Coping Mechanisms

2. Draco

Hints of sweet perfume wafted into the room as Draco felt Hermione's returning presence. Vanilla, he surmised. Same as yesterday.

He heard the doors click shut, followed by her light, hesitant footsteps as she repeated her path to his mother's bedside. He looked up to see her holding out a white, plastic cup, steam rising from its contents. He met her honey eyes, a look of concern furrowing her eyebrows. Draco couldn't recall if she'd ever looked at him that way before. Then again, he'd never really deserved it.

"I grabbed you an apple too, in case you were hungry," she said, interrupting his thoughts. The green fruit was vibrant against the pale fingers of her other hand, a striking speck of color in the sterile neutrals of the room. She placed it on the end table, and pulled a couple bright, pink packets from her jean pockets.

"They didn't have any creamer, but I brought more sugar," she admitted, placing them next to the apple. Her other arm still held the coffee towards him. He searched her face for any signs of mockery, but all he saw was the flushed peach of her cheeks and the cinnamon freckles on her skin.

How could one person add so much color to a room?

"It's fine," he said harshly, shaking his head. "I only drink black coffee anyways."

He snatched the cup from her grasp, her fingertips warm as they brushed his.

"You're hands are freezing," Hermione gasped as she lowered her own. "Do you want a blanket or something? I know it's not the warmest in he-"

"I don't need a bloody blanket," he interrupted, staring down into the coffee's black depths. He took a cautious sip, and grimaced. He didn't actually enjoy black coffee, but he'd be damned if he told Hermione bloody Granger that. He risked a glance back up at her and noticed a peculiar look in her eye.

"Didn't your muggle parents ever tell you it's impolite to stare?" he spat at her, but she gave no answer other than a blink of her lashes, and the slow rise and fall of her chest. When she offered no other response, Draco placed the vile drink at his feet, and returned his attention to his mother, hoping Hermione would take the hint and leave.

"I'm sorry," she said after a few silent minutes. Draco huffed out an impatient breath and turned back to look at her. Her chin was turned towards her feet, her arms wrapped around her waist.

"For what?"

"Your mother," she whispered, finally meeting his eyes. Draco gritted his teeth at the genuine concern he saw in them.

"I don't need your fucking pity, Granger," he hissed. "Since when do you bloody care anyways." Her eyes widened slightly, and he couldn't help a smirk. Finally, a response.

"Just because you can be an awful prat doesn't mean I want to see your mother here," she said, shooting him a glare. Draco scoffed.

"I don't want to see anyone's mother here," she continued in a whisper, and he wondered if he'd actually heard her, until he noticed her gaze at the other end of the room. A short haired brunette laid alone in the corner, the chairs no longer occupied by Neville and the woman that was with him yesterday. The bed across from hers lay empty, but something in Draco's mind screamed that it wasn't supposed to be.

"Longbottom?" he found himself asking.

"Alice," she sighed. "Neville's mom."

Draco swallowed. "And his dad?"

"Died last Monday." Her eyes moved to the empty bed, confirming his suspicions. "It really freaked Alice out; he was the one person she recognized." Hermione hugged herself tighter and released a shaky breath. "She's been subdued for her own safety."