a/n: I've tried to refrain from begging, but... PLEASE review! It's always nice to know people are at least reading your work, even if they don't particularly care for it. Thank you!
CHAPTER FIVE: THE WAR AT HOGSMEADE
Entranced by his silver stare, Hermione trembled at her loss for words.
However, they weren’t needed. For just then, Hedwig, blending perfectly with the snowy ground beneath them, landed beside Hermione gasping for air.
“Hedwig!?” she exclaimed.
Malfoy felt a proverbial smack across the face as he snapped out of his daze. He looked down at the white owl in front of him, unable to fully suppress his annoyance with it.
Hermione lifted the bird on her arm. Hedwig swayed ominously, clearly exhausted from a rushed flight in stormy weather. Gently detaching the letter from her leg, Hermione handed her to Malfoy while she read. He glared at Hedwig menacingly.
She must have had orders to return immediately, because before Malfoy could give her a piece of his mind she took flight again, disappearing into the chilly night air.
“OH!” Hermione gasped in terror. She dropped the letter in the snow and it nearly blew away. Malfoy caught it with his shoe and held it between two fingers.
“What?? What’s it say?” he asked hurriedly.
“I- I didn’t get past the first li- Oh, Malfoy, Percy’s- Percy Weasley is dead!”
Malfoy’s jaw dropped. He thought about Ron and for the first time in nearly seven years, felt truly appalled with himself for all his malicious insults about his family. Meeting her gaze, he studied Hermione’s face and instantly saw her stunned expression that did nothing for suppressing her tears.
Hermione fell to the ground, shaking madly. She couldn’t control her muscles, they jerked almost as if having a seizure. Malfoy grabbed her arm.
“Are- are you sure Granger?” was all he could think to say.
He could never have been prepared for this.
She nodded. Her eyes were wide with horror as salty tears stuck frozen to the side of her face. She pointed at the letter, indicating to read:
Hermione,
I’m sorry you have to hear it like this- Percy’s dead. But there’s no time to explain. Do NOT go to Hogsmeade today. Lupin just got word from one of our spies that the Death Eaters are heading that way. Apparently, they’re goal is to set the Imperius Curse on several witches and wizards they know to be powerful and force them to fight for Voldemort. But they won’t refrain from killing. If you’re already there, get out NOW- use the path behind the hill, it’s faster. I’m sorry this doesn’t explain much. Be at the Gryffindor fireplace at 10 tonight.
Love, Harry
Malfoy reread the letter in disbelief. It struck him how much he’d really been ignorant about for the last few years. He’d no idea things were this bad, no idea how involved Hermione, Harry and Ron really were. Quickly coming to his senses, Malfoy heaved Hermione up from the snow and kept a firm grip on her arm.
“We have to go, now.” He dragged her along, forcing himself to ignore her small whimpers of emotional pain.
“W- what did the rest s-say?” she cried.
“That we have to leave, now. They’re coming.”
He relentlessly pulled her along and heard her sharp intake of breath at his words. She broke out into a run, as she now dragged him along.
“Run!” she yelled.
Malfoy had never realized how hard it was to run in the snow until this day. Hermione finally let go of his arm and darted into the woods just behind the hill.
“Hurry!” she screamed, the panic vibrating through every syllable.
Malfoy’s legs ached with the need to rest. If he didn’t stop soon he’d collapse… his breathing was shallow and quick. The freezing night air stung his throat like daggers, but Hermione’s panic seemed to coarse through his body, compelling him to run on.
Then, through the clearing in the woods, Malfoy saw the familiar tall goal posts of the Quidditch Pitch. He sighed with relief. The pleasing sight seemed to empower him as he quickened his steps to catch up with Hermione.
But he ran right past her, for she’d abruptly come to a halt.
“Granger, what’re you- ”
“GET DOWN!” she shouted, and, with a few long steps, jumped in front of him and pushed him into the hard ground all at once.
Malfoy’s face crushed against the frozen earth that lied just inches under the snow. He rolled over and felt Hermione’s limp body pressing against his own. Panic struck him like lightening.
“Granger! Granger, are you ok? Granger, wake up!!” he shouted as he tugged on her robes.
Her arms were askew; her face was pale and limp. She’d been knocked out.
Looking around Malfoy could only see the goal posts and massive, white trees that no longer seemed to resemble glazed icing, but rather pale death. ‘What just happened?!’ he wondered frantically. Then a hoarse, sneering voice echoed from the opening of the woods. Malfoy jumped up, only to see a tall, dark hooded figure gliding slowly towards him.
“Ahh, Master Malfoy,” it beckoned sinisterly. “Forgive me, I nearly hit you. I did not recognize you at first. Luckily you seem to have an admirer.” His voice mocked. “I am sorry about your father. Believe that he is being avenged as you and I speak.”
Malfoy’s mind raced. He needed to get Hermione to the Hospital Wing immediately, but if he showed concern for her this Death Eater would surely strike. He wanted to be defiant, tell him his father hadn’t deserve anything less than the fate he got… but as he glanced at Hermione’s lifeless body, he knew he’d have to play along if she stood a chance.
Searching around the woods as if condolences would be spelled out in the trees, he stood to full height.
“Perhaps you do not recognize my voice. You may call me Rookwood,” he continued.
“Yes, I know. My father had told me much about you. Held a rather high opinion, if my memory serves me.” He turned on the old Malfoy charm like a light switch.
It felt oddly refreshing, being so cynical again after two long days of strained civility. He knew, however, that he preferred consideration to his old ways. Nevertheless, his contemptuous Malfoy-charisma was a good trait to have mastered in moments like these.
“He and I were quite close, yes. I must say, however, that he would have been most displeased to find you gallivanting with this filth,” Rookwood motioned to Hermione.
Malfoy’s face reddened with rage, and he hoped his acting skills could counter this; for he knew it was showing.
“Trust me, sir,” he spoke calmly. “…If I had any choice in the matter, I would have nothing to do with this Mudblood. I’ve been directed by my professors to escort her around. Apparently, one of your fellow Death Eaters did quite the job injuring her last battle. She suffered a broken ankle.”
“Well, I am sorry Lestrange’s actions put that upon you. Too bad this girl is so easily blinded by Dumbledore’s fanciful visions of hope and morals. Her skills as a witch would have made an asset to our side.”
Malfoy quickly registered how hypocritical this statement was; she was filth, yet she would have been an asset to Voldemort?
Malfoy merely nodded, however, and frenetically racked his mind for ideas of how to escape. He could just convince Rookwood that it would be suspicious if he and Hermione didn’t return to Hogwarts soon… ‘No,’ he thought… ‘He’ll let me go but he’ll surely kill Granger… maybe I should distract him with false hints about-’
“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!”
Rookwood went rigid as a board and toppled onto the hard ground below him, unable to move a single limb.
Malfoy spun around, eyes wide in confusion; but it all made sense when he saw Hermione’s weak head lifted, her wand raised unsteadily. She let her head fall back to the earth with an audible thud.
Malfoy rushed over and bent down beside her. His eyes darted across her body, searching for a wound.
“Are you ok?!” he asked hurriedly.
She grabbed her side with trembling hands, but managed to give a weak nod.
Malfoy was filled with such an intense level of relief, he felt light headed.
“T- they’re here…” she whispered warningly. She could feel them around, closing in on Hogsmeade.
“Come on,” he said powerfully, beginning to stand. “…We have to get out of here. What spell did he use?”
Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but her voice failed her.
“Its ok, don’t try to talk…” and Malfoy slung her arm around his neck and began to lift her.
She struggled to walk on her own, but it was in vain. Malfoy quickly rejected the idea of merely pulling her along and swiftly grabbed under Hermione’s legs and lifted her in his arms. Giving into her lack of strength, Hermione allowed her head to rest its full weight on his shoulder.
******************************************
Pushing through the Hospital Wing doors, Malfoy yelled out for Madam Pomfrey. No one answered. He walked further into the room and softly laid Hermione on the nearest bed. After tucking the covers in around her, he rushed off in search of the school’s nurse.
“Madam Pomfrey?” his voice echoed loudly through the room. He ran over to her office door and banged on the glass. It opened so abruptly Malfoy continued knocking on air for a second before he noticed.
“Yes, yes what is it?” she asked, the tones of frustration blatant.
“It’s Gra- Hermione Granger, she’s just been hit with some spell by a Death Eater,” he spoke quickly as he ran to lead Madam Pomfrey to her bed. He could hear Pomfrey’s sharp gasp and her quickened footsteps directly behind him.
“They’re in Hogsmeade… we just barely got away,” he added as they reached Hermione’s bedside.
“Oh, my dear! Do you know what he hit you with?” she sounded fearful.
“Isn’t that your job, to figure that out?! She can’t talk! Just fix her, will yo-” his panicked fury was cut off by the sternest glare Hermione could muster; Malfoy got the hint.
She could scarcely mumble a sound, but managed to whisper, “S-Stupefy,” before closing her eyes in agony. Madam Pomfrey remained exceedingly worried, but she appeared visibly calmer.
“Well, then, you should be alright. Expect to be very sore with a number of bruises to add to your collection, but nothing too major. Though, this does mean Mr. Malfoy will be visiting you with your potion for longer than expected.”
Pomfrey swiftly bustled around trying to make Hermione as comfortable as possible. She made comments about how dangerous things were nowadays and how absurd it was that children were fighting Death Eaters, but neither Malfoy nor Hermione were listening.
They had gone into another trance, in which only a loud explosive or crowbar could peel their eyes from one another.
Malfoy smiled in adoration at her as he remembered her kind words back at the Three Broomsticks. Then his mind played back to her heroism just minutes before- it was so obvious to him now how experienced she was in these matters. This partly impressed him, and partly terrified him. She seemed to astound him more and more by the minute. He looked at her now in amazed puzzlement- the way one would look at a beautifully bright rainbow printed against a black night firmament.
Hermione saw flecks of light blue in his eyes, and it reminded her of the clear blue sky shining through gray storm clouds. Her stomach turned and fluttered uneasily, but not from her injuries…
“Ms. Granger!” Madam Pomfrey shouted.
Her head shook a bit as her eyes grew wide as if snapping out of a daze.
“What on earth were you spacing out on? I’ve been asking you, where were you hit?”
Hermione lifted a shaking hand and pointed to her back.
“Oh, lovely… your entire back side will be black by the end of term!” and with that, she scurried away to retrieve some potions, muttering to herself all the way.
Malfoy took a few steps closer then sat gingerly beside her on the bed. Her eyes fluttered shut in exhaustion as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear; he found it took more courage and nerve to do that than to deceive a Death Eater.
“Why did you do that?” he asked her softly.
Hermione gave him a clear look of innocence and incomprehension.
“You know what I mean… why did you take the spell for me?” he softly pressed on.
Hermione scrunched her shoulders into a shrug before hissing in pain at the movement.
“You’re quite dense, you know…” Malfoy chuckled. A tense moment passed as he watched her eyes wearily wonder across the room.
“You haven’t answer me,” he whispered again. “…Why did you do that?”
Hermione’s eyes darted around Malfoy’s face. Truthfully, she didn’t know exactly why she’d done it. Part of her felt it was instinct and part of her felt she should know better than to blame it on that.
Her mind wondered back to previous encounters with Death Eaters. She knew she would have easily done the same to save Harry or Ron because she loved them, but… Malfoy? If it had been anyone else besides Harry, Ron or him, she admitted, her reflexes wouldn’t have been so alert.
She smiled up into his concerned face. “Reflexes,” she simply murmured, feeling unexplainably guilty that her answer wasn’t all together accurate.
Malfoy eyed her curiously, but didn’t argue.
************************************************
Hermione eventually fell into a much-needed sleep and didn’t wake until nearly nine that night. When she did, it was only to find Malfoy sitting in a chair, head on her bed, fast asleep himself.
She took notice that Madam Pomfrey hadn’t forced him to leave, which was quite unusual. She also saw that she had left out several small potion vials on the table next to her, each labeled with instructions as to when to take them. Hermione’s mouth scrunched just at the thought of tasting all those in one day.
“Feeling better?”
Hermione jumped- she turned back around where Malfoy’s head was still lying on the bed, but his eyes were opened and looking at her.
“A bit. I can talk all right now,” she smiled. “What time is it?”
Malfoy looked out at the enormous grandfather clock in the nearby corridor.
“About quarter after nine,” he said.
She nodded and rested her head back on her pillow. Malfoy stared at her as he slowly moved closer. He was right above her face, just staring. Her eyes fluttered open and quickly became round in mild surprise at seeing him so near. Before he could stop himself, he leaned in and kissed her ever so softly on the cheek. When he leaned back he had to struggle to keep his own surprise at his daring from being exposed.
If there are fifteen shades of red, Hermione’s face went through them all. She suddenly found herself wishing she didn’t look such a mess.
Then Malfoy suddenly remembered-
“Potter!” he yelled as he shot up from his seat.
Hermione looked hopelessly confused. “What?” she asked.
“Potter! In the letter, he said be at the Gryffindor fireplace at ten tonight!”
He glanced again at the clock in the hall. It read 9:33. ‘Had I really been staring at her for fifteen minutes?!’
“Come on,” he said quickly. “We need to hurry.”
Hermione didn’t need telling twice. She tried moving her legs, but before she could come to the conclusion that they were too weak, she found herself being lifted in Malfoy’s arms for the second time that day. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he set out toward Gryffindor Tower.