Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters within. I do, however, have my very own cold.

Warning: A little angsty. Kinda fluffy. Lame ending.

Author's Note: Yeah, I have a cold. A cold that inspired this lovely little thing here. It takes place after the 7th book, where they all decide to go back to Hogwarts and finish their last year.

---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---

The common cold…

Well, common enough in the muggle world that they actually have medicines that can help. Not so much here, at Hogwarts. Nothing for the fatigue and aching. Nothing for the cough, fever, and dizzy spells. Though Madame Pomfrey did find the perfect cure for a runny nose. Thank Merlin for that. I mean, could you imagine, me, Hermione Granger running around from class to class with snot dripping from my nose?

No, thank you. I'll pass on that one.

But that still leaves me with the other bloody symptoms. And let me tell you, fever and dizzy spells are not fun when you're trying to pass off to your best friends that you're perfectly fine and can attend class as usual. Oh, and let me remind you that these friends of ours are very, very, very nosy and can't mind their own bloody business for the life of them. I mean, honestly. Can't a girl have a cold and not need to fret about anything else but said cold.

Apparently not.

So, here I am, walking to Potions and here they are, sweet as can be, trying to get me to head back to the dormitories and get some 'well deserved rest'. It's not well deserved unless it's actually well deserved in my book. Then again, they never really do care about my book. They care about me, and supposedly my book is worse for my health than theirs. (Might I remind you of all the trouble they've gotten me dragged into over the last few years.) How can they possibly fathom that their way is better than my way. I'm the student with the highest honors here!

Honestly, the nerve of these two…

"Hermione," Harry speaks softly, placing his hand on my shoulder to try and stop me from moving. "You've got to rest. You'll ware yourself down this way."

I know he's worried, but that's a bit crazy don't you think? I can take care of myself very well, thanks. I don't really need them looking over their shoulder every five minutes, trying to keep me safe and shielded from everything that I don't need to be protected from.

"Ware herself down?" Ron sounds skeptical; maybe he's on my side. "She's going to sodding kill herself!"

"Alright," I sigh, glancing the both of them on either side of my body while shifting the books in my hands. "That's going way over the top, Ronald."

"But 'Mione," He whines, giving me a pleading look with his big green eyes. "You've almost fallen asleep at breakfast, lunch, and dinner three times now. Even you're school work is showing how much you're straining yourself! Not to mention, you look awful."

"Why, thank you, Ronald," I snap, giving him an icy glare with my most-likely glazed over eyes. "That makes me feel so much better."

"It wasn't meant to make you feel better," He grumbles, crossing his arms to pout a bit. "It's meant to make you go back to the dorms and sleep for the rest of the day."

"Not going to happen, Ron." I state as we come up on the Potions room door.

Stepping past the tall men that I call my friends, I slide through the open wood door and make my way to my seat at the front of the room. I can feel the wary looks that Ron and Harry give me from behind, and they both sigh in defeat (for now). I let a small smile curve my lips as I take a seat at my desk and relax a little once my books are laid perfectly out before me. Suddenly, my breath comes a little shallow, as it does just before I'm about to cough; I cover my mouth as my shoulders shakes with the kick behind the small spasms.

When they're finally over, I open my eyes to see Professor Snape standing before me. "Funny, how even magic can't find a cure for something as simple as a cold. Isn't it, Ms. Granger?"

I nod meekly because I don't normally talk to Snape on a friendly basis. And yet, here he is, talking to me with underlying sarcasm as if we're old buddies. Weird… His mouth twitches up in a bitter grin for a second as he pulls out a white handkerchief from his robes and hands it to me. Then, he's walking down the isles and calling out role. I don't bother raising my hand when he calls out my name because I'm too busy staring at the handkerchief he handed me. I'm not really sure why, either. I guess it's because it's just so… white. And, well, pure. It's so hard to find something pure anymore, and I'm not going to soil it with any kind of filth. I tuck it into my jean pocket and place my hands on top of the desk. For the first time since first year, I give my full attention to Professor Snape.

---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---

A small shudder climbs up my back and I shiver involuntarily as I feel someone's gaze on me for the millionth time today. Whipping around, I scan the Great Hall with a sharp gaze, and freeze when my eyes meet a pair of grey, almost silver orbs. My breath hitches for a second because why would he be staring at me? Then, eye brows furrowed, I tilt my head in a silent question. One he simply answers with a single shoulder shrug. Huffing a bit, I turn back around to poke at my food.

"Eat something," Harry looks at me from across the table, green eyes blazing with concern. I wish I could make my eyes blaze like that…

"I'm not hungry," I reply softly, resting my head in my hand while leaning my elbow on top of the table.

"Please," He sounds so worried. Like I might fade away or something.

It's understandable considering what we've all been through. Losing people. Almost losing people. Snape was one of those almost lost. But Fred… Fred is gone forever. Glancing over at Ron, he gives me a soft look before reaching over and placing a feather light caress against the hand resting at my cheek. I brush it away, sitting up straight and heaving a deep sigh before taking a large bite of vegetables and practically swallowing it whole.

"Happy?" I ask, looking around at the other people around me.

All friends. All worried. I'm so sick of being treated like brittle glass just because they're all scared. Now, again, I know it's reasonably scared, but still… I can't take much more of it.

"It's just a bloody cold, guys," I hiss, looking at them all one by one.

Neville. Dean. Seamus. Luna, for some reason. Ginny. And then, finally back to Ron and then Harry. None of them relented. Gripping the edge of the table, I grind my teeth together so hard it makes my jaw ache. Someone, I don't know who, reached out to touch me; to try and calm me. But I don't exactly feel a calming sensation. Instead it sends an electric bolt of anger and annoyance straight to my gut. Slamming up from the table, my plate clatters softly as I catch it on the way up.

Spinning around, I go to make my 'dramatic' exit when—Oh, joy! One of those fun little dizzy spells hit full-on, and I'm stumbling back a bit as I hold my hand and try to steady myself on my ever tottering feet. I can hear the clatter of more plates and forks and knifes as my friends get up to make sure I'm okay.

"I'm fine," I hiss as Ron tries to help me balance myself out, and I push him away softly but with enough force to make sure he's hurt emotionally for a while.

Even though the room is still spinning a mile a minute, I stomp my way out of the Great Hall and into the less-great-halls. (Thought I'd try and lighten the mood with a bad pun.) Placing a hand on the cold, stone wall just outside the doors to try and help me with the shifty vision; I take a deep shuddering breath to calm the rapid beat of my heart. My lips tremble as I breath in shallow gasps, and my hands start shaking as the deep ache in my chest I was sure was from the cold starts to worsen. There's a lump in my throat and I tip my head back, brushing my hair out of the way as I try to hold back the hot, burning tears.

"Damn it," I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut, if only to block out everything that happened.

Because let's face it… I can't face it. I can't deal with the fact that so many people died. I can't fathom why someone would do such a thing, even if they were evil. Even if they were bad. It just didn't make any sense, and it just hurt. It hurt too much. A small hiccupping breath passes through my lips and I can feel those scalding tears brimming the edges of my eyes and I can't help but sob helplessly into my hands as I slide down the wall.

Suddenly, someone clears their throat and I don't even bother to look up as my shoulders shake with each sob. I just don't care. Bringing my legs up to my chest, I try to concave in on myself. Try to disappear even though I know it won't happen. Then, a puff of hot air ghosts across the back of my hands and shifts the waves of my hair as someone kneels down in front of me.

"Go away," I manage out, and it sounds weak even to me.

There's a soft chuckle and I tense up a bit as a warm hand rests on my head. Judging by the range of the chuckle, I'm guessing it's a guy. He moves his hand slowly, gently; stroking back my hair as I continue to break down in front of him. It's surprisingly comforting, so I unfurl a bit to lean against whomever it is. Gripping the soft material of their shirt, my sobs come a little harder now even though he's hesitating about putting his arms around me. He soon does though, and he pulls me tight against his chest as he falls back to sit on the ground and cradle me between his legs and in his arms.

His hands make soft trails up and down my back as I break in his embrace. He coos in my ear, but my sorrows are too loud that I can't make out what he's saying or recognize his voice. Soon enough, my heart beat calms as I sniffle against him. Fatigue and anxiety race through me as I melt against him in a tired puddle of fever and nausea. He chuckles against when my grip relaxes on his shirt because I think he's knows I'm falling asleep.

I don't get a chance to see him before the black claims me as it's mistress and seduces me into a sweet slumber.

---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---

I slide around beneath silk sheets, humming my gratitude softly as a small smile plays on my lips. I stretch my sore limbs, arching my back as I thread my fingers through my obvious bed-head. My eyes flutter open to stare up at sunlight streaked ceiling. That's when my heart jumps into my throat and I shoot up, alarmed to be in someone else's bed. Glancing down at myself, I let my hands wonder over my own body, trying to make sure no harm had come my way the night before. Then, after assessing that I'm perfectly well, my eyes bounce around the room to take in the mix of silver and a rich green.

"Slytherin?" I whisper to myself frightfully, and run my hands over my body for a second time. Just in case.

I jump as a door swings open, and I grab the soft material of the sheets that had pooled around my waist to haul up over my shoulders. Which is weird because I'm fully dressed in what I was wearing the night before. I'm met with the sight of the one and only Draco Malfoy walking out of a steaming bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips while he scrubs at his white blond hair with a slightly smaller towel. My heart all about stops and my jaw drops open as I take all of him in. Broad shoulders with a narrow waist and (Merlin, help me!) matching, fantastic abs. (And when the bloody hell did I become such a boy-crazy prat?!) I mean, I was just playing eye-tag with him last night. How did I get to his room?

It's like he's in slow motion as he shakes the last of the water from his rather soft looking hair. He steps forward, more into the room as he gazes out the large window that let's a large amount of morning light inside. Schooling my features, I wait until he notices me. Maybe this is all some horrible prank. Maybe it wasn't him that let me cry into his chest until I passed out last night.

"Oh," He states, looking and sounding surprised as his gaze locks with mine. "You're awake."

Well, there goes the 'horrible prank' theory.

Clearing my throat, I nod, glancing around to look at anything but him. "Yeah…"

"Oh, don't be so awkward, Granger." He states dryly, scrubbing the back of his head with a white and green towel. "Considering what happened last night, there's really no need to be anymore."

"What?!" I practically shriek, tumbling out of the bed in a tangled mess of jeans, cotton, and silk.

That's when I want to mentally slap myself across the back of the head. Because I know he's not saying we did anything. He's talking about the crying bit. But naturally I think something completely out of this universe—no, scratch that—dimension, that I look like a blubbering idiot, just lying it a heap on his bedroom floor. My hazel eyes dart up to catch with his silver ones and they glitter and sparkle in amusement. Great…

"Not what I meant, Granger." He chuckles, walking across the room and into another door. "Do you even remember? Or were you just that fever-pitched last night?"

"I remember," I grumble softly, squirming as I try to untangle myself without ripping the delicate material of the sheets.

"Good," He says and his voice is slightly muffled by the black cotton T-shirt that he's pulling over his head as he walks out of what is now obviously a closet in a pair of faded jeans. "That means things don't have to be awkward. Right?"

When he asks this he's holding out his hand for me to take, and I'm hesitant. He raises an eyebrow at me and I worry my lower lip between my teeth. Just because he ended up helping us in the end doesn't mean he can't be bad still. Though that doesn't really help because bad is unfortunately very hot. Now, bad turned good and they still do the occasional misfit thing? Sexy as hell.

Just as I'm about to take his hand, my chest gets heavy with an oncoming coughing fit. Retracting my outstretched hand, I use it to help cover my mouth as my body jerks with each rasping puff. My eyes squeeze shut because it hurts my throat; suddenly there's that soothing hand rubbing my back to try and calm the fit down a bit. When it's finally over, I take a deep breath, and when I gulp I can't help but cringe.

"Let me get you some water," He says softly and I nod, not opening my eyes.

As soon as his hand is gone, I miss it dreadfully. A small tremor runs up my back and I shiver with cold even though I know I'm feverish. He's back in a second, a small glass in hand as he sits down before me as I watch him, and holds it out for me. I smile gratefully, taking it, and downing the contents until my lips aren't chapped and my throat doesn't hurt. Sighing in relief, I place the glass down on the floor next to us and slump slightly.

"Any better?" He asks, curiosity sparking his voice.

"A little," I respond with a small nod, licking my lips.

That's when I spot his eyes locking onto my mouth. He licks his own lips as I study his face, but his eyes remain solely on my mouth. I squirm a bit under the intensity of his stare, and his eyes finally dart back to clash with mine. My brows shoot up in question, and I tilt my head a bit like I did last night. He grins and responds with a single shoulder shrug again. Rolling my eyes, I try to stand while getting myself untangled. He's up before me, steadying me so that I don't fall over while I bend down to pull my feet from the snug bindings of green silk.

When I'm finally free, I heave a frustrated sigh, causing him to laugh. It's a nice laugh too. Not the one I usually hear when he's sitting across the room, chuckling darkly at something someone says they'd done… But a real laugh. I like it.

Smiling up at him as he grips my elbow, I gesture down at the pile of material. "Apparently, it didn't want to let me go."

"Apparently," He grins and I try to ignore the little flutter of my heart.

"So," I start lamely.

"You leaving?" He questions innocently, finally letting go of her arm and leaving her with that achy feeling in her chest. "Breakfast is soon, and I'm sure you'll want to change so that Potty and Weasel—I mean, Potter and Weasley don't go getting suspicious."

"Yeah, uh… Yeah," I blink as if trying to break out of a daze or trying to wake up from a dream. "I should probably do that. Good idea."

I turn to head to the door that leads out of his room as he leans down to pick up the tangled mess on the floor. Then it hits me. Whipping around, my brows furrowed in confusion as I stare/ semi-glare at his back.

"Wait," My voice raises a bit. "Suspicious of what, exactly?"

"Well," He snaps around, looking guilty and yet, not guilty at all. "Ya know… Of… stuff. Or, I don't know… Why you were gone all night?"

"Took you a long time to answer such a simple question, Malfoy." My eyes narrow against his and he stiffens in retaliation. "What are you hiding?"

He scoffs, sneering at me before turning around to finish making his bed. A low growl escapes from the back of my throat and he glances at me from over his shoulder. He looks amused again. And still semi-guilty. Huffing, I take the few steps I walked only seconds ago and now I'm pretty much toe-to-toe with him.

"Tell me, Malfoy," I hiss, glaring up at him with a heat so intense it could melt the polar ice-caps. "Remember, I can make you cry without a wand."

He doesn't even look shaken as he twists around to face me, leaning back against the frame of his bed. "Well, Blaise might have started a little rumor when he saw me leaving after you at dinner."

My eyes widen in horror, and he has to muffle his laugh in his hand. "What kind of rumor are we talking about?"

"The kind where you spending the night in my room," He leans in, our noses almost brushing as a flush spreads along my cheek bones. "Only makes it look more true."

"Bloody hell," I whisper in a mix of negative emotions. "On what grounds? It's not like we like each other, or anything."

He shrugs with both shoulders this time, his trade-mark, lady-killing smirk playing proudly on his lips. "Maybe we do."

I stumble back a step, my eyes growing wider by the second. Because no way can he know that I like him. And there's no way that he likes me. He catches my waist, tugging me back, but not pressing me to him; he keeps me at barely-brushing distance. My heart jumps into my throat again as his fine eyebrows furrow in hardly concealed concern.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" He asks, his voice low and husky even as it wavers with worry. "You dizzy again?"

"No," It slides past my lips, airy and soft and it barely sounds like me. "Yes. I think I might faint."

His grip tightens a bit and he braces himself to catch me if I do, in fact, faint in his hold. "What for? Fever?"

"No," I shake my head, my hand coming up to touch my forehead to double-check. "You called me 'Hermione'."

"That's your name, isn't it?" He grins, relaxing a bit.

"Yes, but you don't use it!" I snap, hitting his shoulder as if to prove some sort of mad point. "It's always 'Granger' or 'Mudblood', with you!"

"Only when you're around," He shrugs, and I'm so in shock about everything that I barely notice the pink tint on his cheeks.

"Are you—" I gasp, my eyes going wide as my hands dart to my parted lips. "You're blushing!"

He let's my hips go, dragging a hand through his still damp hair as he looks away. "Malfoy's don't blush, Granger."

"Yeah, but apparently Draco does," I grin cheekily because it's like some amazing find. "And don't call me Granger."

He looks at me with an peculiar expression before suddenly his hands are on my shoulders and he's tugging me forward until I'm pressed to him like a glove and his mouth crashes hungrily against mine. I gasp in surprise, but my eyes flutter shut as he nips on my lower lip and I arch into him; trying to get closer. My fingers tangle through his hair as his mouth works feverishly against mine, and his hands find their way to my hips as his thumb brushes the sliver of skin between the top of my pants and the bottom of my shirt.

"Then don't call me Malfoy," He growls, almost possessively as he pulls from the kiss and buries his face in the crook of my neck. "Ever again."

He bites at the juncture between my shoulder and my neck and I gasp his name, "Draco."

I feel him smirk, and when I pull from the embrace I give him one of those questioning looks again. "I told you maybe we like each other."

---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---Harry Potter---

"You look good, 'Mione." Luna's airy voice floats from behind me as the blond sits down next to me. "Well rested."

"I feel better," I reply with a mega-watt smile. "And well rested."

"Very good then," She smiles like she knows something, but doesn't say a word.

My cold is gone, and it's finally lunch. Which makes me happy because I didn't each much last night, and not this morning either. I'm starving. Ron and Harry come sit down across from me, but they luckily don't block the view I set up for myself. They look at each other, and then look at me with confused expressions.

"You look… Happy," Ron says between mouthfuls and I nod.

"Which is weird considering the rumor going about," Harry adds, trying to seem nonchalant. "It's about you and Malfoy."

"Really," I ask, glancing up. "I haven't heard."

"Yeah," Ron nods, finishing for Harry like they're reading each other's minds. "That he got his cold from you. Because you guys, like, snogged or something."

My eyes fly over to Draco at his table and he winks subtly before having a coughing fit into his hands. Hand going to the scarf around my neck that hides the small hickey he gave me this morning, my eyes meet two sets of over-protective ones. Smiling bright, I chuckle and shake my head.

"Now," I look up beneath my lashes, darting another glance at the blond three tables away. "Where did you guys hear a thing like that?"

Fin.

Hope you guys liked it! Much love, (REVIEW)

~TaRa