The Marriage Decree

Chapter 84: I Thought It Would Be a Pleasure to Meet You

Draco wakes up before dawn the morning after their impromptu date alone in their bed. Glancing around their darkened bedroom, Draco frowns when he's unable to see Hermione. He checks the time. It's five o'clock. With a sigh, he throws the duvet off himself, allowing the cold, late October air to hit his body, causing him to shiver. He grabs his dressing gown from the back of their bedroom door and leaves the room in search of his wife. He finds her curled up on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of lemon tea clasped tightly in her hands.

Upon hearing him entering the living room, Hermione glances up at him looking dreadful. Her face is awfully pale except her nose, which is bright red from constant blowing, and her eyes, from crying. Draco rushes to her side, taking her face in his hands to look in her eyes.

"Why didn't you wake me?" He asks softly, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. "You're running a fever." He comments.

"It's just a cold." She moves her head away from his hand, wincing in pain.

Draco raises his eyebrow at her. "What is hurting you?" He asks her, taking the cup of tea out of her hands, placing it on the coffee table.

"I have a slight headache and a stiff neck." She sighs, too tired to convince D7raco that he doesn't need to worry.

Draco nods, collecting a cushion from the armchair, placing it at one end of the couch and then gently encouraging Hermione to lie her head down, which she does.

"Do you feel cold?" He asks her, brushing her hair out of her sweaty face.

"Yes," She admits, blowing her nose with a tissue hidden in her blankets.

"One moment." He tells her, heading upstairs, returning a minute later, fully dressed and carrying their duvet, which he throws over Hermione and the couch, tucking his wife in so the cold air can't reach her.

"Thank you, Draco." She shivers.

"I'm going to the apothecary in Diagon Alley for fever potion. Try to rest whilst I'm gone. I want to find you here when I return." He caringly warns, to which he makes an affirming noise.

Draco leaves, wrapped in his winter coat and scarf. He rushes to the gate of the estate, disapparating straight to the apothecary, knowing that the apothecary will be working in the back room. He knocks on the front door continuously for three minutes until the old man stumbles out of the back room, wrapped in a cloak, his wand lit in his hand. He stops short of the door, staring at him through the glass.

"I need a fever potion," Draco calls through the door.

"Mr Malfoy, we don't open until seven o'clock." He calls back, looking nervous.

"Please, sir," He steps closer to the door, peering into the shop. "It's for my wife, Hermione Granger. She's not well." He begs.

The old man nods, holding his hand up to signal for Draco to wait before walking over to one of his shelves, searching for the correct potion. Once he finds the small vial of fever potion, he returns to the door.

"Ten Sickles." He calls through the door.

Draco rummages in his coin pouch, producing a galleon, holding it up for the apothecary to see. "I just want to potion; you can keep the seven sickles." He offers the man the coin.

The old man opens the door a crack, taking the offered galleon and holding the vial out. Once each man has what they want, he slams the door shut, silently locking it with three different charms.

"One drop in 150 millilitres of boiling water every two hours for twenty-four hours." He says.

"Thank you." Draco nods, disapparating on the spot back to the estate, where he rushes back to his wife's side.