A distant scream woke Hermione the next morning. She leapt out of bed, ignoring the tremor that ran up her spine as her feet hit the cold floor. Ginny was also on her feet, looking scared. The two girls barely had time to exchange frightened looks before Harry hurtled past their bedroom door, his wand already in his grip. They hurried out of the room and darted up the stairs after him, Hermione taking the steps two at a time. Just as they reached the top, Mrs Weasley came hurrying out of Malfoy's room.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re up,” she said breathlessly. “Ginny, run down and get some damp towels and a basin of hot water. Don’t ask questions,” she added as Ginny opened her mouth. “Just do it quickly.” Ginny shrugged and disappeared down the stairs. Mrs Weasley then turned to Harry and Hermione. “Hermione, go and Floo Healer Manken and tell him to come as quickly as possible. Tell him it’s urgent. You’ll find him at 92 King’s Avenue “” Hermione and Harry exchanged brief looks ““ and tell him to hurry.” Hermione nodded and tore down to the sitting room .She grabbed a handful of Floo-Powder, grimaced, then dropped to her knees and stuck her head into the fireplace. Taking a deep breath, she thrust the powder into the grate and green flames sprang up immediately.
“92 Kings Avenue, London,” Hermione said clearly and felt her head spin round and round. Finally it came to a stop and she found herself facing into a cosy, if strangely tidy, living room. Her knees were still planted firmly on the Weasley’s carpet. Ignoring the aches that were already spreading down her legs, she lifted her head and looked around for any sign of life.
“Healer Manken?” she called. There was no reply. Oh, please don’t let him be gone somewhere, she thought. “Healer Manken?” She shouted it louder this time. “Healer Manken, Molly Weasley is looking for you, I think it’s about “” Heavy footsteps announced an arrival and a moment later Ian Manken appeared, looking very put out. Hermione face grew hot, and it was nothing to do with the fact that her head was stuck in a fire. Manken was dressed in pinstriped pyjamas, with an indignant look on his pink face.
“What’s all the shouting about?” he demanded, his many chins wobbling in anger. “What do you mean by waking me up at this-” he peered at her as though just seeing her for the first time. “Aren’t you Molly Weasley’s girl? You’re the one looking after that-” he clicked his thick fingers in frustration. “- Daniel, David, Dracka, oh, whatever his name is, the unconscious boy!”
“Yes, Draco Malfoy,” Hermione said. Manken slapped his fat thigh triumphantly.
“That’s the one!” he said. “Is it about him? Did he wake up?” Hermione looked at him in horror. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that Malfoy had awoken from his comma so soon.
“I don’t know,” she said desperately. “Mrs Weasley just asked me to get you. She sounded worried.” Manken nodded.
“I’ll be right over.” Just at that moment, a big tawny owl flew in one of the open windows. Manken snatched the letter irritably from its feet, making it hoot indignantly. Manken ignored it, quickly scanning the letter.
“I have to go treat another patient,” he grumbled finally. “At the hospital.”
“What? Another patient? But Malfoy might be awake, he might be-” Surprisingly, she found she couldn’t say it. Manken didn’t seem to notice. He waved the letter at her.
“Look girl, I’m a much respected Healer at St Mungo’s and believe it or not, I have other patients “ legal patients, may I add “ that also need to be looked after,” he snapped, glaring at her, his irritation even more pronounced than before. “I am a very busy man! I don’t have time to be running out to houses in the middle of nowhere. Tell Molly that I’ll be out to her as soon as I’m finished and no sooner than that!” With that, he waddled away in what would have been an angry walk except that he had no space in the cluttered room. Hermione stared after him despairingly for a moment then pulled herself crossly back into the Weasley’s living room.
Dizziness filled her head and she had to kneel for a moment, trying to catch her bearings. Then she leapt wildly to her feet and dashed up the stairs to Malfoy's room. To her dismay, she found both Harry and Ginny outside, looking very put out.
“Why are you out here?” she enquired nervously. Ginny struggled up from her place on the floor.
“We aren’t allowed in until the Order gets here,” she cried angrily, then hurriedly lowered her voice. “Mum says it’s not safe until they know what happened!” Harry cut short her ranting by turning to Hermione.
“What did Manken say?” he asked. “Is he coming?” Hermione shook her head.
“He has to go see another patient at St. Mungo’s,” she told them. “He said he’d come later, or as soon as he’s done.” Harry sighed irritably.
“You’d better tell Mrs Weasley,” he said. “She’s at her wit’s end as it is.” Hermione shrugged and knocked warily on the door. It opened about an inch and Mrs Weasley’s pale face peered out at her between the crack.
“Oh, Hermione,” she said, sounding somewhere between disappointed and relieved. “Did you speak to Healer Manken? What did he say?”
“He has another patient to treat but he’ll be here as soon as possible.” Hermione tried to look in through the gap without Mrs Weasley noticing but couldn’t see anything of interest. “Mrs Weasley,” she added, looking back quickly at the woman in front of her. “Why can’t we come in? We won’t disturb anything, I promise.” She glanced at Harry and Ginny and they nodded in agreement. Mrs Weasley considered them for a moment.
“All right,” she said finally. “You can come in. But don’t touch anything!” So saying, she opened the door wide enough for them to squeeze in.
At her first glance, Hermione could see nothing wrong with the scene. Malfoy was still lying in bed, and the room was still as neat as ever. Unfortunately, at a second look, she was shocked to find what looked like blood all over the lower half of Malfoy’s face. It looked as though his nose had been bleeding, though Hermione wasn’t sure. A slight feeling of nausea arose in her churning stomach and she looked at the floor, hoping her feelings didn’t show on her face. She heard Ginny give a half-stifled gasp and Harry made a sound of disgust in his throat. Mrs Weasley glanced at the three then turned her troubled gaze back to Malfoy.
“Why do we have to wait for the Order?” Hermione wondered aloud, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen. “What’s wrong with him?” Mrs Weasley hesitated before answering.
“I’m afraid that he might be cursed,” she answered finally. “If it’s contagious, I don’t want anyone touching him. You did send an owl to the Order didn’t you, Harry?” Harry nodded.
“Yes, Lupin said he and Professor McGonagall would be over soon.” Silence descended once more. After a few moments, though, they heard a distant call, probably coming from the kitchen. Mrs Weasley took immediate control of the situation.
“Right now, you three go downstairs and tell the visitors to come up here. You can stay down there and get yourselves something to eat.” Harry, Hermione and Ginny started to protest but Mrs Weasley was firm and they soon gave up. Still grumbling, they went down to the kitchen and told a mystified McGonagall and Lupin their message from Mrs Weasley. They then plonked themselves down on various chairs around the kitchen, feeling put out.
“You know,” said Ginny suddenly. “I think we have a right to know what they’re saying. I mean, it’s my house, Hermione’s been looking after him and you need to know everything you can, Harry.”
“What to you suggest?” Harry replied dryly. “That we go up and demand entry? I don’t think they’ll listen to us, even with that reasoning.” Ginny paused, thinking.
“Well,” she said slowly. “George gave me some Extendable Ears before he left, so maybe we could use those.” She looked from Harry to Hermione and back again.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Hermione said. Harry shrugged and Ginny grinned, satisfied.
“Okay then, I’ll meet you outside Malfoy’s room in a minute.” She disappeared up the stairs and Harry followed, saying he wanted to get the Invisibility Cloak. Hermione set off up to the top most room alone.
Ginny and Harry reappeared soon with what looked like three flesh coloured strings and the Invisibility Cloak. Ginny handed the pieces around and the three attached them to their ears before Harry threw the Cloak over them. Huddling in a corner, they pressed the ends of the ears up against the wall and proceeded to listen to the conversation inside the room.
“- and you found him exactly like this?” Lupin was saying.
“Yes,” Mrs Weasley replied. “I haven’t moved him.”
“And Manken will be here later, will he?” Professor McGonagall asked briskly.
“Yes,” Mrs Weasley said again. Lupin suddenly murmured a spell, though so quietly that Hermione couldn’t make out what it was. A moments silence followed, finally broken by Lupin saying;
“There’s nothing wrong with him that I can tell, except for what looks like a broken nose. But I’m no expert, so we’ll have to wait for Manken to come before we can say for sure what happened.” Hermione pulled her string away from the wall and Ginny and Harry quickly followed her example. The three crept quietly down the stairs and into the girls’ room.
“Is that what all the fuss is about?” Ginny asked, as soon as Harry shut the door. “Is that all it is? A broken nose?”
“Lupin seems to think it is,” Harry said. “I don’t think we need to worry about it. Lupin and McGonagall would be able to recognise a curse if they saw one. Normally, anyway.” Hermione wasn’t so sure. Lupin may have been a Defence against the Dark Arts teacher but he had taught them about dangerous creatures, not curses. Personally, she thought Mad-Eye Moody, the ex-Auror, would have been more suited to this.
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So much noise! People shrieking, screaming, and talking “ he was going to curse someone if they didn’t shut up. Oh yeah, he didn’t have a wand. Well, he’d just have to strangle them then. Though the fact that he couldn’t find his hands might pose a small problem. Maybe he should try controlling them with his mind. Die, die, die. Nope, wasn’t working.
His thoughts were irritating him by now. He was running out of topics to ponder about and his mind kept drifting back to Granger. Damn her, there she was again. Her with her whiny, self-pitying, complaints about how nobody understood her, how she was worried about Potter and all her little blood-traitor friends and how Weasley was so mean to her, how he gave out to her, and how she had thought he liked her, but apparently she was wrong so she had to go cry now. Boo-hoo. Actually, that was a very accurate summary of Granger’s feelings. He wished she would move on and babble on about something else. Like how pathetic she and all her friends were, how they were going to lose whatever battle they were fighting in and how in the end, they would all bow down before him and beg for his mercy. He was only asking for the truth, really.
Apparently, his streak of good and righteous thinking had gone with the ringing in his ears.
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After much discussion about what could have happened to Malfoy’s nose, the three were unable to reach a suitable conclusion. The suggestions ranged from Death Eaters sneaking in and him miraculously waking up to confront them and then being hit over the head and falling into a coma once more, to him punching himself in the face just to cause them trouble (this one came from Harry). It was only when they had moved on to more ridiculous ones that Hermione noticed Ron’s absence.
“Where’s Ron?” she asked Harry, interrupting his explanations to Ginny of how it was quite possible for Buckbeak to hunt Malfoy down for revenge. Harry looked around him, as though he expected Ron to jump out from under the bed.
“I dunno,” he said finally. “I think he stayed in bed.”
“In bed?” Hermione demanded in disgust. “Even when he heard his mother scream? Why didn’t he get up?”
“I dunno,” Harry said again, looking uncomfortable. “Maybe he didn’t hear her.” Ginny muttered something under her breath, in which Hermione caught the words ‘stupid git’ and ‘couldn’t be bothered’. And even though she didn’t like to admit it, Hermione felt Ginny had a very good point. The three of them had run towards the scream without knowing who it was. For all Ron knew, it could have been anyone. So why hadn’t he moved?
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Someone new, with a voice that sounded vaguely familiar, had come to visit him. How kind. Actually, he was probably trying to find a good way to kill him. This person was one he knew he didn’t like. Maybe he was here to get his own back. A compromise was sweet but revenge was sweeter. Or something like that. Anyway, he wouldn’t be surprised if the person was slitting his throat right that moment. There he went. Oh, the pain. Aaaaaagh…
He really needed to work on his sarcasm.
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Hermione avoided Ron for the rest of the day. Lupin and Professor McGonagall left soon after seeing Malfoy and said they would come back later when Manken arrived. Mrs Weasley was much more relaxed and bustled around the kitchen getting lunch together. After that, she left them to go look after Malfoy’s face. Harry and Ginny were just as uncomfortable as Hermione was, and nobody spoke much during the meal, especially when Ron appeared, apparently rubbing sleep from his eyes. His yawns were elaborate “ and fake.
“Did you have a nice rest, Ron?” Ginny said sweetly. Ron glared at her and Hermione saw how clear his eyes were. He hadn’t been asleep for quite a while, whatever he pretended
“Yes, we were worried about you when you didn’t come down,” Hermione added.
“I was asleep,” he replied curtly. “I only woke up about five minutes ago.”
“That’s good,” Ginny continued. “We were about to send for a Healer to check your head for us. Good thing we didn’t; you would probably be carried off to St Mungos mental ward with two shakes of a kneasel’s whiskers.” Ron’s ears turned crimson and he lunged at Ginny, knocking his chair over.
“Ron, stop!” Harry barked, grabbing his arm. Ron shook Harry off and glared around at them all.
“What’s the matter with you all!” he roared. “I haven’t been down here five minutes and you’re all talking to me like I’ve done something wrong!” He turned on his heel and stormed away. The remaining three re-seated themselves, Harry looking awkward.
“He was really over reacting,” Ginny huffed after a minute. “I mean, we didn’t really say anything, did we?” Harry stared at her incredulously.
“Didn’t do anything? Ginny, you were winding him up on purpose, anyone could have seen that! And you harp on about how we fight! Ron didn’t get up when we did, but so what, who cares? We might actually have found out why if you hadn’t sent him away in a temper!” Ginny’s face went as red as her hair.
“He deserved that!” she snapped heatedly. “He’s just lazy! He couldn’t bother his backside to go and see if he could help in any way!” Hermione stood up suddenly and gave a hurried and muttered excuse about a book, before she fled upstairs to Malfoy.
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Mrs Weasley was cleaning his face when Hermione entered the room. The older woman looked around in surprise, which was quickly masked by a warm smile.
“Everything all right?” she said, dabbing at Malfoy’s face with a damp tissue. Hermione watched her curiously.
“Yes, fine,” she replied. After a moment, she asked, “Why don’t you clean it off with magic?”
Mrs Weasley gave a twisted smile. “I tried but my hand brushed off his nose and a whole gush of blood came out and replaced the one I had just wiped away.”
“Ah,” Hermione said, barely hiding her disgust. Mrs Weasley chuckled wryly and returned to her work. Neither spoke again, Hermione leaning against the wall, Mrs Weasley washing Malfoy’s pale and bloody face. It was another five minutes before the job was done and Mrs Weasley to prepare to depart, promising to come back in a while with a bowl of soup.
Hermione waited until Mrs Weasley’s footsteps faded completely before seating herself at Malfoy's bedside. She rubbed her hands together, more out of awkwardness than anything else. His face was clean now, not a trace of blood left, but she could not help noticing how his nose was crooked and slightly squashed. Strands of pale blond hair had come out of place and she couldn’t help but push them back. As her fingers brushed his forehead, a tremble ran up her arm and all the way down her spine. She withdrew her hand before realising the shiver was not unpleasant. It was quite the opposite, really. However, she hesitated again, her hand raised, and touched his cheek this time. She smiled at the sensation and settled back into her chair, satisfied. Her emotions mad no sense to her. Why did she like being near Malfoy? She hated him, despised him. No, she despised the idea of him. Her mouth twisted in a wry smile of her own as her emotions battled.
“I’m sorry about your nose,” she said in order to solve the conflict. “I think Ron did it but I’m not sure. I hope he didn’t. I really do. I would prefer to know that Death Eaters managed to get into the house rather than admit he hit you. It’s my fault, really. I shouldn’t have fought with him. He probably thinks that by hitting you he’s getting back at me. That he’s hurting me. I suppose he’s right “” she cut herself off by biting her tongue firmly. Ron wasn’t right. She didn’t care if Ron cursed Malfoy into the next millennium except that she might be sent to get him back. Liar, a small voice hissed in her head. You care. You know you care. You like him. “Shut up,” she muttered aloud, her cheeks burning crimson. “Just shut up. I hate him. I do.” The small voice wouldn’t listen but kept laughing and repeating the sentences. Luckily for Hermione, Mrs Weasley came in a moment later and saved her from any further internal torture. Handing Hermione a bowl of soup, she told her not to worry about Malfoy and left. Hermione sighed; she did not intend to concern herself on Malfoy's behalf. Carefully, she filled the spoon, opened Malfoy’s mouth and poured the contents in.
“I wish you were awake,” she said quietly. “I wish you would tell us what Voldemort is planning. Yet I wish you were dead too, because I can’t do anything until you wake up. Ron will go on being angry with me, Harry will go on getting into trouble and we will go on fighting a battle we can’t win. Most of all, I wish you’d talk back to me. Insult me, lie to me, attack me, I don’t care! I just need someone who responds when I tell them things. I could tell you about Horcuxes, about Voldemort being a half-blood, about him growing up in an orphanage. I could tell you about the prophecy concerning Harry and Voldemort, where ‘neither can survive while the other lives’. I could tell you all this and explain all our plans to you and you would never know. But why would I tell you all this? Because I’m desperate. Desperate for someone to talk to, so desperate I would tell you, Draco Malfoy. You’re in a coma! One you will probably never wake up from, one you will probably die in. Do you even understand that? Does the fabulous Draco Malfoy know he is in a coma? Does he know he is at the poor, blood traitor Weasley’s house, under the supervision of members of the Order of the Phoenix, the top secret group of Wizards founded by Albus Dumbledore, who are bent on destroying Death Eaters and Dark wizards alike? Does he realise he has a broken nose and a stupid Mudblood talking to him? And if he does, why hasn’t he done anything about it?” She bent her tear stained face towards him. “Why aren’t you doing anything about it?”
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Calm. He would never have described himself as calm. He doubted anyone else who new him would have described him as ‘calm’. Now, though, he made himself proud as he did not scream, tear all his hair out and run hundreds of miles from this place. Now, he was calm. On top anyway. Beneath, his already twisted mind was coiling and twirling like the inside of a clock. He was in coma. There. He didn’t do any of the things he had described before. Just about. Granger had told him he was in a coma, though why he believed her was beyond him. Draco Malfoy was not a stupid person and he knew it. Maybe he didn’t get as good marks as Granger did but at least he had a life.
And who said he wouldn’t know if she told him about Horenesky-thingies, anyway? He might be blind and mute but he could hear all right. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Number 1, check, number 2, no check and number 3, check. Though what he heard wasn’t really evil, more DEATH-LY BOR-ING.
Now back to the subject at hand; Horrcrunsy-thingies, prophecies and secret orders. Better leave the first thing out of it because he had no idea what they were. He could puzzle about them later. Prophecies, on the other hand, especially ones concerning the Dark Lord and Potter, may be of use to him. They might get him a lighter sentence of punishment for failing than he would have suffered otherwise. Say, fifty rounds of the Cruciatius curse, rather than a hundred? Even so, he was going to be sore coming out of that session.
Secret orders were another thing. Snape knew about it, he was sure, and so had told the Dark Lord already. They most likely knew Albus Dumbledore ran it, or used to run it, thanks to Snape. So what else was of use to him? The other things Granger had said though;
Yes, he was quite aware he was fabulous, thank you very much; no, he wasn’t aware that he might never wake up from the coma; no, he hadn’t known he was being watched by a group of crackpots; no, he hadn’t known that he was in the Weasley’s poor excuse for a house; yes, he was now aware that his nose was broken and yes, he did know that he had a stupid Mudblood talking to him. Did that answer all Granger’s questions? No, there was one more. Why didn’t he do anything about it? Because…
A bunch of murderous fools was caring for him, he was being kept captive at his enemy’s house, he had a broken nose, he had an idiot Muggleborn talking to him and… wait for it… HE “ WAS “ IN “ A “ COMA.
Now, that should keep her quiet for a while.
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AN;Hi guys, sorry this chapter took so long, I had some trouble writing it. Anyway, I hope you like it, please leave a review to tell me what you think and MILLIONS of thanks to mooncalf for all her help with it. Enjoy!