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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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…
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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?
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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.
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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.