Spellbound (Dramione Smut Story)

Chapter Eleven

Hermione

He was in a room by himself. There was a single window looking in on his sleeping form. I'd like to lie to myself and say that if I could see through the squealing and sobbing girls, I would have been content to stay there- but as I said, that's a lie.

Matilda rushed me into St. Mungo's, Harry and Ginny following behind as best they could. When I saw the fifty-some girls gazing in at him through teary eyes, I became unreasonably angry, but had no time to dwell on my feelings as Matilda pushed me inside the room and shut the blinds- to the dismay of the whores standing outside. She then left the room, muttering something about "giving us some time."

He lay there, unconscious. His arm was wrapped in blood soaked bandages, his skin more pale than usual. Though he was sleeping, his face seemed slack and numb. I instantly blamed myself.

My tears began to fall once more as I slowly made my way forward, stretching out a hand to feel his cold forehead. He felt dead beneath my warm fingers. I gently traced my fingers down his face and neck, letting them rest near his heart. I felt it beat. It was slow at first, but picked up the more my hand lay there.

I smiled through my tears as I gazed upon his face. I used to hate this face. It was the face that tormented me and told me I was useless. It was the face that made sure I was determined to do my best, no matter what the subject. And so I was always the best, just to prove him wrong. Now, I loved his face. I had always known it was him. Deep down, I remembered his beauty, his wit, his humor. All the little things that I forced myself to ignore, but not to forget. Now, I saw in him fun, love, home....

I leaned down to press my lips to his forehead, which turned out to be mildly warmer than my hands had convinced me. I moved my hand to stroke his silky blonde hair as I stood up again, pulling a chair to my side. When I sat down, I moved my hand over his.

I hated to think about how I had been the cause of this. I hated to think about how many women had seen his penis before I had, how many women had fallen in love with his caring demeanor and his fun nature. I stopped myself. For all I knew, all of that had been an act. Looking down on his face, I realized that if it all had been a rouse, he wouldn't have hurt himself.

But he had seemed so calm, so understanding so... good at what he did. Maybe that was just part of being a stripper. You fake it till you make it. Once you make it, you're golden.

I sighed, closing my eyes. Was I seriously worried about Draco Malfoy? Of all people, him! Since the night he pointed me out in the strip club, I had been fascinated by him. It was as if he had cast some sort of spell on me, dragging me into this mess. I couldn't say that I disliked it, but I certainly wasn't happy with the way it had ended.

I opened my eyes as I felt my hand move. Draco was stirring in his sleep, moving his head closer to my hand, nuzzling his nose next to my palm. A surge of love for him swept over me as his eyelashes brushed my fingertips. A healer came in to change his bandages, flashing me a smile as he did so.

He removed the soaked gauze, revealing a nasty looking wound that was still gently oozing blood. I saw that it was slightly limp and being held together by muggle stitches and staples. Draco whimpered in his sleep as his arm was handled, his young face contorting in pain. I knelt next to his face, pressing my lips to the tip of his nose as the healer cleaned the wound with a wave of his wand.

Draco was shaking, but he didn't wake up. I raised my hand to stroke his hair, pressing my forehead to his. A cold sweat broke out all over his skin. After the bandage was rewrapped, he began to calm down. I leaned back once more, smiling down at him. The door opened and shut aggressively and the healer disappeared.