A nice surprise appeared that evening in the form of a visit from Fred and George Weasley and their friend Lee Jordan. At around six o’clock, the family, Harry, and Hermione were just sitting down to dinner when they arrived, laden with merchandise and gifts from the shop. More chairs were immediately pulled up for them and George seated himself between Hermione and Bill.
“How is the shop going?” Hermione asked him.
“Brilliantly,” he said, piling food on his plate. “The Ministry are still buying lots of our stuff for their support staff. Weird, really, how people are so desperate for protection that they are relying on things that were only ever meant for a joke.”
“Any news in Diagon Alley?” Hermione inquired. George shrugged, his mouth full of food. She waited patiently until he swallowed, before repeating her question.
“Sorry,” he said, grinning at her. “No, not much news. No Death Eater attacks or anything like that. Ministry wizards raided Borgin & Burkes but the owner was long gone. They found lots of Dark stuff and removed it all. They were also talking to Narcissa Malfoy. They searched her house again and found a few things but she said she had never seen them before. They were demanding to know where her son was but she said she didn’t know about that either.” George shook his head. “It’s hard to know whether or not to believe her.”
“You could believe that she doesn’t know where her son is,” Hermione said grimly. George looked at her curiously. “Didn’t Harry and Ron tell you about our …. visitor?” George shook his head again. Hermione glanced around. She didn’t really feel like announcing to the whole room that they had Draco Malfoy locked up in the top room of the house, so she leaned over to Mr Weasley.
“Is it all right if George and I are excused?” she said quietly. “He didn’t know about our guest.” Mr Weasley nodded. Hermione glanced around again. Fred was talking with Lee and Ron and Harry so there was no way to tell him without informing Lee. Sighing, she and George rose and slipped upstairs. Hermione felt eyes on her back as she left, and she knew without turning around who it was. Ron’s jealous streak was bad at the best of times. Let him puzzle this one out, she thought, even more grimly than before, then followed George up the stairs.
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George’s response was quite entertaining when he and Hermione reached the room.
“Holy sh“” he exclaimed, before catching the look Hermione gave him. ““eep. What happened? What’s he doing here?” Hermione raised an amused eyebrow at him.
“We found him, in a coma. He has been staying here for a while now. Come to think of it, he’s been here almost two weeks.”
“And you’ve been feeding him, washing him and generally making sure that he lives?” George shook his head disgustedly when she nodded. “How horrible. You must be traumatised.”
“Yes, well, my psychologist says I’m doing very well, you know,” she replied sombrely and he burst out laughing. He then bent down to examine Malfoy’s face more closely.
“He’s kind of pale, isn’t he?” His grin held no mirth now “I wonder what happened to him to put him in a coma. Who’s looking after him?”
“Me, mostly, and your mum, and a Healer has been coming to check on him a bit,” she answered.
“Then you really would need a psychologist,” George muttered sourly. At that moment, Hermione heard the quiet footsteps of someone making an effort not to be heard as they climbed the stairs. She leaned nearer to George just as the door opened. Their heads jerked up almost guiltily, which obviously added to the effect, as Ron’s scowl deepened while he glared at them.
“What are you doing up here?” he demanded accusingly. “Why aren’t you downstairs with everyone else?” George’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“I was telling George about Malfoy,” Hermione retorted primly, though inside her stomach was bubbling in a reckless way. She had Ron now. “And we didn’t stay downstairs because of the noise and we wanted a bit of privacy.” She almost regretted her words as George turned his look of astonishment on her. Almost, mind. Mostly because Ron turned puce at her words and stared incredulously from one to the other before recovering himself.
“Privacy is it?” he sneered. “I didn’t think bossy-know-it-alls were to your taste, George!”
“Ron, look, I “” George began but Hermione cut him off.
“You let your imagination run away with you sometimes, don’t you, Ron? Or is it your tongue you can’t hold? I am not going to stand here and listen to whatever rubbish you have come up with! I’m going down to the others. Are you coming, George?” George nodded almost reluctantly, and they left, Hermione two steps ahead of him.
“What’s wrong with Ron?” George asked as soon as they were out of earshot. “He didn’t look too happy.”
“No, I think that was just your imagination,” Hermione told him, thanking God for making all boys idiots, and slow ones at that. George laughed, bringing her away from expressing her gratitude.
“He’s right in one way though.” Hermione glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “Bossy little know-it-alls aren’t my taste.” Hermione’s eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into her mane of bushy hair as she stared at him in indignation. This made him laugh even more as he nudged her arm, quickening his pace a bit. “I’m only joking.”
“You had better hope for your own sake that you’re not lying,” Hermione said, struggling to keep a cool and composed air. George was nearly suffocating with laughter at her expression, clutching his sides so hard that he had to stop and lean against a wall for support. Hermione gave him a withering glance then decided it was a bad idea as George doubled over once more. Boys had such a pathetic sense of humour.
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Hermione and George hadn’t been in the kitchen long when Manken appeared, followed by Mad-Eye Moody, Lupin and Tonks. Harry, Ginny and Hermione immediately leapt to their feet, but not before Mr and Mrs Weasley had steered the four newcomers up the flight of stairs and out of sight. Not bothering to wait for an invitation, Hermione pursued them, Ginny, Harry and Bill at her heels.
When they reached the door, however, they found it well locked. Hermione could have screamed in frustration. Pulling her wand out her pocket, she was about to unlock it when Harry put a restraining hand on her arm. When she glared at him questioningly, he only shook his head and turned to Ginny, who had just pulled the Extendable Ears out of her pocket. This time her grin was very evil. Frustration vanished as Hermione seized the string she was offered. Bill was leaning against the wall, looking torn; a part of him wanted to take the Ear but the responsible side told him he shouldn’t. In the end, he shook his head ruefully; responsibility won. Giving them a quick word of warning, he walked back down to the others in the kitchen.
Hermione glanced at Ginny. The younger girl shrugged and pressed her Ear to the wall. Or almost did, for just at that moment the door opened and Mrs Weasley face stared out sternly at them.
“So,” she said, placing her hands firmly on her hips. “There are still some of those around? I was quite sure I had managed to get rid of them all. Give them here.” The three grinned sheepishly and handed her the strings, which she slipped into her pocket. “Good. Now, one of you can come in if Arthur goes out. I expect you can choose among yourselves. I you can’t decide then I suppose you’ll find out how much you can hear through a closed door.” Harry and Ginny glanced at each other, and then nodded at Hermione.
“It should be you,” Harry said. “You’ve been looking after him all this time. Besides,” he added in a whisper, so only Hermione could hear. “You can tell us when you come out.” She smiled and nodded.
“Good,” Mrs Weasley said. “Come in, then. Arthur, you come out. You two,” she glared at Harry and Ginny. “Go downstairs and stay there with the others.” The two sighed resignedly and tramped away slowly. Mr Weasley set off after them, giving Hermione a quick smile. Hermione stepped inside after Mrs Weasley.
The others were all crowded around the bed. Only Tonks stood out of the way, in the corner.
“Hi, Hermione,” she whispered, grinning at her. “How’s your summer? Eventful?”
“You wouldn’t even believe it,” Hermione murmured in return, to which Tonks chuckled softly. Hermione then turned her attention to Manken and Moody who were standing on either side of the bed.
“He’s not cursed,” Manken was saying crossly. “One can see that straight away. Why do you want to look deeper? You’ll probably end up cursing him that way yourself!”
“Not that I wouldn’t enjoy it,” Moody growled. “But some curses are hidden. It will only take a moment.”
“Absolutely not!” Manken cried. “I won’t have you messing with him!”
“Suit yourself,” Moody retorted. “All the same to me if the spell rebounds on you. Might be for the better if it does,” he muttered under his breath so Manken wouldn’t hear. Moody then limped away and they heard him stumping down the stairs.
“Good, well that’s one person out of the way,” Manken said triumphantly. He glared at the rest of them as though it were a challenge. When no one stepped up he appeared half-disappointed, half pleased. He turned to Malfoy then and raised his wand. Hermione bit her lip to stop herself calling out; she still didn’t trust Manken enough for him not to kill Malfoy. But he only muttered a quick spell, nothing Hermione recognised. For a moment, Malfoy's squashed and crooked nose was surrounded by blue light. As the glow faded, Hermione saw little difference in Malfoys face. All she could see was that his nose wasn’t squashed anymore, it was as it had been before, only… well, it was still crooked. Manken had obviously spotted this too for he was frowning and muttering under his breath. After a moment, he poked Malfoy's nose suspiciously, as though he thought it was trying to trick him. Hermione expected blood to come rushing out and she was sure she saw Mrs Weasley flinch too. They were both wrong. The nose stayed as it was. Manken muttered a different spell but it made no difference. Manken turned his scowling face towards the rest of them as they waited in tentative silence.
“You left it too late,” he huffed, waving his wand elaborately at Malfoy. “If you had called me sooner “” Hermione scoffed in indignation.
“We did call you,” she burst out angrily. “We called you as soon as we found him. You said you couldn’t come because of another patient.”
“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, little girl,” Manken roared. “I am very busy! If you were looking after him properly then you would have found him and contacted me sooner and I would have come and fixed him. Now, though,” He raised his voice so their attempts to intercede were drowned out. “Now, his nose is crooked because it was left too long.” Lupin managed to interrupt at this time.
“Calm down, Ian, she’s only a child.” He glanced imploringly at Hermione, as she opened her mouth furiously, begging her to keep quiet. “Look, we know you did your best and we appreciate you coming out here to do it.” Manken looked slightly embarrassed, but covered it up with a self-assured smile.
“You haven’t seen my best, boy,” he exclaimed, drawing himself up. “Someday you’ll see it.”
“I’m sure we’ll all be astounded,” Tonks intervened in a sweet voice.
“Yes, well, you probably would be,” he said, swelling with his own self-importance. “Now I’ll be on my way. No, I won’t have a drink, thank you,” he added, though no one had asked. “I must go home. Lots of work to do tomorrow.”
“Yes, well, we’ll call you if we need you at any time.” With these words, Lupin began to usher Manken out the door, Tonks and Mrs Weasley adding their thanks as they followed. Hermione stayed in the room, making sure they were gone before she sat down on the edge of his quilt. Her eyes strayed to his nose. He wouldn’t be happy when he woke up.
“It’ll damage your image,” she muttered to him. “I wonder does Pansy like boys with broken noses, or is it only the money she’s after?” Suddenly the door opened behind her and she turned, expecting to see Harry and Ginny. But it wasn’t. It was Ron.
“What are you doing?” he asked, closing the door behind him and moving towards her.
“Nothing,” she said defensively. Well it was true. She wasn’t doing anything. “But I could ask you the same question?” The best form of defence was attack.
Ron shrugged. “I came to see where you were. Why aren’t you downstairs? I’m sure George is worrying about you.” Hermione scrutinised him for a moment. His face was blank but there was a malicious tinge to his voice.
“I just didn’t feel like leaving yet. I suppose you’re really up here to check if you’re in danger of being called up for murder.” She hadn’t meant to say that. The words had just escaped. Apparently, Ron hadn’t been expecting it either. He stared at her, looking half-fearful, half-incredulous. He managed to regain his blank expression, though, before he spoke.
“I don’t think I know what you mean.” His voice was light now, and careful, as though he weighed each word before he spoke.
“I think you do,” she replied quietly. “I know you hit him, Ron. Why else wouldn’t you come to see who screamed? Why else would you stay in bed so long? You knew about Malfoy before anyone told you because you had expected it. You hit him, Ron. Why?” They stared each other straight in the eye, neither moving nor speaking.
“I don’t have time to listen to this rubbish,” Ron spat finally but as he made for the door, Hermione blocked his way.
“No, Ron, we need to talk. Just admit it, admit you did it and tell me why. Because I don’t understand what happened Ron. Did he threaten to punch you first? Is it revenge? Why, Ron, just explain that to me. Why?”
“You spend more time with him then you do with me,” he snapped. “You always disappear up here to see how he’s doing. It’s him that’s messing us up. It’s because every time you talk to me, you’re thinking about him. If I went into a coma tomorrow morning, would you be running around screaming for help? Would you sit at my bedside, waiting for me to get better? Don’t say you’re only doing it to help the Order, I know it’s gone past that. It’s his fault that we’re always fighting, his fault that everything’s gone wrong. I’m sick of it, Hermione; I’m fed up of what he’s doing to us.”
The silence stretched. One could have heard a pin drop. Hermione stood there, at loss, staring at him. So that was the reason. He was jealous. He blamed Malfoy. He wanted revenge. Ron stood there too, chest heaving, scowling at her.
“Ron,” she managed weakly. “Ron, none of that’s true. I don’t like Malfoy, you know I don’t, and I certainly don’t stay up here any more than I have too.” She felt a small twinge of guilt; the last was a lie. “If you went into a coma, of course I would sit with you. But Malfoy isn’t causing the problem, Ron, we are. It’s just us. Malfoy may be responsible for many things but it’s not his fault. This isn’t his fault.” Ron stared at her awkwardly.
“What about George though?” he mumbled, dropping his eyes to the floor. Hermione shook her head.
“I was only telling him about Malfoy, I swear,” she said softly. This didn’t bode well with him.
“You think you just have to put on a soft voice and I’ll melt?” he hissed. “You think a smile will make me grovel at your feet and do what ever you want me to?” Hermione was so annoyed that she forgot to be taken aback at his sudden change of mood.
“If you would prefer me to hex you then that can be arranged,” she snapped, pulling out her wand threateningly but Ron only laughed.
“Then go on. Hex me. Curse me. Hit me. I dare you. Go on.” She stared at him in disgust.
“I wouldn’t waste my breathe,” she spat scathingly. “I thought we were going to be mature about this. If you aren’t, I’ll leave myself. Maybe I will go find George.”
“No,” he said immediately. “Please don’t.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Hermione shouted, on the verge of tears. “After everything you’ve said to me, after all you have done, why shouldn’t I? Give me one good reason, Ron, just one!”
“I don’t want you to go,” he said simply. Hermione stepped closer to him. Tears now shone in her eyes and trickled forlornly down her cheeks.
“That’s not good enough,” she whispered. “I need another one. Please.”
“I want you here,” he replied. “I want you to stay here with me.”
Hermione was shaking her head even before he finished. “I can’t wait for you, Ron. I can’t hang around until you’re ready. I have to make my own way, my own life, whether you are part of it or not.” It was the hardest thing she had ever done. Harder than helping Harry all those times, harder than getting good marks in her O.W.L.s, harder than watching Ron walk away from her that day on the road. That day, she had been trying to work everything out. Now, she was ending it. She opened the door, wrenching the handle towards her and slamming it behind her, each movement jolting her broken heart. Walking down the stairs, she realised her tears were gone. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
“Hermione!” It was Ron. He caught up with her just as she reached the landing on the second floor. “Hermione. I’m sorry. I am. I don’t have a reason. Not a good one anyway. Maybe we’ve just been friends for too long. Or maybe we need to take a break. A small one, mind. See other people, do other things. I’m not asking you to wait for me forever. But please give me a chance. Some time.”
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Hermione gave a small smile. “Maybe some time.”
Ron extended a freckled hand. “Friends?”
She took it. “Friends.”
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Granger and Weasley were in love.
‘Oh, I love you, Hermione, my sweetheart, but I can’t bear to see you hurt so I’m going to run away!’
‘No! Ronald, darling, please, our love means more now than it did before. I need you!’
It was enough to make him want to throw up, although he might have been exaggerating slightly. It was more like;
‘I don’t like you any more, but maybe we can get back together after I’ve married a couple of times?’
‘Oh, I’d love to! I’ll go find my other best friend first and make out with him! Now let’s both run away to the land of fairytales! Yay!’
Seriously, he was getting sick of their constant fights where they said they hated each other and then went and said they loved each other and five minutes later they’d fought again. It was enough to do anyone’s head in. And why did they always do it around him? Though, now he thought of it, he wasn’t really sure where around him was.
But the worst was yet to come. … Moody was there. Yes, that was it, the crazy ex-Auror who enjoyed torturing and humiliating him. A ferret for Gods sake! Why couldn’t it have been a snake, or a dog, or something useful that could have ripped someone’s throat out. But no, it had to be a small, unintelligent (which didn’t suit him at all), insignificant, pure white ferret. He hated the man. No, better word, he loathed him. That was it.
Another day gone and another still to come. Why wouldn’t they hurry up and kill him already? He wasn’t of any use to them, not like that anyway. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t move, he could only hear. Now he was able to see how much one actually depended on one’s senses.
He knew Weasley had hit him but he was still calm. And proud of himself because of it. He wasn’t going to think of horrible things to do to Weasley when he woke up. Not yet. When the time came, though, he would be ready, ready for revenge. Then Weasley would wish he had never set eyes upon Draco Malfoy. No, that wasn’t a good line. Weasley probably already regretted seeing him and not because he was scared. Oh well, one day, the world would be wrapped around his finger and he would have all his enemies doing whatever he wanted them to do. Turn them into ferrets, oh what gleeful thoughts…
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