I never thought I'd have enough courage to get up in front of people and make a speech. I was the valedictorian of Hogwarts! When Professor Dumbledore announced it at dinner, the first feeling that flew through me was surprise. But the first thought that registered was, speech. All I could hope for was a blast of inspiration, which I was sure to have, if I relaxed and thought about it.
The Head common room was quiet, and Dean was nowhere to be found. I seized the opportunity to get some writing in. I took out my quill and parchment, and settled in a comfy armchair by the fireplace. I began what I thought was the easiest part: the thank-you. It turned out it wasn't so easy because I was afraid to forget people. I started writing anyway, I'd have time to revise later. I'd written two sentences when the door flew open and Dean Thomas shot through the door and sprinted to the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door behind him. I closed my eyes when I heard the sound of vomit hitting the water in the toilet. I waited till he seemed to be done, and went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. Dean looked terrible. His usually cheerful chocolate eyes were red, puffy and watery. His shirt was un-tucked and he was clutching his stomach.
"Here, Dean," I cooed, handing him the glass of water and sitting on the floor next to him. He looked at the glass warily, then accepted it and took a few sips. "What's wrong?" I asked, curious as to what had brought this on so quickly.
"Dunno, flu? Food poisoning? I feel awful." There was sweat beading on his forehead, and he looked pale. "Let's go to Madame Promfrey, she'll know what to do." I suggested. Without protest, he shakily got to his feet and I helped him down to the infirmary.
Once there, Madame Promfrey checked him in at once. "I've got to get his fever down before I give him the potion; his fever will just burn it up and it'll do no good."
I went back to the Head commons alone, worrying for Dean, but also for myself. With graduation less than two months away, I couldn't afford to get sick, and Dean was bound to be in bed for a few days, even a week. I had to run prefect meetings and patrols for the next few days by myself, study for finals, and prepare this dreadful speech. I was sick at the thought. When I got back to the commons, the bathroom had already been cleaned. I sucked in a break, hissing. House elves. I told the house elves not to clean my room, but I couldn't object to them cleaning the bathroom or any other part of the small flat Dean and I shared. I'd had a shockingly long day, and I felt heavy with the pressure of my responsibility. I sat in the bath until the water started turning cool, then got dressed and quickly fell asleep. Tomorrow would be a very long day as well.
*******
My alarm clock startled me out of the solace of my dreams. I stood and stretched, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I'd set my alarm for an hour earlier than I usually did because I wanted to stop by the infirmary to check on Dean. I slugged to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I brushed through my hair, and sprayed it with frizz remover. I brushed my teeth and put a little eyeshadow and eyeliner on. I'd left my robes in the bottom of my laundry basket, so I had to smooth them with a little incantation Mrs. Weasley'd shown me last Christmas. The sun was just starting to wake the castle when I left the commons and headed toward the infirmary. I expected Dean to be asleep when I got there; I was going to ask Madame Promfrey how he'd done during the night. But when I walked through the heavy double doors, the first thing I heard and saw was poor Dean heaving into a bucket. Madame Promfrey rushed to his side and rubbed his back until he was done, then she took the bucket from him and swished her want inside. Dean literally looked like death warmed over. His once cinnamon skin was a pasty, transparent mahogany. I felt the need to be as close to him and as far away as possible.
"Dean! Oh, Dean, what happened?" I found myself spewing. I didn't think I'd be this worried over someone I never really had time to get to know. I wondered briefly if this was how I'd react if it was Ron or Harry, my best friends since age eleven.
"It's just the flu, Hermione. Madame Promfrey'll get me sorted out once this ruddy fever goes down." Dean looked reassured, maybe I was overreacting. I promised Dean I'd be back this afternoon, after lunch. I squeezed his hand and left for Arithmancy. The morning classes were as exciting as I could have hoped. At least they kept my mind off of Dean all alone in the infirmary. At the lunch bell I sped up the stairs and into the infirmary. Dean was there, eating a bowl of soup. I sighed and noticed how better he looked. His color was back and the sweat that had filmed his face this morning was gone. He grinned when I walked in the room. "Hey, Hermione!" He took another sip of his soup and patted a spot on the bed next to him. I obliged and sat. Madame Promfrey came in and smiled at me kindly while pressing her want on Dean's arm.
"Ninety nine degrees! A tad high, but he's healthy as a horse. When you've finished your lunch you can go, Dean, sweetie." And with a grin she swept into her office. I offered to take Dean back to the commons, telling him not to worry about me not getting to eat, because I wasn't hungry anyway. I wondered how he didn't notice my lie, because my stomach rumbled every five seconds. Nonetheless, I walked him through the halls to murmurs of, "Get well, Dean!" He was still pretty weak, but Dean smiled back and thanked them as if nothing was wrong.
When we got to the commons, Dean assured me that he would be fine to shower and dress by himself, but he stumbled around shakily, so I vowed to stay with him, to his very thin protests. I sat on the sofa and jotted some ideas down for my speech, but before I knew it, I was unconscious. A few hours later, I was ripped into reality. I flew to the bathroom, but didn't make it in time. I threw up all over the floor. Though I hadn't eaten all day, my body still seemed to find things to come up. By the time I was done, my whole body was shaking and there were tears streaming from my eyes. Dean was nowhere to be found, and I suspected he'd gone to dinner and left me to sleep, probably thinking I'd call upon the house elves to get me some food. As if! I'd rather starve. In any case, I had absolutely no intention of eating for a while. Dean must have given me what he had, but I had to go to a prefect meeting after dinner, so I couldn't go to the infirmary. I felt my forehead, and it didn't feel feverish, at least not to me, so I cleaned up the bathroom and tried to steady my shaking fingers. I remembered something my mum had said: "Grown men and women have responsibilities, healthy or not." I totally agreed, but I felt like total and utter shit. I washed my face and took off to the fifth floor trophy room for the meeting.
As I turned the corner, I noticed a little group of students clustered around the door, obviously waiting for me. The group contained Ron Weasley, Lavender Brown, Draco Malfoy, Millicent Bulstrode, Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbot, Angela Bassett, and Michael Corner.
They turned to me expectantly, and Ron raced to my side, concerned. "Herms, you okay? You look awful." What was I supposed to say to that? 'Oh, I'm fine, Ron, I just upchucked a lung?' No, thanks. "Oh nothing, just a little cold, I'm fine, really." He gave me an assured smile, and walked by my side to the door, which I unlocked. The seven others followed behind us.
When we were all seated, I took the new patrolling charts out of my bag and passed them around the group. "I took the patrols out for Saturday, because of the Slytherin-Gryffindor game." There were relieved sighs from Ron and Draco. Then they scowled at each other while I continued. "Ron and Malfoy will patrol on Sunday night to make up for it." Ron sucked in a break and Malfoy looked livid. "Hey, Dean makes these up, I handle discipline and rules." They both glared at me, and I glanced at Ron apologetically. "Well, I think th-th…" I put a hand over my mouth looking at all of them in horror. My eyes flickered around the room, searching for a rubbish bin. I spotted one by the door and dove for it. I barely made it.
I could hear the sickened murmurs from my prefects behind me, but none of them moved. Malfoy, deciding to be despicable at one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, said, "God, Granger, what the hell did you eat? I can smell you all the way over here."
If I could have smacked him, I would have, but my body kept pushing my nutrients out of me. When I was done, the sweaty forehead and shaking hands were back. I could feel eight sets of eyes on me, but I could only focus on keeping my body under control. Then, I felt hands under me, and Ron was there, picking me up and holding me to his chest. "Hermione! You're burning up! We have to go see Madame Promfrey." His hands were warm and I couldn't fight him off; I was too weak. He carried me to the infirmary, huffing slightly at my weight. I didn't even have the strength to tell him to put me down. I was like Jell-O. When we got to the infirmary, I was dizzy, like I was going to pass out. Ron set me on my feet outside the double doors, and when I wobbled, he scooped me up again carried me in. Madame Promfrey wasn't surprised I was there. In fact, she said she'd been expecting me. She told us I had a fever two degrees higher than Dean'd had yesterday. She set me on the bed and Ron stayed with me until Madame Promfrey kicked him out. He promised everyone would come see me tomorrow before the game. I sighed. I was going to miss the most important game of the season! Not that I really cared for Quidditch, but it was my two best friends against our worst enemy. I'd have to get a play-by-play from Dean, if and when he came to visit.
I tried to focus on sleep, but I kept throwing up, so I didn't get much. I didn't understand why I was still throwing up; I'd had nothing to eat since yesterday. I felt sorry for keeping Madame Promfrey up as well. Every time I heaved, she was there, rubbing my back and holding my hair up, just like my mum would if she were here. After about three in the morning my stomach decided to settle down and let us get some rest.
The next thing I knew, I heard excited whispers and my eyes shot open. There were about ten students crowded around my small bed. I pulled the blankets up self-consciously. Harry and Ron were there, as well as Ginny, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Lavender, Parvati, Luna, and Ernie. I smiled, shy. Dean spoke up first, "Sorry I got you sick, Herms." he said. Ron gave him an annoyed glance at the use of his nickname for me. I giggled, "S'okay, Dean." I pulled my head off the pillow and put it right back when I saw stars. Harry was at my side in minute, hands under my head, supporting me. "Looks like you got it a whole lot worse than I did." Dean said apologetically. I smiled a tepidly. "Yeah, but I'm a big girl, I can handle it."
They all said goodbye and I wished Ron, Harry, and Ginny, the new Gryffindor beater, luck. Dean also promised me my play-by-play. They hurried to get to the locker room and to get seats. I wished I could be part of the excitement. I summoned some Shakespeare into the infirmary to pass some of the time. It did pretty well; my mind was generally focused on the Montagues and Capulets and who was winning there, other than on the Quidditch Pitch. I was pulled out of my reverie when I heard distant commotion in the hall. It was some kind of awful wailing. The infirmary doors flew open and twenty Slytherins piled in, two carrying Draco Malfoy on a stretcher. Malfoy's face was contorted with more pain than I could even fathom. I scanned his body and could immediately see: Malfoy's leg had been ripped off his body. It now lay several inches away from where it had been severed from the rest of his leg. The lack of blood must have been due to a spell. I couldn't look, I was already heaving in my bucket again. The sight was ghastly, more surreal than any other thing I'd seen in my life, and I was best friends with Harry Potter, mind you. Malfoy shrieked in agony as Madame Promfrey poured potion after potion into his contorted mouth. She shooed the rest of the horrified Slytherins out of the room and drew the curtain around his bed. To spare his feeling or my stomach? I had no clue.
Malfoy's screams subsided after a good two hours and I figured the medication had started taking effect. I threw up three more times. I could feel my body pushing things out that weren't supposed to come, but I never called Madame Promfrey's attention away from Malfoy. As soon as he seemed to be asleep, she came to check on me. "How are you, dear?" she asked, looking tired and worried. "I think I ran out of things to come up, and my body's sending up things that shouldn't come. I'd show you, but I've been vanishing it. There's been so much…"
She looked alarmed and thought about my situation. Then she touched her wand to my forearm and waited. "Your temperature's one hundred and one, but I think I have to give you something. At the rate you're going, you might literally vomit up an organ." She swept to the pantry and retrieved some sort of grey liquid. It tasted worse than it looked. I grimaced and gulped it down. I felt like I was going to throw up again, but Madame Promfrey told me to take deep breaths and concentrate on not vomiting. It took every fiber of my being to refuse my body. After a few minutes the urge to heave subsided, and I felt as normal as I'd felt in months. But my fever was still soaring, and Madame Promfrey didn't have any idea how to cool it. I was freezing, thanks to my fever, and the hotter it got, the colder my body got. I was miserable, and when people came to see me, I feigned sleep because I didn't want them to see how bad I was. I knew that Malfoy was worse than me in my coldest minute and that kept my mind in check. I already knew that his leg was going to be fine because it wasn't taken off by magic. I'd heard some Slytherins and Madame Promfrey talking and they said Malfoy was three hundred feet in the air, dove to catch the snitch, and fell off his broom, whacking his leg off the goal post on the way down, severing it from his body. I'd never felt more pity for anyone, even Harry. I could see him now; Madame Promfrey'd pulled his curtains back for when his friends visited. His eyes never opened, but I could see his chest moving evenly up and down. I stared at him for a long time, trying to figure out what was different about him. It has to be the fact that he's not smirking, I thought to myself, then confirmed it, comparing his face now to the smirking face in my memory. I smiled silently to myself. He was actually quite cute when he wasn't talking.
My fever had reached a record high, and stayed at one hundred and five for three days without going down. Malfoy still slept, and I couldn't see the progress of his leg through the thick blankets that covered him, and didn't dare ask Madame Promfrey. I hadn't thrown up since she'd given me the medicine, and I thanked God for that. I was still freezing, and I spent most of the time I had in the infirmary either sleeping or watching Malfoy. There was something about his face that calmed me down. Malfoy was still the sick pig he'd always been, I just felt bad for him. Who has such bad luck they fall three hundred feet and snap their leg off? Apparently Malfoy does.
When I woke up the next morning, Madame Promfrey took my temperature yet again. It had gone down two degrees, so that was good. "I expect you'll be out of here by Friday, Hermione." Madame Promfrey told me. I couldn't believe it. I was finally going to be able to get out of here and do something other than sit. I looked over at Malfoy's sleeping form. Over the past three days I'd really gotten to know him. Well, the outside of him anyway. I could tell what kind of dream he was having by his facial expression and the way he shifted in his sleep. I was sort of fascinated by him, like I was some kind of scientist trying to study him. Trying to figure out what was going on inside his little blond head.
Malfoy finally stirred Wednesday morning, right after I'd gotten back from brushing my teeth. He was shocked and confused. It was also the first time I'd seen his leg since Saturday afternoon. There was a thick brimmed scar around the middle of his left thigh and you could still see pieces of tissue that had not yet healed around the wound. He glanced at me self-consciously every few seconds, causing Madame Promfrey to draw the curtains around his bed. I heard him hiss and gasp as she put some kind of medication on him. I remembered our second year when Lockhart had tried to heal Harry's broken arm and had instead taken all of the bone from his arm. It had been quite difficult for Madame Promfrey to grow his bones back. It must have been three times as hard growing back sinew and bone and tissue. I couldn't fathom the amount of pain Malfoy was in, and it made me feel pity like I never had before.
Ron and Harry visited me a few times each day. They brought me sweets from Honeydukes, since seventh years were allowed in Hogsmeade. Dean also stopped in from time to time to let both me and Malfoy know what was going on with the patrols and how they were holding out without us. He told us they were all taking turns at double shifts. Malfoy hadn't said a word since he'd woken up, so he just listened and nodded weakly. Wednesday was a very awfully boring day, but my temperature was still too high for me to be moving around for long lengths of time. I was still freezing and Madame Promfrey moved me to a bed beside the window so I could catch a few rays of the fall sunshine in the afternoon. Malfoy dozed on and off all day, and I knew he wouldn't have been much company if he were awake and talking. With my new position right next to him, I could see his tired face with more detail than before. It was filmed with thin, cold sweat, and the hair that fell on his forehead was damp from it.
I found myself dozing around five, and figured since I'd be in here for at least two more days, a little nap wouldn't hurt. I slept soundly for hours, and when I woke back up again it was dark out, and Madame Promfrey had already turned in for the night. I lay awake, my back turned to Malfoy, for what felt like hours. I thought about where my life was going, and what career path I would take. I thought of nothing and of everything at the same time. I was so deep in thought, that Malfoy's words startled me enough to make me jump. "Granger, are you awake?" I though about not answering him, but what if he needed Madame Promfrey? "Yes, Malfoy, I am. Do you need something?" I heard him stir next to me, and I flipped around in my bed, facing him. He was drenched in sweat, and the fabric of his shirt was damp. He was staring at me like I held all the answers in the world, almost as if he was afraid of me. "No, no, I don't need anything. I was just lying here, and I couldn't sleep."
"Oh, I see." He wanted conversation in the wee hours of the morning. I couldn't blame him, though; I'd do the same thing. "How are you feeling?" I inquired, as he shrugged and said, "Like I just fell three hundred feet and got my leg torn off." At least he was joking. It could have been way worse. Thank God Madame Promfrey had the means to bind his leg together again. And, much as I didn't find the situation he was in funny at all, I laughed. It felt good to laugh after almost a week of suffering. "Malfoy, you shouldn't joke about this; it isn't a funny thing. You could be dead." I pointed out, and he shrugged again. It seemed like he didn't take much value in his life.
"It's not as if I won't be dead in a few years anyway." he said as I stiffened. I knew that if he wasn't so drugged up on medicine he would have never said that. I knew he was talking about the up coming war between the light and dark wizards. Malfoy and his father would no doubt be on the dark side. It wasn't like Malfoy had any day in these plans, though. I felt even sorrier for him than I already did, if that was even possible. After that, the conversation flowed through his lips. It seemed he had a lot of chatter built up from his four day sleep. I didn't mind though. I talked with him as he painted me pictures of his life he'd never shown anyone of my kind before. I thought it was the drugs talking, and I wanted to believe that. But, much as I wanted to blame this whole thing on him, more than half of the fault was on me. I was the kindling of this conversation, and I continued to throw myself into the flame. The absolute worst part of it was: I was actually enjoying myself.
A/N: This is my first fic in a long time. Review! Just a precaution: I'm really big on swearing. I do it too much and it shows in my writing. It's not too bad in this chapter, but it will get worse, believe me. If that offends you, I'm sorry. Reviews and constructive criticism are extremely helpful, but don't hatemail me because I'll be forced to shut of anonymous reviews, and that would suck. Anyway, enjoy the story. I should be updating within the next week. Thank you!
SarahSCREAM