The Gralfoy Affair (or, The Oblivious Ones) - Dramione

Chapter Four

What had he done?

Their final suppertime at St. Mungo's was over and Draco Malfoy was sitting on his bed, legs folded beneath himself, keeping clear of Hermione Granger who was crawling around underneath it.

"Normally, I take it upon myself to pack everything my traveling companions are going to need." Her voice came muffled from below the mattress. "But we don't have much to work with here in the hospital. I don't even have all of what I need, let alone you." Malfoy's few personal belongings were being slid out from under the bed and into the centre of the floor. The last thing to emerge was Hermione herself, dust in her hair and smeared on her white hospital clothes. She clapped her hands together. "Right. What do we have here?"

From the bundle of clothes and books and shiny things she drew out a long dark robe, heavy with hand-sewn pleats, crafted out of black linen embroidered in satin with snaking vines and calligraphic letter Ds and Ms--the clothing Malfoy had been wearing the day he was first admitted to the hospital. She flicked it like a dirty rug, raising a cloud of dust.

"Why so infernally fancy, Malfoy? Did you all get arrested at a wedding?"

"Close. We were at the courthouse, at the trials."

Of course. The rest of the clothing from under the bed was similar--a starched white shirt yellowed from storage, a dark silk monogrammed tie to match the robes. Hermione looked them over and let them drop back into a heap.

"No good?" he mused, lying back onto the pillow. "Well, if you start knitting right now, maybe you can have a jumper ready for me by morning."

She tossed a rolled pair of forest green socks at his head. "Knit it yourself, Malfoy. Packing for everyone helps me manage pre-voyage stress but it doesn't mean I'm your servant."

He sat up. "Right. Then stop fussing."

"I would but I'm trying to imagine a way for us to go out among normal people again without making a spectacle out of ourselves, and these look-at-me-I'm-so-posh-and-important robes are making it hard."

Malfoy scoffed. "Guess you'd know a few things about show-off pratt male companions--Viktor Krum, Harry Potter--"

"And now Draco Malfoy. Yes, it's a natural progression."

The roll of socks came flying back in her direction.

"Honestly," she resumed. "We need to find you something to wear out of here."

Malfoy stood and lifted the crumpled robe from the floor, folding it over his arm. "Why, Granger? It's not like we'll be sneaking out of here in disguise, is it? Berlant knows I'm going. Frankly, she couldn't be happier." With her toe, Hermione nudged a book fallen out of Malfoy's bag. The silence was telling. "You haven't informed the hospital you're leaving."

"No."

"But Weasley knows, yeah?"

"He knows," she began, "about the trip to Australia--in principle. And he's in denial, but he has been told he's not coming with me. As for the rest of the details..."

Malfoy whistled at their feet. "He doesn't know you're going right now, and he has no idea you're going with me."

Hermione nodded.

"Look, Granger, I could not care less about your and Weasley's love life, but if you don't personally tell someone know your plans, they're going to assume I've kidnapped you and they'll hunt me down like the criminal they're sure I am. Not a great way to rewrite my bad story."

"I know."

"So fix it."

"I will," she said, head still down, foot still shaping the pile of clothing on the floor between them.