Hermione sat up with a start and rolled off her bed quickly, a stack of books that she had pushed to the foot of her bed the night before tumbled to the ground. The noise made her stop; she hadn't overslept, she wasn't late for exams, she was home and Hogwarts had finished giving exams almost two weeks ago.
With a frustrated groan, Hermione collapsed back onto the bed. She had been waking up like this every day since her parents had collected her from Hogwarts. Hermione just couldn't convince herself that she didn't need to get up so early to make it to breakfast in the dining hall or to rush off to the library for a few more desperate minutes of study.
She was still adjusting to being home for the summer. Even though school was officially finished, Hermione still felt that she should be there completing her exams or taking her OWLs.
She had hated leaving, but her parents had been adamant when they had finally arrived at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had then brought up from Hogsmeade where they had taken the train from London.
One look at her mother's determined face had left no hope for argument when the Grangers had swooped into the hospital wing. Her mother had glared at Hermione as if blaming her for getting into trouble and then had broken down into tears. Hermione wasn't use to seeing her mother so emotionally distraught. Both of her parents lived calm, sedate lives in London suburbia. The most exciting thing to have ever happened to either of them was Hermione's being a witch and they had accepted that with open arms. Neither of the Grangers were known for emotional outbursts, but there was Hermione's mother, hysterically clutching her only child and asking in a very shaky voice, just what had she been thinking?
There was a light sound against Hermione's bedroom door and she sat up again. Crookshanks butted his way into the room, a slice of fat bacon clamped tightly in his jaws. He jumped lightly onto the bed and dropped the bacon onto Hermione's pillow while he paused to straighten down a rosette of his orange hair that was sticking up before he returned his attention back to his meal.
"Breakfast already Crookshanks?" Hermione purred and ruffled her cat's fur, nonplussed about the bacon grease staining her blue pillowcase.
The cat made no reply and Hermione slid off her bed once again and pulled a sweater over her head. She always thought that her father liked to keep the house a bit too cold, even in the summer. She headed down the stairs deeply in thought.
She hadn't gotten to see much of Harry and Ron before leaving Hogwarts. Her parents had wanted to take her home right away; her friends had only just managed to catch them in the Entrance Hall on their way out. She hadn't seen Draco since he had left the hospital wing only moments before her parents had arrived. Not that Hermione had expected him to meet her parents. She had a hard time picturing Draco politely nodding while her father explained the mechanics of proper dental surgery, but she had felt terribly abandoned when he had given her hand a squeeze and then disappeared behind the white linen curtain. He had seemed almost afraid to touch her, afraid that she might break. Hermione had almost grabbed his retreating arm and pulled him back down onto the bed with her to show him just how far from fragile she really was. But in the few moments where such a bold act might have been accomplished, Hermione's sense propriety had reared its head. And Draco had left with things feeling horribly unfinished.
Hermione reached the bottom of the stairs and passed the large parlor on the right and headed towards the kitchen where the aroma of breakfast was already slinking down the hallway to greet her. Not surprisingly, the Granger's household was as neat and efficient as their daughter. Breakfast was put out at seven sharp every morning except for Saturday when her parents would go together for a late morning stroll, thus postponing breakfast until ten. It had been this way for as long as Hermione could remember and the schedule was refreshing after half a year away at Hogwarts where her eating plans depended on her study schedule and the wishes of Harry and Ron.
"Good morning dear," her parents chorused together as she appeared in the doorway.
"Good morning Mom, Dad." Hermione replied.
The Grangers were sitting at the kitchen table reading newspapers. They had long ago discovered that their marriage was a much happier one when they each got their own copy of the morning's paper rather than try to patiently wait for the other to finish it. Two identical headlines faced Hermione from either side of the table. She filled her plate with a helping of eggs and a few strips of bacon, but she wasn't feeling very hungry.
She had already talked to Harry and Ron after arriving home. In fact, a letter had been waiting for her before she had even gotten there. Her father had carried her, despite protestations that she wasn't that hurt, up the stairs to her room and there, waiting impatiently was little Pig. The letter that the excited owl had brought contained only a few lines from her friends. But they were heartwarming nonetheless. Harry and Ron had promised to give her every gory detail of their exams and had added that studying wouldn't be the same without her color-coded notes. The letter had brought a smile to her face, as did all the others that had followed it over the past couple of weeks.
But she hadn't heard from Draco.
But oh, she had heard of Draco. She still got the Daily Prophet delivered every morning and for several days after her departure, the death of Lucius Malfoy had made the front cover every day. Her mother hadn't wanted Hermione to read it, exclaiming that she had been through enough over that man as it was, but Hermione had insisted.
Headmaster Dumbledore was good to his word for neither Hermione or Draco was ever mentioned in the paper. At first his death was listed as unknown. The papers said that he had been congregating with a few friends for a business meeting in Hogsmeade. God forbid that there be a mention of death eaters. Eventually the authorities had deemed his death an accident caused by a rare malfunction in his wand. Hermione had figured that any malfunction that may have been discovered in Lucius Malfoy's wand had been added after his demise.
The funeral had been held a few days after she had left school. Lucius was buried in the family mausoleum that sheltered its ancient dead on the edge of the Malfoy grounds. The Daily Prophet had reported that it was one of the most well attended funerals of the decade, second only to that of Betty Betchel, beloved socialite and founder of Witch Weekly. Hermione had spent more time that she would admit watching the wizard photo of Draco and his mother as they sat somberly greeting people that was in the Prophet the day after the funeral. But the picture Draco had never looked up from his dismal duty.
After the sensational funeral where Cornelius Fudge himself gave the eulogy, readers began to lose interest in his death. The Daily Prophet pushed back articles about his life and unfortunate passing deeper into the paper; the second page, then the fourth, and so on until one morning, Hermione could find no mention of him at all.
She pushed the eggs around her plate with a fork, making little yellow piles. It just wouldn't do to dwell on it, on any of it. She should spend her time more productively, studying for the OWLs makeup that she would be taking in another week. Hermione Granger did not pine.
A flutter of wings through the window didn't even make her parents look up from their papers as the Daily Prophet owl glided towards the table. But before it could land, another owl, dark gray and large, bowled past it importantly. It landed in front of Hermione and snapped its beak at the other owl as if it were intruding. It turned its attention back to Hermione as the Daily Prophet owl hung back respectively. The gray owl held out its leg pompously and waited for Hermione to remove the letter that hung there.
A smile of realization dawned on Hermione's face, she knew of only one person who would have such an egotistical owl. "Draco," she breathed as she pulled the letter loose.
"Draco?" Her mother asked glancing at her over the top of the paper.
"I don't remember a Draco," Her father added from the other side of the table, a trace of vague interest in his voice.
"He's my." Hermione paused because she didn't think that there was a proper term for just what Draco was. "He's my friend, from school." She amended finally.
Hermione's mother folded her paper and sent her daughter a questioning look. But Hermione wasn't going to stay for the quiz. She grabbed a piece of toasted raisin bread off of a plate before bolting up the stairs. Her parents exchanged a look and a knowing smile before returning to their papers.
The letter was written on crisp white parchment, an embossed shield portraying a fire-breathing dragon marked one corner. Hermione looked unseeing at the strict print that Draco used. She had been unsure if she would see it again, but here it was.
Hermione,
I meant to write earlier but things have been busy here at the Manor as you can imagine. Can you believe all the fuss that everyone has been going to over his death? And the turn out at the funeral was far more than I had expected. Although I wouldn't be surprised if half of our concerned visitors were there to make sure the old bastard was really dead rather than pay their last respects.
Mother is fine. Everything that Pansy had said was a lie. You were right. She's better than fine as it turns out. It would seem that she has become rather friendly with her Quidditch coach over at the club. Friendly might not be a strong enough term for it, let's just say that my mother has been participating in some very un-widow like activities. She is taking Lucius' death very well, so well in fact that if we had stuck him in the ground, I think she would be dancing on his grave every night. Or perhaps, even more seedy things with that coach of hers, but I'd rather not dwell on that.
The lawyers have been hell. No one expected the money and estate to be transferred to me at such a young age. But I'm hardly complaining. I've always enjoyed being disgustingly wealthy, and now it's all in my name. Lucius never trusted my mother with money, so it's not terribly surprising that almost all of the fortune went to me.
Exams went well. Potions especially, it was hilarious, that nit Longbottom spilled his potion and melted off half of Snape's robe. Of course, you probably don't find that funny at all, do you? I can just picture you telling me not to laugh at Longbottom. I suppose that he can't really help being an idiot.
I was thinking that perhaps, when you're feeling up to it, that you might like to come and see the Manor. Stay a day or two if you're willing. I know what you must be thinking, how can I possibly ask you to come visit a place known for various inequities and many dark, dastardly plots. But just think how much fun it would be to have Lucius spinning in his grave.
Just think about it. I have all of our work here. Dumbledore sent it day after I got home. He's either very smart, or much more crazy than I had believed. Actually, it's probably a combination of the two. But if Dumbledore still approves of us working together, how can you not? He is your hero, after Potter, anyway. Just think about it.
Draco
Hermione closed the letter and leaned back in her chair at the desk. A smile was splayed across her face and she felt better than she had in days. But going to the Manor? She didn't know if she was up for that. Wouldn't the pureblood walls rise up and crush her for her temerity?
There was a gentle knock on her door and her mother peered in at her. "Hermione, this came for you after you left the table." In her hands was a wrapped package.
Hermione frowned slightly as she took the parcel from her mother, not knowing why someone would be sending her something. Her mother walked back out, giving Hermione some privacy.
She pulled the paper off carefully, keeping the wrapped package at arms length. She knew enough of the wizard world to not trust things at face value. But as the paper disappeared, she recognized the dark green leather binding to be a book. Excitedly Hermione pulled off the rest of the paper and stared at her own name imprinted across the front of it. Trimmed with crimson and written in gold letters was the title A Translation and then under that was Volume I of the Gregorius O'Leary Journals by Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy.
She stared down at it in disbelief. With shaking hands she carefully opened the book and began to rapidly flip through the pages. They were hand printed; Draco's again, and only filled half the book. The rest was left open and blank. On the very first page he had written her a message.
"It's only a rough draft of course. We are supposed to be keeping our discoveries a bit of a secret. But Dumbledore thinks that in a year or two, we could actually publish. I started working on it as soon as you left school. I think that it has come out very well."
There was more, just a few more words. Hermione couldn't be sure but she thought that he had added them on later after much consideration. The slant to his letters seemed different than the rest of note. Hermione decided that she would ask him when she got to the Manor, because she had suddenly decided that she was going. How could she not after all? For at the end of his message were three brilliant little words.
"I miss you."
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Chapter 30: He Mele No Lilo
It was a bad time. He stood in the hospital wing with Potter, and Weasley. Their wounds paled in comparison to hers. There were several tense moments, and whispered worries from behind the curtain. And then, to add to their fears, Dumbledore came into the hospital wing with something that none of the boys had ever seen in Hogwarts; a specialist from St. Mungo’s.
Draco had felt sick, well, sicker than he already did at any rate. And Potter seemed to see this for he turned to the Slytherin.
“She’ll be all right,” he told Draco softly.
Weasley nodded in agreement and Draco felt strangely comforted. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, but he decided then that there were worse wizards on the Earth and as much as he disliked then, Potter and Weasley weren’t quite so bad. And he had to give Hermione credit, she might have a pair of idiots for friends, but few could have held their own against a couple of Death Eaters.
The tension in the room was becoming almost palpable by the time the Headmaster finally pulled back the curtain and slipped out. For a moment there was no twinkle in his blue eyes and Draco decided that he didn’t want to hear it. He would rather stay forever in the Hospital wing outside of the curtain that separated the two of them rather than find out she was gone.
“She’s going to be fine.”
Dumbledore’s voice stilled all of these thoughts in Draco’s mind. He noticed then that Weasley was paler than he had ever seen him and that Potter’s hands had been so tightly clenched together that his knuckles were white and a crimson tinge, that might have been blood had Draco gotten a closer look, marred his palms.
“It was rather close there as you can imagine,” The Headmaster continued, “it wasn’t Cruciatus, although the lingering effects of that curse can plague a body for days, but rather the damage done to her skull was, as Madame Pomfrey put it, most severe.”
The curtain was pulled open again and the wizard from St. Mungo’s walked out. He nodded at Professor Dumbledore, “Albus, if there’s nothing else I must be on my way. I’ve left instructions with Madame Pomfrey, bandages won’t be necessary as long as she continues with the Claustrium charm on every half hour for the next twelve hours.”
“You have my deepest thanks Tyler, please give my regards to Betta and the girls.” The Headmaster gripped the doctor’s hands and smiled.
Madame Pomfrey pulled open Hermione’s curtain again, leaving it agape, and the boys were able to see her for the first time since the Headmaster had taken the girl from them in Hogsmeade. She was terribly pale, her dark hair fringing a pallid face. There was no trace of the blood that had stained her skin earlier that evening. She was no longer wearing her school robes but a white hospital gown that made her seem even frailer. But Draco, in his relief, never thought she had looked better.
After the specialist left, the Headmaster turned back to the boys, “Poppy, I do believe that Misters Potter, Weasley, and Malfoy will be needing your attention as well.”
“Of course Headmaster,” She said as she went to Ron first, his obviously broken arm the most noticeable injury.
“And you Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore took Draco’s arm and led him to a bed near Hermione’s, “you will be needing your rest I imagine.”
Draco leaned against the bed, not wanting to sleep, but finding the softness against him overwhelming.
“Once we are all as we should be,” the Headmaster said softly, “I believe that you and Ms. Granger have some very interesting news for me. There are many things that need to be explained, but there will be time enough for that later.” Professor Dumbledore glanced down the hospital wing to where a closed door was at the far end.
Draco knew what was beyond that door; he knew what was in that room. For Draco had been watching when that half-giant had brought in the body of Lucius. But he had been to worried about Hermione to think much of it and as he had laid back onto the hospital bed, he found that he would much rather put thinking about it off just a little while longer. At least until the next morning when the sun was up, the sky bright, and the cold emptiness of his father’s dead eyes not so chilling.
The morning was radiant and clear. Draco was pleased to wake up before the two Gryffindor boys that were there. He looked quickly to Hermione, but she hadn’t moved at all. Her eyes were still squeezed tightly shut and her body still lay curled on its side. With the light of the new day, Draco could see a dark bruise marking her otherwise pale cheek. He felt white- hot rage as he looked at Lucius’ handiwork. And then a nervous flutter of tension as he thought about what might have happened if he hadn’t gotten there in time.
“She’s not awake yet?”
Caught off guard, Draco spun back on his bed to glare at Potter who was sitting up, scratching his head sleepily, in the bed next to his.
“Actually Potter, she’s already been up. Ran down to the library to catch up on the homework that she didn’t get to do last night and just popped back in a moment or two ago for a little nap.” Draco told him sourly.
“Was’ going on?” Another voice mumbled as Weasley, farther on down the hall, pushed his blanket back.
“Malfoy is just trying his hand as a comedian,” Potter said to his friend.
“Not going over to well with the audience is he?” Weasley asked as he looked at Potter’s annoyed face.
The door to Madame Pomfrey’s office opened and the nurse marched past them to Hermione’s bedside. She held her wand at the base of Hermione’s head and said a spell. She then turned to check on the boys.
“Well you are all looking a might better I dare say.” She said kindly as she checked Ron’s repaired arm. “I think that you two might even be able to pop on down to the Great Hall for breakfast if you hurry.”
Weasley practically flew out of his bed. But then he stopped and looked at Hermione, “Couldn’t we stay until she wakes up?”
Potter nodded in agreement as he stumbled out of his own bed and began pulling his school robes on top of his hospital gown.
“What, and have you two under foot all afternoon?” The nurse pulled a curtain around the boys so that Potter and Weasley could get dressed.
“But why does he get to stay?” Weasley complained shoving the curtain aside and motioning at Draco who was still sitting in bed.
“Because he is suffering from a severe level of exhaustion and I don’t trust him to get any decent rest down there in that dungeon of theirs. Too wet and drafty, no good at all.” She then forcibly headed them towards the door.
Draco for his part put on a pained expression and yawned deeply as the nurse mentioned his many ailments. But as soon as Madame Pomfrey had her back turned, he winked slyly at the departing boys.
Potter opened his mouth to say something nasty to Draco but the nurse gripped his shoulder in what was most likely a very tight pinch seeing as how Potter blanched and then slouched from the room in silence, Weasley in tow.
Draco settled back comfortably, a victorious smile spread wide across his face. But once the heavy door had closed behind the departing Gryffindors, Madame Pomfrey turned to Draco with a gaze that could freeze brimstone.
“Don’t get too cocky Mr. Malfoy.” She told him sternly as she approached with a potion of dreamless sleep.
“I really don’t think that’s…” Draco tried to counter as the nurse grabbed his chin.
Madame Pomfrey snorted as she forced the cool drink into his mouth. “There now,” she said in a gentle, if somewhat patronizing voice, “that’s better now isn’t it?”
Draco glared at her smiling face. She obviously was unimpressed by his lineage. He wasn’t able to become very annoyed over this however. The draught was already working its will and Draco was yet again fighting against his body’s desire for sleep. With a grumble of defeat he settled back down and the nurse bustled away. And he gazed back over at Hermione.
Draco angrily pushed his food around on his plate, his fork scraping the bottom of the china. He seemed to be the subject of interest for most of his fellow students. It didn’t help that no one really seemed to know what had happened. Not the other students, not the Headmaster, not Potter or Weasley, Draco himself was even unsure of the events of the night before last.
He looked up from his half eaten lunch as Crabbe and Goyle settled into their usual seats on either side of him. They looked about to say something but both stopped. What could they say really? His father was dead, that much they must know, but reports that he had been helping Potter and Weasley were held in high disbelief by most of the students in Hogwarts.
Draco looked down the length of the table, taking in the other Slytherins. Unlike the rest of the rowdy students, many of the Slytherins were somber and quiet. He looked at the seat across from him, and not surprisingly, Pansy wasn’t there.
The Gryffindor table was just as raucous as they normally were, even with Weasley and Potter absent. Draco hadn’t seen them since yesterday morning in the Hospital Wing. Whether they had snuck back in with the invisibility cloak like he had expected, he didn’t know. The dreamless sleep potion had rendered him completely comatose for the rest of the evening.
And just as the wonder boys had been forced from the Hospital Wing yesterday, Draco had met with the same exile when he had awoken that morning. While Hermione slept on unknowing.
Draco stood up abruptly, startling Crabbe and Goyle who were still trying to think of something to start a prying conversation with, and strode from the Slytherin table. His steps were certain and his expression calmly sardonic as he strode out of the dining hall. He stopped abruptly once the doors had closed behind him though.
At the foot of one staircase were Potter, Weasley, and Weasley’s sister. They appeared to be arguing, the two Weasleys especially. As Draco watched, he saw Potter becoming less involved with the fray. Weasley grabbed his sister’s shoulder as the heated exchange escalated. The girl had suddenly spied Draco over the shoulder of her brother and he decided then that he wasn’t really in the mood for a scene so he turned to head down to the dungeons. But he stopped when he saw the young girl hit her brother’s shoulder, forcing him to withdraw the controlling hand that he had placed on her.
“Malfoy,” she called and sprinted towards him. She looked him up and down when she reached him, sizing him up.
“Was there something you wanted?” He asked almost nicely, not really having anything against the girl other than the fact that she was another Gryffindor Weasley.
The girl bit her lip and looked back at her brother and Potter who were both wearing very guarded expressions. “She’s awake,” she said finally in a tumble of words. “I…I just thought that you should know.”
Draco nodded his thanks silently, he spared a moment to glare at Potter and Weasley, mentally taking back any thought that they might be somewhat all right, before turning and heading to the hospital wing.
“But I’m not hungry Madame Pomfrey.”
“Nonsense! I will not have anyone starving in here as long as I’m in charge of the hospital wing!”
Draco stood just on the outside of the open door, unbelievably pleased to hear Hermione’s voice, annoyed as it was at the moment.
“I am not starving! Ron brought me some toast earlier.” Her voice was trying to achieve its normally bossy tone, but she was obviously still to weak to put much into it.
“Toast? That’s not nutritious enough! Here, have some porridge dear.”
Draco grimaced as he remembered that very same goop that Madame Pomfrey had forced him to eat earlier that day before she had expelled him from the hospital wing. With a sense of anticipation, Draco stepped into the room.
“Really Granger, it’s not that bad. Once you get past the color, texture, and taste, it’s quite good.”
Madame Pomfrey made an exasperated sound and stalked into her office. Hermione just stared up at him from where she lay on the bed; a look that Draco didn’t really understand in her eyes.
“Draco,” she said softly.
He stood in the doorway feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden. “You’re awake,” he said stupidly.
Hermione looked down, “yes,” she replied unnecessarily.
“That’s good, everyone was worried.” Draco was feeling more idiotic by the second.
Hermione smiled slightly and glanced at the table next to her bed, which, Draco had just noticed, was brimming over with assorted treats and stacks of books, “yes, I had gathered that.”
“Gryffindor Tower strikes again,” Draco muttered as he approached the table, but his words held no bite. “What, did they just grab half the Divination section?” He held up a book contemptuously and read, “Is It In The Cards? A Witches Guide to Romantic Entanglements,” and then with even more disgust, “Palmistry of Love. You don’t really read this stuff do you?” His voice was incredulous.
“No, of course not, Lavender and Parvarti must have sent those with Ron and Harry when they found out that I was awake.” She smiled weakly and settled back against her pillow.
Draco looked at her, really looked at her, and felt guilty. It was his fault that she was in here after all. It was his fault that a dark bruise marred her pretty face. It was his fault that her skin was alabaster wrapped in cotton. He had never seen her so pale. Hermione was always warm and brown in his mind, not wraithlike and colorless.
“What is it?” She asked anxiously.
He almost flinched, when had it become so easy to read him? “I was just wondering why you didn’t have Madame Pomfrey remove that bruise.”
“Oh,” she flushed and Draco was pleased to see some color in her cheeks. “I just thought that, well it would be silly to have her magic it off. It wouldn’t change things, at least this way I’ve got something to show. Does that sound strange?”
“I don’t think so,” He replied seriously, marveling once again over the girl in the bed.
He continued to study her and she looked away from him shyly. A thought seemed to occur to her because she began to chew her lower lip, a sure sign that something was on her mind.
“Your father,” she started but then paused nervously. “He is dead, isn’t he?”
Draco nodded, hating his father more than he ever had. He wondered if what had happened in Hogsmeade would haunt her always. Would she always be afraid of him? Would seeing him always make her think of Lucius? But her next words completely shocked him.
“I’m so sorry.” Hermione said shakily as an escaped tear fled down her cheek.
“Sorry?” Draco moved quickly to her side and looked down at her imploringly. “Why are you sorry?”
Hermione sniffled, “because your father is dead.”
Draco almost laughed. His muffled snort did serve to draw her out of her tears though, “Hermione, he tried to kill you. He got what he deserved.” He cupped her cheek and made her look at him. “Do you understand? I’m not sorry that he’s dead.” And with these words he leaned closer to her and brushed his lips against her forehead. She whimpered against him and he pulled back quickly. “Did I hurt you?”
“No”
Draco noticed for the first time that her eyes were unchanged. Her eyes were that same light brown that he had become so accustomed to. He wanted to pick her up, collect her into his arms and spin her around for still being the same girl inside despite her appearance. But the Malfoy side of him assured him that not only would this be an improper course of action, but that she was also still too sore to appreciate it. So not wanting to incur the wrath of Madame Pomfrey were she to find him practically on the bed with Hermione; Draco turned and pulled a chair over to her bedside and settled himself into it. They didn’t speak for a few minutes as he sat and looked at her.
“Draco,” she said suddenly, “did you kill him?”
“I don’t think so,” he replied truthfully.
“Then was it O’Leary’s spell?” She asked with interest.
“That’s what we’re going to talk about.” Said a voice from the doorway.
Draco and Hermione both looked up at the new voice. The Headmaster was beaming at them from a few steps away. Draco hated it when he sneaked up on them. The old coot must have silence charms on every single part of his body.
“How are you feeling Ms. Granger? Better, I hope?” He asked kindly as he came to stand next to them.
Hermione nodded without speaking. She was studying the Headmaster with deep interest.
“I believe that the best place to start would be for the two of you to tell me about your intriguing discovery.” The Headmaster prompted amiably as he summoned a chair for himself.
Draco looked to Hermione, who nodded at him, before he started to recount the story of their work. While he found himself reveling in revealing such information to the obviously impressed Headmaster, part of him hated it. He was giving away himself, and her too. For what they had done in their room belonged to them, was them, and Draco hated sharing it.
When Draco had finally finished the Headmaster was nodding, a small, triumphant gleam in his eyes.
“Yes, yes, I had suspected as much.” Professor Dumbledore stood and wandered aimlessly about deep in thought. He stopped and looked back at them, “I have long been interested in the Knights of Aequitus, they had intrigued me. They were noble men fighting a dark enemy. And they eventually were triumphant, but the means that they used to achieve their goals ended up being as gruesome as that of their adversary. And with the rise of Voldemort, their struggle seemed even more pertinent.”
“History repeats,” Hermione said simply.
“I truly hope that we never have to stoop to such levels.” The Headmaster said quietly.
Draco noticed that the Dumbledore hadn’t said that they wouldn’t though.
“When I came across a few essays written by O’Leary, I thought that they might be of some use so I acquisitioned the entire collection for the school.”
“You knew,” Hermione said slowly as realization fully struck. “You knew it was there, the spell.”
“Yes, I knew of rumors that told of a spell that could block the killing curse or,” Dumbledore paused, “return it.”
“You mean that it just sent his own curse flying back him?” Draco asked.
“So it would seem. An inquiry from the ministry has already started. Several aurors were dispatched to the house where your father had been using as a waypoint in Hogsmeade. They were only able to find the residue of one killing curse, not two.” The Headmaster stopped to offer Hermione a piece of candy.
Draco digested this piece of information slowly. He hadn’t killed Lucius, not really. But the ministry had started an inquiry and Draco knew enough of the wizarding legal system to fully understand what that might mean for him.
“How much trouble should I expect?” Draco asked simply.
Hermione looked up in surprise, “trouble, why should you be in any trouble?” She glanced at Dumbledore who was studying Draco very closely. “Headmaster, he can’t get into any trouble, it was Lucius who cast the curse that killed him. Draco was protecting me. He didn’t, he didn’t do anything wrong. Please Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione’s voice was becoming quite panicked as the elderly wizard simply looked at Draco.
Dumbledore finally turned his gaze to hers and smiled, “don’t worry Ms. Granger, I have no intention of letting the ministry anywhere near either of you.”
He turned the smile towards Draco and for the very first time, Draco felt that he might understand where all of Hermione’s admiration for their Headmaster might come from.
“Now I must ask of you both to closely guard what you know.” Dumbledore turned to Hermione as she opened her mouth to argue and said, “I have little doubt that this knowledge will soon become known to Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, if it isn’t already,” here he gave Draco a penetrating glance. “And I’m sure that it will also manage to trickle out to various relations such as certain wayward Godfather’s, but I ask you to tell only who you must. This is very valuable information that the two of you possess. Do you understand?”
Draco and Hermione both nodded silently, under the deep gaze of their Headmaster, there seemed to be nothing else to say. At the moment, surprise was there best defense against Voldemort. And having some of his superlative spells suddenly become useless would certainly be advantageous to the side of Potter and his friends.
The Headmaster put a small candy in his mouth and then smiled at Hermione. “My dear Ms. Granger, I had almost forgotten, you’re parents should be arriving here in a few hours.”
“What?” Hermione gasped in surprise, “but they’re supposed to be in Ireland, attending a conference.”
“Once they were notified of the incident, they decided to cut their trip short.” The Headmaster paused for a moment as if knowing that what he was going to say would upset the young woman. “I am under the impression that they intend to take you home with them.”
Draco’s eyes widened, school was almost over, that was true, but he had anticipated spending the last week or so with Hermione. He hadn’t ever thought how her parents might react to all of this. Neither, apparently, had Hermione.
“But…but Headmaster, what about exams?” Her voice quavered dangerously, “what about OWLs?”
Dumbledore chuckled, “I do not think that they intend to pull you out of school child. I believe that they just want to make sure that you are properly cared for. I know that no nurse has ever tended a wound better than a mother. And as for your finals, I have spoken with all of your professors; they have all agreed that other arrangements can be made. As far as OWLs are concerned, there is a make up exam offered in early June.”
Hermione still looked on the verge of bursting into tears, but she took a few steadying breaths and calmed down. “Thank you Professor.” She said softly.
“No Ms. Granger, thanks belong to you, to both of you.” The elderly wizard stood up then and headed towards the door.
A question that had bothering Draco for a day suddenly came to mind, “Headmaster?” Draco asked as he stood as well. “How did you know that we were in Hogsmeade?”
Hermione watched interestedly as Professor Dumbledore turned back to them.
“That is a very good question Mr. Malfoy.” His blue eyes twinkled, “Ms. Parkinson was waiting for me when I returned early from my own conference. She was quite distraught when I found her, apparently she had been misled by your father.”
Draco laughed derisively, “that little bint? She knew what she was doing.”
“I don’t think so Mr. Malfoy.” The Headmaster’s eyes were steady; “she wouldn’t be the first to fall victim to Lucius Malfoy’s administrations. I think that she is fairly innocent in the harm caused to Ms. Granger, and I have always regarded myself as a fairly good judge of character.” He turned then and strode out the door, leaving the two alone.
“Good judge of character?” Draco laughed sarcastically as the door closed behind the headmaster. “That from the man who hired Lockhart.”
Hermione laughed, and Draco turned back to look at her. “So you’re leaving.” He said simply.
“I guess so,” she replied evenly as she studied the blanket covering her.
“That’ll be nice, to get to go home early,” he said non-convincingly as he slouched back into his chair.
“Yeah, I suppose,” she replied equally unsure. “Draco,” she stopped and bit her lip.
“What?”
“What about us?” She asked without looking up, her face beginning to redden.
“What about us?” Draco snapped back sharply. He hated questions like these. Not only because he wasn’t fully sure of what she was asking of him but also because he didn’t know if he knew any answers.
She looked up glaring at his tone, “is this all done then? When I come back in the fall, will everything be as it was between us?”
Draco almost grinned in relief. He knew the answer to this question. “You obviously know very little about Malfoys, Granger.” Draco said and took her hand in his. “We never let go of something that belongs to us.”
Hermione let his words sink in for a moment. “You know Malfoy, it’s a good thing that I find you somewhat charming or I might have just slapped you for that.”
“I know”
Draco leaned across the bed and gently kissed her. His lips hardly touching her and yet he felt all the passion underneath it. He leaned back and smirked superiorly at her.
“What?”
“You think I’m charming.”
“Oh shut up,” but Hermione was grinning.
“Well, I did tell you that I’m the most charming bloke in the school.”
Draco had felt sick, well, sicker than he already did at any rate. And Potter seemed to see this for he turned to the Slytherin.
“She’ll be all right,” he told Draco softly.
Weasley nodded in agreement and Draco felt strangely comforted. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, but he decided then that there were worse wizards on the Earth and as much as he disliked then, Potter and Weasley weren’t quite so bad. And he had to give Hermione credit, she might have a pair of idiots for friends, but few could have held their own against a couple of Death Eaters.
The tension in the room was becoming almost palpable by the time the Headmaster finally pulled back the curtain and slipped out. For a moment there was no twinkle in his blue eyes and Draco decided that he didn’t want to hear it. He would rather stay forever in the Hospital wing outside of the curtain that separated the two of them rather than find out she was gone.
“She’s going to be fine.”
Dumbledore’s voice stilled all of these thoughts in Draco’s mind. He noticed then that Weasley was paler than he had ever seen him and that Potter’s hands had been so tightly clenched together that his knuckles were white and a crimson tinge, that might have been blood had Draco gotten a closer look, marred his palms.
“It was rather close there as you can imagine,” The Headmaster continued, “it wasn’t Cruciatus, although the lingering effects of that curse can plague a body for days, but rather the damage done to her skull was, as Madame Pomfrey put it, most severe.”
The curtain was pulled open again and the wizard from St. Mungo’s walked out. He nodded at Professor Dumbledore, “Albus, if there’s nothing else I must be on my way. I’ve left instructions with Madame Pomfrey, bandages won’t be necessary as long as she continues with the Claustrium charm on every half hour for the next twelve hours.”
“You have my deepest thanks Tyler, please give my regards to Betta and the girls.” The Headmaster gripped the doctor’s hands and smiled.
Madame Pomfrey pulled open Hermione’s curtain again, leaving it agape, and the boys were able to see her for the first time since the Headmaster had taken the girl from them in Hogsmeade. She was terribly pale, her dark hair fringing a pallid face. There was no trace of the blood that had stained her skin earlier that evening. She was no longer wearing her school robes but a white hospital gown that made her seem even frailer. But Draco, in his relief, never thought she had looked better.
After the specialist left, the Headmaster turned back to the boys, “Poppy, I do believe that Misters Potter, Weasley, and Malfoy will be needing your attention as well.”
“Of course Headmaster,” She said as she went to Ron first, his obviously broken arm the most noticeable injury.
“And you Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore took Draco’s arm and led him to a bed near Hermione’s, “you will be needing your rest I imagine.”
Draco leaned against the bed, not wanting to sleep, but finding the softness against him overwhelming.
“Once we are all as we should be,” the Headmaster said softly, “I believe that you and Ms. Granger have some very interesting news for me. There are many things that need to be explained, but there will be time enough for that later.” Professor Dumbledore glanced down the hospital wing to where a closed door was at the far end.
Draco knew what was beyond that door; he knew what was in that room. For Draco had been watching when that half-giant had brought in the body of Lucius. But he had been to worried about Hermione to think much of it and as he had laid back onto the hospital bed, he found that he would much rather put thinking about it off just a little while longer. At least until the next morning when the sun was up, the sky bright, and the cold emptiness of his father’s dead eyes not so chilling.
The morning was radiant and clear. Draco was pleased to wake up before the two Gryffindor boys that were there. He looked quickly to Hermione, but she hadn’t moved at all. Her eyes were still squeezed tightly shut and her body still lay curled on its side. With the light of the new day, Draco could see a dark bruise marking her otherwise pale cheek. He felt white- hot rage as he looked at Lucius’ handiwork. And then a nervous flutter of tension as he thought about what might have happened if he hadn’t gotten there in time.
“She’s not awake yet?”
Caught off guard, Draco spun back on his bed to glare at Potter who was sitting up, scratching his head sleepily, in the bed next to his.
“Actually Potter, she’s already been up. Ran down to the library to catch up on the homework that she didn’t get to do last night and just popped back in a moment or two ago for a little nap.” Draco told him sourly.
“Was’ going on?” Another voice mumbled as Weasley, farther on down the hall, pushed his blanket back.
“Malfoy is just trying his hand as a comedian,” Potter said to his friend.
“Not going over to well with the audience is he?” Weasley asked as he looked at Potter’s annoyed face.
The door to Madame Pomfrey’s office opened and the nurse marched past them to Hermione’s bedside. She held her wand at the base of Hermione’s head and said a spell. She then turned to check on the boys.
“Well you are all looking a might better I dare say.” She said kindly as she checked Ron’s repaired arm. “I think that you two might even be able to pop on down to the Great Hall for breakfast if you hurry.”
Weasley practically flew out of his bed. But then he stopped and looked at Hermione, “Couldn’t we stay until she wakes up?”
Potter nodded in agreement as he stumbled out of his own bed and began pulling his school robes on top of his hospital gown.
“What, and have you two under foot all afternoon?” The nurse pulled a curtain around the boys so that Potter and Weasley could get dressed.
“But why does he get to stay?” Weasley complained shoving the curtain aside and motioning at Draco who was still sitting in bed.
“Because he is suffering from a severe level of exhaustion and I don’t trust him to get any decent rest down there in that dungeon of theirs. Too wet and drafty, no good at all.” She then forcibly headed them towards the door.
Draco for his part put on a pained expression and yawned deeply as the nurse mentioned his many ailments. But as soon as Madame Pomfrey had her back turned, he winked slyly at the departing boys.
Potter opened his mouth to say something nasty to Draco but the nurse gripped his shoulder in what was most likely a very tight pinch seeing as how Potter blanched and then slouched from the room in silence, Weasley in tow.
Draco settled back comfortably, a victorious smile spread wide across his face. But once the heavy door had closed behind the departing Gryffindors, Madame Pomfrey turned to Draco with a gaze that could freeze brimstone.
“Don’t get too cocky Mr. Malfoy.” She told him sternly as she approached with a potion of dreamless sleep.
“I really don’t think that’s…” Draco tried to counter as the nurse grabbed his chin.
Madame Pomfrey snorted as she forced the cool drink into his mouth. “There now,” she said in a gentle, if somewhat patronizing voice, “that’s better now isn’t it?”
Draco glared at her smiling face. She obviously was unimpressed by his lineage. He wasn’t able to become very annoyed over this however. The draught was already working its will and Draco was yet again fighting against his body’s desire for sleep. With a grumble of defeat he settled back down and the nurse bustled away. And he gazed back over at Hermione.
Draco angrily pushed his food around on his plate, his fork scraping the bottom of the china. He seemed to be the subject of interest for most of his fellow students. It didn’t help that no one really seemed to know what had happened. Not the other students, not the Headmaster, not Potter or Weasley, Draco himself was even unsure of the events of the night before last.
He looked up from his half eaten lunch as Crabbe and Goyle settled into their usual seats on either side of him. They looked about to say something but both stopped. What could they say really? His father was dead, that much they must know, but reports that he had been helping Potter and Weasley were held in high disbelief by most of the students in Hogwarts.
Draco looked down the length of the table, taking in the other Slytherins. Unlike the rest of the rowdy students, many of the Slytherins were somber and quiet. He looked at the seat across from him, and not surprisingly, Pansy wasn’t there.
The Gryffindor table was just as raucous as they normally were, even with Weasley and Potter absent. Draco hadn’t seen them since yesterday morning in the Hospital Wing. Whether they had snuck back in with the invisibility cloak like he had expected, he didn’t know. The dreamless sleep potion had rendered him completely comatose for the rest of the evening.
And just as the wonder boys had been forced from the Hospital Wing yesterday, Draco had met with the same exile when he had awoken that morning. While Hermione slept on unknowing.
Draco stood up abruptly, startling Crabbe and Goyle who were still trying to think of something to start a prying conversation with, and strode from the Slytherin table. His steps were certain and his expression calmly sardonic as he strode out of the dining hall. He stopped abruptly once the doors had closed behind him though.
At the foot of one staircase were Potter, Weasley, and Weasley’s sister. They appeared to be arguing, the two Weasleys especially. As Draco watched, he saw Potter becoming less involved with the fray. Weasley grabbed his sister’s shoulder as the heated exchange escalated. The girl had suddenly spied Draco over the shoulder of her brother and he decided then that he wasn’t really in the mood for a scene so he turned to head down to the dungeons. But he stopped when he saw the young girl hit her brother’s shoulder, forcing him to withdraw the controlling hand that he had placed on her.
“Malfoy,” she called and sprinted towards him. She looked him up and down when she reached him, sizing him up.
“Was there something you wanted?” He asked almost nicely, not really having anything against the girl other than the fact that she was another Gryffindor Weasley.
The girl bit her lip and looked back at her brother and Potter who were both wearing very guarded expressions. “She’s awake,” she said finally in a tumble of words. “I…I just thought that you should know.”
Draco nodded his thanks silently, he spared a moment to glare at Potter and Weasley, mentally taking back any thought that they might be somewhat all right, before turning and heading to the hospital wing.
“But I’m not hungry Madame Pomfrey.”
“Nonsense! I will not have anyone starving in here as long as I’m in charge of the hospital wing!”
Draco stood just on the outside of the open door, unbelievably pleased to hear Hermione’s voice, annoyed as it was at the moment.
“I am not starving! Ron brought me some toast earlier.” Her voice was trying to achieve its normally bossy tone, but she was obviously still to weak to put much into it.
“Toast? That’s not nutritious enough! Here, have some porridge dear.”
Draco grimaced as he remembered that very same goop that Madame Pomfrey had forced him to eat earlier that day before she had expelled him from the hospital wing. With a sense of anticipation, Draco stepped into the room.
“Really Granger, it’s not that bad. Once you get past the color, texture, and taste, it’s quite good.”
Madame Pomfrey made an exasperated sound and stalked into her office. Hermione just stared up at him from where she lay on the bed; a look that Draco didn’t really understand in her eyes.
“Draco,” she said softly.
He stood in the doorway feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden. “You’re awake,” he said stupidly.
Hermione looked down, “yes,” she replied unnecessarily.
“That’s good, everyone was worried.” Draco was feeling more idiotic by the second.
Hermione smiled slightly and glanced at the table next to her bed, which, Draco had just noticed, was brimming over with assorted treats and stacks of books, “yes, I had gathered that.”
“Gryffindor Tower strikes again,” Draco muttered as he approached the table, but his words held no bite. “What, did they just grab half the Divination section?” He held up a book contemptuously and read, “Is It In The Cards? A Witches Guide to Romantic Entanglements,” and then with even more disgust, “Palmistry of Love. You don’t really read this stuff do you?” His voice was incredulous.
“No, of course not, Lavender and Parvarti must have sent those with Ron and Harry when they found out that I was awake.” She smiled weakly and settled back against her pillow.
Draco looked at her, really looked at her, and felt guilty. It was his fault that she was in here after all. It was his fault that a dark bruise marred her pretty face. It was his fault that her skin was alabaster wrapped in cotton. He had never seen her so pale. Hermione was always warm and brown in his mind, not wraithlike and colorless.
“What is it?” She asked anxiously.
He almost flinched, when had it become so easy to read him? “I was just wondering why you didn’t have Madame Pomfrey remove that bruise.”
“Oh,” she flushed and Draco was pleased to see some color in her cheeks. “I just thought that, well it would be silly to have her magic it off. It wouldn’t change things, at least this way I’ve got something to show. Does that sound strange?”
“I don’t think so,” He replied seriously, marveling once again over the girl in the bed.
He continued to study her and she looked away from him shyly. A thought seemed to occur to her because she began to chew her lower lip, a sure sign that something was on her mind.
“Your father,” she started but then paused nervously. “He is dead, isn’t he?”
Draco nodded, hating his father more than he ever had. He wondered if what had happened in Hogsmeade would haunt her always. Would she always be afraid of him? Would seeing him always make her think of Lucius? But her next words completely shocked him.
“I’m so sorry.” Hermione said shakily as an escaped tear fled down her cheek.
“Sorry?” Draco moved quickly to her side and looked down at her imploringly. “Why are you sorry?”
Hermione sniffled, “because your father is dead.”
Draco almost laughed. His muffled snort did serve to draw her out of her tears though, “Hermione, he tried to kill you. He got what he deserved.” He cupped her cheek and made her look at him. “Do you understand? I’m not sorry that he’s dead.” And with these words he leaned closer to her and brushed his lips against her forehead. She whimpered against him and he pulled back quickly. “Did I hurt you?”
“No”
Draco noticed for the first time that her eyes were unchanged. Her eyes were that same light brown that he had become so accustomed to. He wanted to pick her up, collect her into his arms and spin her around for still being the same girl inside despite her appearance. But the Malfoy side of him assured him that not only would this be an improper course of action, but that she was also still too sore to appreciate it. So not wanting to incur the wrath of Madame Pomfrey were she to find him practically on the bed with Hermione; Draco turned and pulled a chair over to her bedside and settled himself into it. They didn’t speak for a few minutes as he sat and looked at her.
“Draco,” she said suddenly, “did you kill him?”
“I don’t think so,” he replied truthfully.
“Then was it O’Leary’s spell?” She asked with interest.
“That’s what we’re going to talk about.” Said a voice from the doorway.
Draco and Hermione both looked up at the new voice. The Headmaster was beaming at them from a few steps away. Draco hated it when he sneaked up on them. The old coot must have silence charms on every single part of his body.
“How are you feeling Ms. Granger? Better, I hope?” He asked kindly as he came to stand next to them.
Hermione nodded without speaking. She was studying the Headmaster with deep interest.
“I believe that the best place to start would be for the two of you to tell me about your intriguing discovery.” The Headmaster prompted amiably as he summoned a chair for himself.
Draco looked to Hermione, who nodded at him, before he started to recount the story of their work. While he found himself reveling in revealing such information to the obviously impressed Headmaster, part of him hated it. He was giving away himself, and her too. For what they had done in their room belonged to them, was them, and Draco hated sharing it.
When Draco had finally finished the Headmaster was nodding, a small, triumphant gleam in his eyes.
“Yes, yes, I had suspected as much.” Professor Dumbledore stood and wandered aimlessly about deep in thought. He stopped and looked back at them, “I have long been interested in the Knights of Aequitus, they had intrigued me. They were noble men fighting a dark enemy. And they eventually were triumphant, but the means that they used to achieve their goals ended up being as gruesome as that of their adversary. And with the rise of Voldemort, their struggle seemed even more pertinent.”
“History repeats,” Hermione said simply.
“I truly hope that we never have to stoop to such levels.” The Headmaster said quietly.
Draco noticed that the Dumbledore hadn’t said that they wouldn’t though.
“When I came across a few essays written by O’Leary, I thought that they might be of some use so I acquisitioned the entire collection for the school.”
“You knew,” Hermione said slowly as realization fully struck. “You knew it was there, the spell.”
“Yes, I knew of rumors that told of a spell that could block the killing curse or,” Dumbledore paused, “return it.”
“You mean that it just sent his own curse flying back him?” Draco asked.
“So it would seem. An inquiry from the ministry has already started. Several aurors were dispatched to the house where your father had been using as a waypoint in Hogsmeade. They were only able to find the residue of one killing curse, not two.” The Headmaster stopped to offer Hermione a piece of candy.
Draco digested this piece of information slowly. He hadn’t killed Lucius, not really. But the ministry had started an inquiry and Draco knew enough of the wizarding legal system to fully understand what that might mean for him.
“How much trouble should I expect?” Draco asked simply.
Hermione looked up in surprise, “trouble, why should you be in any trouble?” She glanced at Dumbledore who was studying Draco very closely. “Headmaster, he can’t get into any trouble, it was Lucius who cast the curse that killed him. Draco was protecting me. He didn’t, he didn’t do anything wrong. Please Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione’s voice was becoming quite panicked as the elderly wizard simply looked at Draco.
Dumbledore finally turned his gaze to hers and smiled, “don’t worry Ms. Granger, I have no intention of letting the ministry anywhere near either of you.”
He turned the smile towards Draco and for the very first time, Draco felt that he might understand where all of Hermione’s admiration for their Headmaster might come from.
“Now I must ask of you both to closely guard what you know.” Dumbledore turned to Hermione as she opened her mouth to argue and said, “I have little doubt that this knowledge will soon become known to Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, if it isn’t already,” here he gave Draco a penetrating glance. “And I’m sure that it will also manage to trickle out to various relations such as certain wayward Godfather’s, but I ask you to tell only who you must. This is very valuable information that the two of you possess. Do you understand?”
Draco and Hermione both nodded silently, under the deep gaze of their Headmaster, there seemed to be nothing else to say. At the moment, surprise was there best defense against Voldemort. And having some of his superlative spells suddenly become useless would certainly be advantageous to the side of Potter and his friends.
The Headmaster put a small candy in his mouth and then smiled at Hermione. “My dear Ms. Granger, I had almost forgotten, you’re parents should be arriving here in a few hours.”
“What?” Hermione gasped in surprise, “but they’re supposed to be in Ireland, attending a conference.”
“Once they were notified of the incident, they decided to cut their trip short.” The Headmaster paused for a moment as if knowing that what he was going to say would upset the young woman. “I am under the impression that they intend to take you home with them.”
Draco’s eyes widened, school was almost over, that was true, but he had anticipated spending the last week or so with Hermione. He hadn’t ever thought how her parents might react to all of this. Neither, apparently, had Hermione.
“But…but Headmaster, what about exams?” Her voice quavered dangerously, “what about OWLs?”
Dumbledore chuckled, “I do not think that they intend to pull you out of school child. I believe that they just want to make sure that you are properly cared for. I know that no nurse has ever tended a wound better than a mother. And as for your finals, I have spoken with all of your professors; they have all agreed that other arrangements can be made. As far as OWLs are concerned, there is a make up exam offered in early June.”
Hermione still looked on the verge of bursting into tears, but she took a few steadying breaths and calmed down. “Thank you Professor.” She said softly.
“No Ms. Granger, thanks belong to you, to both of you.” The elderly wizard stood up then and headed towards the door.
A question that had bothering Draco for a day suddenly came to mind, “Headmaster?” Draco asked as he stood as well. “How did you know that we were in Hogsmeade?”
Hermione watched interestedly as Professor Dumbledore turned back to them.
“That is a very good question Mr. Malfoy.” His blue eyes twinkled, “Ms. Parkinson was waiting for me when I returned early from my own conference. She was quite distraught when I found her, apparently she had been misled by your father.”
Draco laughed derisively, “that little bint? She knew what she was doing.”
“I don’t think so Mr. Malfoy.” The Headmaster’s eyes were steady; “she wouldn’t be the first to fall victim to Lucius Malfoy’s administrations. I think that she is fairly innocent in the harm caused to Ms. Granger, and I have always regarded myself as a fairly good judge of character.” He turned then and strode out the door, leaving the two alone.
“Good judge of character?” Draco laughed sarcastically as the door closed behind the headmaster. “That from the man who hired Lockhart.”
Hermione laughed, and Draco turned back to look at her. “So you’re leaving.” He said simply.
“I guess so,” she replied evenly as she studied the blanket covering her.
“That’ll be nice, to get to go home early,” he said non-convincingly as he slouched back into his chair.
“Yeah, I suppose,” she replied equally unsure. “Draco,” she stopped and bit her lip.
“What?”
“What about us?” She asked without looking up, her face beginning to redden.
“What about us?” Draco snapped back sharply. He hated questions like these. Not only because he wasn’t fully sure of what she was asking of him but also because he didn’t know if he knew any answers.
She looked up glaring at his tone, “is this all done then? When I come back in the fall, will everything be as it was between us?”
Draco almost grinned in relief. He knew the answer to this question. “You obviously know very little about Malfoys, Granger.” Draco said and took her hand in his. “We never let go of something that belongs to us.”
Hermione let his words sink in for a moment. “You know Malfoy, it’s a good thing that I find you somewhat charming or I might have just slapped you for that.”
“I know”
Draco leaned across the bed and gently kissed her. His lips hardly touching her and yet he felt all the passion underneath it. He leaned back and smirked superiorly at her.
“What?”
“You think I’m charming.”
“Oh shut up,” but Hermione was grinning.
“Well, I did tell you that I’m the most charming bloke in the school.”
Chapter 29: Drinks with Lucius
As Hermione awoke, she was instantly aware of one thing, something was very wrong. She moaned softly as a slicing pain erupted from the back of her head. There was a low chuckle.
“I’m glad to see that you’ve finally woken up Ms. Granger, I was almost afraid that I had killed you.” A silky voice filled with mirth sounded from very close by.
Hermione’s eyes shot open and with a surprising burst of adrenalin she got to her feet and lurched backwards. But her panicked strength couldn’t withstand the white-hot agony that flooded her head at the sudden movement. Her vision was clouded by pain. Hermione stumbled into the wall behind her and slid back down to the floor with a whimper of barely containable pain.
There was another chuckle, “I would suggest that you try not to over exert yourself, that’s quite an injury you have. And there’s no need for you to suffer needlessly child.”
Hermione opened hers eyes again, taking the time you survey her surroundings for the first time. She was in fairly small room. Not a dungeon or a cell like she would have imagined, but rather, an old fashioned sitting room. Not far from her there was a warm fire in a hearth. The wood-paneled floor was mostly hidden by a faded rug. The walls were covered in a shabby paper that might once have portrayed yellow flowers. On the far side of the room was a door, the only exit, as the windows seemed to have been boarded up in the not too distant past. The nails that held the shutters closed looked rather new and shiny. Near the door was a hall tree. Hanging from one of its many arms was her very own cloak. She felt an intense hysterical need to giggle, but fought against it.
The only other occupant that the room contained was Lucius Malfoy who was sitting in a comfortable looking high-backed chair, a small table to his right where Hermione could see a crystal cut decanter holding some deep golden liquid. Next to the bottle was her wand. He watched her with amusement, a matching glass held loosely in his hand. The older Malfoy was ever so slightly twirling the snifter, the amber liquid swirling hypnotically about.
“I don’t suppose you’d like a drink?” He asked, almost kindly, as he followed her gaze.
His tone made it seem as if she was nothing more than a guest who was showing deplorable manners. Hermione shivered, this benevolence was far more frightening than any thing she had ever experienced.
“My son has a good eye, I’ll give him that much.” Lucius sipped his drink while his eyes swept Hermione up and down. “I wouldn’t call you beautiful, but I can see how some might find you endearing.”
Hermione looked away from him with a shudder, as he continued to size her up.
“Now while I’ve never approved of interactions with mudbloods of any kind, there are some among us who find that they have a taste for such commonness. While I might not have approved, I wouldn’t have been ashamed of my son had he sought you out simply as a way to teach those Gryffindors a lesson.” Lucius set his glass down on the table and removed his wand from his robe. “But you and I both know that that is not the case with Draco.”
Hermione slouched further against the wall, wishing desperately that she could simply fade into the cracks. She watched him twirl the wand carelessly in his fingers just as he had the glass, almost as if he had all the time in the world.
“But no, that is certainly not the case,” he repeated again the smile fading from his face. “I’m afraid that my son has become rather infatuated with you, thankfully I believe that it won’t cause him reputable harm if it is put to a stop quickly. It will take him a while to undo the shame that he has caused to me and to our Lord, but in due time I believe that he can make his amends.”
Hermione’s pale face broke into a glare, “he didn’t want anything to do with your Lord long before me.” She hissed.
The smile was completely gone from Lucius’ face now. His gray eyes that once Hermione would have thought similar to Draco’s were nearly black with rage. He leisurely raised his wand.
“Crucio” He whispered.
Hermione had never felt anything like it in her life. All she knew was pain, every inch of her body, every fiber of being ached with excruciating hurt. She bit her lip without even realizing that she was fighting a scream. Tremors racked her body and her head bounced against the wall behind her. A shot of slicing stars emanated from the blow and she slumped to the ground thankfully unconscious.
Something cool, and yet burning filled her mouth. With a splutter she swallowed and then shot to full awareness as the sting of alcohol permeated her throat.
“I thought that might do the trick,” Lucius held her chin with disdain. “I hope it wasn’t something I said, I always worry about my conversation skills.” A wicked smirk clouded his features and distantly Hermione was pleased to know that a smirking Draco did not resemble a smirking Lucius.
She jerked her jaw out of his grasp and glared at him, ignoring the stinging pain in her head, “I wouldn’t be worried about your people skills if I was you. Headmaster Dumbledore knows everything that goes on at Hogwarts, do you think that you can just kidnap a student and he wouldn’t figure it out?”
Lucius stepped back from her, chuckling. “True, true, Dumbledore is a rather omnipotent nuisance. But luckily for us, he is being coincidently detained in Lyon, a conference on the state of muggle affairs. He won’t be returning for at least another hour. And that, my dear,” Lucius cupped her cheek and looked closely at her, “is plenty of time for us to finish with our meeting.”
Hermione’s lip trembled; there really was no hope. “Why don’t you just go ahead and kill me then? Save the pleasantries for someone who doesn’t know what you’re capable of.” Hermione’s voice faltered on these words, she wished she could be stronger. “I’ll bet you’ll be greatly rewarded for killing one of Harry’s allies.” She said bravely.
Lucius chuckled and got to his feet, he strode back to his table and set the decanter down before turning to back to her. “Let me assure you, Ms. Granger, that your death has nothing to do with Harry Potter. Although I will admit that shaking the Potter boy’s fragile existence will be an added perk.”
Hermione could hardly believe her ears; she had always known that she was in danger by being Harry’s friend. But to know that she was going to die for something that had nothing to do with him was almost laughable. She closed her eyes against the hopelessness of her situation. And then Lucius struck her.
“Keep your eyes open girl, your distasteful parentage is no excuse for bad manners.” His voice was just as calm and casual as it had ever been.
She glared at him and found that she was overcome with the urge to do something very brave but also exceptionally stupid. Lucius recoiled from her as the bloody spit marred the hard perfection of his cheek.
“Mudblood bitch,” he hissed, the cool demeanor slipping slightly as he pulled a white handkerchief from his robes and removed her slight from his face. But when he lowered it, his visage had once again returned to that of the amused host. His smile did not reach his eyes however. “And to think, my son is willing to turn his back on his heritage for a little urchin like you. But that will be remedied soon enough, I do understand that he has reached a period in his life where rebellion is par for the course.”
“Draco has never wanted to be one of you.” Hermione hissed, feeling the need to defend Draco’s principles. “Do you think that just because you kill me that will change?” Her voice sounded defiant, but inside Hermione was quaking with much more than fear. It was becoming apparently harder to maintain any type of banter with the man who intended to kill her. Indeed, she was beginning to find it hard to keep her eyes open.
“My dear child, this really has very little to do with you. Draco must learn that such petty feelings, especially for something as expendable as you, are only a temporary pleasure. Real satisfaction can only be attained through power. Once your charming presence is removed from my son’s life, I have little doubt that he will once again see things my way.” Lucius told her snidely.
Hermione looked past Lucius to the diminutive table where her wand sat teasingly. If only she could reach it. But her head was pulsating and a few shudders were still shaking her body from the Cruciatus curse. And the table seemed so dishearteningly far away.
Lucius, as if reading her thoughts, looked back at her wand and then grinned cruelly at her. “Think you could get to it? Go ahead and try, I won’t stop you.”
She glared at him with the deepest hatred that she had ever felt and then suddenly tried to spring up. She might be about to die, but she wasn’t going to just lie there on the ground at his feet while he did it. But despite Hermione’s determination, her body was too weak to comply and her legs gave out before she reached the table. Falling to the ground, she lay collapsed on her side, the pain beginning to fade, which she found to be very odd. The effects of the Cruciatus curse were supposed to be agonizing for quite some time after the fact. But the ache in her joints seemed far away and dulled.
Lucius snorted in mirth when she fell. His laughter was cold and lacked any true pleasure as if amusing as he found her antics, this was all far beneath him.
Hermione felt, more than heard, him circle around her. His near silent footfalls making the old planks shift beneath his passing weight. She knew that she should be frightened, but Hermione was becoming so tired.
He crouched down in front of her finally. “I think,” he said softly, “that’s it’s time to finish this.” He stood up and Hermione knew that it was over.
He pointed his wand at her and Hermione couldn’t even find the energy to stiffen for the killing curse. But before he could utter the spell there was a shout from somewhere outside the room and Lucius turned sharply towards the door.
“Now what?” He hissed angrily as he stalked out into the hall.
Hermione wanted to watch him, but her hair was in her eyes. She snaked a hand up to feebly brush it away. The sticky tendrils caught to her fingers and as she tried to push it back, she saw with nauseous horror that her fingers were red. The offending curls that were still clinging there were wet with her blood.
There was more shouting but Hermione didn’t really notice until Lucius fell back into the room with Draco following. There was a scuffle between the two and Draco struck his father, sending the older man to his knees.
“Where is she?” He snarled as he grabbed the collar of Lucius’ robes and lifted him off the floor before slamming him back down.
Lucius broke loose of Draco’s grip and brought his wand up, casting the Cruciatus curse for the second time that night.
Hermione watched in terror as Draco fell to the ground in fit of seizures.
His eyes rolled back into his head showing the milk white. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out his scream. Trying not to remember what it had felt like for her only a few minutes earlier.
And then Lucius let the spell go. His stance was once again casual; he straightened his robes, and brushed a lock of flaxen hair back to where it had originally lain. If it weren’t for the two inert forms on the floor of the room, things would have looked perfectly normal.
“Draco, Draco, Draco,” Lucius said with soft disapproval, “attacking an armed wizard with nothing but your fists. Have I taught you nothing?” Assuming his son to be in a Cruciatus stupor he turned his back on him and began to refill his glass.
“I think I’ve just been spending to much time with Weasley,” Draco hissed as he launched himself at his father. He knocked the surprised older wizard to the floor. His blows were so intense he began to draw his father’s blood.
Hermione watched from where she lay near the table, unable to call out. She felt tears prick at her eyes and a pained whimper sounded from deep in her chest.
Startled, Draco looked in her direction. He thoughtlessly dropped Lucius and sprung towards her, knocking the table out of the way, the decanter shattering; it’s drink staining the floor.
“Hermione?”
She couldn’t see him as her eyes started closing on their own volition but there was a delicate pressure as he lifted her gently, his arm supporting her back as he kneeled next to her.
“Hermione wake up.” He whispered desperately. He ignored the body of Lucius as he titled her face towards him with his other hand. “Hermione please…” His voice started to shake as he noticed the blood on his hands.
Hermione’s eyes fluttered open and she smiled wanly at him, “Draco…”
“Draco,”
A hard voice drew their attention away from each other. Lucius had gotten to his feet. His wand pointed at them, the casual grip that he had used earlier was gone as he faced his son. Hermione felt Draco’s arm tighten painfully around her but she was thankful for the pain, it stopped her from floating away.
“Draco, get away from that mudblood trash,” Lucius growled, his icy demeanor gone.
Draco’s wand was pointed at Lucius as well. His fingers leaving crimson stains on the wood. “Don’t call her that.”
Lucius broke into a lewd grin, and then an amused chuckle. “Seriously Draco, this little game is quickly beginning to lose it’s thrill. I’m ending this now.”
Draco tightened his grip and glared at Lucius, Hermione watched in fascinated horror as a muscle in Lucius’ jaw twitched. There was more shouting from outside the room and Lucius risked a glance towards the door.
“I didn’t come here alone.” Draco said.
“Get away from her Draco, I won’t tell you again.” The veneer of coldness was cracking, as the shouting got closer, Lucius was looking extremely nervous.
“Go to hell,” Draco hissed at his father.
“If this is how it must be,” Lucius spared a moment to sound almost crestfallen before he cast the spell that Hermione had been expecting all evening. “Avada Kedavra”
“arma immeritus!” Draco cried instantly as if he had known that it was going to come to this.
Hermione saw the bolt of green light coming towards them, she saw the same shimmering cloud that Draco had seen only a few days before, she felt his arms tighten convulsively around her as he tried to shield her with himself. Then the green death struck and again, blackness overwhelmed her.
“Wake up,” an urgent voice insisted in her ear and Hermione struggled back to consciousness.
She was still in Draco’s arms, still in that old room, still alive. Draco gave a frantic sigh of relief and Hermione could tell that he was shaking, but she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or from using the spell. She twisted in his arms then, finding strength that she thought had left her long ago. There, on the far side of the room, was the body of Lucius Malfoy. His eyes stared without seeing at a point above them. His wand lay inches from the tips of his fingers. And with an epiphany of thought that one wouldn’t expect from someone who was so hurt, Hermione knew that he was dead.
Draco’s hand cupped her cheek and he drew her attention back to him. His gray eyes were brimming with terrified worry. His skin was so pale, more ashen than she had ever seen it, even after the manticore had robbed him of so much blood.
“I’m sorry Hermione,” his voice sounded so broken, “it’s my fault, I should have known that Pansy…”
“Shh…” Hermione murmured gently. “Shh…” she repeated, unable to make her brain form the words that she needed to comfort him.
He pulled her closer to him and kissed her, his mouth terribly soft against her own. She wasn’t able to kiss him back, only distantly revel in the fact that he was here and that he was kissing her again. His breath was warm and heavy against her cheek and Hermione almost smiled in pleasure. He pulled away from her mouth and knelt his head against her chest, almost seeking comfort. He shook even harder and Hermione hoped that he wasn’t crying. It would break her heart to have her Slytherin be so wounded.
The ruckus from outside the room had died down. The door opened and hurried footsteps entered.
“Hermione? Malfoy?” The voices were ones that she knew and loved.
“Hermione!” Harry rushed to Draco’s side with Ron right behind him.
Harry was bleeding from a cut at his temple and Ron was holding his arm carefully, but they appeared all right. Hermione wanted to greet them, to tell them thank you for coming for her, but the room was getting hazy again. She felt so lightheaded, so tired, so far away.
“Is she all right?” Weasley asked in a stricken tone.
“She’s hurt, I have to get her back to Hogwarts,” Draco replied, his voice shaking.
“Give her to me,” Harry told him urgently.
“Sod off Potter!” Draco hissed determinedly.
“Perhaps, Misters Potter, Weasley, and Malfoy, I should take Ms. Granger to the hospital wing myself.”
The three boys looked up in surprise, Ron and Harry both spinning with lightening reflexes, their wands at the ready. But even in her near stupor, Hermione could recognize the voice of their Headmaster.
Harry and Ron lowered their wands slowly, unsure of the Headmaster’s presence, not trusting the miraculous appearance. But Draco seemed to realize almost as quickly as Hermione that this was indeed Albus Dumbledore. Draco sighed deeply, almost in defeat. Then the comforting arms of Draco seemed to be loosening and she cried against this, but she couldn’t make a sound as she drifted further away. And as her eyes closed for the last time that night, she wondered distantly if she would wake up again.
“I’m glad to see that you’ve finally woken up Ms. Granger, I was almost afraid that I had killed you.” A silky voice filled with mirth sounded from very close by.
Hermione’s eyes shot open and with a surprising burst of adrenalin she got to her feet and lurched backwards. But her panicked strength couldn’t withstand the white-hot agony that flooded her head at the sudden movement. Her vision was clouded by pain. Hermione stumbled into the wall behind her and slid back down to the floor with a whimper of barely containable pain.
There was another chuckle, “I would suggest that you try not to over exert yourself, that’s quite an injury you have. And there’s no need for you to suffer needlessly child.”
Hermione opened hers eyes again, taking the time you survey her surroundings for the first time. She was in fairly small room. Not a dungeon or a cell like she would have imagined, but rather, an old fashioned sitting room. Not far from her there was a warm fire in a hearth. The wood-paneled floor was mostly hidden by a faded rug. The walls were covered in a shabby paper that might once have portrayed yellow flowers. On the far side of the room was a door, the only exit, as the windows seemed to have been boarded up in the not too distant past. The nails that held the shutters closed looked rather new and shiny. Near the door was a hall tree. Hanging from one of its many arms was her very own cloak. She felt an intense hysterical need to giggle, but fought against it.
The only other occupant that the room contained was Lucius Malfoy who was sitting in a comfortable looking high-backed chair, a small table to his right where Hermione could see a crystal cut decanter holding some deep golden liquid. Next to the bottle was her wand. He watched her with amusement, a matching glass held loosely in his hand. The older Malfoy was ever so slightly twirling the snifter, the amber liquid swirling hypnotically about.
“I don’t suppose you’d like a drink?” He asked, almost kindly, as he followed her gaze.
His tone made it seem as if she was nothing more than a guest who was showing deplorable manners. Hermione shivered, this benevolence was far more frightening than any thing she had ever experienced.
“My son has a good eye, I’ll give him that much.” Lucius sipped his drink while his eyes swept Hermione up and down. “I wouldn’t call you beautiful, but I can see how some might find you endearing.”
Hermione looked away from him with a shudder, as he continued to size her up.
“Now while I’ve never approved of interactions with mudbloods of any kind, there are some among us who find that they have a taste for such commonness. While I might not have approved, I wouldn’t have been ashamed of my son had he sought you out simply as a way to teach those Gryffindors a lesson.” Lucius set his glass down on the table and removed his wand from his robe. “But you and I both know that that is not the case with Draco.”
Hermione slouched further against the wall, wishing desperately that she could simply fade into the cracks. She watched him twirl the wand carelessly in his fingers just as he had the glass, almost as if he had all the time in the world.
“But no, that is certainly not the case,” he repeated again the smile fading from his face. “I’m afraid that my son has become rather infatuated with you, thankfully I believe that it won’t cause him reputable harm if it is put to a stop quickly. It will take him a while to undo the shame that he has caused to me and to our Lord, but in due time I believe that he can make his amends.”
Hermione’s pale face broke into a glare, “he didn’t want anything to do with your Lord long before me.” She hissed.
The smile was completely gone from Lucius’ face now. His gray eyes that once Hermione would have thought similar to Draco’s were nearly black with rage. He leisurely raised his wand.
“Crucio” He whispered.
Hermione had never felt anything like it in her life. All she knew was pain, every inch of her body, every fiber of being ached with excruciating hurt. She bit her lip without even realizing that she was fighting a scream. Tremors racked her body and her head bounced against the wall behind her. A shot of slicing stars emanated from the blow and she slumped to the ground thankfully unconscious.
Something cool, and yet burning filled her mouth. With a splutter she swallowed and then shot to full awareness as the sting of alcohol permeated her throat.
“I thought that might do the trick,” Lucius held her chin with disdain. “I hope it wasn’t something I said, I always worry about my conversation skills.” A wicked smirk clouded his features and distantly Hermione was pleased to know that a smirking Draco did not resemble a smirking Lucius.
She jerked her jaw out of his grasp and glared at him, ignoring the stinging pain in her head, “I wouldn’t be worried about your people skills if I was you. Headmaster Dumbledore knows everything that goes on at Hogwarts, do you think that you can just kidnap a student and he wouldn’t figure it out?”
Lucius stepped back from her, chuckling. “True, true, Dumbledore is a rather omnipotent nuisance. But luckily for us, he is being coincidently detained in Lyon, a conference on the state of muggle affairs. He won’t be returning for at least another hour. And that, my dear,” Lucius cupped her cheek and looked closely at her, “is plenty of time for us to finish with our meeting.”
Hermione’s lip trembled; there really was no hope. “Why don’t you just go ahead and kill me then? Save the pleasantries for someone who doesn’t know what you’re capable of.” Hermione’s voice faltered on these words, she wished she could be stronger. “I’ll bet you’ll be greatly rewarded for killing one of Harry’s allies.” She said bravely.
Lucius chuckled and got to his feet, he strode back to his table and set the decanter down before turning to back to her. “Let me assure you, Ms. Granger, that your death has nothing to do with Harry Potter. Although I will admit that shaking the Potter boy’s fragile existence will be an added perk.”
Hermione could hardly believe her ears; she had always known that she was in danger by being Harry’s friend. But to know that she was going to die for something that had nothing to do with him was almost laughable. She closed her eyes against the hopelessness of her situation. And then Lucius struck her.
“Keep your eyes open girl, your distasteful parentage is no excuse for bad manners.” His voice was just as calm and casual as it had ever been.
She glared at him and found that she was overcome with the urge to do something very brave but also exceptionally stupid. Lucius recoiled from her as the bloody spit marred the hard perfection of his cheek.
“Mudblood bitch,” he hissed, the cool demeanor slipping slightly as he pulled a white handkerchief from his robes and removed her slight from his face. But when he lowered it, his visage had once again returned to that of the amused host. His smile did not reach his eyes however. “And to think, my son is willing to turn his back on his heritage for a little urchin like you. But that will be remedied soon enough, I do understand that he has reached a period in his life where rebellion is par for the course.”
“Draco has never wanted to be one of you.” Hermione hissed, feeling the need to defend Draco’s principles. “Do you think that just because you kill me that will change?” Her voice sounded defiant, but inside Hermione was quaking with much more than fear. It was becoming apparently harder to maintain any type of banter with the man who intended to kill her. Indeed, she was beginning to find it hard to keep her eyes open.
“My dear child, this really has very little to do with you. Draco must learn that such petty feelings, especially for something as expendable as you, are only a temporary pleasure. Real satisfaction can only be attained through power. Once your charming presence is removed from my son’s life, I have little doubt that he will once again see things my way.” Lucius told her snidely.
Hermione looked past Lucius to the diminutive table where her wand sat teasingly. If only she could reach it. But her head was pulsating and a few shudders were still shaking her body from the Cruciatus curse. And the table seemed so dishearteningly far away.
Lucius, as if reading her thoughts, looked back at her wand and then grinned cruelly at her. “Think you could get to it? Go ahead and try, I won’t stop you.”
She glared at him with the deepest hatred that she had ever felt and then suddenly tried to spring up. She might be about to die, but she wasn’t going to just lie there on the ground at his feet while he did it. But despite Hermione’s determination, her body was too weak to comply and her legs gave out before she reached the table. Falling to the ground, she lay collapsed on her side, the pain beginning to fade, which she found to be very odd. The effects of the Cruciatus curse were supposed to be agonizing for quite some time after the fact. But the ache in her joints seemed far away and dulled.
Lucius snorted in mirth when she fell. His laughter was cold and lacked any true pleasure as if amusing as he found her antics, this was all far beneath him.
Hermione felt, more than heard, him circle around her. His near silent footfalls making the old planks shift beneath his passing weight. She knew that she should be frightened, but Hermione was becoming so tired.
He crouched down in front of her finally. “I think,” he said softly, “that’s it’s time to finish this.” He stood up and Hermione knew that it was over.
He pointed his wand at her and Hermione couldn’t even find the energy to stiffen for the killing curse. But before he could utter the spell there was a shout from somewhere outside the room and Lucius turned sharply towards the door.
“Now what?” He hissed angrily as he stalked out into the hall.
Hermione wanted to watch him, but her hair was in her eyes. She snaked a hand up to feebly brush it away. The sticky tendrils caught to her fingers and as she tried to push it back, she saw with nauseous horror that her fingers were red. The offending curls that were still clinging there were wet with her blood.
There was more shouting but Hermione didn’t really notice until Lucius fell back into the room with Draco following. There was a scuffle between the two and Draco struck his father, sending the older man to his knees.
“Where is she?” He snarled as he grabbed the collar of Lucius’ robes and lifted him off the floor before slamming him back down.
Lucius broke loose of Draco’s grip and brought his wand up, casting the Cruciatus curse for the second time that night.
Hermione watched in terror as Draco fell to the ground in fit of seizures.
His eyes rolled back into his head showing the milk white. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out his scream. Trying not to remember what it had felt like for her only a few minutes earlier.
And then Lucius let the spell go. His stance was once again casual; he straightened his robes, and brushed a lock of flaxen hair back to where it had originally lain. If it weren’t for the two inert forms on the floor of the room, things would have looked perfectly normal.
“Draco, Draco, Draco,” Lucius said with soft disapproval, “attacking an armed wizard with nothing but your fists. Have I taught you nothing?” Assuming his son to be in a Cruciatus stupor he turned his back on him and began to refill his glass.
“I think I’ve just been spending to much time with Weasley,” Draco hissed as he launched himself at his father. He knocked the surprised older wizard to the floor. His blows were so intense he began to draw his father’s blood.
Hermione watched from where she lay near the table, unable to call out. She felt tears prick at her eyes and a pained whimper sounded from deep in her chest.
Startled, Draco looked in her direction. He thoughtlessly dropped Lucius and sprung towards her, knocking the table out of the way, the decanter shattering; it’s drink staining the floor.
“Hermione?”
She couldn’t see him as her eyes started closing on their own volition but there was a delicate pressure as he lifted her gently, his arm supporting her back as he kneeled next to her.
“Hermione wake up.” He whispered desperately. He ignored the body of Lucius as he titled her face towards him with his other hand. “Hermione please…” His voice started to shake as he noticed the blood on his hands.
Hermione’s eyes fluttered open and she smiled wanly at him, “Draco…”
“Draco,”
A hard voice drew their attention away from each other. Lucius had gotten to his feet. His wand pointed at them, the casual grip that he had used earlier was gone as he faced his son. Hermione felt Draco’s arm tighten painfully around her but she was thankful for the pain, it stopped her from floating away.
“Draco, get away from that mudblood trash,” Lucius growled, his icy demeanor gone.
Draco’s wand was pointed at Lucius as well. His fingers leaving crimson stains on the wood. “Don’t call her that.”
Lucius broke into a lewd grin, and then an amused chuckle. “Seriously Draco, this little game is quickly beginning to lose it’s thrill. I’m ending this now.”
Draco tightened his grip and glared at Lucius, Hermione watched in fascinated horror as a muscle in Lucius’ jaw twitched. There was more shouting from outside the room and Lucius risked a glance towards the door.
“I didn’t come here alone.” Draco said.
“Get away from her Draco, I won’t tell you again.” The veneer of coldness was cracking, as the shouting got closer, Lucius was looking extremely nervous.
“Go to hell,” Draco hissed at his father.
“If this is how it must be,” Lucius spared a moment to sound almost crestfallen before he cast the spell that Hermione had been expecting all evening. “Avada Kedavra”
“arma immeritus!” Draco cried instantly as if he had known that it was going to come to this.
Hermione saw the bolt of green light coming towards them, she saw the same shimmering cloud that Draco had seen only a few days before, she felt his arms tighten convulsively around her as he tried to shield her with himself. Then the green death struck and again, blackness overwhelmed her.
“Wake up,” an urgent voice insisted in her ear and Hermione struggled back to consciousness.
She was still in Draco’s arms, still in that old room, still alive. Draco gave a frantic sigh of relief and Hermione could tell that he was shaking, but she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or from using the spell. She twisted in his arms then, finding strength that she thought had left her long ago. There, on the far side of the room, was the body of Lucius Malfoy. His eyes stared without seeing at a point above them. His wand lay inches from the tips of his fingers. And with an epiphany of thought that one wouldn’t expect from someone who was so hurt, Hermione knew that he was dead.
Draco’s hand cupped her cheek and he drew her attention back to him. His gray eyes were brimming with terrified worry. His skin was so pale, more ashen than she had ever seen it, even after the manticore had robbed him of so much blood.
“I’m sorry Hermione,” his voice sounded so broken, “it’s my fault, I should have known that Pansy…”
“Shh…” Hermione murmured gently. “Shh…” she repeated, unable to make her brain form the words that she needed to comfort him.
He pulled her closer to him and kissed her, his mouth terribly soft against her own. She wasn’t able to kiss him back, only distantly revel in the fact that he was here and that he was kissing her again. His breath was warm and heavy against her cheek and Hermione almost smiled in pleasure. He pulled away from her mouth and knelt his head against her chest, almost seeking comfort. He shook even harder and Hermione hoped that he wasn’t crying. It would break her heart to have her Slytherin be so wounded.
The ruckus from outside the room had died down. The door opened and hurried footsteps entered.
“Hermione? Malfoy?” The voices were ones that she knew and loved.
“Hermione!” Harry rushed to Draco’s side with Ron right behind him.
Harry was bleeding from a cut at his temple and Ron was holding his arm carefully, but they appeared all right. Hermione wanted to greet them, to tell them thank you for coming for her, but the room was getting hazy again. She felt so lightheaded, so tired, so far away.
“Is she all right?” Weasley asked in a stricken tone.
“She’s hurt, I have to get her back to Hogwarts,” Draco replied, his voice shaking.
“Give her to me,” Harry told him urgently.
“Sod off Potter!” Draco hissed determinedly.
“Perhaps, Misters Potter, Weasley, and Malfoy, I should take Ms. Granger to the hospital wing myself.”
The three boys looked up in surprise, Ron and Harry both spinning with lightening reflexes, their wands at the ready. But even in her near stupor, Hermione could recognize the voice of their Headmaster.
Harry and Ron lowered their wands slowly, unsure of the Headmaster’s presence, not trusting the miraculous appearance. But Draco seemed to realize almost as quickly as Hermione that this was indeed Albus Dumbledore. Draco sighed deeply, almost in defeat. Then the comforting arms of Draco seemed to be loosening and she cried against this, but she couldn’t make a sound as she drifted further away. And as her eyes closed for the last time that night, she wondered distantly if she would wake up again.
Chapter 28: A Necessary Alliance
The low stone ceiling really did lose its interest after an hour or so of close study. Draco groaned; this was stupid, he knew that it was. A Malfoy didn’t mope about like some lovesick puppy. Malfoy’s took what they wanted when they wanted it and they would broach no argument. And yet, even knowing how a proper Malfoy should deal with the problem at hand, Draco had yet to pull himself away from the large granite slabs that were above his bed.
He knew that he should find her, apologize, make up some lovely bit of nonsense that Lucius always used to make his mother happy. Maybe tell her a few promises that he didn’t intend to keep. But then what if he did intend to keep them? That was, of course, the most worrying aspect of this matter. He felt truly bad for letting Pansy kiss him. He had felt guilty for not pushing her away immediately. Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had felt guilty over anything.
Now the only thing left to be done was to find the girl. Find Hermione and make her understand that he was sorry. Tell her that he was miserable when she hated him. Tell her that he missed her. But Draco would rather tell Potter that he envied his Quidditch skills before he would tell Hermione any of that romantic dribble, even if it were true. No, the only way to handle this was to tell her that Pansy had thrown herself at him, and that, as Hermione had said, he didn’t owe her anything. Then he should probably try to incorporate their project into the conversation, talking about Arithmancy almost always put her in a good mood. And then, if he was charming enough, he could probably even kiss her. He had a plan now and that was good. It wasn’t even eight yet; he could probably still find her in the library.
Draco pushed off the bed and strolled leisurely down the hall to the common room. He was in no hurry; he could easily picture Hermione sitting in their room working, part of her waiting for him. The thought brought a self-satisfied smirk to his face and he sped up a little, always happy to oblige.
The door to their room was slightly ajar and Draco smiled triumphantly as he pushed it open, knowing that she was there. But she wasn’t, someone else was.
“Pansy?”
The Slytherin girl spun around a guilty expression on her face. She shoved something deep into her robes and stepped backwards, nearly tripping over a stack of books.
“Draco…” she murmured, sending nervous glances at the door behind him.
“What are you doing here, where’s Hermione?” Draco’s voice was firm but dangerous, there was something about the mutinous gleam in her eyes that he didn’t like. There was something akin to triumphant on her face.
“Maybe she went for a walk?” Pansy’s voice was steady but Draco could hear the apprehension underneath.
“What was that you were putting in your pocket?” Draco thought that perhaps she was stealing some of their work.
“Nothing,” Pansy replied as pushed her hand into her pocket and tightened her grip.
Draco stepped forward quickly and grabbed her arm, Pansy struggled, but Draco who was larger and stronger, easily wrestled her to the table where he forced her against it, his hands trying to gain access to her pockets.
“This brings back memories, doesn’t it Draco?” As if needing to emphasize her point, Pansy pressed back against him.
But Draco’s hand had closed on a scrap of parchment and he pulled it out and pushed her away, “shut up Pansy,” he muttered as he unfolded the note.
Pansy stayed where she was and watched as he began to read the letter. He knew that it was most definitely from Lucius, but he didn’t understand, he had never made plans to meet Lucius in Hogsmeade. Draco read the letter again in confusion. He turned towards Pansy and she stepped back, stumbling this time over a book bag that had been left haphazardly in the way. Draco looked at it for a moment, his mind taking a while to put the pieces together and realize what this all meant.
Pansy began to inch towards the door but Draco grabbed her again and jerked her away from it, he shoved her hard against the wall and she whimpered in pain.
“Where is she?” He hissed, his face only a few inches from Pansy’s.
“I don’t know,” Pansy replied bravely.
“You tricked her, you’ve been helping him all along, spying. My mother isn’t even sick, is she?” Draco shoved her back again even harder and Pansy’s bravery dwindled.
“No, your mother isn’t sick,” she yelped as he pushed her again. “But your father didn’t know what else to do. You had completely written off your family, turned your back on them, he was desperate.”
“Where is she?” Draco felt his patience crack as a wave of fear spread through him.
“In…in Hogsmeade, Lucius wanted to talk to her, convince her to stay away from you.” Pansy trembled.
“You stupid little chit,” Draco let go of her; his hands were beginning to shake. “He’ll kill her.”
Draco left Pansy there; he had no time to worry about her. He could only focus on one thing, hoping that he could get to Hermione before Lucius did. He had to hurry.
Draco had just reached the entrance doors that would lead him outside into the dimming light when a voice cried after him. But he didn’t stop as he jerked the door open and started to plunge out into the dusk. He was halted, however, when a heavy hand came down on his shoulder. He was jerked backwards through the doors and stumbled to the floor. Filch was glaring at him darkly and Professor McGonagall was hurrying to meet them.
“Mr. Malfoy, just where do you think you were going?” The Professor’s voice was sharp.
“Professor, Hermione Granger is in Hogsmeade”
“Nonsense,” the stern woman interrupted, “Hermione Granger is a model student who is probably upstairs in her dorm room studying as we speak.”
“No you don’t understand! She’s there and she’s in…” He had been about to say danger when he found himself suddenly unable to say anything.
Professor McGonagall lowered her wand and glowered at Draco. “Not another word Mr. Malfoy! You have spent your entire existence at this school trying to make trouble for Hermione Granger and her friends.”
Draco stared at the professor in shock and tried again to say something, but it felt as if a great weight had been placed over his tongue. He made a sudden lunge towards the door but Filch had anticipated this and knocked him back to the floor.
“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall sighed, “the charm will wear off in a few minutes, and you shall return to your dorm. Well, go on!”
Draco glared hatefully at his teacher before turning and walking to the stairs that would lead to the dungeon. He had no intention of going to his room however. He needed to find someway to get to Hogsmeade.
He began to walk down the stairs, deeply in thought. There had to be something. He had to think. Draco stopped short. “Potter,” he whispered out loud and then turned and dashed back up the stairs. Professor McGonagall was still standing in the foyer of the Great Hall talking to Filch and she called after Draco as he started up the next flight of stairs.
“Mr. Malfoy! Where on earth do you think you’re going now?”
Draco didn’t stop running though, not until he had gone up several flights of stairs and down two long corridors. He didn’t stop until he reached the portrait that he had watched Hermione escape through on more than one occasion.
“Let me in,” he commanded to the portrait.
“Password!” The woman cried out gleefully, almost as if she knew already that he didn’t have one.
“I don’t have a password! But I need to get in! Let me in!” He yelled at the portrait.
The woman in the pink dress frowned at him, “I can’t let you in without a password.”
“I don’t care about your password!” Draco slammed his fists against the portrait, “let me in!”
There was an intake of breath from behind him and Draco spun to see Neville Longbottom standing at the end of the short hall that led to the portrait. His face was pale and he took a shaky step backwards.
Draco lunged forward and caught Longbottom before he could escape. “Open it!” He ordered.
“N…no…” Longbottom whimpered as Draco twisted his arm back behind his back.
“I don’t have time for this Longbottom. Open the damn door!” Draco barked trying hard not to picture Hermione in Hogsmeade, Hermione with Lucius.
“Butterscotch buttons,” Longbottom cried out as Draco twisted his arm even farther back.
The portrait swung back to reveal the Gryffindor Common room, Draco didn’t even pause to purvey this new place that he had never once in his life imagined that he would be. He walked in and stood in the center of the circular room. People were springing up in surprise and an angry roar was beginning to escalate.
“Where’s Potter?” He hissed, his low voice somehow undercutting the noise. “Where is Harry Potter?” He yelled when no one answered him.
“You’ve got some nerve Malfoy.”
Draco spun and looked up; there upon an archway that overlooked the central room was Potter and Weasley.
“How did you get to Hogsmeade?” Draco asked quickly walking towards them.
“Did you think that you could just parade in here?” Potter growled.
“Look Potter, I don’t have time for this, tell me how you got to Hogsmeade in our third year!” Draco shouted up at him, although this wasn’t necessary since the common room had gone deathly still.
Potter looked taken aback, “What are you going on about?”
“Potter, I swear that I will beat you to death if you don’t tell me how you snuck into Hogsmeade!”
Potter glanced at his red haired friend and then back down at Draco, he didn’t understand what was happening.
“Potter!” Draco roared, “I don’t have time for this, she doesn’t have time for this!”
Potter and Weasley both paled at these words and they disappeared at one end of the walkway only to reappear across from Draco at the foot of a flight of stairs. They rushed up to Draco, grabbed his shoulders and roughly dragged him back through the portrait hole. As soon as the picture swung shut behind them, blocking the interested faces of the other Gryffindors, Potter shoved Draco against the wall.
“What do you mean, she?” Potter said quietly.
Draco glared at Potter, not wanting to admit anything to him.
“Where’s Hermione?” Weasley asked him coldly.
“In Hogsmeade, Pansy and my father tricked her,” Draco found that he had to tell them, for her sake.
“Oh right, of course she is,” Weasley said sounding somewhat relieved, as if what Draco was suggesting was impossible. “Like that little idiot Slytherin could trick Hermione. And even if she could, Hermione would never sneak off campus…” Weasley’s voice trailed off and he looked at Potter. The two exchanged meaningful glances.
“And I thought Slytherin was the house for rule breakers,” Draco muttered.
“Stay here with this git, I’ll be right back.” Potter told Weasley.
“Hey!” Draco snapped at him, “you could at least think up some new names to call me.”
“Right, sorry, Ron, you stay here with this wanker and I’ll be right back.”
Draco glared at them both. Potter went back through the portrait hole leaving Ron and Draco, who began to pace impatiently. Potter was gone only a moment or two when he popped back out from behind the portrait, clasped in his hand was an old scroll of parchment.
“He’s right, Hermione isn’t anywhere in the school.” Potter looked hard at Ron before continuing, “but she left the,” he looked meaningfully at his friend again, “well you know what she left.”
“Oh bloody hell Potter! I know about the invisibility cloak.” Potter and Weasley looked at him in astonishment. “What I need to know is how you snuck into Hogsmeade.”
“Like we would tell you!” Weasley snapped.
“I need to save her.” Draco said, trying to speak calmly.
“Don’t worry about it.” Potter said coolly, “We’ll go get her.”
Draco laughed harshly, “You don’t even know where she would be.”
“Well we certainly aren’t going to depend on you to save her.” Potter told him mulishly.
“I’m sorry Potter, I hadn’t realized that you were so skilled at saving people. Funny, but I don’t think Cedric Diggory would agree with you.” It was a low blow; even Draco had to admit it.
Potter’s face turned several different shades of gray before settling upon a deep ashen color. Draco didn’t even see his fist coming until Potter punched him squarely in the jaw with it. Draco stumbled backwards and fell down hard, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Potter looked rather stunned at his own actions.
“Right then,” Draco said, rubbing his quickly swelling cheek, “now that we’ve got the pissing contest out of the way, can we go?”
Potter and Weasley glanced at each other and then Potter stepped towards Draco and extended his hand. Draco looked at it in something between disgust and awe. He finally accepted the peace offering and got to his feet. Potter then glanced at the piece of parchment that he had and nodded at Weasley who started down the hall. Draco peered interestedly over Potter’s shoulder and for a moment saw something that looked like a map of the school, with tiny moving dots.
“What is that?” He asked but Potter folded it back up quickly and glared at Draco.
“Nothing that you need to know about Malfoy.” Weasley grumbled.
Potter pulled his invisibility cloak out of his bag and unfurled it. Draco had to admit that it truly was a thing of beauty. Weasley joined Potter underneath it and they both disappeared, there was a heated exchange that was done in whispers and then a hand tightened on Draco’s shoulder and he was pulled down and under the invisibility cloak. He huddled together with Potter and Weasley; they were painfully close.
“Let’s agree,” Weasley muttered, his face scarlet, “to never speak of this again.”
‘Agreed,” Draco and Potter said simultaneously.
“You know,” Draco whispered as they paused to let a few students meander by them in a narrow hallway, “we don’t really need the cloak since it’s before curfew.”
“You’re right, because we wouldn’t look at all strange strolling the corridor with you,” Potter replied sarcastically.
They came to a sudden halt in front of a statue of a one-eyed witch. Draco eyed it suspiciously. Potter glared at him and Draco knew what it must have been costing them to give up so many secrets.
“Watch the map,” Potter said and Draco watched as Weasley studied the old faded parchment.
Potter slipped out form under the cloak and removed his wand, he prodded the one-eyed witch, glanced back to where Draco was watching unseen and then leaned close to the statue and whispered to it. There was a scraping sound as the statue moved, revealing a dark hole.
Weasley folded the map up and tucked it into his pocket. Draco pulled the cloak off of them and handed it to Potter.
“We’d better hurry,” Potter said softly and the three boys squeezed into the tunnel, the witch closed behind them.
They had been walking for what seemed to be hours but Draco knew was really only about fifteen minutes. He glanced at his watch; it was almost eight, almost time for her to be there. He had let himself hope that maybe she wouldn’t know where to go. But Hermione was very smart and Draco had finally dismissed this notion, she would figure it out somehow.
Potter walked ahead of him, the tip of his wand glowing brightly. Weasley followed behind him taking up the rear. The redhead was almost bent double, the ceiling of the tunnel curved so low over their heads.
“What does Lucius want with Hermione anyway?” Weasley huffed angrily.
“Let me think, she’s one of Potter’s best friends, she’s helped foil several of the Dark Lords plots, she’s a muggle-born, and, oh yes, his only son and heir is involved with her. You’re right, no reasons to hurt her there. Don’t know what Lucius is thinking.” Draco replied scathingly, he didn’t know how Hermione managed to put with friends as dense as these.
“If something happens to her…” Potter’s voice trailed off, not wanting to voice his fears.
“I know,” Draco’s voice was soft, the bite of his earlier words gone from his mouth, “I know.”
And he did know. It was his fault that she was there. She must have gone to stop him, to save him. Why did she have to be so virtuous, couldn’t she have just let him go off and get himself killed if he wanted to? Couldn’t she mind her own business? Draco felt nauseous. It was all his fault.
“We’re nearly there,” Potter called over his shoulder.
“Do you really know where to go?” Weasley asked him, a note of distrust in his voice.
Draco decided that he wouldn’t even deign the question with a response. If Weasley actually believed that Draco intended harm towards Hermione, he figured that the two Gryffindors would have left him in a broken heap by now and continued on without him.
Draco ducked to avoid knocking his head into a particularly low outcropping; there was a muttered curse behind him as Weasley was obviously not as observant. Draco was beginning to marvel at the tenacity of these Gryffindors. They really were brave. Foolish, yes, but the bravery was astonishing. Hermione had rushed off into apparent danger believing that she had to save him and now her two best friends were willing to follow one of their most hated enemies into the fray to retrieve her. Draco found that he couldn’t send them in unprepared.
“There’s a spell that you both need to know.”
Weasley snorted. But Potter paused to look back at Draco.
“We found it, Hermione and I, in the books we’ve been studying for our Arithmancy project.” Draco hated telling them this. He hated sharing anything about his time with Hermione with them. He hated sharing it with anyone.
“Well it’s comforting to know that you two have actually been doing some work.” Weasley muttered darkly.
“What type of wizard do you think I am anyway Weasley?” Draco snapped back at him.
Weasley opened his mouth to tell him just what he thought of the Slytherin when Potter cut him off.
“What type of spell Malfoy?”
“Hopefully the type that will keep us alive long enough to rescue Hermione.”
He knew that he should find her, apologize, make up some lovely bit of nonsense that Lucius always used to make his mother happy. Maybe tell her a few promises that he didn’t intend to keep. But then what if he did intend to keep them? That was, of course, the most worrying aspect of this matter. He felt truly bad for letting Pansy kiss him. He had felt guilty for not pushing her away immediately. Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had felt guilty over anything.
Now the only thing left to be done was to find the girl. Find Hermione and make her understand that he was sorry. Tell her that he was miserable when she hated him. Tell her that he missed her. But Draco would rather tell Potter that he envied his Quidditch skills before he would tell Hermione any of that romantic dribble, even if it were true. No, the only way to handle this was to tell her that Pansy had thrown herself at him, and that, as Hermione had said, he didn’t owe her anything. Then he should probably try to incorporate their project into the conversation, talking about Arithmancy almost always put her in a good mood. And then, if he was charming enough, he could probably even kiss her. He had a plan now and that was good. It wasn’t even eight yet; he could probably still find her in the library.
Draco pushed off the bed and strolled leisurely down the hall to the common room. He was in no hurry; he could easily picture Hermione sitting in their room working, part of her waiting for him. The thought brought a self-satisfied smirk to his face and he sped up a little, always happy to oblige.
The door to their room was slightly ajar and Draco smiled triumphantly as he pushed it open, knowing that she was there. But she wasn’t, someone else was.
“Pansy?”
The Slytherin girl spun around a guilty expression on her face. She shoved something deep into her robes and stepped backwards, nearly tripping over a stack of books.
“Draco…” she murmured, sending nervous glances at the door behind him.
“What are you doing here, where’s Hermione?” Draco’s voice was firm but dangerous, there was something about the mutinous gleam in her eyes that he didn’t like. There was something akin to triumphant on her face.
“Maybe she went for a walk?” Pansy’s voice was steady but Draco could hear the apprehension underneath.
“What was that you were putting in your pocket?” Draco thought that perhaps she was stealing some of their work.
“Nothing,” Pansy replied as pushed her hand into her pocket and tightened her grip.
Draco stepped forward quickly and grabbed her arm, Pansy struggled, but Draco who was larger and stronger, easily wrestled her to the table where he forced her against it, his hands trying to gain access to her pockets.
“This brings back memories, doesn’t it Draco?” As if needing to emphasize her point, Pansy pressed back against him.
But Draco’s hand had closed on a scrap of parchment and he pulled it out and pushed her away, “shut up Pansy,” he muttered as he unfolded the note.
Pansy stayed where she was and watched as he began to read the letter. He knew that it was most definitely from Lucius, but he didn’t understand, he had never made plans to meet Lucius in Hogsmeade. Draco read the letter again in confusion. He turned towards Pansy and she stepped back, stumbling this time over a book bag that had been left haphazardly in the way. Draco looked at it for a moment, his mind taking a while to put the pieces together and realize what this all meant.
Pansy began to inch towards the door but Draco grabbed her again and jerked her away from it, he shoved her hard against the wall and she whimpered in pain.
“Where is she?” He hissed, his face only a few inches from Pansy’s.
“I don’t know,” Pansy replied bravely.
“You tricked her, you’ve been helping him all along, spying. My mother isn’t even sick, is she?” Draco shoved her back again even harder and Pansy’s bravery dwindled.
“No, your mother isn’t sick,” she yelped as he pushed her again. “But your father didn’t know what else to do. You had completely written off your family, turned your back on them, he was desperate.”
“Where is she?” Draco felt his patience crack as a wave of fear spread through him.
“In…in Hogsmeade, Lucius wanted to talk to her, convince her to stay away from you.” Pansy trembled.
“You stupid little chit,” Draco let go of her; his hands were beginning to shake. “He’ll kill her.”
Draco left Pansy there; he had no time to worry about her. He could only focus on one thing, hoping that he could get to Hermione before Lucius did. He had to hurry.
Draco had just reached the entrance doors that would lead him outside into the dimming light when a voice cried after him. But he didn’t stop as he jerked the door open and started to plunge out into the dusk. He was halted, however, when a heavy hand came down on his shoulder. He was jerked backwards through the doors and stumbled to the floor. Filch was glaring at him darkly and Professor McGonagall was hurrying to meet them.
“Mr. Malfoy, just where do you think you were going?” The Professor’s voice was sharp.
“Professor, Hermione Granger is in Hogsmeade”
“Nonsense,” the stern woman interrupted, “Hermione Granger is a model student who is probably upstairs in her dorm room studying as we speak.”
“No you don’t understand! She’s there and she’s in…” He had been about to say danger when he found himself suddenly unable to say anything.
Professor McGonagall lowered her wand and glowered at Draco. “Not another word Mr. Malfoy! You have spent your entire existence at this school trying to make trouble for Hermione Granger and her friends.”
Draco stared at the professor in shock and tried again to say something, but it felt as if a great weight had been placed over his tongue. He made a sudden lunge towards the door but Filch had anticipated this and knocked him back to the floor.
“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall sighed, “the charm will wear off in a few minutes, and you shall return to your dorm. Well, go on!”
Draco glared hatefully at his teacher before turning and walking to the stairs that would lead to the dungeon. He had no intention of going to his room however. He needed to find someway to get to Hogsmeade.
He began to walk down the stairs, deeply in thought. There had to be something. He had to think. Draco stopped short. “Potter,” he whispered out loud and then turned and dashed back up the stairs. Professor McGonagall was still standing in the foyer of the Great Hall talking to Filch and she called after Draco as he started up the next flight of stairs.
“Mr. Malfoy! Where on earth do you think you’re going now?”
Draco didn’t stop running though, not until he had gone up several flights of stairs and down two long corridors. He didn’t stop until he reached the portrait that he had watched Hermione escape through on more than one occasion.
“Let me in,” he commanded to the portrait.
“Password!” The woman cried out gleefully, almost as if she knew already that he didn’t have one.
“I don’t have a password! But I need to get in! Let me in!” He yelled at the portrait.
The woman in the pink dress frowned at him, “I can’t let you in without a password.”
“I don’t care about your password!” Draco slammed his fists against the portrait, “let me in!”
There was an intake of breath from behind him and Draco spun to see Neville Longbottom standing at the end of the short hall that led to the portrait. His face was pale and he took a shaky step backwards.
Draco lunged forward and caught Longbottom before he could escape. “Open it!” He ordered.
“N…no…” Longbottom whimpered as Draco twisted his arm back behind his back.
“I don’t have time for this Longbottom. Open the damn door!” Draco barked trying hard not to picture Hermione in Hogsmeade, Hermione with Lucius.
“Butterscotch buttons,” Longbottom cried out as Draco twisted his arm even farther back.
The portrait swung back to reveal the Gryffindor Common room, Draco didn’t even pause to purvey this new place that he had never once in his life imagined that he would be. He walked in and stood in the center of the circular room. People were springing up in surprise and an angry roar was beginning to escalate.
“Where’s Potter?” He hissed, his low voice somehow undercutting the noise. “Where is Harry Potter?” He yelled when no one answered him.
“You’ve got some nerve Malfoy.”
Draco spun and looked up; there upon an archway that overlooked the central room was Potter and Weasley.
“How did you get to Hogsmeade?” Draco asked quickly walking towards them.
“Did you think that you could just parade in here?” Potter growled.
“Look Potter, I don’t have time for this, tell me how you got to Hogsmeade in our third year!” Draco shouted up at him, although this wasn’t necessary since the common room had gone deathly still.
Potter looked taken aback, “What are you going on about?”
“Potter, I swear that I will beat you to death if you don’t tell me how you snuck into Hogsmeade!”
Potter glanced at his red haired friend and then back down at Draco, he didn’t understand what was happening.
“Potter!” Draco roared, “I don’t have time for this, she doesn’t have time for this!”
Potter and Weasley both paled at these words and they disappeared at one end of the walkway only to reappear across from Draco at the foot of a flight of stairs. They rushed up to Draco, grabbed his shoulders and roughly dragged him back through the portrait hole. As soon as the picture swung shut behind them, blocking the interested faces of the other Gryffindors, Potter shoved Draco against the wall.
“What do you mean, she?” Potter said quietly.
Draco glared at Potter, not wanting to admit anything to him.
“Where’s Hermione?” Weasley asked him coldly.
“In Hogsmeade, Pansy and my father tricked her,” Draco found that he had to tell them, for her sake.
“Oh right, of course she is,” Weasley said sounding somewhat relieved, as if what Draco was suggesting was impossible. “Like that little idiot Slytherin could trick Hermione. And even if she could, Hermione would never sneak off campus…” Weasley’s voice trailed off and he looked at Potter. The two exchanged meaningful glances.
“And I thought Slytherin was the house for rule breakers,” Draco muttered.
“Stay here with this git, I’ll be right back.” Potter told Weasley.
“Hey!” Draco snapped at him, “you could at least think up some new names to call me.”
“Right, sorry, Ron, you stay here with this wanker and I’ll be right back.”
Draco glared at them both. Potter went back through the portrait hole leaving Ron and Draco, who began to pace impatiently. Potter was gone only a moment or two when he popped back out from behind the portrait, clasped in his hand was an old scroll of parchment.
“He’s right, Hermione isn’t anywhere in the school.” Potter looked hard at Ron before continuing, “but she left the,” he looked meaningfully at his friend again, “well you know what she left.”
“Oh bloody hell Potter! I know about the invisibility cloak.” Potter and Weasley looked at him in astonishment. “What I need to know is how you snuck into Hogsmeade.”
“Like we would tell you!” Weasley snapped.
“I need to save her.” Draco said, trying to speak calmly.
“Don’t worry about it.” Potter said coolly, “We’ll go get her.”
Draco laughed harshly, “You don’t even know where she would be.”
“Well we certainly aren’t going to depend on you to save her.” Potter told him mulishly.
“I’m sorry Potter, I hadn’t realized that you were so skilled at saving people. Funny, but I don’t think Cedric Diggory would agree with you.” It was a low blow; even Draco had to admit it.
Potter’s face turned several different shades of gray before settling upon a deep ashen color. Draco didn’t even see his fist coming until Potter punched him squarely in the jaw with it. Draco stumbled backwards and fell down hard, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Potter looked rather stunned at his own actions.
“Right then,” Draco said, rubbing his quickly swelling cheek, “now that we’ve got the pissing contest out of the way, can we go?”
Potter and Weasley glanced at each other and then Potter stepped towards Draco and extended his hand. Draco looked at it in something between disgust and awe. He finally accepted the peace offering and got to his feet. Potter then glanced at the piece of parchment that he had and nodded at Weasley who started down the hall. Draco peered interestedly over Potter’s shoulder and for a moment saw something that looked like a map of the school, with tiny moving dots.
“What is that?” He asked but Potter folded it back up quickly and glared at Draco.
“Nothing that you need to know about Malfoy.” Weasley grumbled.
Potter pulled his invisibility cloak out of his bag and unfurled it. Draco had to admit that it truly was a thing of beauty. Weasley joined Potter underneath it and they both disappeared, there was a heated exchange that was done in whispers and then a hand tightened on Draco’s shoulder and he was pulled down and under the invisibility cloak. He huddled together with Potter and Weasley; they were painfully close.
“Let’s agree,” Weasley muttered, his face scarlet, “to never speak of this again.”
‘Agreed,” Draco and Potter said simultaneously.
“You know,” Draco whispered as they paused to let a few students meander by them in a narrow hallway, “we don’t really need the cloak since it’s before curfew.”
“You’re right, because we wouldn’t look at all strange strolling the corridor with you,” Potter replied sarcastically.
They came to a sudden halt in front of a statue of a one-eyed witch. Draco eyed it suspiciously. Potter glared at him and Draco knew what it must have been costing them to give up so many secrets.
“Watch the map,” Potter said and Draco watched as Weasley studied the old faded parchment.
Potter slipped out form under the cloak and removed his wand, he prodded the one-eyed witch, glanced back to where Draco was watching unseen and then leaned close to the statue and whispered to it. There was a scraping sound as the statue moved, revealing a dark hole.
Weasley folded the map up and tucked it into his pocket. Draco pulled the cloak off of them and handed it to Potter.
“We’d better hurry,” Potter said softly and the three boys squeezed into the tunnel, the witch closed behind them.
They had been walking for what seemed to be hours but Draco knew was really only about fifteen minutes. He glanced at his watch; it was almost eight, almost time for her to be there. He had let himself hope that maybe she wouldn’t know where to go. But Hermione was very smart and Draco had finally dismissed this notion, she would figure it out somehow.
Potter walked ahead of him, the tip of his wand glowing brightly. Weasley followed behind him taking up the rear. The redhead was almost bent double, the ceiling of the tunnel curved so low over their heads.
“What does Lucius want with Hermione anyway?” Weasley huffed angrily.
“Let me think, she’s one of Potter’s best friends, she’s helped foil several of the Dark Lords plots, she’s a muggle-born, and, oh yes, his only son and heir is involved with her. You’re right, no reasons to hurt her there. Don’t know what Lucius is thinking.” Draco replied scathingly, he didn’t know how Hermione managed to put with friends as dense as these.
“If something happens to her…” Potter’s voice trailed off, not wanting to voice his fears.
“I know,” Draco’s voice was soft, the bite of his earlier words gone from his mouth, “I know.”
And he did know. It was his fault that she was there. She must have gone to stop him, to save him. Why did she have to be so virtuous, couldn’t she have just let him go off and get himself killed if he wanted to? Couldn’t she mind her own business? Draco felt nauseous. It was all his fault.
“We’re nearly there,” Potter called over his shoulder.
“Do you really know where to go?” Weasley asked him, a note of distrust in his voice.
Draco decided that he wouldn’t even deign the question with a response. If Weasley actually believed that Draco intended harm towards Hermione, he figured that the two Gryffindors would have left him in a broken heap by now and continued on without him.
Draco ducked to avoid knocking his head into a particularly low outcropping; there was a muttered curse behind him as Weasley was obviously not as observant. Draco was beginning to marvel at the tenacity of these Gryffindors. They really were brave. Foolish, yes, but the bravery was astonishing. Hermione had rushed off into apparent danger believing that she had to save him and now her two best friends were willing to follow one of their most hated enemies into the fray to retrieve her. Draco found that he couldn’t send them in unprepared.
“There’s a spell that you both need to know.”
Weasley snorted. But Potter paused to look back at Draco.
“We found it, Hermione and I, in the books we’ve been studying for our Arithmancy project.” Draco hated telling them this. He hated sharing anything about his time with Hermione with them. He hated sharing it with anyone.
“Well it’s comforting to know that you two have actually been doing some work.” Weasley muttered darkly.
“What type of wizard do you think I am anyway Weasley?” Draco snapped back at him.
Weasley opened his mouth to tell him just what he thought of the Slytherin when Potter cut him off.
“What type of spell Malfoy?”
“Hopefully the type that will keep us alive long enough to rescue Hermione.”
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