Love and Other Misfortunes

Chapter 19

The need to eat eventually pulled Draco from the narrow bed. Or rather, his determination that Hermione needed to eat. She tried to convince him that she would much rather do other things, but apparently having sex did not relieve him of any of his obstinance.

"You're too thin," he said, as he dragged himself from the bed and got dressed.

Hermione folded her arms and sulked. "You said I was perfect less than an hour ago."

That made him glare at her, albeit mildly. He raised an eyebrow pointedly.

"Being generally perfect does not preclude me from eventually getting a punctured lung from one of your nearly protruding ribs." He grimaced for a moment before his eyes gleamed. "I intend to have quite a bit of sex with you and if I'm going to get bruises, I'd rather they not be from merely lying on top of you."

He ignored her glaring as he wandlessly repaired his ripped shirt and re-buttoned it.  "The healers said you should gain at least a stone. I take medical advice very seriously. I intend to make sure we both follow all instructions to the letter."

He smirked at her.

Hermione snorted and stopped trying to convince him to stay. She was rather thin. Eating just tended to be something she forgot about or didn't have time for, especially with the Ministry's cafeteria food being regularly inedible. She normally tried to have a hearty breakfast or dinner, but when assignments piled up and she worked overtime, it was rather easy for her to forget about eating.

Draco was fully dressed and staring at her with an aggravating combination of both concern and salaciousness.

"Go on then." She waved him away. "Go make me a fattening soup."

He smirked again and left.

She watched him descend the stairs reflecting on their mutual snarkiness. It didn't upset her, since it was good-natured, but she worried slightly; in the long run verbally sparring with each other by default might grow wearing. It wasn't as though they lacked common interests or things to talk about. They just—didn't know how to talk to each other without sniping.

She sat and brainstormed pertinent topics of conversation she thought they'd be unlikely to fight over.

He returned within the hour bearing soup and a ridiculously tall pile of toast.

"Eat all of it," he ordered, setting it beside her.

"I think you might be even bossier than me," she said. "There are six pieces of toast. I'll pop."

Draco snagged one off the plate and ate it.

"Eat all the rest," he said with an angelic smile, "and we can have sex again."

She snickered and tucked in.

There was a long silence.

"Draco, assuming the Ministry clears you and we don't have to run away together and be fugitives, do you have any thoughts about what exactly you want to do next?" she finally asked.

He stared at her for a moment. "I'll do whatever you want."

She had assumed he'd say something unhelpful like that.

"Well..." she stared down at the bowl in front of her. "I'm currently homeless."

"Right." His tone was cautious. "We could buy a new flat. Or—" he suddenly looked hesitant. "There's a cottage—on my family's estate, a few kilometers from the manor but still under all the ancestral wards. It belongs to me. It would be—safer than a new property."