"I'm finding your remedy to be a bit suspicious."

He shushed her and began to massage her temples with his long fingers. Hermione sighed happily as her headache gradually receded and delicious warmth spread throughout her body. She stopped worrying about Draco's ulterior motives and gave in to his therapy. She felt she could stay where she was forever.

"I retract my earlier comment. It's an excellent remedy."

"It works for a number of ailments."

"I'll bet."

She wasn't sure when the delightful languor lulled her into sleep, but she woke up gradually to the knowledge that she was still with Draco. Her head lay on his chest, but she had turned so her arm was draped across his waist. One of her legs was intertwined in his. She listened to him breathe and felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. She smiled in wonder at the very idea of Draco Malfoy allowing a mudblood to fall asleep on him. He had changed so much since their truce. The suspicious part of her wanted to know why. The trusting part urged her to just accept it. Or perhaps the stupid part.

She should get up, but she hated to wake him. And not merely because of the unbelievable contentment she felt lying upon him like this. In fact, if she could force her synapses to fire properly, she would fling herself to her feet and run like the wind. She was playing with fire.

"Awake, Granger?" Draco murmured.

She sighed. "Unfortunately." Instead of rising, she brushed her thumb lightly across his rib cage and then chuckled.

"Honestly, what would the other Gryffindors say if I told them I slept with Draco Malfoy?"

"They would say 'lucky bitch,' of course."

She laughed. "Even the guys?"

"Of course. Especially Potter. He pretends to hate me to hide his overwhelming sexual attraction to me."

Hermione choked at the ludicrous thought. "Ew."

She sat up suddenly with a gasp. "What time is it?"

Draco smiled at her languidly and crossed his arms behind his head.

"You're the one with the muggle watch, remember?"

She looked at the Beauty and the Beast watch she'd picked up in Disneyland Paris the previous summer. It was a rare wind-up watch that worked fine at Hogwarts.

"Goodness! 11:45! How will we sneak back to our common rooms?"

"Malfoys don't sneak. I plan to walk back calmly. Really, you act like you've never been out at night before. How do you and the other lemurs do it whenever you're traipsing around visiting crazed gamekeepers and looking for chambers of secrets?"

Hermione wasn't about to divulge the existence of Harry's invisibility cloak, no matter how dangerously sexy Malfoy was at the moment. She got to her feet.

"You could just stay here with me," he offered.

"Not the wisest idea I've ever heard."

He grinned. "Do you want me to escort you back?"

Hermione gaped at him in bewilderment.

"Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

He ignored that and left the couch. He picked up her robes and fastened them around her neck after draping them over her shoulders. He shrugged into his own and then held the door for her as they departed.

It was a surprisingly uneventful walk to the Gryffindor common room. Must be the devil's luck, Hermione decided. When she stood outside the portrait hole, Draco saluted her smartly and left for the dungeons. She smiled bemusedly and watched him until he disappeared from sight.

"Meeting your secret love?" the Fat Lady asked in a stage whisper.

"Yes," Hermione said, although she wouldn't let the question sink in as she gave the password and retreated to her bed.

Draco hummed to himself as he sauntered through the dark hallways and down several flights of stairs after leaving Hermione. His plan was working admirably. This whole "kind and gentle and thoughtful" thing wasn't nearly as difficult as he had expected and the rewards were enormous.

He felt an unexpected warmth at the memory of Hermione sleeping against him. It rather surprised him that she would trust him enough to actually fall asleep in his arms. A month ago, she would not even have sat on the couch with him. Maybe it had merely been her illness making her behave strangely. She'd most likely be back to her old prickly, skittish self soon.

Draco frowned at the realization that he didn't want her to be afraid of him. He wanted her the way she had been this evening: pleasant, relaxed, and ingenuous. He paused partway down the dungeon steps, somewhat alarmed at the thought.

His motives were purely selfish, weren't they? He wanted her to trust him only so he could crush her at his leisure. It was all part of his master plan to lull her into a false sense of security. Right?

Absolutely, he told himself. Soon he would get tired of playing with her and do something unexpectedly horrifying and she would merrily return to loathing him with all the raging passion she possessed.

Raging passion. He pondered the phrase for a moment, applying it to Hermione in a different context. He had seen her, on occasion, watching him through eyes that were liquid chocolate pools and with lips that were slightly parted. Yes, there were untapped reserves of passion hiding beneath that bookish façade of hers... Potter was an absolute fool not to have noticed that prize sitting right beneath his nose. If the imbecile had even put forth a bit of effort, she would have been Harry's, body and soul.

Draco grinned to himself. Potter's loss was his gain and he intended to take full advantage of it.

Reassured that his motives were completely wicked, he returned to the Slytherin dungeon.