The never ending and never beginning silence of the night was broken only by the ticking of a watch and the purrs of a great orange cat as he stretched himself luxuriously on his witch’s knee, in front of the glowing embers of a dying fire. It was late at night and the air was warm and sleepy, the kind of night when exhausted teenagers drift off into a wonderful, dream-filled slumber. Such was the case of Hermione Granger, as she lay curled up on a chair in the Weasley’s kitchen, a thick book in her hand, awaiting the return of her friends. Harry and Ron had run out with Mr Weasley at an urgent call from the Order. Hermione had been conveniently left behind and it was for only one reason that she was still awake at six minutes past one in the morning; to make them regret that decision with all their hearts.
Hermione stretched and yawned, almost dislodging a sleepy Crookshanks who was residing in her lap. He gave a disgruntled ‘meow’ and leapt agilely off her knee and onto the floor, where he sat washing himself. Hermione watched him for a moment and had only nestled her head once more into her shoulder when the back door flew open, startling Crookshanks and causing Hermione to jump to her feet in alarm, wand in hand.
Silhouetted against the silvery light from the moon, two figures towered impressively above her. Hermione felt very small all of a sudden; her wand was a twig in her weak fingers and her usually forceful pose wilted. A moment later she was relieved as Professor McGonagall and Mr Weasley stepped out of the darkness and into the light shed by the fire. Behind them a terrified Ron and Harry continued to glance over their shoulders even as they entered the safety of the kitchen. Hermione’s eyes darted from one to the other; they were all right. Only after this registered did Hermione notice something her eyes had skipped over automatically in their desperate search for comfort.
A stretcher floated serenely between the two adults. Hermione could see a long figure; his features were barely visible but it was a boy. She took a hesitant step forward and shrank back in horror. She had last seen that face with an expression of horror, terror and confusion as he had raced away from his guilt. Apparently it had just caught up with, only it was in the form of revenge.
Draco Malfoy looked very much worse for ware. Deep cuts and scratches lined his filthy face; his blonde hair was greasy and streaked with dirt and something that looked horribly like blood.
Professor McGonagall had left his side and hurried to the laundry cupboard. She dragged a blanket out and tossed it hastily over the table. Hermione hung back, a little afraid. Her teacher’s hair was free from its usually tight bun and flew in wisps around her face, which was oddly strained and wet. Hermione felt a pang as she looked at her; she was trying to take control of these situations and it just wasn’t working.
However, her sympathy was short lived; Professor McGonagall turned to her in a flurry of impatience. “Miss Granger, will you please stop standing around gaping and make yourself useful.” Mortified, Hermione rushed to the sink and filled a jug with warm water from the tap. Taking a sponge from the cupboard under the sink, she left it at Malfoy’s feet next to the jug. Carefully composing her face to an expression of willingness, she stepped back and waited.
A thundering on the stairs made Hermione jump almost a foot in the air. Mr and Mrs Weasley arrived in the room, a cloud of confusion and fear at their heels. Hermione hadn’t even noticed Mr Weasley’s absence.
Mrs Weasley exchanged a few terse words with Professor McGonagall before disappearing back upstairs. Not even a look was shared between McGonagall and the remaining authority in the room; Mr Weasley turned silently on his heel and strode outside. Hermione watched in fascination as he spun around and disappeared with a sharp ‘CRACK’.
Slightly surprised at this stage by the lack of explanations, Hermione turned to Harry and Ron only to find them looking as confused as she felt. McGonagall silently handed the sponge to Hermione, offering no words of comfort, and left in the direction of the sitting room; Hermione saw her light a fire with a sweep of her wand and catch a handful of Floo powder. Ron and Harry collapsed, shaking, into some chairs and watched while Hermione, cringing inwardly, began to wash Malfoy’s face. At first the water made no difference to the layer of dust and grime that coated Malfoy’s forehead, but gradually, a little of his real skin colour began to show through. Black water trickled down his cheeks, like rivers of tears, soaking the blanket beneath him. A deep gash on his forehead emitted gushes of blood when she touched it and she withdrew her hand, uncertain.
“What happened?” she asked the boys quietly. Ron shook his head.
“We don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “We Apparated to somewhere in the country and Dad made us stay there while they went down the road. We think Kingsley Shacklebolt was there and a couple of the Order. They just came back holding him “” he gestured towards Malfoy, ““ and wouldn’t tell us what happened.” Harry was silent during this recital, watching Malfoy with a thoughtful look on his face.
“Harry?” Hermione said tentatively. Harry jumped and looked towards her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, running his hand through messy hair. He smiled at her reassuringly when he saw her worried look. “I’m fine. Just tired.” He yawned and stretched. “What time is it?” He glanced around the room distractedly.
“Half one.” Ron rubbed his eyes. “Maybe we should ask them if we can go to bed.”
“Okay, I vote Ron asks McGonagall if we can go to bed now,” Harry said and Hermione grinned.
At that point the conversation was ended by the arrival of Mr Weasley and a large man they had never seen before. He turned out to be Healer Manken, a very important Healer at St Mungos and not at all impressed at being dragged out in the middle of the night.
“What’s this?” he roared upon seeing Malfoy lying on the kitchen table, surrounded by a very suspicious Hermione, Ron and Harry. Hermione cringed as spit flew from his mouth. “I can’t examine him while he’s on a table! He needs to be somewhere private, not a public area! And no children!” he added, glared at the three. Children! Ron bristled indignantly and Harry cast him a warning look. Professor McGonagall jumped to their rescue, or as good of a rescue as they could expect.
“A bedroom is being arranged and there will be plenty of room and privacy when it is ready. As for these three, they are junior members of the Order.”
“I wouldn’t care if they were junior Ministers for Magic, they’re children! Get rid of them!” Manken’s heavy features quivered indignantly, his air of pompous composure disrupted slightly by his bad mood. “And where’s that bedroom?” Right on queue, Mrs Weasley appeared.
“It’s ready,” she said, frowning slightly at Manken, who didn’t look slightly abashed.
“Well let’s get a move on, shall we?” he said importantly. He stomped away up the stairs. The three adults exchanged exasperated looks and followed directing Malfoy, who was once again suspended on a stretcher. Harry, Hermione and Ron followed, or attempted to; as they reached the second floor, Mrs Weasley turned to them and hissed;
“Go to bed now. Don’t ask any questions, or make any noise, or say anything that begins with the word but, just go. Now.”
“But“” Ron began.
“No buts! Go to bed!” Reluctantly, the three trudged into their rooms, not saying a word. Hermione changed and dropped into bed, exhausted. She glanced over at Ginny’s bed; the younger girl was lying on her side, her eyes wide open and inquisitive. Hermione put a finger to her lips and turned over. She could explain in the morning.