Beneath the Covers / DRAMIONE (COMPLETE)

Nursery Rhymes

A.N. This used to be called A Night Like This, or something like that; I've already forgotten. It has also changed to a somewhat AU comedy, but may still have romantic elements. For those dirty-minded people out there (Jenny), the title is not implying anything. You will realise, in future chapters, that it is simply because Draco is being childish/petulant and prefers to hide beneath the covers than face the wrath of Hermione Granger. Enjoy!

*****

Hermione didn't regret her decision to help Professor Snape brew potions for the Hospital Wing, no matter what Ron or Harry might say. There was an unspoken agreement between the Potions Master and his NEWT classes that anyone deemed competent enough should assist him in any way they could. And for Hermione, that meant brewing Calming Draughts, packaging them and taking them to Madam Pomfrey.

*

One Friday evening, the day before the upcoming Quidditch between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Hermione had just finished a new batch and, after receiving Snape's approval, headed up the stairs to Madam Pomfrey's domain, hoping to discuss Healing courses if the matron was free. Which, as luck would have it, she wasn't.

The nurse was bending over a boy with familiar blonde hair, threatening to force-feed him a potion if he would not let her help him drink it.

"I will not be helped by you, woman!" The boy yelled, and all of a sudden, Hermione realised who it was. Draco Malfoy. Madam Pomfrey saw her at the same time.

"Ah, Miss Granger, please could you order the draughts in my office," the older woman said kindly, and then returned her attention to the struggling Slytherin, who was clearly abashed to be seen in the Hospital Wing by his arch-enemy, and a Mudblood to boot. Who knows what she could do with the information? "Now, Mr Malfoy, drink up!"

*

Hermione rushed into the office, intent on stacking the potions as quickly as possible so that she could leave before Malfoy began insulting her. However, Madam Pomfrey entered just a few minutes later, muttered about insolence and suchlike.

"That boy," she hissed, "is hopeless. If he thinks he's escaping from my care when Professor Snape got him up here for me to check on him_"

"Professor Snape brought him?" Hermione asked, incredulous to find that Professor Snape was actually half-decent to his students.

The nurse turned to her. "He was in a right state," she spoke lowly, in the kind of voice that implies gossip in every syllable. "Professor Snape was basically carrying him. He looked dead, that's how exhausted he was. I'm trying to give some Dreamless Sleep, but he won't have it. I don't know quite what to do. Despite all my threats, I can't force him to take it; I'm legally bound, you see."

"Perhaps I should try?" Hermione questioned, surprised when the words came out of her mouth. "I mean," she said weakly as the matron gave her a searching look, "he might calm down?"

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try," Madam Pomfrey answered grimly, taking off her apron and throwing it down. "I don't want to hear any arguing, mind," she added sharply, giving the girl a tiny bottle.

Hermione re-entered the ward, discomforted to find the Slytherin watching her as she approached him.

"Malfoy," she greeted, sitting in the chair that Madam Pomfrey had recently vacated.

"Granger," replied he, his voice laced with fatigue. Dark rings made half-moons below his eyes and he was paler than usual.

"Why are you here?" She questioned suddenly. He eyed her nervously. "I mean, in the Hospital Wing. You're never ill. I mean, neither am I, so I've noticed that you're not. Oh, that makes no sense_"

He held up a hand, albeit a trembling one, for silence. "Stop babbling, Granger. Professor Snape deemed it necessary for me to stay overnight as Blaise has been to him about my unorthodox sleep patterns."

"Nightmares?" Hermione queried. The look he gave her was more than enough in reply. "I have them too." Now he looked simply confused. "Last summer. At the Ministry. The veil that Sirius fell through_" She felt that she could say these things to Malfoy, although if Harry was right, and he was the one who had poisoned Katie_ She had no proof of that though. "I know I wasn't there," she went on hurriedly. Then, realising that perhaps he didn't know the details, she told him. "I was unconscious at the time," she laughed without humour. His eyes were scrutinising hers. "Dolohov's work," she answered in response to Draco's unspoken question. Draco? When did she start calling him Draco? And her mind replied: when you sat at his bedside and poured out your soul. "I never knew you were such a good listener," she said finally.

"I've never wanted to listen to you up until now," Draco answered, and it was harsh, but it was true. "Perhaps we are more similar than we thought, Granger."

"What do you dream of?" Hermione whispered.

"Death," returned Draco, his lips dry.

Startled, Hermione leaned forwards. "But why?" She was unsure of whether she would get an explanation.

"To be or not to be is the eternal question, Granger, but there is never an answer." She enjoyed hearing him talk. Hermione suddenly realised that, other than their occasionally verbal battles in the hallways, Draco rarely spoke.

"When did you get so mysterious? And knowledgeable?" Hermione was stunned by the Muggle reference.

"Through William Shakespeare," Draco laughed, but it was an ugly, tired sound, "and Professor Snape. He's my godfather," he explained.

"Of course!" Hermione slapped her forehead. "That solves all the favouritism!"

"It's hardly favouritism!" He exclaimed, attempting to sit up in outrage, which didn't bode well; Draco felt dizzy at once and was saved from falling to the floor by Hermione's strong grip. He was shocked when she stood and then perched on the edge of his bed.

"I think it's high time you were asleep," she patronised. "Will you be a good boy and take your medicine?"

"I think not," came a drawl from the bedclothes where Draco had slumped.

"Otherwise, I will sing you a nursery rhyme," Hermione smiled, and it was not a nice one.

"Alright, alright," he huffed. "But I can drink it on my own."

"Of course," Hermione said, and handed the vial to Draco.

"I just wanted to say, thank you," Draco spoke awkwardly, "for keeping me company on a night like this."

Hermione wanted to ask, 'a night like this?' but she knew Draco wouldn't respond.

"It was a pleasure_ Draco."

And her soft, brown eyes were the last thing he saw.

Rock-a-bye, baby

In the treetop.

When the wind blows,

The cradle will rock.

When the bough breaks,

The cradle will fall,

And down will come baby,

Cradle and all.

Baby is drowsing,

Cosy and fair.

Mother sits near,

In her rocking chair.

Forward and back,

The cradle she swings,

And though baby sleeps,

He hears what she sings.