Magnetic Attraction

Chapter 19: Some things never change

Draco regretted involving himself in Hermione's business almost immediately, as after he laid Hermione down on a bed in the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey pushed him down into a chair by the Gryffindor's side. He sighed and rolled his eyes, but nonetheless sat down, his stare still sweeping over the prostrate girl as Madame Pomfrey tended to her arm. At some point Hermione had passed out against his shoulder on the flight over, and he hadn't bothered to ennervate her, appreciating this rare chance to hold her so intimately without facing any consequences.

"I should go, Madame, I doubt Miss Granger would want me here when you woke her," he said calmly, his voice dull. She shook her head, smoothing a cold compress over Hermione's forehead, before glancing up briefly at the blond. He had one leg slung over the arm of the wooden chair, his elbow resting on the other. Draco was still in his sparkly green Quidditch robes, leather protective pads and all, and yet no longer appeared as relaxed and arrogant in them as he once had. She tutted under her breath, setting the cloth on the bedside table before smoothing down the sheets around Hermione's legs. The woman looked back up at the Head Boy from under her eyelashes, and said quietly,

"She waited for you, Mr. Malfoy." Feeling guilty, he shifted and looked back down at Hermione's tranquil face. She was still so beautiful. The mediwitch continued anyway, slowly sitting down on the edge of the bed across from him. "I don't think I've ever seen that girl so upset as when you were healing, in all the years I've cared for her health." He didn't want to listen, partly because this was true and partly because of what he had down when he had awoken to find her by his side. "I think she would have taken it hard if you hadn't recovered." She shook her head, standing back up. "Let her rest, Mr. Malfoy, but don't leave until she wakes. You owe her that much." He stared blandly at her as she walked away, disappearing into her office.

He had to say that leaving did seem a bit rude. After all, she had nearly died, and waking up alone did seem a bit harsh. So Draco stayed and watched her breathe in and out serenely, unaware of his presence. It was difficult for him to do so, to be so close to the girl he tried so hard to hate when he could see no reason to. She wasn't yelling at him now, scowling at him as if he were the most awful thing in existence. Nor was she cheating on him, perched next to Weasley on the edge of her bed. How often had he gone over that moment in his head these past few weeks, trying not to believe Hermione's pleading words? 'It's not what you think!' Could he be wrong? But what could he do if he had been wrong? Apologize? When? Now! Could he? Why not?

'No,' he protested. 'She hates you now anyway, what good would it do?' He recalled her flinging her favorite book at his head, absolutely furious with him. Apologizing would do little.

The object of his affection stirred, waking up before his eyes. He looked across the infirmary to Mme. P's office door to find it closed. This was his chance to leave, to escape, to let things return to what they once had been. If he didn't go, he would no longer be able to hate her. It was, amazingly enough, as simple as that. And although he didn't really want to stay, he didn't move an inch as she stretched and opened her eyes. Silver and blue met brown, and silence followed. Draco watched as she rolled her neck, before pulling herself up into a sitting position and examining her previously broken arm. Satisfied that all bones were safely in place, she clasped her hands in her lap, staring directly forward. He knew he should speak, but he had nothing to say, and simply looked on as the Head Girl decided what to do. Soon, she couldn't take the silence, or perhaps her righteous Gryffindor side took over and she had to acknowledge her previous brush with death.

"Thank you for saving me," Hermione said quietly, her voice soft and vulnerable. "Again." They were both aware that she was vulnerable, not in a position to hex him or throw anything, and also that his catching her had put the ball back in his court. She had no right to be mad at him whatsoever.