Castle Guard by greenflowerpot

Chapter 9

- NOT MY STORY!! ALL CREDITS TO @greenflowerpot ON A03!!
-

The bottle of wine was quite a good one, even by Malfoy cellar standards.

It was elf-made, three centuries old, and fermented from a type of orange that didn't even exist anymore. Had Hermione known all this, she might not have chugged the whole thing quite so fast. But alas—down the hatch it all went and before long she was lying on the ground.

It wasn't as uncomfortable as one might think. A bed of moss and grass cushioned her back and stars twinkled prettily on the velvet-dark sky above her.

"It's perfectly rational for me to feel confused, isn't it?" she asked the garden at large. "I'm not a bad person for still—still being fond of him, am I? After all, I only just found out about his history."

A distant frog's croaks were the only response.

Hermione closed her eyes. She imagined Malfoy smirking down at her, how handsome and cocky he always looked. Had he looked so handsome when he worked for the Dark Lord, too? Maybe he would have looked more worn, stressed and agitated. Jaw tight, resentment in his grey eyes.

She decided that things would really be much easier if her brain could decide between being afraid of the man and wanting to kiss him very badly.

Minutes ticked into an hour or maybe more, and Hermione did not move. The grass was starting to make her gown damp, not that she was sober enough to mind. It was just her and the garden—but no sooner had the night air turned chilly enough for Hermione to begin shivering than she heard footsteps coming out of the dark gardens.

She opened one eye to see Malfoy looking down at her, hands in his trouser pockets. His tall silhouette looked doubly so looming over her prone form.

"I said I wanted to be alone," she said, but there was no heat behind her words. She was happy to see him—as always. Hermione hoped for her own sake that Malfoy really was a reformed man, because it seemed like even if he wasn't she'd have a hard time getting over her crush.

He hummed in agreement, but did not leave.

"It's very cold out here," he noted. "And you're lying on the ground. And I suspect you've finished that entire bottle. Am I truly expected to just leave you out here like this?"

"Yes," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. She saw his mouth twitch up at one corner.

"I'm afraid I can't," he said finally. "How about you come inside so I stop worrying? You can just as easily be upset with me indoors, where it's warm."

"I'm not upset with you," Hermione grumbled, feeling petulant. But she did not fight him when he helped her to her feet, when he caught her securely against his side as her knees wobbled.

"Poor little thing," he murmured, steadying her. "You must have been very stressed to have finished that whole bottle."

"I got—I got anxious."

"I know you did. It's all my fault. Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes. I'm dizzy. The wine was delicious, though."

That made him laugh.

"You have good taste, then. Come on. Let's get you a hangover potion."

She followed, grateful for his strong arms steadying her when she swayed or stumbled. Somewhere in the back of her mind Hermione worried that she was being sloppy or embarrassing—but Malfoy did not seem to mind. He kept hold of her hand and one of his arms hovered carefully over her waist, not touching unless she seemed unsteady.