Always Something - Dramione

Chapter Sixteen

Hogwarts librarian, Madam Eggles, had to say something when she found them: two boys sharing one large chair, one much taller than the other, sat with his legs spread wide enough for the smaller boy to sit between them. The smaller boy was writing away on a Remote Note, his elbows propped on the tabletop in front of them, while the taller boy slumped forward, sound asleep with his head on the small boy's shoulder, and his arms linked around his waist.

"Boys, there are plenty of chairs," she whispered loudly as she approached them. "And this kind of public display is completely inappropriate here, in front of the first years and -- anyone at all."

Griselda Goyle looked up from her Remote Note.

Madam Eggles startled. "Miss Goyle? And," she bent to see, "Mr. Malfoy?" She straightened her posture. "Well, I'm terribly sorry to have mis-gendered you Miss Goyle, but it does not change the fact that the two of you cannot be sitting like this."

"Oh. Sorry," Gris said, jostling Paul's head against her shoulder. "Sorry, it's just that Pollux has been sick and I wanted to keep an eye on him."

"Well, he's had the benefit of a great deal more than your eye."

"Yes, we're sorry. Pux, come on. Wake up."

Paul moaned in his sleep, turning his face into Griselda's neck. "Headache," he muttered, holding her more tightly around the waist as she tried to stand.

"No, no. Wake up, really -- "

"Mr. Malfoy," Madam Eggles said in a practiced librarian tone, severe but soft. "You are not fit for the library in this condition. Report either to the hospital wing for treatment or to your dormitory for some proper rest."

"Right. Sorry," he said, rubbing his eyes as Gris rose to gather her things.

Satisfied that they'd separated, Madam Eggles nodded and returned to her rounds.

"Is this how it's going to be?" Gris smirked at him. "Veela-boy making a show of us everywhere we go?"

He rubbed at his aching head. "You know, I asked my dad about that. Just blurted it out, demanding an answer. 'Are we Veelas?' And he swears we're completely human."

Gris scoffed, less convinced than ever that the Malfoys weren't Veelas. "I'm sure he does."

"What about your Torrence?" Paul said, standing up, stretching. "He's always making a spectacle of himself with his girls. That's how you wrote him."

"I didn't write him for me. He's a fantasy, as in, made for fans," she explained, still whispering as they approached the library doors.

"You're not Torrence's fan?" Paul sounded hurt.

"Not really. I am his fake biographer. His counselor. His critic. His creator."

"His invisible goddess, directing his life." Paul hugged her from behind as they moved out of Madam Eggles's library, into the corridor. "If it's really so bad, I can let you alone a bit more, especially in public."

She turned her head to speak against his cheek. "I never said that."

"Good. I do have a terrible headache right now, and I only feel alright when I'm touching you."

"That is not how pain relief works."

"Sure it is. Ask my brain researcher definitely-not-Veela parents."

"No thank you."

Gris was still draped in him like a cloak when Albus and Rose rounded the corner on their way to the library.