✖He's Not Mine [An Utterly Ridiculous Dramione Baby Story . . . Sort-of]

THIRTY-SEVEN

SAINT POTTER'S BEST BIRTHDAY GIFT

Hermione was awoken by the sound of someone falling in her room. She sat up and grabbed her wand from the bedside table.

"Lumos," she said and the room lit up from the light of her wand.

She crawled to the foot of her bed and looked over. "Are you all right?"

"I tripped."

Hermione smiled. "I see that. It's eleven at night, Draco." She was not used to seeing his face before three a.m. in the kitchen with a mug of coffee in his hands or hers.

Draco nodded and stood up. "I didn't mean to wake you, sorry."

"Nox," Hermione said as she scrambled back and flicked the lamp on her bedside table on, which emitted a dimmer, warmer glow.

"What happened?"

"I . . . er . . . well, you were dead."

Hermione shrugged and gestured for Draco to sit. Draco sat on the other side of the bed. "That's never caused you to rush in here so fast you trip over your own feet trying to open the door."

"Yeah, because you usually die chained to a wall in a dungeon."

Hermione winced, even though she knew that Draco was just stating fact.

"And usually, you're alive long enough to plead and mentally scar me back into a state of unconsciousness."

Draco rarely ever talked about the nightmares where Hermione was the one dying. She'd listened to detailed retellings of the deaths of others he'd been forced to watch. But when it came to her, all he said was, "You died," and nothing further. This was the first time he mentioned what happens. Hermione wasn't too surprised, that was the usual way Draco's nightmares happened. Him, Imperiused, killing off one of his friends or family, them chained to a dungeon wall, beaten and bruised and bloodied. But usually, the one pulling at Draco's puppetstrings didn't give the victim a chance to plead -- or Draco couldn't hear it.

"What do I plead for? My life?"

Draco shook his head. "You're you, Hermione, you would never plead for yourself in a situation like that."

Hermione nodded, understanding. The girl in his nightmares pleaded for him. Possibly for his release. Maybe she pleaded with him to break the curse himself. Whatever the case, Hermione was sure the girl's pleading did nothing to better the nightmare. If anything, it probably made it worse.

"First, you plead for Tobias. When I tell you that he's gone, you fall. You don't scream, you don't cry. You can't cry, you don't have the energy to grieve. Then, I torture you. You can't help but scream."

Draco paused. Hermione glanced at him and noticed the subtle shake of his head. He was reassuring himself of it being just a nightmare.

"When I pause, you plead for me. You beg me to fight the curse. Nothing is scarier than knowing that I'm doing everything I can to break it, to stop myself from hurting you further, and then failing and watching you die, over and over again."

"Draco," Hermione said softly. "We have a deal, remember."

Draco nodded. "That's usually how I get back to sleep. Only to wake up at three or four with a new nightmare, of course."

Hermione titled her head. "If you usually go back to sleep, what made tonight different?"

Draco turned to fully face Hermione. "Because the entire nightmare was different. There was no big battle, no dungeons and chains and Imperius curses. In the dream, I wake up after sunrise. I make breakfast, but the house is silent. Your coffee gets cold while I get ready for work and there is still no other sound. I go into the nursery first; Tobias is fast asleep. You never sleep late, so I go to check on you. Maybe you've come down with the flu or something, you know?"