Hermione slept badly that night. She tossed and turned for hours before finally falling into a restless slumber. And even then her dreams of the ever nearing battle with Voldemort woke her up, soaked in sweat and trembling from head to toe. All in all she was glad when morning finally arrived. As the sun appeared on the horizon Hermione got up, dressed and headed downstairs, picking Crookshanks up on the way. To her surprise she found Harry, Ron, Bill and Mr Weasley all sitting at the table talking quietly. She felt rather suspicious when Mr Weasley stopped talking at the sight of her.

“’Morning Hermione,” he said quickly, casting a glance of warning around the table so that the others stopped too.

“Good morning, Mr Weasley,” Hermione replied putting Crookshanks down on an empty chair. Ron stood up suddenly and said;

“Hermione, will you come for a walk with me? Now?” He said this all very fast and his ears turned steadily redder as he spoke.

“Sure, Ron,” she said, puzzled, and followed him out the backdoor. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Bill and Harry grinning and shot them a look before hurrying to catch up with Ron who had set off at an extremely fast pace. They walked out the gate of the Burrow and down the road that led to the village. The ground was frosty and the dew was still thick on the grass. Hermione glanced at Ron every now and then but he was staring straight ahead and seemed very determined not to make eye contact with her. Finally she got so fed up that she grabbed his arm, causing him to spin around on the spot.

“Ron, look, why did you ask me to go for a walk when you won’t even look at me?” she said irritably. Still Ron refused to make eye contact, glaring at the ground as though it were the reason for all the problems in the world. Finally he said;

“Hermione, do you really want to go out with me or do you just feel sorry for me?” He looked her in the eyes as he said it. Hermione was completely taken aback. Whatever she had expected it hadn’t been that.

“Ron, of course I want to go out with you,” she managed to say. “Why would you think I felt sorry for you?” When he continued to glare at her, she said desperately;

“Look, Ron, I’m sorry I haven’t been talking to you much but you know how hectic things have been, with Dumbledore’s death and everything…” she trailed off hoping he would understand or at least agree. He seemed to. He dropped his hostile look and pulled her into a hug.

“Okay,” he said softly looking down at her with a tender look in his eyes. “I’m sorry too.” Nothing could have prepared her for what he did next. He stooped his head and brought his lips close to Hermione’s. Too close. Instinctively, she pulled away, and too late, realised her mistake. She saw hurt and anger clearly in Ron’s eyes before he turned on his heel and stalked off towards the Burrow.

“Ron,” she called, her voice rising frantically. “Ron, come back.” When he kept walking she became desperate. “RON!” she screamed, “COME BACK! I’m sorry! Please come back!” But he continued to ignore her and strode back to the house, his head high and a determined air about him. “Ron, come back! …Oh, please come back,” she whispered as she sank to the ground sobbing.

________________________________________________________________________

Hermione didn’t return to the house for some time and when she did it was to find to her immense relief that Harry and Ron had gone off somewhere. Normally it annoyed her when they went away without her but today she was glad that they had. She slipped upstairs to her room without talking to anyone and engrossed herself in a new book. How ever she hadn’t read more than a few before Mrs Weasley sent Ginny up to call her for breakfast.

“Okay, coming,” Hermione said, reluctant to tear her eyes away from the book. It was mostly the enticing smells that brought her down; she wasn’t in the mood for human company right now.

After breakfast Hermione took Crookshanks, three new books including the one she had been reading and a cushion and went up to Malfoy’s room. She sat down in the chair that had been moved up and began to read. Crookshanks settled himself on the end of Malfoy’s bed. Hours passed. Crookshanks purr seemed louder than ever in the quiet room. Hermione’s eyes became heavy from lack of sleep. The book she had been reading fell to the floor with a dull clunk as her head fell forward on her chest and she drifted off into a deep sleep

_______________________________________________________________________


No sight. No smell. No feeling. Just sounds. And thoughts. Fat lot of good they’d do him. And this place. So quiet one minute, so loud the next. Maybe he was dead. That would be nice. No more pain. But he couldn’t be. He could hear another person breathing. And purring. Weird.

________________________________________________________________________

Hermione didn’t wake up until Mrs Weasley came up to call her for dinner. She groaned as she moved her stiff neck and stretched her cramped limbs. Crookshanks was still sitting on Malfoy’s bed, staring at her fixedly out of his large yellow eyes. She reached out her hand and scratched him behind his ears. She got to her feet and followed Mrs Weasley downstairs, apologizing all the way.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs Weasley, I just-” she yawned. “-didn’t get much sleep last night.” Mrs Weasley smiled kindly and patted her arm.

“It’s alright, dear, don’t worry about it. I’d say we’re all very tired at the moment.” Hermione returned the smile gratefully as they entered the kitchen and she sank into one of the chairs.

“Where are Ron and Harry? Will they be here for dinner?” Hermione asked, half hoping they wouldn’t be. Mrs Weasley’s smile was replaced by a worried frown as she began serving the dinner.

“No, they won’t be here until much later. Ron seemed in a very bad mood this morning when he left; he practically dragged Harry away from the house and almost shouted at me when I asked what the matter was.” Mrs Weasley sounded hurt and looked extremely miserable. “I hate not knowing what’s wrong with my children, especially when they’re at such a vulnerable stage in their lives.” Hermione’s heart sank and she looked away. She was the reason for Ron’s bad mood and everyone else was suffering because of it. Ginny, Bill and Mr Weasley joined them soon and they all sat down to dinner. Hermione didn’t say a word and only half listened to what was being said about Bill and Fleur Delacour’s wedding. Fleur had gone back to France to see her family but would return in time for the wedding. Mrs Weasley was giving out to Bill about his hair again and Mr Weasley and Ginny were having a heated argument about Ginny’s return to Hogwarts. Hermione excused herself from the table, leaving her food untouched, and went back upstairs to Malfoy’s room. She sat down in the chair, tucked her knees up against her chest and stared at her sleeping enemy. His breathing was rough and shallow but he seemed to be all right. Hermione closed her eyes and buried her face in her arms. She felt so ill and guilty. Her world was falling apart and there was nothing she could do about it. She wasn’t getting enough sleep, she had to sit with ferret-face all day and she was fighting with Ron. Her Ron. The Ron she had fancied for all those years, the Ron she had watched grow from an immature child to an even more immature teenager (he had his moments), the Ron she had fought with and hated a million times and still liked him all the same. And she had just let him slip right through her fingers. Once again she raised her head and looked at Malfoy out of red-rimmed eyes.

“It’s funny how innocent you look now,” she said out loud. “So calm and relaxed. Before I doubt anyone saw your face without a sneer or smirk on it. Well I haven’t anyways.” She sighed. “Everybody in this house hates you and yet you can still just lie here and sleep. I wouldn’t be able to. I can hardly stay here now after what I did to Ron.” Silent tears slid down her face and fell to the floor where they glistened in the light cast over the room by the evening sun. “It’s all my fault. All my fault.”

She kept repeating it as she sat there, over and over again as she rocked slowly backwards and forwards in her chair. She didn’t let sleep over power her and stopped her thoughts from wandering past her guilt. She refused to try and blame Ron, though in her heart and soul she knew she was being stupid. She stayed there for hours, never changing her position, never shifting her gaze from the face of the boy lying in front of her. Finally Harry came up to find her and brought her down to the kitchen. He made her sit down and pushed a cup of tea towards her. Hermione sipped it and looked at Harry who was watching her from across the table, his green eyes filled with concern. She looked down at her hands.

“Hermione? Is everything all right?” Harry asked tentatively. When she didn’t answer, he leaned across the table towards her. “Hermione. Please. What’s the matter?” Finally she looked at him, her eyes filled with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t mean it to be like that.” And she collapsed on the table crying, tears falling down her cheeks and forming huge pools on the table. Harry looked horrified and patted her awkwardly on the back. After a few minutes she regained control of herself and looked up, her eyes red and puffy. She wiped her tears away with the back of her sleeve.

“Sorry,” she murmured to Harry. “I’m just a bit mixed up. You should go to bed now. I’ll be OK.” When Harry continued to look at her doubtfully, she forced a smile and sat up straight. “Look, I’m OK. I’ll stay down here for awhile to get my head sorted out. You go.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Although he seemed reluctant to go Hermione could see he was relieved that she didn’t ask him to spend the night listening to her problems. He gave her a small smile before disappearing up to bed. Hermione waited until he was well gone before she started mentally berating herself. You’re so stupid!she scolded herself fiercely. Harry’s got enough to worry about without you falling to pieces all over him.She would get herself together, stop worrying and apologize to Ron first thing in the morning. She sighed. Give me strength.

________________________________________________________________________

Sounds, all day long. Loud and quiet. Voices and words. Great. Disembodied voices and words that didn’t make sense. Well, maybe there were people there, but he couldn’t see them. Perhaps they were lurking out of sight, trying to go un-noticed by all. Or maybe he was imagining things. Made sense except that he didn’t have an imagination. Very confusing.

Hermione tried to be more like herself over the next few days. She found it increasingly difficult as both Ron and Harry were avoiding her like the plague. Ginny wasn’t much help either; she kept asking what was wrong with her and Ron. Hermione spent a lot of her time now up in the room at the top of the house with Malfoy. He still hadn’t woken up, moved or in fact shown any signs of life at all. If it weren’t for the fact that he was breathing Hermione would have sworn he was dead. Nobody else, except perhaps Mrs Weasley, came up to the room at all. Hermione spent hours alone, thinking, and enjoying the silence rarely heard in the Weasley’s house. Crookshanks often came up and lay on Malfoy’s bed to keep her company. He just sat and stared at her and if she spoke he would blink or nod his head as though he was able to understand what she was saying. She was comforted by his presence, though it didn’t help that Ron still hated him and she had a sneaking suspicion that Harry shared the same view. She didn’t see much of them anymore; they were always gone whenever she went downstairs. They left the house early in the morning and came home late at night. It hurt her that they wouldn’t talk to her; for all she knew they could have found and destroyed all the Horcuxes by now. When Harry had come back from ‘visiting’ his aunt and uncles house he had been even more determined about killing Voldemort than ever. Apparently his aunt had told him something about his parents that had brought his hatred for Voldemort to a new level.

One night, a few days after her fight with Ron, Hermione stayed up to await the two boys’ arrival back. Mrs Weasley normally had some food ready for them and so remained awake to feed them and let them in, as the back door was always locked. Tonight, however, they had sent word that they had already eaten so Hermione had insisted on sitting in the kitchen and letting them in. Plus, she was sick and tired of being ignored. She hadn’t been waiting for more than twenty minutes when the sound of footsteps from outside reached her ears and there was a soft knock on the door. Hermione pulled her wand warily from her jeans pocket and walked quietly to the door. Her wand still held at the ready she took a deep breath and whispered;

“Who’s there?”

“Harry and Ron.” The answer floated back, no more than a murmur on the wind. “It’s okay, Hermione, it really is us. Ask us anything you like.” Hermione thought hard, searching for a question that would determine the identity of the voice.

“What was Lavenders nickname for Ron?” she settled on finally, grinning in spite of herself.

“HERMIONE!” she heard Ron shout, as Harry roared laughing. The door-knob rattled as Ron tried to force his way in.

“Answer the question!” Hermione told him firmly, pushing herself against the door to stop Ron breaking it down. There was a lot of muttering and when the answer came it was so quiet Hermione could hardly hear it.

“Won-Won.” Hermione grinned as she imagined the look on Ron’s face.

“A little louder please, I can’t hear you,” she teased.

“WON-WON!” Ron yelled furiously and Hermione collapsed against the wall laughing. “There, I said it. Now will you let us in!” Still clutching her sides, Hermione unlocked the door and sat down in a chair, breathing heavily. Ron and Harry entered the room and sat down opposite her, closing and locking the door behind them. Harry was grinning and kept shooting sideways glances at a fuming Ron.

“Nice question, Hermione,” Harry said smiling at her. Ron shot daggers at her, causing the other two crack up again. Ron didn’t manage to keep a sour face for long; he couldn’t help smiling as he watched them laugh themselves silly, tears of mirth streaming down their cheeks. Finally Harry straightened up and, after wiping his eyes, announced he was going to bed and bade them goodnight. Hermione and Ron sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“Ron, look, I really am sorry about the other day,” Hermione said eventually. “I didn’t mean to hurt you; I was just…surprised, I guess.” She glanced at Ron to check his expression. She was lucky; it was forgiving.

“Hermione, don’t worry about it,” Ron replied looking her straight in the eye. “Forget it.”

“No,” Hermione said, hurriedly. “I shouldn’t have pulled away - I mean I didn’t want to pull away �“ I mean,” she faltered. “I just did.” Ron smiled at her understandingly and the warmth in his smile told Hermione that she was forgiven.

“It’s okay. Let’s just forget about it,” he said. Hermione smiled back, her heart swelling with happiness.

“Okay, let’s.” She yawned suddenly. “I think I’ll go to bed now, goodnight.” She got up from the table and then, screwing up her courage, swooped down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. After that she practically ran up the stairs and it wasn’t until she reached the top that she glanced back at him. When she did, it was to see him sitting there, a dreamy expression on his face, the tips of his fingers touching the spot on his cheek where her lips had touched him. Before she turned away she saw his lips move silently as they formed the word.

“Goodnight.”

________________________________________________________________________

Voices heard very often now. And still nobody’s there. And more purring. Since when did he hear cats purring inside his head? And that voice! He knew it. It was so familiar, but who was it? So many questions. So few answers. His mind was muddled and he was pretty sure his brain had gone on holiday. Or run away. Most likely the latter.

________________________________________________________________________

Hermione got up the next morning, her heart almost bursting with happiness. She had made up with Ron. They were friends again. She had kissed Ron Weasley. Well, sort of. It wasn’t really a kiss but at least her lips had made contact with some part of his face! Merlin, Hermione, she told herself, You’re absolutely hopeless. Not that it deterred her. On the contrary, she leapt out of bed and skipped downstairs, whistling ‘Oh! What a Beautiful Morning’. Harry and Ron were both downstairs when she arrived. She and Ron were smiling at each other so much that Harry began to shoot them suspicious looks. The trio ate breakfast as fast as they could and then escaped up to Malfoy’s room where they could talk in private.

There weren’t many places to sit so they had to improvise. Harry and Hermione sat cross-legged at the end of Malfoy’s bed while Ron took the chair. They all agreed (and indeed it was true) that there wasn’t enough room on the bed for him. Once they were all seated Hermione asked the question she had been dying to know the answer to since �“ well, for a while anyway.

“So?” she said, breaking the silence. “Did you find anything out about the Horcuxes? Or R.A.B?” At this, Harry and Ron looked extremely sheepish. Harry fiddled with the bed covers, avoiding Hermione’s eye.

“Well, er, actually, Hermione, we weren’t, well,” Harry seemed to be struggling to find the right words and looked up at Ron for help. “You see, we weren’t actually, er, really looking for the Horcuxes or R.A.B at all.” By this time he had become extremely interested in his fingernails and was gazing at them fixedly. Hermione stared at them incredulously.

“You mean to say that you have been out for every day this week and not been looking for them?” Her voice was a threatening whisper and Harry and Ron nodded, looking nervous. Hermione stayed outwardly as calm as ever.

“So,” she said, her voice still deadly quiet. “What were you doing if you looking for them? Where were you?” Both boys avoided her accusing eyes.

“We were at Fred and George’s shop,” Ron said eventually. Hermione’s mouth opened and closed several times but words escaped her. At this stage the boys were looking very scared, to say the least, and kept glancing around the room anxiously for any means of escape. Finally Hermione managed to speak and there was a forced calmness about her voice that was more terrifying than if she had shouted.

“I’m not going to get mad this time,” she said, still glaring at them. “Because I know you won’t do it again. But if you do,” she added threateningly. “Merlin help you, I’ll do Voldemort a favour and kill you both.” The boys nodded apprehensively but after seeing that she was finished giving out to them looked slightly more relaxed.

“It’s okay, it won’t happen again, promise,” Harry assured her quickly, sounding relieved.

“Fine,” Hermione said, allowing her gaze to become less hostile.

“Oh yeah, we found out a few things about other people at Hogwarts so maybe it was a good thing �“” Ron began but Hermione cut across him.

“Don’t even try to convince me it was for any unselfish reason,” she said, crossing her arms. “Because it won’t work. What did you find out anyway? Is everyone okay?”

“Well, Fred and George haven’t heard anything about anyone we know getting hurt. They’ve been speaking to a few people when they come to the shop,” Harry said. “Did you know they bought Zonko’s?” When Hermione shook her head Harry continued. “Yeah they said it’s great. Everyone’s been buying anything that might protect them from the Death Eaters. The Shield cloaks and hats are all sold out. It’s crazy. Oh, and Hermione, guess what,” Harry suddenly laughed. “Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom are going out too!”

Hermione smiled. “Wow, I bet they’re an odd couple.” The three of them laughed at this and before long they were pairing off their friends to various other people. Then talk turned to Bill and Fleur’s wedding. The three of them would have stayed upstairs for longer if Mr and Mrs Weasley hadn’t come up to them with Professor McGonagall, Remus Lupin and Healer Manken. Manken was in a bad mood and poked and prodded Malfoy so hard that Hermione wouldn’t have been surprised if Malfoy bore the bruises for the rest of his life. When Manken announced that there was no change in his condition they all went downstairs for dinner. However, Hermione noticed that Manken seemed very puzzled over Malfoy. He wasn’t dead (‘unfortunately,’ Hermione thought), he wasn’t faking and he didn’t have any obvious illness. Nobody else seemed bothered so Hermione pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind and left them there.



________________________________________________________________________



There was silence for so long and then noises. Shuffling, breathing and then talking. Three voices. Voices he knew. Then it clicked. Granger. Potter. Weasley. If his voice had been working he would have yelled. But he couldn’t. All he could do was wait and hope they wouldn’t notice him and go away quickly. His ears adjusted to their voices and he was able to hear their conversation. They were talking about people in his year. Merlin, what was the world coming to? They were on the brink of war and these three were discussing people love lives. And after that they were off again about Bill and Fleur getting married. Who the hell? And then more people came in. Well there was lots of footsteps, talking and heavy breathing. Someone was in a bad mood. But they just talked and left. No fighting. What a disappointment. Life can get so boring. If this is life. It always comes back to that question, doesn’t it? Stupid thoughts. Shut up. Anyway the people left. And then there was silence. Again. Damn this place.

Dinner was a very pleasant affair except for an incident which left everyone feeling extremely awkward. Lupin, McGonagall and Manken all stayed to eat and the topics of discussion varied from memories of the past to good times in the future. It was only when the subject of Hogwarts came up that the conversation took a nasty turn. Professor McGonagall was now the Headmistress of Hogwarts and had the job of recruiting new staff and students for the school.



“I’ve sent all the letters out earlier than usual and there aren’t many parents who want their children coming to Hogwarts anymore,” she said, sadly. “And probably only a few of the older students will come back. Any Slytherins whose parents are openly supporting Voldemort will have left to become Death Eaters and the other houses are planning on being trained at the Ministry to fight in the war-” she was cut across by Ginny who leapt to her feet, her face almost as red as her hair as she glared at her parents in rage.



“See!” she shouted gesturing at McGonagall. “See, nobody else is going to Hogwarts anymore so why should I? I want to train to fight! I have to help!” Her parents looked appalled.



“Ginny dear,” Mrs Weasley said soothingly. “You’re over-reacting. People are going back to Hogwarts and you need to finish your education- and as for helping in the war you need to show people that it’s okay to go back to Hogwarts.” If she had thought it would have a calming effect on her daughter, she was very, very wrong. Ginny swelled with anger.



“I am NOT going back to Hogwarts!” she roared. “I don’t care about my education; it won’t matter if we lose the war!”



“Ginny, you are being extremely immature,” Mr Weasley said quietly not looking at her. “Either stop this silly behaviour or leave the room.” Ginny opened and closed her mouth several times before turning on her heel and storming out of the kitchen. She ran up the stairs and they could hear her stamping her feet all the way up to her room. An awkward silence settled on the party, as nobody quite knew what say. Soon afterwards, the three visitors hurriedly finished their dinner and left the house after assuring them that they would come the next day to check on Malfoy again. The remaining five went into the sitting room and sat for a while, Harry and Ron discussing Quidditch and Mr and Mrs Weasley sitting quietly and reading the Daily Prophet. Finally, Hermione grew tired of their conversation and announced she was going to bed. She got to her feet but paused at the doorway.



“Oh, I forgot would it be all right if I went to the library tomorrow? You know the one at the Ministry?” She awaited their reply, hoping they wouldn’t ask any awkward questions. They didn’t. Neither of them seemed in the mood to do much talking.



“Yes, of course, Hermione,” Mr Weasley said tiredly. “You can come into work with me. I’ll call you in the morning.” Hermione nodded and went upstairs. She entered the room quietly and heard, quite clearly, the change of breathing from quick and short to slow and deep. Obviously, Ginny couldn’t sleep.



“Ginny?” Hermione whispered. There was no answer. “Ginny, are you awake?” Still nothing. “Do you want to talk?” Silence. “Do you want me to shut up?” Then came a muffled “Yes” but nothing more. Hermione sighed.



“Okay.” She changed quickly and slipped into bed. She thought back to before Voldemort had risen. The memories were so faded and weird. It was hard to imagine any time when they weren’t feeling scared or angry all the time. So much had changed.



________________________________________________________________________



Silence. Again. This is getting boring. That’s always the first thought. Silence. And then darkness. That’s all that he could see. And not even see, more like …. Be aware of.



________________________________________________________________________



Hermione awoke to the sound of her own name being whispered. She sat up in bed and looked around. Mr Weasley was standing at the doorway.



“We’ll be leaving in about fifteen minutes,” he said quietly. “Just get dressed and come down. Molly’s got some food on for you.” Hermione nodded and Mr Weasley disappeared. She dragged herself out of bed and dressed slowly. Yawning, she walked as quietly as she could down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mrs Weasley was sitting at the table pouring over a huge book full of cooking recipes. There was a stack of buttered toast sitting on the table in front of her and when Hermione came in she waved her hand invitingly at it.



“Help yourself dear,” she said, getting up and walking over to one of the cupboards and taking out a glass. “I’ll give you something proper to eat when you come back but at the moment Arthur’s in a bit of a hurry.” She poured some milk into the glass and handed it to Hermione, who took it and grabbed a slice of toast from the top of the pile. Mrs Weasley returned to reading her book and they sat in silence, waiting for Mr Weasley. Hermione was on her fifth slice by the time he came down, already dressed in his work robes.



“Come on,” he said, fastening his travelling cloak around him. Hermione got up from the table and pulled her own coat on. Mr Weasley kissed his wife swiftly on the cheek before standing next to Hermione, holding her arm firmly, and Apparated.



Hermione swayed slightly as they appeared in the entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic. Mr Weasley steadied her then set off down the corridor towards the lift, beckoning to her to follow. The lift wasn’t too crowded when they got in and almost everyone seemed to know Mr Weasley. They smiled at them briefly before rushing away, worried looks on their faces. After being in the lift a good ten minutes when Mr Weasley suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her through the doors out into a wide corridor. Mr Weasley strode on in the front and Hermione hurried along behind him. Finally, he came to a halt outside a small door. He knocked once and, bending down very low, entered. Hermione hesitated before bending her head and following him. As she stepped through the door, her jaw dropped and she let out a small gasp of amazement and joy. The room into which she had just come was almost the same size as the Entrance Hall in Hogwarts and was piled to the ceiling with books. There were books on table, chairs, shelves, anywhere possible, stacked together in such a messy way it almost looked organised. Mr Weasley smiled at her evident pleasure.



“This is the main library of the Ministry of Magic,” he said. “It has books on everything and all the records of wizards, animagus, Death Eaters, everything, they are all here and you can look at them as long you like.” She nodded so he continued. “When you’re finished come up to me and I’ll arrange for you to go home.” He then told her the floor and office in which he worked and left. Hermione didn’t know where to start. She went over to the shelves where Mr Weasley had said the records were kept. She picked up a pile of them and found herself a comfortable chair to sit on. Nobody disturbed her during the hours that followed and she engrossed herself in several different books. The pile of either discarded or finished books mounted to a point where it was in fear of falling over but Hermione didn’t care. That wasn’t important.



________________________________________________________________________



Nobody came all morning. How sad. No, seriously, it was really boring. Hours (or was it days?) passed and still no sound reached his waiting ears. Then somebody came up. Yay. Not really. There was the sound of someone swishing water around and then whoever it was started talking. And it wasn’t Granger. It seemed to be an older woman and she chattered on and on, stopping at regular intervals to say “You poor dear.” She must have been talking to another person because no one called him ‘dear’, not even his mother. If this woman was talking to someone else, though, then it meant that there were more people in this place aside from him. Another theory to add to his list. He had six of them now.



1. He was a ghost but his eyes had been poked out and someone had put him in a house full of weird people as a bad joke.

2. He was in a sort of limbo; he wasn’t dead but he wasn’t alive either and he was being haunted by memories of voices he had known before.

3. He was a disembodied brain who could hear people’s thoughts and he was being kept in the Department of Mysteries where they were going to do experiments on him (hey, it could happen).

4. He was on the brink of death and only Granger could save him, but she wasn’t going to because she hated him so he was slowly dying while she, Potter and Weasley sat and laughed (he wouldn’t put it past them).

5. This was all a dream and someday he would wake up in his nice comfortable four poster bed in the Malfoy Manor with all his limbs intact and to discover that the last three years had never happened (there was nothing wrong with hoping…)

6. Now his newest: it was a place where people who were too weak, sad, and depressed to carry on with life came which would explain Weasley, Granger and Potter (but why was he there?).



What a stupid list. None of them made any sense anyways. And yet he had spent ages (he thought) on it. How boring this place was. He would almost like to be back with Voldemort. No, actually, take that back. Anywhere was better than there even if it was really, really boring. There was nobody even to talk to, except himself. First sign of madness is talking to yourself. Well that’s done. Second is having hairs on your palms. Don’t have any hands so that doesn’t count. Third is looking for the hairs. Does looking for your hands count? Because if so he was on the highway to insanity and there was nothing to stand in his way. Nothing and nobody. Nobody at all.



________________________________________________________________________



Hermione went back to the Burrow at around midday her arms and mind laden with books and records that she thought might be useful. Delicious smells were coming from the kitchen when Mr Weasley Apparated back with her. He went straight back to work but she made her way into the warm kitchen where Mrs Weasley was busy making dinner. Harry and Ron were sitting at the table eating soup. Why was she not surprised; all they seemed to do now was eat and sleep.



Hermione shook her head, half-exasperated, half-amused. She was greeted by Crookshanks just outside the back door as he half-heartedly chased a gnome across her path. She would have picked him up but her hands were full so he had to satisfy himself with trotting along behind her.



Harry and Ron looked up and grinned when she appeared and Mrs Weasley set a bowl of steaming soup down in front of her. Hermione smiled gratefully at her and allowed her arms to give way so that everything fell onto the table. Ron picked up one of the scraps of parchment and glanced at the words she had written there.



“Did you find-” he began but Hermione shook her head violently and nodded towards Mrs Weasley who had returned to the sink and was staring out the back window at her overgrown garden. Ron took the hint and returned to eating his lunch. He, Hermione and Harry had decided not to say anything about R.A.B to anyone else.



“Oh Hermione,” Mrs Weasley said suddenly. “I’ll be doing more work for the Order now and I was wondering if you would you mind feeding our-” she pursed her lips “-, er, visitor.” Hermione felt as though her stomach had dropped into space. Beside her Ron choked on his soup and stared at his mother incredulously.



“How can you even ask her something like that!” he spluttered. “I mean that’s mad - how can you expect �“ she won’t do it �“”



“Ron!” Hermione shouted, cutting across him. “Will you just shut up! How do you know what I will or won’t do? You don’t! So will you stop. I’m old enough to make decisions on my own, thank you very much,” she snapped. “I don’t need you to stand up for me!” Then turning to Mrs Weasley she took and a deep breath. “And I’ll feed Malfoy �“ if it will help the Order.” Mrs Weasley beamed at her.



“That’s wonderful, Hermione, thank you.” Hermione nodded a feeling of dread gathering in the pit of her stomach. Mrs Weasley disappeared up the stairs and Hermione looked back at Ron who glared at her.



“Spoon-feeding Malfoy?” he snarled. “I suppose you can’t wait, can you?” Hermione stared back at him coldly.



“Unless you’re going to start talking sensibly I’m not going to waste my breath,” she hissed. Ron looked into her eyes for a moment before dropping his gaze.



“Fine,” he said “Okay, if you want to feed Malfoy that’s your choice.”



“Ron, look, I don’t want to have anything to do with Malfoy,” Hermione cried, exasperated. “I’m only doing it help the Order, I swear.” Ron merely shrugged, but before Hermione could say anything else, Mrs Weasley appeared.



“Oh, boys,” she said “Would you mind just running down to the village and getting a few things for me?” Harry and Ron nodded.



“Sure,” they said and Mrs Weasley handed them a list of things they needed. The two left almost hurriedly and Mrs Weasley went back upstairs, leaving Hermione to finish the rest of her soup alone. After gulping down her last few mouthfuls Hermione grabbed her stack of parchment once more and proceeded up to Malfoy’s room with them lost in thought. She pushed open the door and involuntarily stepped back at the sight before her. Malfoy was lying, spread out and shirtless, on his bed with Mrs Weasley standing with a soapy sponge in her hand and a bucket of water at her feet. Mrs Weasley looked up.



“Hermione, oh thank Merlin you’re here I need a bit of help.” At this point, she grabbed Hermione hand firmly and pulled her into the room. Hermione hung back feeling awkward but Mrs Weasley instructed her to put her hands on Malfoy’s shoulders while she cleaned his back. Hermione obeyed hesitantly. The thought of bringing her hands anywhere near Malfoy was so unpleasant she almost shuddered but she suddenly saw the look that would be on Ron’s face if he came across her is this position. Barely sustaining her laughter, she placed her hands gently on Malfoy’s shoulders and stared determinedly at the ground while Mrs Weasley hummed to herself. She was surprised at how light Malfoy was. Unable to stop herself her gaze drifted up to Malfoy’s bare chest and she was horrified at what she saw.



Bruises covered almost every inch of his body; great purple ones that looked as though the means by which they had come to be there were those of the most cruel and torturous order. She also noticed several long white scars which criss-crossed over his chest as though cut by a sword. Hermione gasped as she realised exactly what they were. The Sectumsempra curse; Harry had told them all about it. At the time, she alone had believed that the Prince was not the saintly genius Harry had made him out to be. She was awoken from her thoughts when Mrs Weasley spoke.



“Awful isn’t it?” she said following Hermione’s gaze. “I wouldn’t like to know by what means of torture those marks were acquired.” She paused for a moment staring into space. “You know, in some ways it scares me that anybody would do this to a child. And in other ways,” she said, her voice and face hardening “I feel I want more than ever to punish the one who did.” Hermione stared at her, momentarily in awe of the woman standing beside her. In that moment, she felt safe and protected. Then she thought of the ones they were fighting and her fear returned, refreshed and toxic, its cold clammy fingers wrapping themselves around her heart.



________________________________________________________________________



More sounds. The woman talking again. Maybe she’s mad and spends her whole time talking to herself. Not that he could say much since he was doing it right then. And then. And then again. And he’d do it again in a second. See, he was psychic.



Maybe he was on a mission; to find all the weird people in the world and bring them to certain place. Nah, he could just go to Hogwarts for that. But a mission. He had been on a mission. To kill Dumbledore. Only he failed. Typical. But he thought that there was another mission, a different one. Oh well. Who cares? Nobody.

When Harry and Ron returned from the village, they decided it was too nice outside to stay in reading and insisted they should play a game of Quidditch. Hermione refused, so the boys, with Ginny in tow, disappeared off up the garden with their broomsticks over their shoulders. Hermione watched them go with a small tinge of regret. As much as she hated Quidditch, she despised being cut out as a bookworm who couldn’t do anything other than master difficult spells and organise illegal duelling clubs. Sighing, she made her way back up to Malfoy’s room. Mrs Weasley had finished up there and was now washing clothes downstairs. Malfoy was the same as ever, though he looked slightly better now that he was clean. Hermione dumped the stack of parchment on the ground and sat down in the vacated chair. She began to sort through the pile from the top. She sat for hours, reading and rereading, searching for anything that might be of some help to her. Finally, she found a sheet that looked promising. She glanced quickly through the names she had listed on the sheet and then went back and read it more thoroughly. She paused at one name.

“’Rudolf Brand; captain of the Heidelberg Harriers’,” she read aloud. “Got hit over the head with a broomstick after proposing to Gwendolyn Morgan.” Hermione snorted. “Must have permanently dislodged his brain. Merlin,” she sighed. “This is hopeless.” She glanced thoughtfully at Malfoy, a sudden idea occurring to her. “Maybe R.A.B was, or is, a Death Eater. The paper doesn’t give a date, though it says that the person will probably be dead by the time it was found so it must have been before the night Voldemort attacked Harry.” She paused. “It could be Regulus Black, Sirius’s brother. He was a Death Eater. Maybe he found out about the Horcuxes, stole one, destroyed it and then tried to get out but couldn’t and so he ran for it. And he died, of course, which means Voldemort wasn’t too happy with him.” She looked up suddenly, her face shining with excitement. “Maybe that’s it! Maybe he was the one! Oh, I wish someone was here who could tell us something, anything, about him. Where is Sirius when you need him? And you,” she said looking at his passive face. “Maybe you know. But then again he was long dead before you ever met Voldemort. On the other hand, your father might have known him if he was a Death Eater around the same time as Regulus-” she stopped suddenly as though she had just realised who was talking to. In a way she had. Malfoy was a Death Eater. You didn’t just chat to Death Eaters, especially unconscious ones. It was only then that Hermione realised that she hadn’t actually seen the Dark Mark on Malfoy’s arm, not that she had any desire to look. So maybe Harry was wrong. Maybe Malfoy was just a pawn, doing his father’s bidding like the good son he seemed to long to be. But all that was happening was that he was digging himself into a hole and he was reaching the point when no one could pull him out again.

________________________________________________________________________

Granger was talking. About Quidditch, funnily enough. But Granger didn’t like Quidditch, did she? Who cared, she was just a stupid Mudblood. Okay, that insult was getting old. Time to think up a new one. Problem with Granger was she was too good. No faults, never got into trouble and she was smart. It was horrible having perfect enemies. Hang on- she wasn’t perfect! She was quite plain most of the time. She looked nice at the Yule Ball though. Ugh, he really was insane if he thought Hermione Granger was pretty. If anything, she was the exact opposite.
______________________________________________________________________

Hermione did not speak again during the time she spent with Malfoy. Two owls arrived later that afternoon, one from Professor McGonagall and the other from Healer Manken. Professor McGonagall said that she could not visit them as she had urgent matters to discuss with the Order. Manken said he had finally decided that Malfoy was in a coma due to serious head injuries.

Well it was kind of obvious , Hermione thought as she read Manken’s note aloud to the silent room. He also said that it was impossible to say how long Malfoy would be in the coma although, he informed them, he had known comas to last up to fifty years. Hermione had a sudden vision of herself as an old woman spoon-feeding Malfoy, whose body hadn’t really changed all that much. She shook herself mentally.

“That is not going to happen,” Hermione said aloud. “I’ll become a Death Eater before I look after Malfoy for the rest of my life, coma or no coma.” She then went back to reading her books, feeling slightly disturbed.

________________________________________________________________________
Granger was talking about becoming a Death Eater. How strange. He tried to imagine Granger as a Death Eater. He coudln't. That would be a laugh though. Granger was also reading what sounded like a letter, or a note, or something like that. Whatever it was, the person who wrote it obviously did not have a clue what they were talking about. ‘According to my calculations’ and ‘it seems that this may have been caused by’ were the kind of sentences you’d expect to hear from them. And who was in a coma? It didn’t really matter but he was curious all the same. Something to occupy his wandering mind. For the moment.

________________________________________________________________________

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Mrs Weasley came up with a bowl of soup and asked Hermione would she mind feeding Malfoy then as she herself needed to make dinner.

“It’s not too hard, dear,” she said, demonstrating. “Just pour the spoonful into his mouth. Don’t worry about swallowing; Healer Manken fixed that up for us.”

Hermione did not ask what Manken had done, nor was she interested. She was trying hard not to think about the job at hand. It was too unpleasant for words.

Mrs Weasley departed quickly and Hermione was left to her own devices. She pulled her chair closer to the edge of Malfoy's bed and lifted the spoon from the bowl. Tentatively she brought her hand up to where it was directly above Malfoy’s open mouth and slowly poured it in. She half expected him to splutter into life, shouting and swearing at them. But, sadly, he didn’t. He remained motionless and tranquil, no sound escaping his parched lips. Hermione continued to feed him and gradually the amount of food in the bowl lessened. Just as she had fed him the last spoonful, her hand brushed against his cheek. A slight tremor ran through her, chilling her spine. His cheek was strangely cold and she checked anxiously that he was still breathing. Anxiously? Who ever thought she would be anxious about Draco Malfoy? Worried, maybe, about what he was up to, but never concerned for his well-being. No, she definitely had to spend more time outside.

Unfortunately for Hermione, it was impossible for her to go outside in the days that followed her one-sided conversation on Death Eaters with Malfoy. Rain bucketed from the heavens, slapping against the ground and soaking anyone who dared to brave the great outdoors. Ginny, Harry and Ron, now that playing Quidditch was no longer an option, entertained themselves by having leagues in Wizard Chess (which Ron always won), Gobstones and Exploding Snap (which resulted in the house smelling of burnt hair for the rest of the day). Hermione, because she had no love for these games, confined herself to Malfoy's room. She continued to search for R.A.B but found nothing as promising as Regulus Black. She had run this theory by the other three but none of them seemed to think it probable. Ron scoffed at her efforts, saying it was a waste of time.

“You heard them in the note, Hermione,” he said. “They said themselves that they would probably be dead by the time someone found it. What’s the point of searching for someone who’s been dead for 50 years?”

“For curiosity’s sake,” Hermione replied exasperatedly. “Maybe he - or she - is not dead. In that case, maybe they could help us destroy the rest of the Horcuxes.”

“I doubt it. Why would they help a bunch of teenagers?” he retorted. “It’s hopeless, Hermione. Just give up.”

“No!” Hermione snapped. “I’m sure Dumbledore would think this was important. He was encouraging us to look into Voldemort’s past. Maybe R.A.B knew �“ or knows �“ something about him.”

“Dumbledore’s dead, Hermione!” Ron shouted. “He’s not here to tell us what to do anymore. He didn’t know about R.A.B so it can’t be that important! It’s not of any use to us! Why do you find it so hard to admit there’s a chance that you’re wrong?”

“Oh, just give it up, you two,” Harry exploded, before Hermione could reply. “You never give it a rest, do you?” Hermione turned away, her face still red after the argument.

“Fine,” she said in a low voice, every syllable trembling with rage. “If you don’t want to find out about it, don’t. But I’m going to keep looking.” As she left the room, she distinctly heard Ron mutter;

“She’s wrong, she just won’t admit it.” Anger welled up inside her and she stormed upstairs to Malfoy.

“That �“ that idiot!” she raved, as she threw herself into the chair. “Ron is just so annoying. ‘She just won’t admit she’s wrong’. Look who’s talking! He just can’t bear it that I might be of more use to Harry than he is.” She glanced angrily around the room, wishing more than anything that someone would be there for her to vent her anger on. Someone who was awake. Hermione buried her face in her arms and leaned against the bed. “I don’t understand it. I thought he liked me. He asked me to go out with him. Surely that has to count for something?” She looked up, fresh tears sliding down her face onto the bed covers. “Then why does he always pick fights? He says I spend to much time up here with you but when I go down to him and Harry and Ginny he contradicts everything I say, he gives out about everything I do.” She gritted her teeth angrily. “I bet he’ll be still giving out when I go down. ‘You spend too much time with him, Hermione, I’m starting to think you like him more than you like me’. Him starting to think is a major breakthrough,” she spat viciously. “Merlin, he gets on my nerves. I almost prefer your company to his.” Suddenly she laughed. “That’s weird. I hate you when you’re awake and yet I like you better than my boyfriend when you’re asleep. Wow, Malfoy, maybe you’re not so bad after all!” Still chuckling, she straightened up, suddenly aware that her head had been lying on Malfoy’s knee. “You’d probably curse me if you woke up and found me like that. You and Ron. If you didn’t hate him so much you could probably get along fine.” She immediately felt angry with herself. “No, I’m wrong. Ron’s not that bad. Not as bad as you, anyway.” She sighed. She’d been doing that a lot lately.

________________________________________________________________________

Something was wrong. He’d been looking forward to Granger coming. That had to be bad. He wasn’t supposed �“ even allowed �“ to look forward to meeting (or hearing, as the case may be) Hermione Granger. This place did strange things to people’s minds. He was obviously being brainwashed. Maybe it was an evil plot, made by Granger, to get all the handsome, super intelligent men together, and brainwash them to think they were in love with her. And he was falling for it! NOOOO!!!

Okay, now he was really scared.

________________________________________________________________________

The rain continued to hammer down on the Burrow. Hermione wasn’t sure exactly how much more of a beating the house could take. By the way it was creaking and groaning, it could easily be down by the end of the week.

Hermione noticed too, how slowly time seemed to be moving. It was only a month since school had ended. It surprised her no end. She almost expected the summer to be over. Then again, they still had Bill and Fleur’s wedding before September, and Harry’s seventeenth birthday as well. Much as he tried to hide it, it was clear that Harry was looking forward to this birthday. Hermione knew for a fact that Fred and George, on Ron’s advice, were going to supply Harry with everything that could be useful in the face of danger. Hermione wasn’t sure what she would get him; she didn’t think books would help much in this situation.

“What could I give him, though?” she said aloud. “What could he possibly need that could help him defeat Voldemort? He has an invisibility cloak, he has the Marauders Map, he has his wand, and all the spells he has learned! He’s set, he just needs �“” she sighed. “- help.” Hermione closed her eyes and massaged her temples. Nothing seemed right. It was all so confusing. “What does Voldemort have that we don’t? What is it that prevents us from seeing right through him? Right through his plans?” she muttered distractedly. “What if he sets up another trap? Like the one �“” she stopped. “A plan where someone else gets hurt. Like Ginny. Or Ron. It could be anyone, really, that’s remotely close to Harry.” She stopped again. That was too horrible to think about. Losing someone and having Harry mourn for them. It was too cruel. Recently Harry had had too much to worry about. Another death was not what they needed.

________________________________________________________________________

So that was how Potter had been sneaking around all those times. An invisibility cloak. Genius. So simple and yet no one ever knew. Except probably Dumbledore. The old fool �“ wait, he didn’t like calling Dumbledore that. Dumbledore was too great a wizard to be called petty names. Since when had he thought like that? Draco Malfoy liked insulting people, however good they were. Normally, the nicer, the better.

Granger talked a lot. Maybe she was mentally incapable of keeping her feeling to herself. That’s what it sounded like. A plan. That’s what she thought Voldemort was doing. Smart. She was right. Where did that come from? Granger was never right. Even when she was, well, right. Thank Merlin no one was there to hear that speech.

________________________________________________________________________

Dinner that evening was not an enjoyable event. Hermione and Ron still weren’t talking, Harry was mad at them because they weren’t talking, Ginny was angry with Harry because he was angry with them and Mrs Weasley was at her wits end as they all sat in stony silence and snapped back when spoken to. Overall, she was very glad when the four finished eating and went their separate ways, Ginny into the sitting room to write a letter to her friend, Harry and Ron upstairs to their room to look at something Fred and George had sent, and Hermione to Malfoy, a bowl of soup in hand. Malfoy was the same as ever. Hermione often found herself unconsciously listening to his breathing, watching his face and doing an overall check that he was still alive. She wasn’t sure whether it was a bad thing or a good thing.

She sat down on the side of the bed and perched the bowl on her knees. Carefully she dipped the spoon into the bowl and proceeded to pour it into Malfoy’s mouth. Even though she had already done it once before, Hermione still found it very disturbing.

When she had finished, she set the bowl down on the chair. Her eyes felt suddenly heavy. She hadn’t gone to bed until very late the previous night, but had spent hours reading about possible people who could be R.A.B. Now the effect was kicking in. She yawned widely. In the sleepy silence of the room it was hard to stay awake. Hermione yawned again. She closed her eyes. She felt a little better. Suddenly she found she couldn’t bring herself to open them. She felt herself drifting off and didn’t have the energy to stop it. Darkness closed in around her. Warm, soft, dreamy darkness…

________________________________________________________________________


Hermione awoke several hours later in great confusion. She was lying on Malfoy's bed, her head resting on his legs, her own hanging uncomfortably off the side of the bed. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Thank Merlin no one found me like this, she thought. She stood up stiffly and stretched, yawning widely. She felt slightly better after her rest but the strangeness of her situation prevented her from realising it. She glanced at Malfoy.

“I wonder what you’d say if I did that in normal circumstances,” she said, grinning in spite of herself. “I’d love to see the look on your face. Horror, surprise, worry, anger, - then you’d quickly disguise it as a sneer, or insult. Taunt me; try to humiliate me, but all the while wondering what the hell I was doing. See, you’re so predictable. I can tell exactly what you’d do after only knowing you for six years.” Even as she said it Hermione realised just how short life was. She was already seventeen. Did that mean she had known Malfoy for almost a third of her life? “It’s strange, really, how fast it goes,” she murmured absently “I can still remember my first day at Hogwarts. I was so scared. Scared that I wouldn’t fit in, scared I wouldn’t make friends, scared that I wouldn’t be good enough to match up to their expectations. Terrified I would fail to answer all the questions they asked me, even if I knew the answer already. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that kind of fear so badly. Everyone else was so confident, sure of what they could do. Even Harry was already friends with Ron at the time, while I spent the train-journey helping Neville look for Trevor and trying to get to know people.” Hermione couldn’t help remembering how off-handish Ron and Harry had been when she first introduced herself. They had both stared at her rather blankly as she spoke. She shook her head. They had been total strangers at the time. The boys had warmed towards her soon afterwards. A small part of her protested against this statement but she ignored it. Now was not the time to start holding grudges, old or new. This time the small voice spoke up, louder than before; When is?

_______________________________________________________________________

He remembered his first day at Hogwarts too. He had introduced himself to Potter. Potter turned down his proposition of an alliance (Slytherins didn’t have friends) so then Potter had to pay the price for humiliating him. That was when the act for revenge started. The only time he had nearly gotten Potter in serious trouble was when he had found that Potter was running a kind of duelling club. Even then, Potter had managed to worm his way out of trouble �“ as usual. Dumbledore had made sure of that. Now Potter didn’t have a Dumbledore to get him out of trouble. Because of him. It was his fault. All his fault. Slytherins didn’t normally feel guilt but now he almost felt it wrench at him. His ears started ringing, as they do after an impact. An impact? When had he hit his head? Not that it mattered. Had he been able to, he would have felt sick. As it was, the noises continued to torture him, make him sorry for the crime he had committed. It was then that he first wished he were dead.

________________________________________________________________________

Ron and Harry joined her at Malfoy’s bedside shortly after her decision to forgive and forget.

“I’m sorry,” she said as soon as each of them had found a place to sit. Harry’s awkward expression changed to one of relief.

“Yeah, Hermione, I’m -” he glanced at Ron who ignored him and continued to stare at the wall “- we’re sorry too,” Harry finished apologetically. “You’re right. It’s important that we find out about R.A.B. It’s the kind of thing Dumbledore would want us to do. We should have listened to you.” He glanced again at Ron as he said this but Ron made no sign that he had anything to contribute. Hermione looked over at him.

“And do you have anything to add, Ron?” she said, her voice ice cold. Ron didn’t answer. Hermione snorted. It was all she could do to keep from crying.

“Well since you’re not going to say anything, I think you had better leave.” She looked pointedly at the door. Ron couldn’t help himself. He turned his eyes on her, hostility evident.

“Why should I?” he demanded angrily. “This is my house and up until very recently this was my room. You might tell everyone else what to do, Hermione, but you can’t boss me around! Why don’t you go yourself?” Hermione glared back at him.

“I do not boss other people around!” she shouted, her cheeks scarlet with rage. “How dare you �“ you’re such a �“” Ron cut her off as she struggled to find words.

“I’m a what? Wonderful person? Oh you don’t need to tell me, I know already,” he said nastily. “As for you, you’re just a book-worm, a know-it-all, a -”

“Ron, stop,” Harry interrupted, but too late, as Hermione ran from the room, her now pale face shining with tears. Ron watched her go with a look of vindictive pleasure. He was taken aback when Harry rounded on him.

“What is wrong with you? Can’t you just leave her alone for two minutes? She’s having a hard enough time without you picking on her.” Ron gaped at him.

“Didn’t you hear her?” he said incredulously. “She was trying to get rid of us. She acts like this is her room only and nobody else is allowed in here. She spends so much time up here you’d think he was going to wake up any moment now. You read what Manken said, comas can last up to fifty years. I doubt Malfoy’s waking up any time soon.”

“That’s beside the point,” Harry retorted. “Those things you said were horrible.” He got to his feet heavily and at the door paused to say; “You should go apologise.”

“Why should I?” Ron began, but he was talking to himself as Harry was already half-way down the stairs. Ron turned around angrily and punched the bed beside him. He looked at Malfoy, lying there, his face innocent and angelic, and anger coursed through him.

“It’s your fault,” he said loudly. “Before you came everything was okay. It’s not me that’s messing it up with Hermione, it’s you. It’s your fault. And so you definitely deserve this.” He swung his fist hard at Malfoy's face. His knuckles collided with the side of Malfoy’s pale cheek and on into his nose. Blood dribbled down Malfoy’s motionless lips and onto his chin, the streams becoming thicker every minute. Suddenly Ron realised exactly what he had done. He stared, appalled, at the colossal amounts of blood Malfoy's nose was emitting.

“No, I didn’t �“” he gasped, terrified. “I didn’t mean-” He backed away, then turned silently on his heel and fled.

And in his coma, from which it was doubtful he would ever awaken, Draco Malfoy didn’t notice as his nose continued to bleed, but lay still, the ringing in his ears still reminding him of the world outside his head.

A distant scream woke Hermione the next morning. She leapt out of bed, ignoring the tremor that ran up her spine as her feet hit the cold floor. Ginny was also on her feet, looking scared. The two girls barely had time to exchange frightened looks before Harry hurtled past their bedroom door, his wand already in his grip. They hurried out of the room and darted up the stairs after him, Hermione taking the steps two at a time. Just as they reached the top, Mrs Weasley came hurrying out of Malfoy's room.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re up,” she said breathlessly. “Ginny, run down and get some damp towels and a basin of hot water. Don’t ask questions,” she added as Ginny opened her mouth. “Just do it quickly.” Ginny shrugged and disappeared down the stairs. Mrs Weasley then turned to Harry and Hermione. “Hermione, go and Floo Healer Manken and tell him to come as quickly as possible. Tell him it’s urgent. You’ll find him at 92 King’s Avenue �“” Hermione and Harry exchanged brief looks “�“ and tell him to hurry.” Hermione nodded and tore down to the sitting room .She grabbed a handful of Floo-Powder, grimaced, then dropped to her knees and stuck her head into the fireplace. Taking a deep breath, she thrust the powder into the grate and green flames sprang up immediately.

“92 Kings Avenue, London,” Hermione said clearly and felt her head spin round and round. Finally it came to a stop and she found herself facing into a cosy, if strangely tidy, living room. Her knees were still planted firmly on the Weasley’s carpet. Ignoring the aches that were already spreading down her legs, she lifted her head and looked around for any sign of life.

“Healer Manken?” she called. There was no reply. Oh, please don’t let him be gone somewhere, she thought. “Healer Manken?” She shouted it louder this time. “Healer Manken, Molly Weasley is looking for you, I think it’s about �“” Heavy footsteps announced an arrival and a moment later Ian Manken appeared, looking very put out. Hermione face grew hot, and it was nothing to do with the fact that her head was stuck in a fire. Manken was dressed in pinstriped pyjamas, with an indignant look on his pink face.

“What’s all the shouting about?” he demanded, his many chins wobbling in anger. “What do you mean by waking me up at this-” he peered at her as though just seeing her for the first time. “Aren’t you Molly Weasley’s girl? You’re the one looking after that-” he clicked his thick fingers in frustration. “- Daniel, David, Dracka, oh, whatever his name is, the unconscious boy!”

“Yes, Draco Malfoy,” Hermione said. Manken slapped his fat thigh triumphantly.

“That’s the one!” he said. “Is it about him? Did he wake up?” Hermione looked at him in horror. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that Malfoy had awoken from his comma so soon.

“I don’t know,” she said desperately. “Mrs Weasley just asked me to get you. She sounded worried.” Manken nodded.

“I’ll be right over.” Just at that moment, a big tawny owl flew in one of the open windows. Manken snatched the letter irritably from its feet, making it hoot indignantly. Manken ignored it, quickly scanning the letter.

“I have to go treat another patient,” he grumbled finally. “At the hospital.”

“What? Another patient? But Malfoy might be awake, he might be-” Surprisingly, she found she couldn’t say it. Manken didn’t seem to notice. He waved the letter at her.

“Look girl, I’m a much respected Healer at St Mungo’s and believe it or not, I have other patients �“ legal patients, may I add �“ that also need to be looked after,” he snapped, glaring at her, his irritation even more pronounced than before. “I am a very busy man! I don’t have time to be running out to houses in the middle of nowhere. Tell Molly that I’ll be out to her as soon as I’m finished and no sooner than that!” With that, he waddled away in what would have been an angry walk except that he had no space in the cluttered room. Hermione stared after him despairingly for a moment then pulled herself crossly back into the Weasley’s living room.

Dizziness filled her head and she had to kneel for a moment, trying to catch her bearings. Then she leapt wildly to her feet and dashed up the stairs to Malfoy's room. To her dismay, she found both Harry and Ginny outside, looking very put out.

“Why are you out here?” she enquired nervously. Ginny struggled up from her place on the floor.

“We aren’t allowed in until the Order gets here,” she cried angrily, then hurriedly lowered her voice. “Mum says it’s not safe until they know what happened!” Harry cut short her ranting by turning to Hermione.

“What did Manken say?” he asked. “Is he coming?” Hermione shook her head.

“He has to go see another patient at St. Mungo’s,” she told them. “He said he’d come later, or as soon as he’s done.” Harry sighed irritably.

“You’d better tell Mrs Weasley,” he said. “She’s at her wit’s end as it is.” Hermione shrugged and knocked warily on the door. It opened about an inch and Mrs Weasley’s pale face peered out at her between the crack.

“Oh, Hermione,” she said, sounding somewhere between disappointed and relieved. “Did you speak to Healer Manken? What did he say?”

“He has another patient to treat but he’ll be here as soon as possible.” Hermione tried to look in through the gap without Mrs Weasley noticing but couldn’t see anything of interest. “Mrs Weasley,” she added, looking back quickly at the woman in front of her. “Why can’t we come in? We won’t disturb anything, I promise.” She glanced at Harry and Ginny and they nodded in agreement. Mrs Weasley considered them for a moment.

“All right,” she said finally. “You can come in. But don’t touch anything!” So saying, she opened the door wide enough for them to squeeze in.

At her first glance, Hermione could see nothing wrong with the scene. Malfoy was still lying in bed, and the room was still as neat as ever. Unfortunately, at a second look, she was shocked to find what looked like blood all over the lower half of Malfoy’s face. It looked as though his nose had been bleeding, though Hermione wasn’t sure. A slight feeling of nausea arose in her churning stomach and she looked at the floor, hoping her feelings didn’t show on her face. She heard Ginny give a half-stifled gasp and Harry made a sound of disgust in his throat. Mrs Weasley glanced at the three then turned her troubled gaze back to Malfoy.

“Why do we have to wait for the Order?” Hermione wondered aloud, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen. “What’s wrong with him?” Mrs Weasley hesitated before answering.

“I’m afraid that he might be cursed,” she answered finally. “If it’s contagious, I don’t want anyone touching him. You did send an owl to the Order didn’t you, Harry?” Harry nodded.

“Yes, Lupin said he and Professor McGonagall would be over soon.” Silence descended once more. After a few moments, though, they heard a distant call, probably coming from the kitchen. Mrs Weasley took immediate control of the situation.

“Right now, you three go downstairs and tell the visitors to come up here. You can stay down there and get yourselves something to eat.” Harry, Hermione and Ginny started to protest but Mrs Weasley was firm and they soon gave up. Still grumbling, they went down to the kitchen and told a mystified McGonagall and Lupin their message from Mrs Weasley. They then plonked themselves down on various chairs around the kitchen, feeling put out.

“You know,” said Ginny suddenly. “I think we have a right to know what they’re saying. I mean, it’s my house, Hermione’s been looking after him and you need to know everything you can, Harry.”

“What to you suggest?” Harry replied dryly. “That we go up and demand entry? I don’t think they’ll listen to us, even with that reasoning.” Ginny paused, thinking.

“Well,” she said slowly. “George gave me some Extendable Ears before he left, so maybe we could use those.” She looked from Harry to Hermione and back again.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Hermione said. Harry shrugged and Ginny grinned, satisfied.

“Okay then, I’ll meet you outside Malfoy’s room in a minute.” She disappeared up the stairs and Harry followed, saying he wanted to get the Invisibility Cloak. Hermione set off up to the top most room alone.

Ginny and Harry reappeared soon with what looked like three flesh coloured strings and the Invisibility Cloak. Ginny handed the pieces around and the three attached them to their ears before Harry threw the Cloak over them. Huddling in a corner, they pressed the ends of the ears up against the wall and proceeded to listen to the conversation inside the room.

“- and you found him exactly like this?” Lupin was saying.

“Yes,” Mrs Weasley replied. “I haven’t moved him.”

“And Manken will be here later, will he?” Professor McGonagall asked briskly.

“Yes,” Mrs Weasley said again. Lupin suddenly murmured a spell, though so quietly that Hermione couldn’t make out what it was. A moments silence followed, finally broken by Lupin saying;

“There’s nothing wrong with him that I can tell, except for what looks like a broken nose. But I’m no expert, so we’ll have to wait for Manken to come before we can say for sure what happened.” Hermione pulled her string away from the wall and Ginny and Harry quickly followed her example. The three crept quietly down the stairs and into the girls’ room.

“Is that what all the fuss is about?” Ginny asked, as soon as Harry shut the door. “Is that all it is? A broken nose?”

“Lupin seems to think it is,” Harry said. “I don’t think we need to worry about it. Lupin and McGonagall would be able to recognise a curse if they saw one. Normally, anyway.” Hermione wasn’t so sure. Lupin may have been a Defence against the Dark Arts teacher but he had taught them about dangerous creatures, not curses. Personally, she thought Mad-Eye Moody, the ex-Auror, would have been more suited to this.

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So much noise! People shrieking, screaming, and talking �“ he was going to curse someone if they didn’t shut up. Oh yeah, he didn’t have a wand. Well, he’d just have to strangle them then. Though the fact that he couldn’t find his hands might pose a small problem. Maybe he should try controlling them with his mind. Die, die, die. Nope, wasn’t working.

His thoughts were irritating him by now. He was running out of topics to ponder about and his mind kept drifting back to Granger. Damn her, there she was again. Her with her whiny, self-pitying, complaints about how nobody understood her, how she was worried about Potter and all her little blood-traitor friends and how Weasley was so mean to her, how he gave out to her, and how she had thought he liked her, but apparently she was wrong so she had to go cry now. Boo-hoo. Actually, that was a very accurate summary of Granger’s feelings. He wished she would move on and babble on about something else. Like how pathetic she and all her friends were, how they were going to lose whatever battle they were fighting in and how in the end, they would all bow down before him and beg for his mercy. He was only asking for the truth, really.

Apparently, his streak of good and righteous thinking had gone with the ringing in his ears.

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After much discussion about what could have happened to Malfoy’s nose, the three were unable to reach a suitable conclusion. The suggestions ranged from Death Eaters sneaking in and him miraculously waking up to confront them and then being hit over the head and falling into a coma once more, to him punching himself in the face just to cause them trouble (this one came from Harry). It was only when they had moved on to more ridiculous ones that Hermione noticed Ron’s absence.

“Where’s Ron?” she asked Harry, interrupting his explanations to Ginny of how it was quite possible for Buckbeak to hunt Malfoy down for revenge. Harry looked around him, as though he expected Ron to jump out from under the bed.

“I dunno,” he said finally. “I think he stayed in bed.”

“In bed?” Hermione demanded in disgust. “Even when he heard his mother scream? Why didn’t he get up?”

“I dunno,” Harry said again, looking uncomfortable. “Maybe he didn’t hear her.” Ginny muttered something under her breath, in which Hermione caught the words ‘stupid git’ and ‘couldn’t be bothered’. And even though she didn’t like to admit it, Hermione felt Ginny had a very good point. The three of them had run towards the scream without knowing who it was. For all Ron knew, it could have been anyone. So why hadn’t he moved?

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Someone new, with a voice that sounded vaguely familiar, had come to visit him. How kind. Actually, he was probably trying to find a good way to kill him. This person was one he knew he didn’t like. Maybe he was here to get his own back. A compromise was sweet but revenge was sweeter. Or something like that. Anyway, he wouldn’t be surprised if the person was slitting his throat right that moment. There he went. Oh, the pain. Aaaaaagh…

He really needed to work on his sarcasm.

________________________________________________________________________

Hermione avoided Ron for the rest of the day. Lupin and Professor McGonagall left soon after seeing Malfoy and said they would come back later when Manken arrived. Mrs Weasley was much more relaxed and bustled around the kitchen getting lunch together. After that, she left them to go look after Malfoy’s face. Harry and Ginny were just as uncomfortable as Hermione was, and nobody spoke much during the meal, especially when Ron appeared, apparently rubbing sleep from his eyes. His yawns were elaborate �“ and fake.

“Did you have a nice rest, Ron?” Ginny said sweetly. Ron glared at her and Hermione saw how clear his eyes were. He hadn’t been asleep for quite a while, whatever he pretended

“Yes, we were worried about you when you didn’t come down,” Hermione added.

“I was asleep,” he replied curtly. “I only woke up about five minutes ago.”

“That’s good,” Ginny continued. “We were about to send for a Healer to check your head for us. Good thing we didn’t; you would probably be carried off to St Mungos mental ward with two shakes of a kneasel’s whiskers.” Ron’s ears turned crimson and he lunged at Ginny, knocking his chair over.

“Ron, stop!” Harry barked, grabbing his arm. Ron shook Harry off and glared around at them all.

“What’s the matter with you all!” he roared. “I haven’t been down here five minutes and you’re all talking to me like I’ve done something wrong!” He turned on his heel and stormed away. The remaining three re-seated themselves, Harry looking awkward.

“He was really over reacting,” Ginny huffed after a minute. “I mean, we didn’t really say anything, did we?” Harry stared at her incredulously.

“Didn’t do anything? Ginny, you were winding him up on purpose, anyone could have seen that! And you harp on about how we fight! Ron didn’t get up when we did, but so what, who cares? We might actually have found out why if you hadn’t sent him away in a temper!” Ginny’s face went as red as her hair.

“He deserved that!” she snapped heatedly. “He’s just lazy! He couldn’t bother his backside to go and see if he could help in any way!” Hermione stood up suddenly and gave a hurried and muttered excuse about a book, before she fled upstairs to Malfoy.

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Mrs Weasley was cleaning his face when Hermione entered the room. The older woman looked around in surprise, which was quickly masked by a warm smile.

“Everything all right?” she said, dabbing at Malfoy’s face with a damp tissue. Hermione watched her curiously.

“Yes, fine,” she replied. After a moment, she asked, “Why don’t you clean it off with magic?”

Mrs Weasley gave a twisted smile. “I tried but my hand brushed off his nose and a whole gush of blood came out and replaced the one I had just wiped away.”

“Ah,” Hermione said, barely hiding her disgust. Mrs Weasley chuckled wryly and returned to her work. Neither spoke again, Hermione leaning against the wall, Mrs Weasley washing Malfoy’s pale and bloody face. It was another five minutes before the job was done and Mrs Weasley to prepare to depart, promising to come back in a while with a bowl of soup.

Hermione waited until Mrs Weasley’s footsteps faded completely before seating herself at Malfoy's bedside. She rubbed her hands together, more out of awkwardness than anything else. His face was clean now, not a trace of blood left, but she could not help noticing how his nose was crooked and slightly squashed. Strands of pale blond hair had come out of place and she couldn’t help but push them back. As her fingers brushed his forehead, a tremble ran up her arm and all the way down her spine. She withdrew her hand before realising the shiver was not unpleasant. It was quite the opposite, really. However, she hesitated again, her hand raised, and touched his cheek this time. She smiled at the sensation and settled back into her chair, satisfied. Her emotions mad no sense to her. Why did she like being near Malfoy? She hated him, despised him. No, she despised the idea of him. Her mouth twisted in a wry smile of her own as her emotions battled.

“I’m sorry about your nose,” she said in order to solve the conflict. “I think Ron did it but I’m not sure. I hope he didn’t. I really do. I would prefer to know that Death Eaters managed to get into the house rather than admit he hit you. It’s my fault, really. I shouldn’t have fought with him. He probably thinks that by hitting you he’s getting back at me. That he’s hurting me. I suppose he’s right �“” she cut herself off by biting her tongue firmly. Ron wasn’t right. She didn’t care if Ron cursed Malfoy into the next millennium except that she might be sent to get him back. Liar, a small voice hissed in her head. You care. You know you care. You like him. “Shut up,” she muttered aloud, her cheeks burning crimson. “Just shut up. I hate him. I do.” The small voice wouldn’t listen but kept laughing and repeating the sentences. Luckily for Hermione, Mrs Weasley came in a moment later and saved her from any further internal torture. Handing Hermione a bowl of soup, she told her not to worry about Malfoy and left. Hermione sighed; she did not intend to concern herself on Malfoy's behalf. Carefully, she filled the spoon, opened Malfoy’s mouth and poured the contents in.

“I wish you were awake,” she said quietly. “I wish you would tell us what Voldemort is planning. Yet I wish you were dead too, because I can’t do anything until you wake up. Ron will go on being angry with me, Harry will go on getting into trouble and we will go on fighting a battle we can’t win. Most of all, I wish you’d talk back to me. Insult me, lie to me, attack me, I don’t care! I just need someone who responds when I tell them things. I could tell you about Horcuxes, about Voldemort being a half-blood, about him growing up in an orphanage. I could tell you about the prophecy concerning Harry and Voldemort, where ‘neither can survive while the other lives’. I could tell you all this and explain all our plans to you and you would never know. But why would I tell you all this? Because I’m desperate. Desperate for someone to talk to, so desperate I would tell you, Draco Malfoy. You’re in a coma! One you will probably never wake up from, one you will probably die in. Do you even understand that? Does the fabulous Draco Malfoy know he is in a coma? Does he know he is at the poor, blood traitor Weasley’s house, under the supervision of members of the Order of the Phoenix, the top secret group of Wizards founded by Albus Dumbledore, who are bent on destroying Death Eaters and Dark wizards alike? Does he realise he has a broken nose and a stupid Mudblood talking to him? And if he does, why hasn’t he done anything about it?” She bent her tear stained face towards him. “Why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

________________________________________________________________________

Calm. He would never have described himself as calm. He doubted anyone else who new him would have described him as ‘calm’. Now, though, he made himself proud as he did not scream, tear all his hair out and run hundreds of miles from this place. Now, he was calm. On top anyway. Beneath, his already twisted mind was coiling and twirling like the inside of a clock. He was in coma. There. He didn’t do any of the things he had described before. Just about. Granger had told him he was in a coma, though why he believed her was beyond him. Draco Malfoy was not a stupid person and he knew it. Maybe he didn’t get as good marks as Granger did but at least he had a life.

And who said he wouldn’t know if she told him about Horenesky-thingies, anyway? He might be blind and mute but he could hear all right. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Number 1, check, number 2, no check and number 3, check. Though what he heard wasn’t really evil, more DEATH-LY BOR-ING.

Now back to the subject at hand; Horrcrunsy-thingies, prophecies and secret orders. Better leave the first thing out of it because he had no idea what they were. He could puzzle about them later. Prophecies, on the other hand, especially ones concerning the Dark Lord and Potter, may be of use to him. They might get him a lighter sentence of punishment for failing than he would have suffered otherwise. Say, fifty rounds of the Cruciatius curse, rather than a hundred? Even so, he was going to be sore coming out of that session.

Secret orders were another thing. Snape knew about it, he was sure, and so had told the Dark Lord already. They most likely knew Albus Dumbledore ran it, or used to run it, thanks to Snape. So what else was of use to him? The other things Granger had said though;

Yes, he was quite aware he was fabulous, thank you very much; no, he wasn’t aware that he might never wake up from the coma; no, he hadn’t known he was being watched by a group of crackpots; no, he hadn’t known that he was in the Weasley’s poor excuse for a house; yes, he was now aware that his nose was broken and yes, he did know that he had a stupid Mudblood talking to him. Did that answer all Granger’s questions? No, there was one more. Why didn’t he do anything about it? Because…

A bunch of murderous fools was caring for him, he was being kept captive at his enemy’s house, he had a broken nose, he had an idiot Muggleborn talking to him and… wait for it… HE �“ WAS �“ IN �“ A �“ COMA.

Now, that should keep her quiet for a while.

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AN;Hi guys, sorry this chapter took so long, I had some trouble writing it. Anyway, I hope you like it, please leave a review to tell me what you think and MILLIONS of thanks to mooncalf for all her help with it. Enjoy!

A nice surprise appeared that evening in the form of a visit from Fred and George Weasley and their friend Lee Jordan. At around six o’clock, the family, Harry, and Hermione were just sitting down to dinner when they arrived, laden with merchandise and gifts from the shop. More chairs were immediately pulled up for them and George seated himself between Hermione and Bill.

“How is the shop going?” Hermione asked him.

“Brilliantly,” he said, piling food on his plate. “The Ministry are still buying lots of our stuff for their support staff. Weird, really, how people are so desperate for protection that they are relying on things that were only ever meant for a joke.”

“Any news in Diagon Alley?” Hermione inquired. George shrugged, his mouth full of food. She waited patiently until he swallowed, before repeating her question.

“Sorry,” he said, grinning at her. “No, not much news. No Death Eater attacks or anything like that. Ministry wizards raided Borgin & Burkes but the owner was long gone. They found lots of Dark stuff and removed it all. They were also talking to Narcissa Malfoy. They searched her house again and found a few things but she said she had never seen them before. They were demanding to know where her son was but she said she didn’t know about that either.” George shook his head. “It’s hard to know whether or not to believe her.”

“You could believe that she doesn’t know where her son is,” Hermione said grimly. George looked at her curiously. “Didn’t Harry and Ron tell you about our …. visitor?” George shook his head again. Hermione glanced around. She didn’t really feel like announcing to the whole room that they had Draco Malfoy locked up in the top room of the house, so she leaned over to Mr Weasley.

“Is it all right if George and I are excused?” she said quietly. “He didn’t know about our guest.” Mr Weasley nodded. Hermione glanced around again. Fred was talking with Lee and Ron and Harry so there was no way to tell him without informing Lee. Sighing, she and George rose and slipped upstairs. Hermione felt eyes on her back as she left, and she knew without turning around who it was. Ron’s jealous streak was bad at the best of times. Let him puzzle this one out, she thought, even more grimly than before, then followed George up the stairs.

________________________________________________________________________

George’s response was quite entertaining when he and Hermione reached the room.

“Holy sh�“” he exclaimed, before catching the look Hermione gave him. “�“eep. What happened? What’s he doing here?” Hermione raised an amused eyebrow at him.

“We found him, in a coma. He has been staying here for a while now. Come to think of it, he’s been here almost two weeks.”

“And you’ve been feeding him, washing him and generally making sure that he lives?” George shook his head disgustedly when she nodded. “How horrible. You must be traumatised.”

“Yes, well, my psychologist says I’m doing very well, you know,” she replied sombrely and he burst out laughing. He then bent down to examine Malfoy’s face more closely.

“He’s kind of pale, isn’t he?” His grin held no mirth now “I wonder what happened to him to put him in a coma. Who’s looking after him?”

“Me, mostly, and your mum, and a Healer has been coming to check on him a bit,” she answered.

“Then you really would need a psychologist,” George muttered sourly. At that moment, Hermione heard the quiet footsteps of someone making an effort not to be heard as they climbed the stairs. She leaned nearer to George just as the door opened. Their heads jerked up almost guiltily, which obviously added to the effect, as Ron’s scowl deepened while he glared at them.

“What are you doing up here?” he demanded accusingly. “Why aren’t you downstairs with everyone else?” George’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“I was telling George about Malfoy,” Hermione retorted primly, though inside her stomach was bubbling in a reckless way. She had Ron now. “And we didn’t stay downstairs because of the noise and we wanted a bit of privacy.” She almost regretted her words as George turned his look of astonishment on her. Almost, mind. Mostly because Ron turned puce at her words and stared incredulously from one to the other before recovering himself.

“Privacy is it?” he sneered. “I didn’t think bossy-know-it-alls were to your taste, George!”

“Ron, look, I �“” George began but Hermione cut him off.

“You let your imagination run away with you sometimes, don’t you, Ron? Or is it your tongue you can’t hold? I am not going to stand here and listen to whatever rubbish you have come up with! I’m going down to the others. Are you coming, George?” George nodded almost reluctantly, and they left, Hermione two steps ahead of him.

“What’s wrong with Ron?” George asked as soon as they were out of earshot. “He didn’t look too happy.”

“No, I think that was just your imagination,” Hermione told him, thanking God for making all boys idiots, and slow ones at that. George laughed, bringing her away from expressing her gratitude.

“He’s right in one way though.” Hermione glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “Bossy little know-it-alls aren’t my taste.” Hermione’s eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into her mane of bushy hair as she stared at him in indignation. This made him laugh even more as he nudged her arm, quickening his pace a bit. “I’m only joking.”

“You had better hope for your own sake that you’re not lying,” Hermione said, struggling to keep a cool and composed air. George was nearly suffocating with laughter at her expression, clutching his sides so hard that he had to stop and lean against a wall for support. Hermione gave him a withering glance then decided it was a bad idea as George doubled over once more. Boys had such a pathetic sense of humour.

________________________________________________________________________

Hermione and George hadn’t been in the kitchen long when Manken appeared, followed by Mad-Eye Moody, Lupin and Tonks. Harry, Ginny and Hermione immediately leapt to their feet, but not before Mr and Mrs Weasley had steered the four newcomers up the flight of stairs and out of sight. Not bothering to wait for an invitation, Hermione pursued them, Ginny, Harry and Bill at her heels.

When they reached the door, however, they found it well locked. Hermione could have screamed in frustration. Pulling her wand out her pocket, she was about to unlock it when Harry put a restraining hand on her arm. When she glared at him questioningly, he only shook his head and turned to Ginny, who had just pulled the Extendable Ears out of her pocket. This time her grin was very evil. Frustration vanished as Hermione seized the string she was offered. Bill was leaning against the wall, looking torn; a part of him wanted to take the Ear but the responsible side told him he shouldn’t. In the end, he shook his head ruefully; responsibility won. Giving them a quick word of warning, he walked back down to the others in the kitchen.

Hermione glanced at Ginny. The younger girl shrugged and pressed her Ear to the wall. Or almost did, for just at that moment the door opened and Mrs Weasley face stared out sternly at them.

“So,” she said, placing her hands firmly on her hips. “There are still some of those around? I was quite sure I had managed to get rid of them all. Give them here.” The three grinned sheepishly and handed her the strings, which she slipped into her pocket. “Good. Now, one of you can come in if Arthur goes out. I expect you can choose among yourselves. I you can’t decide then I suppose you’ll find out how much you can hear through a closed door.” Harry and Ginny glanced at each other, and then nodded at Hermione.

“It should be you,” Harry said. “You’ve been looking after him all this time. Besides,” he added in a whisper, so only Hermione could hear. “You can tell us when you come out.” She smiled and nodded.

“Good,” Mrs Weasley said. “Come in, then. Arthur, you come out. You two,” she glared at Harry and Ginny. “Go downstairs and stay there with the others.” The two sighed resignedly and tramped away slowly. Mr Weasley set off after them, giving Hermione a quick smile. Hermione stepped inside after Mrs Weasley.

The others were all crowded around the bed. Only Tonks stood out of the way, in the corner.

“Hi, Hermione,” she whispered, grinning at her. “How’s your summer? Eventful?”

“You wouldn’t even believe it,” Hermione murmured in return, to which Tonks chuckled softly. Hermione then turned her attention to Manken and Moody who were standing on either side of the bed.

“He’s not cursed,” Manken was saying crossly. “One can see that straight away. Why do you want to look deeper? You’ll probably end up cursing him that way yourself!”

“Not that I wouldn’t enjoy it,” Moody growled. “But some curses are hidden. It will only take a moment.”

“Absolutely not!” Manken cried. “I won’t have you messing with him!”

“Suit yourself,” Moody retorted. “All the same to me if the spell rebounds on you. Might be for the better if it does,” he muttered under his breath so Manken wouldn’t hear. Moody then limped away and they heard him stumping down the stairs.

“Good, well that’s one person out of the way,” Manken said triumphantly. He glared at the rest of them as though it were a challenge. When no one stepped up he appeared half-disappointed, half pleased. He turned to Malfoy then and raised his wand. Hermione bit her lip to stop herself calling out; she still didn’t trust Manken enough for him not to kill Malfoy. But he only muttered a quick spell, nothing Hermione recognised. For a moment, Malfoy's squashed and crooked nose was surrounded by blue light. As the glow faded, Hermione saw little difference in Malfoys face. All she could see was that his nose wasn’t squashed anymore, it was as it had been before, only… well, it was still crooked. Manken had obviously spotted this too for he was frowning and muttering under his breath. After a moment, he poked Malfoy's nose suspiciously, as though he thought it was trying to trick him. Hermione expected blood to come rushing out and she was sure she saw Mrs Weasley flinch too. They were both wrong. The nose stayed as it was. Manken muttered a different spell but it made no difference. Manken turned his scowling face towards the rest of them as they waited in tentative silence.

“You left it too late,” he huffed, waving his wand elaborately at Malfoy. “If you had called me sooner �“” Hermione scoffed in indignation.

“We did call you,” she burst out angrily. “We called you as soon as we found him. You said you couldn’t come because of another patient.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, little girl,” Manken roared. “I am very busy! If you were looking after him properly then you would have found him and contacted me sooner and I would have come and fixed him. Now, though,” He raised his voice so their attempts to intercede were drowned out. “Now, his nose is crooked because it was left too long.” Lupin managed to interrupt at this time.

“Calm down, Ian, she’s only a child.” He glanced imploringly at Hermione, as she opened her mouth furiously, begging her to keep quiet. “Look, we know you did your best and we appreciate you coming out here to do it.” Manken looked slightly embarrassed, but covered it up with a self-assured smile.

“You haven’t seen my best, boy,” he exclaimed, drawing himself up. “Someday you’ll see it.”

“I’m sure we’ll all be astounded,” Tonks intervened in a sweet voice.

“Yes, well, you probably would be,” he said, swelling with his own self-importance. “Now I’ll be on my way. No, I won’t have a drink, thank you,” he added, though no one had asked. “I must go home. Lots of work to do tomorrow.”

“Yes, well, we’ll call you if we need you at any time.” With these words, Lupin began to usher Manken out the door, Tonks and Mrs Weasley adding their thanks as they followed. Hermione stayed in the room, making sure they were gone before she sat down on the edge of his quilt. Her eyes strayed to his nose. He wouldn’t be happy when he woke up.

“It’ll damage your image,” she muttered to him. “I wonder does Pansy like boys with broken noses, or is it only the money she’s after?” Suddenly the door opened behind her and she turned, expecting to see Harry and Ginny. But it wasn’t. It was Ron.

“What are you doing?” he asked, closing the door behind him and moving towards her.

“Nothing,” she said defensively. Well it was true. She wasn’t doing anything. “But I could ask you the same question?” The best form of defence was attack.

Ron shrugged. “I came to see where you were. Why aren’t you downstairs? I’m sure George is worrying about you.” Hermione scrutinised him for a moment. His face was blank but there was a malicious tinge to his voice.

“I just didn’t feel like leaving yet. I suppose you’re really up here to check if you’re in danger of being called up for murder.” She hadn’t meant to say that. The words had just escaped. Apparently, Ron hadn’t been expecting it either. He stared at her, looking half-fearful, half-incredulous. He managed to regain his blank expression, though, before he spoke.

“I don’t think I know what you mean.” His voice was light now, and careful, as though he weighed each word before he spoke.

“I think you do,” she replied quietly. “I know you hit him, Ron. Why else wouldn’t you come to see who screamed? Why else would you stay in bed so long? You knew about Malfoy before anyone told you because you had expected it. You hit him, Ron. Why?” They stared each other straight in the eye, neither moving nor speaking.

“I don’t have time to listen to this rubbish,” Ron spat finally but as he made for the door, Hermione blocked his way.

“No, Ron, we need to talk. Just admit it, admit you did it and tell me why. Because I don’t understand what happened Ron. Did he threaten to punch you first? Is it revenge? Why, Ron, just explain that to me. Why?”

“You spend more time with him then you do with me,” he snapped. “You always disappear up here to see how he’s doing. It’s him that’s messing us up. It’s because every time you talk to me, you’re thinking about him. If I went into a coma tomorrow morning, would you be running around screaming for help? Would you sit at my bedside, waiting for me to get better? Don’t say you’re only doing it to help the Order, I know it’s gone past that. It’s his fault that we’re always fighting, his fault that everything’s gone wrong. I’m sick of it, Hermione; I’m fed up of what he’s doing to us.”

The silence stretched. One could have heard a pin drop. Hermione stood there, at loss, staring at him. So that was the reason. He was jealous. He blamed Malfoy. He wanted revenge. Ron stood there too, chest heaving, scowling at her.

“Ron,” she managed weakly. “Ron, none of that’s true. I don’t like Malfoy, you know I don’t, and I certainly don’t stay up here any more than I have too.” She felt a small twinge of guilt; the last was a lie. “If you went into a coma, of course I would sit with you. But Malfoy isn’t causing the problem, Ron, we are. It’s just us. Malfoy may be responsible for many things but it’s not his fault. This isn’t his fault.” Ron stared at her awkwardly.

“What about George though?” he mumbled, dropping his eyes to the floor. Hermione shook her head.

“I was only telling him about Malfoy, I swear,” she said softly. This didn’t bode well with him.

“You think you just have to put on a soft voice and I’ll melt?” he hissed. “You think a smile will make me grovel at your feet and do what ever you want me to?” Hermione was so annoyed that she forgot to be taken aback at his sudden change of mood.

“If you would prefer me to hex you then that can be arranged,” she snapped, pulling out her wand threateningly but Ron only laughed.

“Then go on. Hex me. Curse me. Hit me. I dare you. Go on.” She stared at him in disgust.

“I wouldn’t waste my breathe,” she spat scathingly. “I thought we were going to be mature about this. If you aren’t, I’ll leave myself. Maybe I will go find George.”

“No,” he said immediately. “Please don’t.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Hermione shouted, on the verge of tears. “After everything you’ve said to me, after all you have done, why shouldn’t I? Give me one good reason, Ron, just one!”

“I don’t want you to go,” he said simply. Hermione stepped closer to him. Tears now shone in her eyes and trickled forlornly down her cheeks.

“That’s not good enough,” she whispered. “I need another one. Please.”

“I want you here,” he replied. “I want you to stay here with me.”

Hermione was shaking her head even before he finished. “I can’t wait for you, Ron. I can’t hang around until you’re ready. I have to make my own way, my own life, whether you are part of it or not.” It was the hardest thing she had ever done. Harder than helping Harry all those times, harder than getting good marks in her O.W.L.s, harder than watching Ron walk away from her that day on the road. That day, she had been trying to work everything out. Now, she was ending it. She opened the door, wrenching the handle towards her and slamming it behind her, each movement jolting her broken heart. Walking down the stairs, she realised her tears were gone. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Hermione!” It was Ron. He caught up with her just as she reached the landing on the second floor. “Hermione. I’m sorry. I am. I don’t have a reason. Not a good one anyway. Maybe we’ve just been friends for too long. Or maybe we need to take a break. A small one, mind. See other people, do other things. I’m not asking you to wait for me forever. But please give me a chance. Some time.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Hermione gave a small smile. “Maybe some time.”

Ron extended a freckled hand. “Friends?”

She took it. “Friends.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Granger and Weasley were in love.

‘Oh, I love you, Hermione, my sweetheart, but I can’t bear to see you hurt so I’m going to run away!’

‘No! Ronald, darling, please, our love means more now than it did before. I need you!’

It was enough to make him want to throw up, although he might have been exaggerating slightly. It was more like;

‘I don’t like you any more, but maybe we can get back together after I’ve married a couple of times?’

‘Oh, I’d love to! I’ll go find my other best friend first and make out with him! Now let’s both run away to the land of fairytales! Yay!’

Seriously, he was getting sick of their constant fights where they said they hated each other and then went and said they loved each other and five minutes later they’d fought again. It was enough to do anyone’s head in. And why did they always do it around him? Though, now he thought of it, he wasn’t really sure where around him was.

But the worst was yet to come. … Moody was there. Yes, that was it, the crazy ex-Auror who enjoyed torturing and humiliating him. A ferret for Gods sake! Why couldn’t it have been a snake, or a dog, or something useful that could have ripped someone’s throat out. But no, it had to be a small, unintelligent (which didn’t suit him at all), insignificant, pure white ferret. He hated the man. No, better word, he loathed him. That was it.

Another day gone and another still to come. Why wouldn’t they hurry up and kill him already? He wasn’t of any use to them, not like that anyway. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t move, he could only hear. Now he was able to see how much one actually depended on one’s senses.

He knew Weasley had hit him but he was still calm. And proud of himself because of it. He wasn’t going to think of horrible things to do to Weasley when he woke up. Not yet. When the time came, though, he would be ready, ready for revenge. Then Weasley would wish he had never set eyes upon Draco Malfoy. No, that wasn’t a good line. Weasley probably already regretted seeing him and not because he was scared. Oh well, one day, the world would be wrapped around his finger and he would have all his enemies doing whatever he wanted them to do. Turn them into ferrets, oh what gleeful thoughts…

________________________________________________________________________

George, Fred and Lee spent just one night at the Burrow before leaving for Diagon Alley again. The mood in the house had lightened considerably, as Ginny had apologised (reluctantly) to Ron and the four were no longer fighting. Hermione had told them, and Bill, about what had been said in Malfoy’s room. None of it seemed very important; nothing that could explain Malfoy’s presence in the countryside when most of the wizarding, and indeed half of the Muggle, world was looking for him.

“I just want to know how he got there, what was he doing and how he got in a coma,” Ginny said, from her place on the sitting room floor. Harry was sitting on a chair beside her, while Hermione and Ron were seated on the couch.

“Don’t we all,” Harry yawned, rubbing his eyes. The boys had been up most of the night talking with Fred and George. “But the day we find that out is the day Voldemort tells us his plans.”

“We might even find that out if Malfoy wakes up,” Hermione said. “He might know lots of the things Voldemort intends to do.”

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t give them up willingly,” Ron muttered. “We’d have to stuff him with Veritaserum first, and I’m sure he’d still try to kill us before telling.”

“Or we’d have to kill him,” Harry added. “Mightn’t be such a bad idea, actually.” Ginny and Ron nodded fervently in agreement. Hermione threw her eyes up to heaven.

“I’ve got to go feed him,” she said, checking her watch. “Your mum has to keep doing it and it’s not really fair.” Getting stiffly to her feet, she raised a hand in farewell and ventured into the kitchen. Mrs Weasley was nowhere to be seen but a bowl of steaming soup lay on the table invitingly. Hermione took it and went upstairs to Malfoy.

“You don’t deserve this soup, you know,” she said, as soon as she had closed the door. Her own stomach growled hungrily. She slipped the food into his mouth, but not before she realised how skinny he had gotten. He had always been thin, but now he was just scrawny. The skin on his face seemed more stretched and taut than before and the veins on the backs of his hands stood out from his pale skin, his fingers looking more like twigs than bones. It was strange what three weeks without proper food could do to you. Three weeks! He had been staying with them for three weeks. That was even stranger. She stared at him, trying to figure out all the questions she had asked him the other day. Did he know he was in a coma? Could he tell? What was it like? Was he in pain? Was he suffering? Was he somewhere where pain didn’t exist, where he was free of all the strings that tied him to Voldemort? Could he remember what had happened? Did he know himself why he was near them and what he was there for? She didn’t feel like raising these queries again, but she would have liked answers. She would have liked to know what it felt like, what he was feeling. He couldn’t hear her, obviously, and it was because of this that she felt comfortable talking to him. Now, he wasn’t really Draco Malfoy. She wasn’t sure where Draco Malfoy was, exactly, but she hoped it was very far from her. The silent, passive Draco was much more pleasant.

________________________________________________________________________


He was so BORED! He really had to stop emphasizing words; it was getting irritating. But he was. Deathly fed up with this uninteresting, unchanging darkness that surrounded him from every side, dragging him under and invading his mind. He was prepared to go to any lengths to defend the only sane part of him, so his thoughts were closely guarded, though by what he wasn’t sure. He wished desperately that Granger would come. She kept the blackness at bay and made his straying mind stay to the point. Which point was that? The one about him being in a coma, or him being insane? Both were very valid options.

________________________________________________________________________


“I never imagined I would end up minding you,” Hermione said after a moment’s silence. “I don’t think you did either.” His face didn’t change. “I’m glad you came. I’m glad you are here. You’re a relief, a break from the pressure. You don’t expect me to help or to worry. You don’t do very much anyway. You lie there and sleep, or rest, or what ever it is you do, but you don’t talk back. You don’t insult me, you don’t scorn me, you listen and make no reaction. It’s like I can tell you anything.

“You didn’t respond when I told you about the Horcruxes. You probably don’t even know what they are. I didn’t know what they were until Dumbledore told Harry and Harry told Ron and me. Horcruxes. They have a strange sound to them. I thought Harry was making them up the first time he mentioned the because he wasn’t sure himself what they were. He had to get a memory from Slughorn. You know, the old Potions master. He’s staying for another year at least now, because of Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall is trying to make sure Hogwarts opens again as well as run the Order. She and Lupin are in charge of it now, I suppose, since Lupin can’t go undercover as a werewolf anymore after Fenrir Greyback saw him fighting as part of the Order at Hogwarts.

“So we don’t really have any more contacts among the werewolves, or the giants, the goblins don’t really care about which side wins and house elves �“ well, let’s just say they are quite happy to go on cleaning up after other people. Of course, you like that, don’t you? You probably have lots of those poor creatures locked up at your mansion where you threaten them and beat them and make their lives miserable. Like poor Dobby. Well, he has a nice home now, at Hogwarts, with Winky, Barty Crouch’s elf and Kreacher, Sirius Black’s elf who is now Harry’s. It’s disgusting, the work they have to do.

“That’s why I set up S.P.E.W. It’s a very good idea but no one seems to care. It stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Harry, Ron and Neville joined it and a few more people, but nobody was willing to do any work. It was very annoying. The only elf I know who wants money for work is Dobby and, well, there’s nothing really wrong with Dobby, its just that, well, he’s a bit �“ you know what he’s like, you’ve met him before.” She smiled. “Dobby dotes upon Harry. Nothing Harry does is wrong in Dobby’s eyes. I bet Harry wishes Kreacher was the same. Kreacher doesn’t like Harry, to say the least.” She snorted. “He sent Harry maggots for Christmas last year. Kreacher doesn’t really like anybody. He hated Sirius as much as Sirius hated him, if not more. He only liked Sirius’s mum. She would have been your grandaunt and Sirius would have been your second cousin. Did you ever hear of him? Aside from hearing about him being a mass murderer. He was … nice. He didn’t look anything like you. Except for the fact that his eyes were grey too. He was tall, he had dark hair and he didn’t sneer and tease people all the time. He hated all of you for being pureblood fanatics.” She stood up. She didn’t really like talking about Sirius, especially not to Draco Malfoy. She took the now empty bowl and went down stairs with it. As her footsteps clattered on the wooden steps, she unconsciously thought of how desperate she must be to be talking to someone who couldn’t even hear her. How alone she was, right now. How she was always alone, one way or another, whether it was the way she thought, hoped, or even dreamed. Alone. But not as alone as Malfoy. He had no family to depend on, no friends. She was lucky. She just didn’t know it yet.

________________________________________________________________________


Ron and Harry were sitting at the kitchen table, talking, when Hermione went in to wash the bowl. She left it on the draining board and sat down with them.

“How’s Malfoy?” Ron asked, his voice betraying the jealousy he was trying to hide.

“Fine,” Hermione replied, forcing her voice to stay light and casual. Ron grunted sourly and Harry sighed in exasperation at the two.

“Ginny’s gone out for a walk,” he told Hermione.

“Oh,” was the only reply she thought suitable. Harry looked irritated, as though he wanted her to make a fuss of it. Moments of silence followed.

“Do you want to play Quidditch?” she ventured, already regretting her effort to make peace. Ron’s eyebrows shot up and Harry was so surprised he forgot to look disapproving at their lack of conversation.

“Why?” Ron said suspiciously. “You never liked Quidditch.”

“I know, and I still don’t, but I need to get out of the house, away from Malfoy.” She stood up. “So are you coming?” The boys glanced at each other, then nodded and followed suit. Harry went to get the brooms, Ron disappeared to see if Bill would play and Hermione made her own way to the orchard, with only Crookshanks for company.

The sun was warm with only a slight breeze to stir the leaves of the trees. She wondered vaguely where Ginny had gone. She hoped she wouldn’t be long. It was hard not to be worried when so many Death Eaters roamed the country. Hermione sat down on the dry ground, waiting. Crookshanks was chasing butterflies across the long grass. After a few minutes, Harry and Ron appeared, both shouldering brooms, with an extra one for Hermione. Bill had gone away on work for the Order. Without him, teams would be unequal, so they made it that Ron was Keeper and Hermione and Harry were both trying to score against him. This was still unfair since Hermione was very bad, to say the least. Still, it was fun and it allowed Hermione time to think while Harry flew around catching every apple Ron hurled at him.

________________________________________________________________________


The silence was back again. He hadn’t realised how noisy it had gotten with Granger talking to him. He almost missed her as the nothingness surrounded him, blocking his ears. He had given up fighting it. Or rather, trying to control it with his mind. He might be good at Occlumency but he couldn’t make people do what he wanted just by thinking. That power would be worth anything. His mother, his father, his house, even his Nimbus. He wouldn’t sacrifice his owl though. He liked his owl. The only living thing he really felt anything for. That and Granger. No, he didn’t think that. It was just a stray thought, nothing true. Stupid thoughts, stupid Granger, stupid ideas. Kill them all; crush them, smash them, get rid of every one! He hated them. Hated every single one of them. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!!!

Ouch, his head hurt.

________________________________________________________________________

They finished playing around six o’clock and returned to the house to find Mrs Weasley cooking dinner. Delicious smells were floating out the open window into the now warm evening. They ate outside that night and then retired to the sitting room where Mrs Weasley turned the radio on. Different songs took it in turn to cast a sleepy air over the room. Hermione had settled down in her chair with a book, feeling completely at ease and safe. When it was starting to get late, Mrs Weasley ordered them all up to bed. The protests didn’t go past a few grumbles; they were all too tired and full to really do anything about it.

“Where’s Ginny?” Harry yawned as Mrs Weasley shepherded them up the stairs. “Did she come back?”

“I’m sure she did,” Mrs Weasley replied. “She probably went straight to bed. Now up you go.” Hermione didn’t argue; the thought of a warm bed was too inviting to ignore. She slipped in between the covers gratefully and stretched out her aching muscles. Playing Quidditch had been fun but after falling off for a third time she had thought it better to stay firmly on the ground.

That didn’t matter now, though. Now, all she wanted to do was submit to the tantalizing wave of sleep that was eager to envelope her. She closed her eyes, letting the wonderfully warm darkness wash over her. Where she was, no one could hurt her. She was untouchable and protected. Safe and warm…

If only Hermione had been paying a bit more attention, she may have noticed that hers was the only breathing to be heard.

Hermione woke up surprisingly early the next morning. She clambered out of bed and hunted half-heartedly around the room for some clothes, yawning all the time. Her hair was tousled and messy and her eyes itched with tiredness. She doubted she could sleep again, though. She ran a brush briefly through her bushy hair, asked herself for the millionth time why she hadn’t kept using the Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, and slipped down the stairs, wondering what felt so strange about the room.

Nobody was up when she got downstairs. Grumbling, she went back up; only this time she continued to the top floor.

Malfoy was still lying on the bed. His nose was crooked, his face was pale and thin, and his hair had become greasy again. She remembered clearly the time Mrs Weasley had washed him. She still felt horror as she thought about the marks that covered his chest. She was quite sure she knew what had earned him that punishment.

“How can you fight for someone who tortures you for not being able to kill someone else?” she said quietly. “These people hurt you, your friends, your enemies, everyone. How can you stand by them and fight the side that is working to keep you alive? Harry saw you, that night you were going to kill Dumbledore. He was under the Invisibility Cloak, in the corner. His was the second broom, remember? He heard every word you said, saw every movement you made �“ or didn’t make, as the case may be.

“Why did you try to kill Dumbledore? He was always so good to you, so kind to everyone around him. He believed that people could be good. He was wrong about you though. You’re weak, a coward and a bully.” Her last words were muffled by a yawn and she rubbed her eyes in hope of getting rid of the tiredness. It was too early in the morning to start lecturing Malfoy on where his loyalties lay. She yawned again and drew her knees up to her chest, rested her chin on them and surveyed the boy before her. She had looked at him millions of times during the past few weeks, always seeing the same thing. Pale face, blond hair, thin hands, and the most recent addition, his crooked nose. She felt slightly guilty at the thought of it. Maybe Manken was right; maybe they had left it too late. “It was Ron’s fault really, not mine. You can’t blame me.”

________________________________________________________________________

She was back again. Didn’t that girl ever sleep? She seemed to be with him 24/7. She probably couldn’t get enough of his good looks. But then again, who could?

And for her information, he could blame her. He could blame anyone he wanted. Though for what was still a mystery to him.

Back to her earlier questions. He spent half his time answering her questions and the other half wondering which ones she would ask next. He had tried to kill Dumbledore because the Harry Potter obsessed maniac had told him to. Granger didn’t understand.

‘He was always so good to you, why did you do it?’

In case she hadn’t noticed, he hadn’t actually done it. Snape had. Yes, the greasy haired, son of a �“ crow, who had followed him around last year trying to steal all his glory. He had gotten it in the end.

So Potter had been on the tower. Damn, he had seen him in his moment of weakness. Second one, actually. The first one, Draco had ended up with his chest slashed open. Oh, he hated Potter. No, wait, he loathed him. How he loved that word.

For someone so smart, Granger was terribly stupid. If someone put a knife to your back and threatened to stick it in if you didn’t do what they said, would you stand there and let them kill you? No matter how good the person you’re trying to kill is, it’s better to murder them than let yourself die. Besides, Dumbledore wasn’t that kind. He had known all along what Draco was planning to do and he had never told anyone. Why? It would have been better to stay safe in Azkaban than to be where he had been after June. Who knew, he might even have gotten a cell with his father. Hold on, that was a bad thing; Lucius would probably strangle him to death.

Anyway, back to Granger. Hadn’t she ever heard of the saying:

‘If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’?

________________________________________________________________________

Hermione didn’t stay long in the room. There was a draft coming from somewhere and the Ghoul was starting to make noise again. She slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen. She fetched her book from the sitting room and sat down at the table to read. Harry and Ron joined her not long afterwards.

“Hi Hermione, sleep well?” Harry said, yawning enormously. Hermione looked up and smiled.

“Well enough. You?” Harry shrugged and suppressed another yawn.

“I don’t understand why we’re so tired,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “It’s not like we do anything all day.” Hermione snorted in agreement.

“So where’s Crookshanks?” Ron asked. Hermione shrugged.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.” Her voice made it clear that she didn’t want to continue the discussion. Ron took the hint.

“Oh.” And the conversation was dropped.

________________________________________________________________________

However, when he didn’t turn up for food at lunch time, Hermione began to question her ironclad belief that nothing bad could happen to her beloved cat. Ron and Harry didn’t bring up the subject again. They were all sitting around the kitchen table; the boys were engaged in a fierce tournament of Exploding Snap with Bill. Hermione didn’t express her worries to any of them, afraid that they would think her overly anxious. She wasn’t; it was just that these times were dangerous and anyone, even a cat, could disappear, never to be found again.

“Bill?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual. The latter looked over at her. “You haven’t seen Crookshanks anywhere, have you?” Bill thought for a minute, but eventually shook his head.

“No,” he said. “But he’s probably out hunting or something.”

“Oh, yes.”

“You weren’t worried about him this morning, Hermione,” Ron put in, in what Hermione considered a nasty voice.

“I’m not worried,” she snapped in reply. “I was just asking.”

“Yeah, right,” Ron muttered, apparently under the impression that Hermione couldn’t hear him.

“I was! It’s not like he’s never gone away before!” She was quite aware that she was lying, but she was keen to wipe that smug look of Ron’s face.

“Okay, okay.” Ron put his hands up in fake submission. Then added in an undertone, “Though, now that I think about it, I thought I saw something orange lying on the road this morning.” Hermione stood up so fast that her chair toppled backwards.

“Ron!” Bill and Harry said warningly.

“That’s not on, Ron,” Bill said angrily. To Hermione, he spoke soothingly. “Come on Hermione, you know he’s not serious. Sit down.” With a flick of his wand, the chair righted itself and Hermione sank into it, glaring at Ron in a seething silence, fists clenched.

No one spoke. Finally Bill stood up, the uncomfortable silence too much for him. He muttered something about sending an owl and departed to the upper rooms. Ron and Harry glanced at each other, but didn’t leave. Hermione wished they would; she didn’t really feel like having company at the moment. She dropped her head into her arms and left it there. After a few minutes, she heard the sound of chairs being scraped back and careful footsteps retreated from the room. She didn’t move, but let the darkness soak into her whirling mind. Her head always seemed to be spinning these days. Her thoughts were twisted and strange, as though they couldn’t come out straight. She kept her eyes closed and pressed them firmly against the back of her wrist. Murky blotches of colour rolled in front of her, followed by never ending fields of stars. She lost herself in the images and colours that kept her wild thoughts at bay.

________________________________________________________________________

Silence. Floorboards were creaking far below where he lay. He listened intently. Lately his hearing had become sharper, picking up sounds that were further away and making them clearer. He had heard angry voices downstairs not too long ago. He hoped Granger wouldn’t be too long in telling him what had happened. Curiosity intensified as he heard stomping on the stairs. These footsteps faded away and instead a soft padding on the wooden floor took its place.

The door, he presumed, groaned as it was pushed open. He suddenly felt an unexplained fear rise within him. Was it Granger? If so, why wasn’t she talking yet? If not, who was it? What did they want? As much as he joked and scorned the thought of Death Eaters coming to get him, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he had many enemies in the world, both Wizarding and Muggle. He had seen his face plastered all over the Daily Prophet in the weeks after Dumbledore’s death, and on a few Muggle papers that he had found. Was he now as wanted as Sirius Black had been? Was death waiting for him among the Ministry? Had Granger called the Ministry? Were they there, right then, preparing to kill him? The dread increased. But nothing happened. Nothing he was aware of anyway. He thought he could hear breathing but it was very soft. But at any rate, if they had come to kill him, so be it. He was tired of living anyway, if this could be called living.

________________________________________________________________________

The house was silent. She heard Harry and Ron’s whispered conversation as she passed their door but saw no sign of Bill. She continued her slow ascent, concentrating on each step. She found that if she was absorbed in something else then her thoughts weren’t able to bother her to the same extent. Hermione pushed open the door quickly; she had discovered that if done slowly it tended to creak and groan, so she always shoved it in as fast as possible without banging it. Why am I thinking about the working of a door? she wondered suddenly. There wasn’t really anything more pointless. With difficulty, she dragged her thoughts back to the other inhabitant of the room. Inhabitants, that was. A purring Crookshanks was sitting calmly on Malfoy’s chest, slowly kneading his claws on the bed cover and surveying her lazily.

“Brat,” Hermione muttered, and sat down on the bed beside him. She scratched him behind his ears and his purr increased. He began to wash behind his ears then, so she tickled him under his chin and he rolled over on his back. She stroked the soft fur on his stomach. “I thought you had run away. You scared me. Is that your idea of a joke?” He meowed lazily in reply. “Well, it’s not funny. If I lose you, who will I talk to when things get too awful? You had better hang around to see me through this war.” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. What use am I? What can I do to help the Order?” She rubbed her eyes furiously with the sleeve of her jumper. Crookshanks was looking at her with something vaguely like pity in his yellow eyes and she sighed again. If a cat could understand her enough to sympathise with her, she really was in trouble.

________________________________________________________________________

Silence. No, this time he was joking. Granger had come to talk to him. Or insult him, as the case had been. Brat, his foot. He hated it when people spoke to him as if he was three years old. No, wait; he loathed it.

He really had to stop doing that.

He wasn’t sure why Granger was telling him that she was useless. He had figured that out for himself long ago and without anybody else’s help.

He was quite sure at this stage that someone in the house owned a cat. It had stayed near him for a long time, waiting and purring until Granger came in. Then someone had turned on what sounded like an engine while she was talking, which was only punctuated by one meow. Strange people, these Muggleborns.
________________________________________________________________________

Hermione went downstairs to tell Harry and Ron about Crookshanks and to get an apology out of Ron, thinking that now it seemed so melodramatic. Ron did say that he was sorry and the three were able to see the amusing side of the whole affair. They laughed about it longer than they should have, because in the end, it wasn’t that funny. Their laughter was more out of relief than amusement, each wishing every problem ended that easily. Finally, they lapsed into an almost nervous silence, as though they were waiting for something to happen. In the end, Hermione went back upstairs, unable to stand the tension any longer.

She settled herself into her usual chair with a sigh. The room was empty, save for herself and Malfoy. Crookshanks was devoting a lot of his time to catching up on any food he may have missed out on. Regretting her decision to leave him down there, she pulled her knees up to her chin and started to talk.

“I wish all our problems could be solved as easily as they used to be. I mean, now, after everything we’ve been through, all the years before our fourth seem very care free. Or maybe that’s just me.” She surveyed her sleeping nemesis thoughtfully.

“I want to help the Order. I want to help Hogwarts, the Muggles, the wizarding world, everyone!” She threw her hands up and out to show what she meant, forgetting for a moment that no one was there to see it. At this thought, she felt a lone tear trickle down her face. She pressed on anyway. “But I know, in the end, I won’t be able to help anyone. I can pretend I know everything, pretend that I’m able for war, but it’s all a lie. I can’t and I’m not. At the Ministry, I was more of a hindrance than a help to Harry. I allowed myself to let my guard down and I got hit. I couldn’t help Harry anymore. I was useless.” Now the tears were flowing freely, sliding down her cheeks to land in a gathering pool on her lap. “I want to help this time. I want to be there to protect Harry when he needs me. But I get frightened. Frightened when I’m faced with a task that is away from the safety of a classroom, frightened when there isn’t a familiar person there to tell me what to do.” She buried her face in her arms and continued in a muffled voice, forcing each word out.

“I hate feeling scared. I hate not being able to do anything just because fear holds me back. I hate the way my mind works when I’m afraid, so painfully slowly and maddeningly thorough. Most of all, I hate the way my mind works when the danger has passed, when the fear has receded. Since we found out Voldemort was back, I have had these horrible thoughts, ones I never intended to have in the first place. They crept into my mind, all those times I was worried about what Voldemort might be doing, or scared by what he had already done. I felt it when Mr Weasley was attacked, when Sirius fell through the veil, when all our friends’ relatives were being murdered, but it was strongest the night Dumbledore died. These thoughts slip in through the tiniest cracks of my barriers against them. They’re like poison, darkness seeping into my mind. And they make me think horrific things. But the worst part is that a bit of me sees sense in those words. They whisper to me while I struggle to keep them out. Their suggestions make me feel like I have a demon in my head …”

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Her words jolted something. Memories rolled over him. The darkness around him changed; its blackness became darker and more intense. Smoothly, as though he was watching a photograph, the gloom above him changed to a night sky; a raw wind penetrated his skin, chilling him to the bone. He barely had time to enjoy the feeling of the breeze on his face before the scene in front of him became clear. He was on the Astronomy Tower.

Albus Dumbledore was half-lying, half-leaning against the wall. The Headmaster’s face was pale and as Draco watched, he slid a couple of inches down the battlement. Severus Snape stood in front of him, his features contorted with fury and loathing. He raised his wand, his eyes taking on a sinister and maniacal glint. Draco glanced towards the corner where he knew Potter was crouched, invisible. He could almost see the horror on the latter’s face, and knew the same was reflected on his own.

“No,” Draco tried to shout, for the both of them, but the words would not come. Neither of his professors took any notice of him. Snape’s shriek of the Killing Curse echoed in the silent night. For the second time, Draco watched in terror as Dumbledore slowly rose in the air, as his already lifeless body was dropped over the wall, and as he fell to the ground surely hundreds of feet below.

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“These thoughts whisper infuriatingly in my head. They tell me of their plans and then explain them so that they make perfect sense. They say we should join him, join Voldemort. Just that. But they leave behind lingering reasons. I think them out when I’m alone. And I always end up with the same answer …”

________________________________________________________________________

He was tearing across Hogwarts grounds, Snape at his side. Behind him, Potter was sending spells every way possible, shouting furiously at Snape. Snape stopped, telling Draco to run on.

So he ran, ran as fast as his legs would carry him; ran away from the fighting, away from the guilt, away from the old man lying dead at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower.

Tears ran down his face and sobs tore at his lungs. He was numb; nothing penetrated the wall of guilt and sorrow that surrounded his mind. His feet were those of another, thudding constantly on the hard ground. His eyes saw the same picture he had witnessed less than two months ago. This was his punishment, his torture. He would suffer this pain for his wrongdoings…

________________________________________________________________________

“I always end up with the answer that they’re right. If we joined him, we could stop him killing as many people as he does. If we joined him, we might be able to work something out between him and Harry. If we joined him, everything might go back to the way it was. It might be better…”

________________________________________________________________________

The scene changed just as smoothly as before. He was striding purposefully down a small, twisting and deserted road. He held his wand tightly in his grip. The dark Muggle jeans he had been ordered to wear contrasted sharply with the black cloak that swirled around his ankles. His grey eyes stared straight in front of him. Nothing was going to stand in the way this time. He would not fail on this mission. The house was just ahead, its lights barely visible in the dark night. Granger’s house. He could still hear his instructions in his head.

“Go to the Muggleborn girl’s house,” the Dark Lord had commanded. “Kill the Muggles there and take the girl. Bring her back here alive. She is no use to us dead. Do not come back without her.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he had replied hoarsely. Voldemort’s thin lips had curled into a cruel smile that could have frozen the sun.

“Remember, Draco,” he had whispered. “I do not forgive easily. One mistake I can tolerate - barely, but two… no, you must not fail this time, Draco, for your own sake.”

“No, my Lord,” he had rasped. “I won’t, my Lord.” The Dark Lord had waved a long-fingered and dismissive hand and Draco had hurried out. Hurried out to his doom.

Kill the Muggles, and take the girl. His ears still rang with those words. For your own sake.

His determination strengthened and he stepped out onto the road…

________________________________________________________________________


“I never dared to tell Harry or Ron. I was afraid they would think I agreed with Voldemort, that I wanted him to take over. I don’t. I want to kill him, to destroy all his Horcruxes and see him die a more painful death than he has inflicted upon anyone else. I want him to know that he failed, that we won, before he dies. But those suggestions; I can’t help defending them, considering them. I would never do anything to help Voldemort, but if we joined… if we could reach an agreement… maybe it would be for the better. I’m not ever going to say this to anyone else…”

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That’s when he realised his mistake. He had no time to get out of the way. His legs remained glued to the road. He tried to yell, but �“

BANG.

Hadn’t seen the truck. Hadn’t checked. A horn blared. Then died. Lights flared. And stayed. Memory, or reality? His head was heavy. So sore. Memory mixed with thoughts. Couldn’t tell one from the other. Hadn’t reached Granger. Had failed. He was going to die. Oh, please let him die. He didn’t want to live. The light was getting brighter. Like sun through a very grimy window. Or a glow through a filter. Flickering. Dancing. Like shadows. The light was clearer. The darkness was receding. He was getting out…

________________________________________________________________________


“I’m just so glad you can’t hear me.” Hermione raised her tear-stained face to look at him. Suddenly, she noticed his expression had changed. With a puzzled frown, she leaned forwards.

Without warning, his eyes snapped open.




___________________________________THE END____________________________

AN; I wan to say a huge thanks to the fantastic mods who looked at this story, to the brilliant mooncalf for helping me when I got stuck, and to my wonderful readers and reviewers, especially bread_smoothie, cedriclover, and nicolestars!!! You're all amazing, thank you!!!