Nothing More

Draco Apparated to the nearest 'safe spot' he could think of, this situation startlingly familiar. His apartment happened to be closer and he laid the convulsing girl on the dark sofa. He had enough experience in Potions to recognize she had been fed a love potion, probably Amortentia, and it had likely been badly brewed or stored and bought for cheap since it clearly wasn't working. There wasn't an antidote, and while there were minor things he could administer to stop her from flailing, she would just have to wait it out, and eventually it would vanish from her system.

He paced around the living room, decorated courtesy of Astoria, whom, as well as having the charm to sell real estate, also had a critical eye for interior design.

His mind working at a million miles an hour, he ran through who might go to such great lengths to spike Hermione's drink- at a bar, in a public place- with Amortentia, the most powerful love potion known to wizarding kind.

It didn't take long for Draco to pin the blame on a temperamental redhead. Obviously it would be the Weasel. No one else would ever be that bold- or that stupid. The silence in the apartment is deafening, and it stays that way for a good while. Draco doesn't bother to keep track of time,

Eventually, Hermione began to stir, and he rushed to her side. Her eyes flutter open, revealing the familiar amber brown.

***

My head is woozy and the dark, unfamiliar room dotted with bright lights blurs into a blend of colors as my vision takes its time adjusting. Now, if only the walls would stop spinning, I could come to my senses. Prominent among the steady stream of colors is a bright smear of platinum blonde maintaining a steady presence as I try to sit up on a sofa I don't even recognize.

After a few minutes (or hours, I have no perception of time at all right now) my vision begins to steady itself. The city skyline begins to sharpen into the familiar rise and fall of skyscrapers and the lights stop blurring into each other. I look around.

I'm sitting up on a luxurious dark green sofa, which sits atop a white carpet that feels like my toes are sinking into a cloud. There are two matching armchairs and a round black coffee table sits in the middle. Suddenly, a figure with blonde hair appears to my right and I nearly jump. A familiar voice mutters soothing words and a glass of water is pushed into my shaking hands. Taking a sip, my mind immediately sharpens and my tremors stop. The outline of the figure beside me sharpens and Draco Malfoy, a worried expression etched onto his features. I blush in embarrassment, remembering that this is the second time that this has happened. What is it with me and passing out around my boss?

He runs a hand through his hair, as if nervous, and begins to speak.

"Erm.. It's late out..." Draco silently chastised himself for the loss of his silver tongue. "And I think that your drink got spiked with some bad Amortentia, probably by the Weasel. I'm not sure if you should Apparate home. So.. uh... if you want to stay the night, to recover..."

"Oh..." I blush harder, trying to bury myself into the black shawl I had previously conjured. "Are you sure that's not a problem?" Draco shook his head. "Of course not!" He stood up and jokingly offered me his arm; I giggle like a schoolgirl and take it as he leads me to a guest room; decorated with the same theme as the living room. Black marble floor with the same, white carpet, that contrasted heavily with the dark sheets on the bed.

Stuttering, he left as I explore the sizable washroom, and I wash my face and Transfigure my tight skirt and shirt to a more comfortable singlet and shorts before pulling my hair into a bun and sliding into the cool sheets and falling asleep in seconds.

***

I berate myself as I slip into the sheets that match the guest rooms for allowing that proposition to slip from my lips. I really can't keep acting like this; the only thing it's going to accomplish is to drive her away. As I slip into the land of darkness and nightmares, I have to remember that she only stayed out of concern for her own well-being.

***

I wake up early (for a Saturday) and I look around in confusion and a bit of a panic if I'm being honest before remembering last night. A flash of rage burns through me as I recall that Draco had said that he was pretty sure I had been out of whack because of some bad Amortentia that Ron had spiked my drink with.

Who is he to think I'll come back? I resolve to cut off all contact with him and to request that no Ministry owls can be sent off with a letter bearing my name. I've truly had enough, and now that I've broken free I'm certainly not going to return to him.

Listening carefully, I can hear Draco's soft snores from the room next to me- and I slip out of my room, looking around for the kitchen. Surprisingly, there is one, outfitted with state-of-the-art muggle appliances.

I do quite a bit of cupboard-banging and double-takes before I find an unopened bag of flour, salt, and other various ingredients for crepes. Finally giving up, I resort to summoning the equipment before getting to work.

I must've raised more of a ruckus than I thought, because Draco soon emerges from his bedroom, yawning, clad in only a pair of loose pyjama pants that causes a flush to creep up my neck at the strange situation.

I'm pretty sure this is normal between most employees and employers.

***

I stop, mid-yawn, at the sight of Hermione in my normally unused kitchen. Her hair is up in a messy bun, letting a few strands fall to frame her face.

She's clearly in sleepwear, in a black singlet and shorts that show off the creamy legs wrapped up in fishnets the night before. My heart aches at the sight; if only this was a regular reality. But I've already promised that I can't hurt her anymore. Surely this is such an uncomfortable, awkward situation. I shouldn't have proposed for her to stay, I should've walked her home.

I make another silent promise to not speak about this again as I greet her good morning.

***

Draco yawns a lazy 'good morning' before taking interest into the crepes and even offering to help. I insist on doing it myself, realizing what a tense and awkward situation this is. Silence sits, heavy in the air, as I work quietly. I should've just gone home; surely his apartment is connected to Floo or I could've just walked home. This has got to be out of charity and concern for the efficiency of the workplace, not out of any other... sentiment. What he said before- asking me, after the first time I had fallen into a coma, about how I could even look him in the eye- surely that was in reference to the unexpected outcome of me working for him, nothing more.

***