Merry Christmas Mr. Malfoy (Book 1)

Chapter 15 : Malfoy's Don't Get Colds (Part 2)

"Fuck me."

"I told you so."

"You did not!"

"You have a cold."

Achoo! Achoo!

"I do not…my nose is itchy."

"Admit it, Malfoy, you have a cold."

Draco lay on the couch, groggy and irritated, covered in warm blankets as a fever caused his face to flush and his head to ache. His nose was annoyingly stuffed and his throat sore, as though he had spent the past ten hours screaming.

But he did not have a cold!

"Malfoys don't get colds," he groaned, rolling over with the intent to ignore her and sleep. "I'm just sleepy."

"You slept all last night, all this morning, and now you're sleeping the afternoon away!" she cried. "You have a cold!"

"Sod off, Granger," he grumbled, picking up the nearest pillow and tossing it at her.

When she let out a loud yelp and he started hearing a loud stomping sound, he lifted his head, opening his weary eyes to find Hermione stamping out a fire on the pillow.

The fire…the fire had blissfully returned back to its normal hue. Thank Salazar. He'd been so terrified that it would stay blue for the next three days.

"Malfoy, you prat, look where you throw things," she scolded, hitting his over the head with the pillow.

"Go away; can't you see that I'm trying to ignore you?"

"Can't you see that we're supposed to have our 'date' in three hours?" she asked, taking a seat in the nearest armchair. "Or are you too sick to go out?"

"I'm not sick!"

"You look sick to me."

"I don't get sick."

"Could've fooled me."

"Granger…are you going to stand there yelling at me for the rest of the year, or are you going to start getting ready for our date?" he groaned, covering his face with his arm.

"Why should I bother?" she asked, moving over to him. "You're too sick to go out. I suggest that we spend our date here."

"Doing what?" he muttered, rubbing his aching head with his palm. "There's nothing to do that's date-worthy at Hogwarts."

She kneeled beside him, pity taking over as she saw the way he slumped on the couch, pain etching lines in his features that joined the frustration and annoyance that he could do absolutely nothing. Gently, she reached forward and placed the back of her hand against his forehead.

"What are you doing, Granger?" he asked softly, not wanting to let her know that her cool touch soothed him in ways no other touch had.

"You're warm," she murmured, brushing his bangs from his brows, "but not bad; just a slight fever." Waving her wand, she summoned a cloth and, with another wave, had it soaked in cold water. Reaching forward, she folded it over his brow. "This should help a bit."

"Can't you just go to the Hospital Wing and ask for a Potion?" he grumbled, keeping his eyes shut as the cold cloth helped ease his headache.

"I did," she replied as she stood up, deciding to head into the kitchen. "Madame Pomfrey said that they were all out, but that Slughorn was brewing some. They should be ready in a day or so."

"One more day or torment!" he cried. "You cursed me!"

"I did not curse you," she scoffed, opening the cupboard to pull out a can and a few packets. "You cursed yourself by going outside without your bloody jacket."

"I didn't have time to go to my room and get it," he whined.

"You most certainly did," she snapped, purposely clanging a pot onto the stove, causing him to growl in pain.

"Granger, loud noises are very bad right now!"

"Yes, but you deserved it." She poured water into the pot and set it to boil. "And you better watch your tone, or you won't get any soup."

"But I'm not hungry."

She narrowed her eyes in his direction, prodding the pot with her wand to bring it closer to a boil. "When you are sick, it is best that you eat as much as possible and drink a lot of water and juice. I am making you chicken soup, you will eat the soup, and you will also drink the tea I am making."

He squirmed uncomfortably under the blankets. "You sound like Mrs. Weaslette."

"I learnt from the best," she replied, remembering the one and only time Draco had ever stepped foot into the Weasley household. It had been after a rather long and grueling battle, and he, Hermione, and Harry had been covered in cuts and blood. Mrs. Weasley had taken one look at them and had scolded them for the longest period of time. In fact, she had been so busy worrying over their injuries that, once everyone was healed, only then did she notice that Draco Malfoy had stepped foot into her home.

She had been about to scream after him and hex him out of her home until Bill had done something rather surprising. The eldest Weasley reached forward and grasped Draco's hand in a brotherly handshake, thanking him for taking care of Hermione, Harry and Ron.

Mrs. Weasley then chased Draco and Bill out of her home.

Tugged from her thoughts by the sound of boiling water, Hermione emptied the packet into it and began to stir.

"Why are you doing this?"

She looked over in his direction, his body blocked by the back of the couch, and she smiled at the sound of his voice. "Why else, Malfoy? I care. Besides, if I don't take care of you, you'll find even more reasons to complain."

He grinned even though she couldn't see it. "Thank you, Granger." He reached up and adjusted the cloth, pinching the bridge of his nose to fight back another onslaught of throbbing pain from his sinuses. "So, how do you propose we have our date, in spite of the circumstances?"

She touched the laptop sitting on the table, beside which lay several DVDs. "Oh, I think I have a very good idea of what we could do."

"Why am I suddenly afraid?"