The Internal Devices

Chapter 32

"Welcome Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger. We have your room ready."

The portkey was delivered right on time, and after a brief goodbye to Madam Pomfrey and Professor Mcgonagall, Draco and Hermione were swept off to America. It was only a short walk from the designated alley to the hotel they would stay in tonight, and now they were standing at the front desk, waiting for their key. Draco took it from the outstretched hand and strode for the elevators. Hermione followed a few feet behind.

She had no idea what she was doing here. It quite possibly was the most impulsive decision she'd ever made. Merlin...she hadn't even owled Ginny. The elevator doors opened. Her palms began to sweat; she realized she didn't know how to find the nearest market. Thirteen steps to the door. She had no friends here, didn't even know how to stay safe in this city. Didn't know how big the city was. Draco turned the key in the lock. Any reminders of her friends or childhood were thousands of miles away. The door swung open and they stepped inside. Hermione was hit with a violent round of nausea and rushed into the loo. Thankfully, it was the first room inside the small suite. She emptied her stomach into the toilet, hands shaking.

After a moment, a pair of hands pulled her hair back and rubbed circles along her spine. When there was nothing left inside her, she leaned back against Draco's crouched form. She looked up into the blue eyes hovering over her, but he quickly tore his gaze away and rose to his feet. He opened a cabinet, pulled out a small hand towel, and tossed it to her, eyes trained on the floor.

"Alright?" He asked carefully. Hermione wiped at her face before responding. "Yes," she mumbled back. "Thanks." Draco only nodded before grabbing their bags and taking them to the bedroom. Hermione cleaned up before following him. She wasn't embarrassed by her loss of composure. To be frank, they were way past that in their friendship. She just felt weary, even though she'd hardly been awake for more than three hours.

She shuffled into the bedroom, and indifferently surveyed the furniture. Draco had settled himself on the floor in a far corner, elbows resting on his knees. She grabbed a novel from her bag and ducked into the adjacent living room. There was a small couch facing a television set. She sank into the cushions and looked down at the book in her hand. Emma, by Jane Austen. She'd read it before, but at least it was something to do.

Hours passed and Hermione realized she was hungry. Checking the wall clock, she was startled to see it was almost six in the evening, Boston time. She looked down at the open page in her lap. Page six. She didn't know how long she'd been staring at the same page, and hadn't even cared. Not a sound had come from the other room, and she hadn't moved to check. Without her noticing, the light had faded in the window, leaving only the lamp lighting the room. Hermione got to her feet, shoved on a pair of shoes, and grabbed the key, determined to track down some food. Before stepping out, she glanced behind her. Draco still sat in the same place, eyes unfocused. She left.

Downstairs, there was a small little restaurant serving some sort of Italian special. She ordered two, asking for to-go containers. As an afterthought, she asked for two bottles of the strongest whiskey they had on hand. She paid, grabbed her purchases, and trudged up the stairs, enjoying the strain it put on her legs.

She reentered the room, and Draco didn't even look up. When she plopped down beside him, he appeared startled.

"Sorry," she whispered, "Didn't mean to disturb you. Just brought some food." Draco blinked a few times before grabbing one of the containers. Within minutes, he had devoured it and was reaching over to sneak some of her own noodles away. She had to swat him with her napkin to keep him away.

"Hey! I'm hungry too!"

He took another noodle.

The rest of the evening passed with less tension than before. Around ten o'clock, Draco grew bored and discovered the TV. From the bed, she could hear him muttering angrily at the box, trying to figure out what it was. Finally, he gave up and stomped into the bedroom.