Okay, I got good reviews for the angry Malfoy scene last chapter, and hehe, that was fun to write. That anger of his will play a major part in this story, and you shall be seeing lots more of it! In fact, there's another thing like that in here… hmm…
Anyways, on with the story!
By Darkwing731
((--Chapter Five--))
Weakness
-
Hermione had a feeling that in the end, she would understand. Of course she would understand in the end, but she was too impatient to wait for it all to be over and done with. She wanted answers now; the demand was in her nature, she knew that. But she didn’t care. She needed to explain to herself why this all happened so she had one less thing to worry about in her life.
But Merlin, soon things like that weren’t going to bother her anymore. Because in the future, all she had to worry about was keeping her sanity… and her life.
And hunting down the truth from Draco Malfoy was going to put both of those in extreme jeopardy.
Hermione woke with a start the next morning, a feeling of absolute dread resting on her stomach. She pulled her duvet back over her head sleepily, trying to remember what was preventing her from her normal daily awakening.
Her eyes drifted shut drowsily, her body still drunk with sleep and warmth. Her mind, always working, always buzzing with thought, doused Hermione to a gasping start as she was hit with the memory of the previous night.
Malfoy.
She had seen him crying. She pushed aside her blankets hurriedly, her brow furrowing, and searched around for the journals. Energy buzzed beneath her skin, flesh awakening with logic and intelligence as she lifted herself into another day. Flipping through the few pages that were occupied, she skimmed over the entry she had written and sighed darkly, thinking.
He now had a solid reason to hate her utterly and completely, to go out of his way to make her life a living hell. However, if she let one word slip, he would be humiliated beyond reason, right?
Right. There is no other explanation for his violent reaction when I found him. He could've shouted at me to leave, and I would've. But he attacked me, and that is an entirely different story. Chewing her lip, she picked up fresh clothing and entered her bathroom.
Turning the faucet on and testing the water, she tried not to allow herself to think of the consequences if she dared tell a soul of what she had seen. The absurdity of it, though, would make even the most logical minds—even her own!—doubt Hermione's honest words.
But she would never, ever say a thing to anyone. Closing her eyes, her pulse raced as she recalled the way he seemed to have control over her completely, shocking her into ridged, frozen fear with his predatory, bestial behavior.
Shedding off her clothes, she dipped a toe into the warm shower and waited a bit more. She turned, catching a glimpse of her bare body in the mirror across the room; her mouth parted, her eyes wide as she stared at her own reflection.
Bruises. Bruises etched up her arms, darker imprints of his brutal hands on her shoulders, the scabbed wounds painful reminders of his sharp nails.
Hermione turned to view her back, her hands trembling at the thought of having to explain the imprints of abuse on her body. Dark, long strips down her back, mostly by her shoulders, adorned the rest of the milky flesh of her torso. Mouth quivering at the surreal danger of her mission, she traced the marks on her body, biting her lip in worried thought.
No matter what she did, at one point or another, someone was going to see them. Ginny, perhaps, when the girls were alone and Hermione would shed a layer because of the heat of the Gryffindor fire, or—
Ron. He'd—he'd go bonkers. He'd be furious, not only with me, but with everyone else too, she thought fearfully.
Stepping resolutely out of the shower, she was determined to hide what fresh wounds she had to reveal; Hermione had taken on the mission willingly and she would fight, with or without the scars to prove it.
Dressed and washed for the day, Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder and descended the marble staircase.
She was thinking offhandedly about her wand when suddenly, she wished that she had it in her hand rather than in her bag.
Hermione turned automatically to the source of a door opening; for a moment, a figure was shrouded in shadow, standing still. Her body seemed to freeze in place, unable to move as terror suddenly surged through her at the sight of gleaming eyes through the darkness.
Slowly, Malfoy moved from the darkness, the last shadows casting a horribly frightening look on his features. His sharp facial features exemplified, the scar stood out more hauntingly than ever, his lips lifted in a dangerous sneer, and his eyes—oh god, they burn—his eyes glowed, seething with rage.
Hermione, after a long moment that seemed to last an eternity, gathered just an iota of her wits, let out a squeak of fear, and made a mad dash for the door. Malfoy, one step ahead of her, leapt over the sofa and planted himself right in front of the portrait.
She was moving so fast that she had no time to stop, only to slow down; still, she rammed into him, emitting a plain squeal of fear as he snarl and latched his nails into her flesh.
His fingers pressed even harder into the bruises that he had made overnight and Hermione made strangled, pained noises as she tried to keep her calm composure. But still, the sight of his darkening eyes, ripe with maliciousness, made a tremor of cold fear trickle down her spine, and her body started to shake.
"Let go of me!" she begged, the nerves below the tender skin shooting in hot pain. "Merlin, please! You're hurting me!"
"All the better, you stupid little wretch," Malfoy snarled, his face twisted dangerously. "You better keep your little Mudblood mouth shut, or—"
"I will!" she hasted to cry, her body now quaking with fear as he dug his nails deeper through her clothing, his dangerous eyes darker than ever with revenge. He tightened his vice-grip rather suddenly and she let out a cry of pain.
"Your promises mean nothing. I don’t need encouragement to cut your throat, believe me. But I'm not going back to Azkaban because a stupid little Mudblood bitch couldn’t keep her mouth shut, understand?"
When she made no reply, but only paled in fear, eyes wider than ever, he let out a livid roar and suddenly threw her against the wall.
Her toes only brushed the floor and her heart was surely bruising her ribcage; her pulse seemed to fly and blend into a single throb that was like ice through her veins, and even the horrible pain in her arms and back was not enough to shake her from her frozen terror.
He gripped her collar, knuckles pushed deeply against her throat. She was losing breath, and fast, and her terrified gasping for air did not move him in the least.
"I will be watching you, Mudblood. Every single move you make, every word that you utter from your worthless mouth, I will hear. Do not underestimate me; I have ears all over the castle, and ways stronger than you could ever imagine," he spat, eyes narrowed to silver slits.
He released his hold on her so suddenly that her knees buckled beneath her and Malfoy gripped her abruptly by the underarm and brought her petrified face close to the danger of his.
He said nothing, but the ragged breathing forced from his nose and mouth, the sight of his sharp teeth and even sharper scar, and his glowing eyes forced her into speechlessness. A choked sound escaped her throat and suddenly, his brutal fingers clamped around her throat.
The shock that she could not breathe scared her more than anything; she gasped a terrified noise and he roared at her. "I will kill you, Mudblood!"
He glared into her eyes so fiercely for such a long time, she nearly started whimpering. With an angry snarl, he grabbed her and threw her down with all his might to the floor. She huddled to the ground, shaking badly, and did not see Malfoy clutching his wand, aiming it at the tempting victim, but withdraw it with an angry reluctance.
The portrait opened and almost instantly slammed with a scream as the lock crashed into the frame.
Only after his thunderous footsteps had faded down the corridor did Hermione start to move on her own again. Trembling like a leaf, she drew deep, rough breaths before standing.
White as a ghost and scared beyond her wits of the ferocious Head Boy, Hermione dug around for her wand and her journal, and made her way down to the great hall, the paranoia and fear in her eyes rather evident.
The crisp silence of the school, where nearly every person of the student body was enjoying their breakfast, she could not help but whimper at the fear clawing up her insides. It was wrong, the silence hanging around her, and there was danger lurking in the whisper of the castle.
She descended the marble staircase, slowing as she dropped down each step. She hesitated as the banister came to a halt, her trembling fingers grasping the marble. She looked around, breath uneven, before making the ultimate decision that the small space between herself, and the doors to the great hall, was small enough to grant her safety.
Except… it wasn’t.
Her trembling foot stepped down, and with jerky movements she made her way across the hall. She reached out, clutched the handle, twisting it open.
The muffled voices were heard clearly, a sliver of safe reality, for a sweet moment—
His clenched fist, knuckles taut and whiter than snow, slammed suddenly beside her head, and she could not utter a noise of fear as Malfoy seized her upper-arm.
He swung her, the suppressed bellow crawling out of his throat, and she slammed into the wooden door, her vision swimming at the hard force. Her body slipped against the surface, and fell to the floor.
"Get up," he snarled at her, and plainly she could hear the fury behind his voice, and something she could not place. Desperation? Panic?
"I said, get up!" He lunged, grabbing hold of her shoulders and hauled her off the floor. A wail escaped her throat as his nails dug into the fresh bruises, and at such pain she groped for her wand, fighting his strong movements.
There was a rush, and the quiet black of her eyelids was the only comfort she had as the mess of color and sound was mixed. Sharp pain, angry noises, before she was still again. Her eyes slowly opened, hesitation joining the fear in her eyes.
The tip of her faithful wand was buried deep in the hollow of his throat. She was surprised to feel her own face contorted in anger instead of fear, and the malicious look in his eyes overridden by a chaotic-looking fear.
"Leave me alone," she managed to hiss, her voice trembling timidly.
Fear. In her voice, he could sense it, and his fright turned to brutal victory; his lip curled slightly, and the murder returned to his eyes.
"I'll be watching you, Granger," he hissed, the cruel happiness evident in his cold smile. "Every move. When you're alone, you better be ready for me."
"Stay—stay away from me." She didn't mean to sound so frightened—so helpless— but she couldn’t help it.
He made a slashing movement with his arm, making her blurt out the first spell that came to mind, "Petrificus Totalus!" before she found herself flat on the ground, the back of her ankles screaming in pain.
Malfoy stood some feet away, quietly watching her realize that she was down, that she had fallen, that he had made it that way. His sharp figure, thin as it was, radiated power and brutality… something she didn't want to mess with.
Something that she would soon be neck-deep in.
He gave her one last cold look, his own long fingers wielding a wand, before turning his back and leaving her vision.
Cautiously, Hermione stood up, her heart drumming fiercely against her ribcage. This fresh encounter with Malfoy left her breathless, terrified, and hurt. Her shoulders screamed in pain, the bruises carrying the heavy weight of her book bag, and her ankles cried louder, forced to support her own body weight.
But she knew the injuries he had caused, although intentional and painful, would barely hurt at all compared to the ones he had in store for her.
One thing was for sure, Hermione Granger was in trouble.
Everyone noticed her limp, the way her face was twisted and tense, trying to suppress a pain of some kind. Even the most ignorant of people glanced at her, slightly curious thought to the obvious limp in her step.
The only ones who bothered to ask, though, were the ones she knew she loved.
"What's wrong, Hermione?" Ginny asked immediately. "What happened to your foot?"
"I-I tripped," she supplied lamely, sitting down next to Ron, who was sleeping in his bowl of porridge. It was a wonder he didn't suffocate.
"On what?" Ginny asked suspiciously.
"The stairs," Hermione snapped. Ginny, eyeing the Head Girl with obvious mistrust, said nothing more on the matter of her walk. However…
"Why are you so pale then?" Ginny inquired.
"Well, how would you look if you nearly fell down a flight of those ridiculous stairs, Ginny? Honestly, what's with the interrogation?" Hermione muttered, thankful for a lie that was not entirely stupid.
"Sorry," the younger girl mumbled, but Hermione could sense the false sincerity in her voice.
The beating of her heart had slowed considerably, thankfully, and Hermione tried to push herself into her normal attitude, her normal morning routine. She reached around for coffee and toast, thankful when the steaming liquid steadied her nerves a bit.
The trepidation draining from her veins, Hermione shook Ron awake, frowning at the stream of curses under his breath.
"Go away," he mumbled. Hermione sighed.
"Spider!" Ginny yelled suddenly and, as if someone had thrown a bucket of water on him, he started immediately.
"Stupid little bint—" He scowled fiercely at his sister's mischievous smile and brushed the cold food from his cheek. "God forbid I sleep."
"That's what your bed is for, Ronald," Hermione sighed, her brow arched.
"Well, Mr. Boy-Who-Wouldn’t-Shut-Up over there wouldn’t shut up last night," Ron clipped unpleasantly.
"I told you, Ron—" It was the first time Harry had spoken that morning and Hermione noted something distinctly wrong with him.
"Are you all right, Harry?" she interrupted. He had a startled, nervous look on his face, and all eyes turned to examine him. He avoided eye contact with each of them and Hermione frowned, concerned.
"He's just pale, Hermione. Nothing some good food can't solve," Ginny suggested.
But no, his eyes were gleaming, closed off and distant. His jaw was tense, the muscle and sinew visible in the sides of his face. The paleness of his skin—yes, of course that could be anything—but it only helped her suspicions.
"Fine," he grunted, eyes lowered completely. His tone of voice alerted all three of them, even Ron, whose sleepy manner was slowly disappearing.
"Mate,—"
"I said I'm fine," Harry snarled suddenly, looking up at them. The bestial, insane look in his eyes frightened Hermione, so much to the point that abruptly, he was as fierce and angry as Malfoy.
Ginny hesitantly touched his arm and he looked away sharply, breathing hard through his nostrils.
"I can't—it won't stop—" His voice was weak and in shreds, and he cupped his face rather quickly. "Just leave me alone." The hard anger had returned and his shoulders were squared and strained.
"Dumbledore," Hermione said immediately, panicked. Ron and Ginny did not hesitate to agree. Ginny pulled Harry out of his seat and for a moment, his body went limp and agreed with her, but then—
"Stop!" he growled at her, tearing his arm away. His lip was curled, his eyes bright and fierce.
"Harry—" Ginny started weakly.
"No! I said NO!" When she reached for him again, he grabbed her forearm and flung her away with such force that she was thrown to the floor. Her cry of surprise was quickly overridden by Ron's furious voice.
"Don’t you DARE, you son of a—" Ron lunged for Harry, jumping over the table. Hermione, frozen at the rush of things, withdrew her wand, yelling out a disarming spell, only managing to strip Harry of his wand, but not his anger.
Ron had defended Ginny, shouting at Harry; something was horribly wrong with Harry, he wasn’t himself, and without warning, he had a fork in his hand, and Ron was so close—
There was a rush in her mind, a flash of color as her heart stopped. The image of Ron, bleeding, still, pale and cold was embedded into her eyes; the choked feeling of her throat, the emptiness of her heart—
"NO!" Hermione screamed at him, panic flooding through her body at the thought of Ron with a surely fatal injury. He shrieked in surprise as the fork sank into his arm, Hermione screamed, and suddenly the teachers were interfering.
She hadn't noticed the alarmed students or the teachers fighting their way over, but instead, she had been overcome with fear as Harry, wild and mad, had stabbed Ron.
It was over, suddenly, when Harry was still and unmoving on the ground, Ron clutching his arm as blood dripped through his fingers. Ginny was torn between her brother and her unconscious boyfriend; Hermione, on the other hand, was nearly blinded by frightened tears. They did not fall from her eyes, merely blocked her vision. She clutched onto Ron, prying his fingers away from the wound and healing it quickly with her own wand, but at the same time suppressing the tears that had sprung forward. She embraced him rather fiercely, petrified.
And then, all three of them were fighting to see Harry as Dumbledore lifted him, handing him over by the arms to Pomfrey and McGonagall. The Great Hall, usually so busy with life and gossip, was silent.
"Students, please return to your breakfasts. I do apologize for the rather violent interruption, but no one has been harmed and matters are being sorted. Kindly return to your meals and your normal morning, thank you." The powerful, kind voice of Dumbledore was such a reassurance to Hermione, even as she clung to Ron's hand, holding on so fiercely that neither of them could feel their own fingers.
He looked solemnly towards Ginny, Ron and Hermione, and they didn't have to hear him speak it to know that they would be summoned, alone, to his office to try and explain Harry's bizarre behavior.
The few teachers that returned to the staff table, Sprout, Sinistra, Trelawney, the teachers who didn't stray into the depths of Harry mysterious past as much as the others, were supervising. After the incident, students would surely gossip, and many a time, gossip led to fighting.
With help of a levitation spell, Harry was brought to the hospital wing and laid silently on a bed. His face was paler than it had been, milky and whiter than porcelain, and even in his state of unconsciousness, there was a menacing look about him. His fingers were twitching, his muscles pulled tight and his face twisting constantly.
Ron, Hermione and Ginny were around the side of the bed listening, but not registering the bustle of Madam Pomfrey retrieving Potions and the corresponding whispers between Snape and McGonagall, and only allowing themselves to notice Dumbledore with the tip of his wand stationed gently on Harry's temple.
Whatever spell the wise old headmaster had murmured was a success, for Harry finally lay still on the bedspread. Both Ginny and Hermione were indefinitely worried for Harry and did not budge from his side until Hermione realized that she might possibly be late for class.
One by one, the teachers had all left, only at Dumbledore's words of confirmation that Harry was alright, until only Hermione, Ron and Ginny remained, silent and unmoving.
"I know you three are greatly attached to Mr. Potter, but at the moment, he is only asleep. I cannot permit you to worry for him when he is only in a dreaming state of mind," Dumbledore said gently, quietly.
Hermione, eyes blazing, stared at the Professor. He looked back, solidly, standing by his decision.
"You never asked us what happened, though, Professor," she said in a hushed voice, almost as if she were afraid to wake her sleeping friend.
"I realize this and I do not plan to ask. Mr. Potter will provide secure enough details, and should I have any doubt in him, I would inquire you three afterwards. But until then, he is perfectly safe, and there is no excuse for you to be late for your next class." Dumbledore's words hit a chord in Hermione and now that the Headmaster himself had assured Harry's safety, she was torn between loyalty to her friend and loyalty to her education.
"Ron," she said suddenly, her voice tense. "Potions. Snape—he's going to be furious!" The redhead gasped so loudly, his expression changing from solemn to shock so quickly that it almost seemed comical.
"No!" Both seventh years looked towards their headmaster, their expression that of a silent plea.
"I can give you both notes of excuse; that should be enough for Professor Snape," Dumbledore offered.
Ron and Hermione exchanged glances; like hell it'll be enough.
"Should we go?" Ron asked uncertainly.
"Of course we should go. We have to go," Hermione said at once. "Imagine the points he'll dock next class for our absence should we decide not to go. I mean, he may dock for our tardiness, but it would be far less than what he would deduct."
The sullen look on Ron's face was enough for her to soften, but not to change her mind.
"May we have a note for each of us, Professor?" Hermione asked politely. Ron's face drooped in disappointment.
"Harry is fine, so there's no excuse for us to be watching him sleep, Ronald," she explained. "You cannot skive off classes."
Dumbledore handed them each a note, smiling knowingly at their quiet argument.
"Speak for yourself, Hermione. Merlin knows you would never skive off a class," he said rather scathingly. Both students had their notes and argued amongst themselves on their way out of the Hospital Wing.
Hermione scoffed, reaching for the doorknob. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Ronald Weasley?"
He followed her out, immediately replying, "It means you seem to love learning more than me."
A bark of muffled laughter echoed inside the Wing as they traveled down the empty corridors.
"Don’t be fishing for compliments, Ron. We both happen to know I enjoy learning and you very much," she snapped.
"You should enjoy me more, I'm your boyfriend!"
"So what? I'm not enjoying you right now, you bloody jerk! We're fighting over nothing!"
"Well, you started it."
"Excuse me?" There was a long period of silence before Ron spoke.
"Oh, Hermione, come back! I didn't mean it!"
"Oh yes, you did!"
The rest of their conversation faded into the shadows and Ginny smiled happily at their bickering as Dumbledore, smiling faintly as well, handed her a note of excuse.
Harry was safe. Hermione and Ron were fighting over stupid little things again. All was swell…
For a while, at least.
"Why, thank you for gracing my class with your presence, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley," Snape drawled. Hermione and Ron winced, awaiting the unfair punishment that was sure to come. "Let's see—" His intent was surely to embarrass them in front of a class, while at the same time take house points away for nothing and inspire resentment from their own house.
"You are five minutes late. I think we should multiply the number of minutes by ten points, and then by each student. So, that being said, how many points has Gryffindor just lost?" He selected Blaise Zabini, the boy with a cruel smile on his face who looked eager to supply the answer.
"A hundred, sir," he answered, smirking. The Slytherins around him snickered, all very entertained at their Head of House abusing his power.
Snape smiled, nothing but frigid malice in his face. "A hundred points from Gryffindor, it is."
I shouldn't even bother about the note, Hermione thought miserably. But it’s got to be worth something.
"Please, Professor, Dumbledore gave us an excuse note," Hermione said timidly, handing over the slip of parchment when Snape's demanding hand opened expectantly.
Snape read over the note, his lip curling at the Headmaster's words. Hermione shared a nervous look with Ron as Snape drew up a final statement to give to them. He looked up at them, finally, a glare in his eyes, turned around with a swish! and went to the front of the room.
"Professor—" Hermione began.
"Ten points for speaking out of turn, Miss Granger," he spat. Hermione gaped at him for a moment, furious, before she shut her mouth resolutely, stepping on Ron's toes in order to stop his angry retort of protest.
"Now sit!"
Face twisted at the unfairness of their situation, Ron and Hermione scrambled for their seats, Hermione next to the ever-timid Neville, and Ron next to Harry's empty seat. Hermione would've liked to snap back at their professor, but she knew Snape would've enjoyed her fury and would've enjoyed applying consequences even more.
Snape glared at his class from the front of the room before twisting his robes around his arms and speaking.
"You'll be continuing with your Healing Potions from last class. The instructions and ingredients are on the board, as well as the new assignment. I want fifteen inches on the properties of this potion you're creating, any side effects that it may include, and other substances that will cause the potion to malfunction or counteract in any way or form. Due next week." Despite being cast in shadow, anyone could spot the smirk that curled over his lips.
Nearly instantly, whispers of outrage and panic flew up, just to be suppressed quickly as students wrote down directions. Hermione shook her head with an irritated sigh, cupping her temple, and followed the rest of the class in copying the spiky writing on the board.
"Horrible," Neville moaned quietly. "I'll never get this essay of his done, and even if I do, it won't be nearly as good enough as he would like for a passing grade."
"Rubbish," Hermione replied promptly, throwing him as glance as she rapidly wrote. "If you need help to get it done, you know I'll lend you a hand, Neville."
"Really?" he replied brightly.
"I always do," she answered and smiled faintly.
Soon enough everyone was lined up to get ingredients and Hermione and Neville were discussing the violent disruption that morning when Ron pushed between them, listening.
"Everyone was talking about it after you four left," Neville explained. "I mean, honestly, it was like the Minister of Magic died or something. It isn’t like Harry went bonkers on us overnight, something obviously had interfered."
"Exactly what I think," Hermione muttered darkly. She exchanged a glance with Ron. "This—this has happened once before, as Harry had told us. But he had so much control then. And—and if it wasn’t him this morning, and he couldn’t—" Hermione stopped, thinking so rapidly as realization dawned on her.
"Merlin, I hate it when she does this," mumbled Ron under his breath.
Voldemort. It had to be Voldemort, who else would it be? Once in fifth year, and now again? But he had so much power over Harry, he was practically a puppet this morning! If only I knew why he would strike so soon in the year… it's not even October yet!
"Move," snarled a cold, bitter voice. It was like a gigantic cloud had risen up inside of Hermione, for her heart was beating hard and her body was moving quickly out of Malfoy's way in fear as he cut the line for ingredients.
Hermione jumped out of the way, but she couldn’t suppress the sudden stabbing pains in her fresh bruises, all inflicted by Malfoy. She clutched her collar bone with a sharp gasp as it gave a particularly painful twinge.
Malfoy pushed past the three of them, giving Hermione a dirty, spiteful look. She tore her eyes away from his eyes before she was pinned down by the enormous, swallowing hate and looked to the ground.
Would Malfoy have anything to do with it? Hermione's mind echoed. The possibility of Voldemort attacking Harry because of Malfoy was unlikely.
However…
The possibility of Voldemort attacking Harry because of the murder is not. Had there been other forces, had Lucius been there, had her death caused a horrible domino effect of some kind, then Voldemort's reasoning for the attack was influenced by it.
But why would Narcissa's death be something to anger him? What was her significance? Hermione was gathering ingredients absentmindedly, totally lost in thought. Maybe he needed her for something… maybe he needed to have something accomplished, and she was the only one that could.
And hadn't Harry had those awful dreams? He had dreamt about Andromeda's death—or the precious few hours, minutes, or days before it had happened. So why couldn’t his nightmares be a clue to the attack?
"Out of my way!" She barely had time to turn at the snarl before Malfoy rammed hard into her shoulder as he returned to his desk. She yelped, twisted her ankle, and fell to the ground. In a matter of seconds, all thought was consumed as her flesh was burning up before her eyes.
It was the fire acid, a type of substance that, when diluted correctly, killed off most substances. When pure and untouched, however, the effects were more painful and more damaging than undiluted bubotuber pus.
Hermione's frantic screaming alerted Ron almost instantly; he had his arm about her and lifted her to her feet, dragging her to the sink where Snape was barking directions at him. The class halted to a stop to watch Snape give instructions that would heal a Gryffindor.
"Hot water—hot, you imbecile!" Ron hastened for the hot jet and tried to coax Hermione to stick her hands under the steaming water. Her face was twisted and the few pained tears that escaped her eyes were the only ones she would allow to get away.
"Ouch—ouch!" Soon, the searing pain was gone and replaced by an aching throb.
"Hospital wing, Granger. Right now," Snape spat. Hermione felt bad about leaving Neville and Ron behind, but that was just the way it would have to be.
In retrospect, she was glad that she had gone. Because when she visited Madam Pomfrey, she was allowed a glimpse into a world that was darker than she had ever known it to be.
Hermione was entirely surprised to see Harry still lying down in the hospital bed, and even more so when she realized Dumbledore was hovering over him. Madam Pomfrey mended her hands almost instantly, simply applying a thick paste and bandages, and she was dismissed.
Ever so quietly, however, Hermione approached the headmaster.
"Is he—all right?" Her voice sounded a bit forced, her throat choked by the sudden fear that arrived.
"As good as he will be, for the moment," Dumbledore answered quietly. He looked up to Hermione and she understood it was all right to voice her thoughts, her concern and suspicion.
"Professor, it's Voldemort again, isn’t it?" He didn't have to nod for her to continue; "I just don’t know why he's struck so soon into the year… could this possibly have anything to do with the murders?"
"My guess is as good as yours, Miss Granger. Although I did suspect the same, I'm not sure. I do not understand his reasons; what significance could the late Mrs. Malfoy have with the upcoming war?" he voiced quietly. Hermione was silent for a minute, staring down at Harry, who was whiter than a ghost.
"Professor," she said suddenly; she had just a snippet of a conversation before: "Harry told us something about another murder, of Andromeda? Tonks' mum?"
Dumbledore stared at her, but she could tell he was in deep thought. "I did have my suspicions about her death relating to Narcissa's, but I had nothing to base it on. What did Mr. Potter tell you, exactly?"
"I—I can't really say," she started hesitantly. "The four of us were discussing some nightmares he was having, and when he started talking about the murder, it was like—"
"Something was stopping him?" Dumbledore interjected quietly. Hermione nodded slowly. "I had a feeling something like this has happened.
"I'm going to show you something, Miss Granger, and you are not allowed to voice this to anyone ever, not even to your own conscience if you can help it."
"Sir?" Hermione asked, confused. Her pulse picked up as Dumbledore started talking again.
"Harry now is unconscious, but only because I have made him that way. When he is in a natural state of sleep, unaided, you shall see what is controlling him," he said gravely.
"Professor, I don’t understand—"
"You may not, but it will help you when you least expect it." And without another word from Hermione, Dumbledore withdrew his wand, stood, and hovered over Harry.
"Do not be frightened, Miss Granger." With that, he lowered his wand to Harry's temple, murmured a few choice words, and stepped back away from the gentle light.
Harry was still, only for a moment, but soon his fingers were twitching, and his face was contorted, twisted up into fury.
"Get out!" Somehow, it was Harry's voice, hoarse, terrified, weaker than Hermione had ever heard it. She stared in horror as he started squirming around, pained noises escaping his throat. Suddenly a shallow scream escaped his throat and his body arched off the bed.
"You will not say—" It was not Harry's voice, but a cold hiss, malevolent and powerful, which rose from his throat, "The Mudblood will never hear, you SHALL NOT SAY."
"I won't!" Harry yelled out. "I'll tell them both!"
"NO! YOU ARE FORBIDDEN!" Harry started screaming, so loudly and so painfully, Hermione yelped and boxed her own ears to escape the horrifying sound. His body was thrashing about, only held down by the magical restraints, but it seemed his body would've crashed into the ceiling or the windows had he been released.
"Stop it!" Hermione screamed at Dumbledore, as Harry's voice became hoarser, weaker. He was dying, she could hear it. "For the love of God, Professor, please!"
She had no idea in hell how Dumbledore had remained so calm, but in a moment, Harry's flailing body was quiet and still, his chest heaving, his body broken out in sweat. Hermione was shivering in a cold sort of fear and she could not calm her heart, nor stop the desperate gasping of her lungs.
She looked to Dumbledore and tried to speak, but only managed a confused, scared whimper.
"Voldemort is inside Mr. Potter at this very moment. Harry is under a Forbiddance Spell and whatever Voldemort commands to be a secret will stay a secret. The death of Andromeda: that has been Forbidden. The death of Narcissa: that too has been Forbidden. Things essential for your mission, Miss Granger, have all been Forbidden. You will not be able to coax the truth from him, but only from Mr. Malfoy."
The thought of Draco Malfoy—looming, terrifying, murderous—and the thought of Harry taken over by the most dangerous, powerful Dark Wizard in history sent her into a dead faint. Her head fell back and she toppled off the chair.
Dumbledore kneeled next to her still body, a hand on her cheek. "I do hope you have the power for this, Miss Granger. Harry needs you, but Draco needs you more."
And if Hermione had been awake to hear that, she might not have agreed.
Not yet, anyways.
Harry was absent for the rest of the day, as well as the next week, to be quite honest. People were talking, throwing glances towards Hermione, Ron and Ginny almost all day, between every class, in every meal, in whatever spare moment they had.
Ron and Ginny had been talking in whispers about it almost as much as the school was talking about Harry's absence. So far, neither of them had noticed that Hermione's logical input wasn’t there.
Hermione, in one word, was disturbed. Utterly and completely disturbed. The sight of her friend, so weak and so terrifying at the same time; possessed and unable to do a damn thing for himself but scream, speaking against Lord Voldemort, honestly frightened the living daylights out of her. Every time she thought about it, shivers bolted up her spine, and a tightening in her chest made her choke up in pain as she forced her mind onto a different topic. Every time she heard Harry's name (which now happened to be almost constantly), she had to pinch herself quite firmly to focus on her pain, rather than Harry's.
And Malfoy, he had been on her case much more than he ever had. Whenever she looked up, he was glaring at her; whenever she turned around, he was there, in the shadows, prepared to strangle her the moment no one was looking. Every time she was able to throw her mind away from Harry, it was overcome in fear of Malfoy.
Ginny noticed her constant shivering soon enough and then Ron did, and he was quite upset about it. They pulled Hermione out of lunch one day and the three of them sat on the marble staircase of the main foyer.
"Please tell us, Hermione. Something's happened to you," Ginny urged her quietly.
"Nothing, I'm fine," she replied, but the trembling whisper of her voice was enough to send Ron into a rage.
"Was it Malfoy, Hermione? Was it?" he growled. Hermione shook her head, tried to convince them, and herself, that Malfoy had nothing to do with this, that it was Harry who was bothering her.
But in the back of her mind, she knew it was Malfoy that had instigated this whole circle of fear.
Ron touched her cheek and she couldn’t help but lean towards the gentleness of his fingers. She looked up at him, her eyes glossy, and stared. He looked more concerned than she had ever seen him, and yet the anger towards Malfoy in his eyes was more intimidating than she could imagine. The tightness of his jaw, the stern look in his eyes…
It all spelled out safety for her and that was what she wanted. She wanted to be safe from Harry's screams echoing in her ears; she wanted to be safe from Malfoy's terrifying presence; she just wanted out of this whole mess.
Hermione didn't realize what she had been doing, but when she did, she could've both hit herself and sighed in mental relief. Ginny was quite frightened as Hermione tackled Ron and started kissing him rather brutally. Ron stared at Ginny in surprise, but at the same time, as Hermione forced their kiss deeper, he was pulled into it. His eyes slid closed and he gave into Hermione's hands that were holding him down.
"Oh Merlin," Ginny muttered to herself, got up and left the hall. Ron and Hermione were smothered together, leaning down the stairs and teetering on the edge of the steps. Ginny was tempted to stand and count until they fell, but she knew better.
Hermione's hold slipped as she rolled over the edge of the stairs and Ron grabbed her shoulder before she could go any farther. Panicking at the loss of bliss, she got up, grabbed Ron by the hand, and rushed up the stairs. Blindly, she ran along the corridor until she found it: a broom closet.
Hermione wrenched open the door, grabbed Ron by the collar and threw him in, and jumped in after him. The door slammed shut, and for the rest of lunch, it remained closed.
Hermione was usually a very logical person. Sometimes, though, her feelings were stronger than her mind, and she was forced to allow them the lead in whatever direction she was heading. However, that was something quite rare for her, because she knew her mind was stronger than anything else she had in her body.
But this year, that wouldn’t be good enough. It was only September and Harry was already the center of gossip. Malfoy had undergone a very sad, depressing transformation over the summer, for the worse. His soul seemed to have been ripped to shreds and he did not want to be sewn together again.
And already, Hermione was losing a bit of her sanity. Ferociously snogging Ron in a broom closet in the middle of the day? Hermione would've been appalled with herself if she ever knew it would happen. She would've preferred the privacy of her dorm, in the night, where she and Ron could be cozy in front of the fire, instead of groping around in the dark and shoving mops and buckets out of the way.
But they were all losing, very slowly. Hermione would go down first, Malfoy shortly after. The rest of the world would be gone, and it was up to her, completely, to help bring it back.
And yet Malfoy would try to prevent it, try to prevent the healing, try to let himself wither in misery. She wasn’t supposed to let that happen; she wouldn’t let that happen, Merlin, no. But if Malfoy managed to take everything away from her, there would be nothing left for her to fight for.
So maybe, if she could get her fear under control, she would come to the realization that he was only taking because he had nothing left, and the only way he would win, the only way he would heal, would be if he had everything back that he had before: money; popularity; the love of his mother.
He could get the money—hell, he still had the fortune. And if he worked hard enough, he could get back the popularity.
But nothing, nothing, could replace the love of his mother. And he would keep taking from Hermione until he realized that he would not find the love of this mother, but instead, the love of her.
The only question was if she had the love to give him back.
-x-x-x
-
Author's Notes: BAHH! That was a very fun chapter to write. Originally, many more things revolving around Malfoy were supposed to happen, but I really got carried away with the Harry thing, and I'm glad I did. That whole thing with Harry and Voldemort, there are huge clues in there. Go and look for 'em, eh?
I was so very tempted to include the fight and the nightmares in there, but that's next chapter. So next chapter, you will get: Malfoy starting a very dangerous fight, Hermione going berserk with nightmares, an oblivious Harry, and another glimpse into Malfoy's weak side. MWAHA!
Anyways, a huge thanks to Halo of Darkness for betaing this for me! YAY!
and sorry for the wait, guys!