Draco hurried through the halls as quietly as he could. It was well after curfew, and he really didn't fancy a run in with Filch – especially doing what he was about to do.
If his father knew what Draco was about to do… he shivered at the thought, but he kept on. Only a few more strides and he'd be safe in the Hospital Wing.
Draco quietly stepped inside and closed the door, then looked around to make sure Madam Pomfrey was asleep. With no sign of the mediwitch, Draco tiptoed around all the beds looking for his target.
He finally found her and hurried to her side. Seeing the bushy-haired witch in this petrified state made him sick to his stomach, and the thought that his father most likely had something to do with it made it worse.
Draco Malfoy knew his father had slipped that wretched diary into the Weasley girls' things, and he also knew (through lots of careful eavesdropping) that the monster within the castle was a basilisk.
At the tender age of 12, the boy had no idea what to do with this information. He didn't want to go to Dumbledore or the Ministry – that wouldn't bode well for his father, and by extension, him.
So Draco was doing what he thought to be the safest option. He took the crumpled up piece of paper he had torn out of that book in Diagon Alley and shoved it into the petrified hand of the Gryffindor girl below him. He hoped Potter and Weasley would find it – surely the two dunderheads could figure out what to do with the information.
His job here done, Draco quickly tiptoed to the door, opened it, and with one last look at Hermione Granger, slunk back into the deserted corridor.