By: malpal132
It happens like this:
Hermione is hunched over her desk like some kind of Tolkien goblin, essentially deep-throating three Sambal fish tacos from Del Seoul in a desperate bid to finish a late lunch before her next appointment (she’d rather choke to death than be late) when a light knock on the open door makes her head snap up.
“Dr. Granger?”
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Her previous nonchalance about choking to death vanishes when she sees who’s standing in her door and a piece of fish hunkers down for a long winter in her esophagus.
“Are you--shall I perform the Heimlich?” He asks, face familiar and concerned as he moves a step closer. “I don't think your face should be that shade of purp--”
She cuts him off by vomiting into the trash can.
Airway finally clear, she gulps a few greedy breaths. Her lungs expand and her face burns, and Hermione genuinely wonders if she’s hallucinating. She’s not prone to fantastical thinking even though she’s well acquainted with the fantastic, but...why else would Draco Malfoy be standing in front of her?
Malfoy, on crutches.
Malfoy, handing her a tissue?
Malfoy, but...not.
It’s complicated.
Status | Words | Chapters |
Completed | 15,686 | 1 |
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