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.
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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.
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“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.
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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.
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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.
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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.