Chapter Two:
This could not possibly be real.
Hermione thought that this was just a nightmare. Well, she—at least—wished that this was simply a bad dream. But seeing Ron on the floor with blood spilling through his open wounds, her breath hitched. She gasped, letting out a quiet whimper. He had a kitchen knife buried in his chest, but other than that, there were several cuts on his torso that put holes in his shirt. The coppery stench of his blood filled the living room; Hermione stared in horror as Ron lifted his head to meet her eyes, and she heard him choke, "Why?"
Why… Hermione shook her head. She could not have done this. Merlin, this was Ron! It was her best friend and her fiancé, for that matter, and she didn't believe the speculation formed by her mind. She loved Ron; she loves him. No matter how much they fought, she did not have it in her nature to perform this act.
She stumbled back as Ron fell through. The knife in his chest deepened as it hit the floor with his fall; and all Hermione could do was whimper. She brought her hands to her face when she realized that her hands were covered in blood as well. Hermione sobbed. No, no, no, this is not real—this cannot be real! She convinced herself that this was a dream, and her mind was simply deceiving her. She turned to her left and then to her right, only to get caught in facing herself in a mirror that seemed to have appeared from nowhere, and her face was smudged with dried blood. Her chest was covered too, and her nightgown stained as well.
How did this happen? What was happening? Hermione cried in fear.
She stumbled back. Her left foot got caught in the last few steps the staircase where she had been standing, sending her to completely fall down. "You filthy little mudblood!" She heard someone sneer but she wasn't sure as to where it came from. She was certain, though, that it was a man. A man with deep voice; someone not so familiar. Hermione's head shifted sideways. She attempted to find the source of that voice but the dark made it difficult for her to see her place. Her eyes landed back on Ron, who remained face-down and the tip of the knife impaled through his back, and his eyes were wide open.
Hermione saw nothing but horror in Ron's eyes. All her life, she had never thought about the possibility of this scenario. She had wished that if she were to die, her eyes would be close without any fear of the unknown. But through Ron's eyes, she could feel the guilt rushing in like water—fast and ever-flowing. How could she stop it?
Is there even a way out of this dream? Is this even a dream?
"Your blood-traitor boyfriend deserved it, mudblood!" She heard the same voice again. Hermione sobbed hysterically. She stood while her knees shook. Her body was fueled with fear and a motivation for survival; but one last glance at Ron, her heart cracked like brittle glass. "That might be the only good thing you did, mudblood! Killing your boyfriend—"
Hermione screamed, "I did not kill him! No!" Warm tears slid down her face as she wailed. She lashed out. She didn't believe this. She had to wake up now. Perhaps if she figured out a way to wake up, she would find herself back in their bed with Ron lying next to her, sound asleep. She wished, because that was the only thing she could do right now.
Hermione trashed on her bed as she dreamt. Her shoulders shook. Her body tensed. Every fiber of her was shaken as she fought for herself to wake up. Softly, there were hands on both her arms that held her quite gently. Fingers traced her skin that sent shivers through her spine. She forced herself to open her eyes, only to be met by blinding light, and a blurry figure loomed over her. She tried to fight it; but she heard a soft voice whispering to her, "Hermione, it's alright. You're safe… you're safe in here."
She didn't recognize the voice. This was not the voice from her dream, nor was it Ron's voice. Harry did not even sound like this. She knew that voice but she could not place it in her memory. The owner of that voice must been lost in her mind for a long time that she could not remember it. She took slow and deep breaths until her entire body relaxed. And just as she relaxed, her vision started fading again.
Year 2004. August 13th.
Twelve hours since Draco's arrival at St. Mungo's, he finally finished reviewing Granger's file and he resorted to reading Shakespeare's Hamlet. Seven years since the end of the war, Draco had managed to convince himself that the Muggle world was not too bad at all. Just like how he thought that Harry Potter wasn't bad as he imagined. He spent his free time involving himself with the Muggle world by reading through their literature, studying how mundane their lives in comparison to the Wizarding world, and learning to use Muggle equipment.
Muggle equipment proved to be handy in Draco's work and daily life. He was impressed at how Muggles survived without magic. For example, the coffee maker was rather a blessing to Draco for it saved him time to prepare coffee. Draco thought that the television was rather strange but he also found it entertaining at some point. All these efforts, of course, had been low-key. He did not hide that he was amazed by Muggles; but he did not also flaunt it like a nametag.
Draco was rather reserved. That was the reason why Draco was confused at Blaise's earlier reservation—Draco's personality revolved on reservation. Blaise had always expressed things; while Draco preferred privacy. The Daily Prophet had published articles about Draco and his family that were filled with lies, half-truths, and rumors; and Draco, during the peak of Death Eaters' fallout, fought the newspaper company at the Ministry to retract the articles. He did his best to keep his family out of the spotlight and forced the company to keep his affairs private. He hated being in the middle of chaos. He hated being the eye of the hurricane. Voldemort's ambitions destroyed Draco's. His Father strongly affirmed Voldemort's principles on blood-purity, and regardless of how Draco was raised, he did not want to end up like his Father. If he was anything, he wanted to believe that he was the opposite of Lucius.
Looking down at his right arm, he could see the faded Dark Mark that reminded him every day of his bad decisions. He took the Mark out of sheer panic and fear that Voldemort would hurt, or worse—kill, his mother. He made a choice to take it to save himself and his mother. There were other ways of coercion, he thought. Even free will can be twisted.
His confidentiality saved his family. His confidentiality maintained his family intact, even so he would do anything to cut Lucius out of the picture. He would if only his mother did not beg him to protect his Father. He loved his mother, more than anything in the world, for his mother was the only reason he was still alive and he still wanted to live.
Speaking of his mother, he heard a tapping on the nearby window. He immediately recognized the owl knocking with a note clipped between its beak. He sighed before standing to open the window. The owl stood on windowpane, and he thought about how he hated this owl, wishing that his mother would've used another owl. Before the owl could bite him, he snatched the telegram.
The telegram read: Dearest son, I read the daily papers. The news also had already circulated in the entire Wizarding world. My colleagues could not avoid the gossip during tea time. I might only ask how you are and if you knew of these matters. I do not wish to interfere; but I am rather alarmed and concerned. Please write to me soon. I love you. Your mother.
Draco sighed, folding the telegram into its previous form. He slid it in his pockets and returned to his seat. He wondered the reason for his mother's concern. Narcissa Malfoy was never related to Hermione Granger, or the Weasleys. She did not gossip. Narcissa was anything but curious. Draco knew that there had to be a reason as to why she asked about Granger.
Narcissa wrote him telegrams every day. She never missed a day when she would not ask her son how he had been. Draco believed that this was out of fear that she might lose her son as well; so telegrams were one way of telling herself that Draco was fine. Everyone was afraid. Even he was afraid—although he had refused to admit the existence of his fear. He even refused it to be seen by anyone, not even by his mother, because he believed that fear was an irrational feeling that will simply confuse and mislead him.
Even when his Father reprimanded him when Granger did better than him, he did not show the slightest hint of fear even if he hid in his bathroom—shaking—afterwards. He did not show anyone. It was a sign of weakness. It was a sign of brick falling apart and that his foundation was not strong enough; and he knew that that could be used against him.
He did not want to be Lucius. Draco set his attention on his work as an Auror. His Father wished that he managed their family business; but as Draco wanted nothing to do with his Father, he did not allow his Father's wished be granted as well. He trained to be an Auror after he finished his last year at Hogwarts and excelled at it. Being an Auror reminded him that he was not a Death Eater; that having the Dark Mark did not mean that he wanted to be a Death Eater. His work gave him a chance to prove to himself, and to the Wizarding world, that just as everyone else, he wanted the world to be a better place.
He shook the thought out of his head when it started giving him a migraine. Draco rubbed his temples as he sat on the bench. His mind wandered through each line of the book he was reading but nothing seemed to sink in. He sighed and allowed himself to recall because stopping it would rather be pointless. He would still think about it later; so it'd be better if he start recalling now and save himself from torment.
Draco wondered at other things. He wondered when Granger would wake up. He was tired from all the sitting and waiting; but she had not made any progress. There had been instances in which she had nightmares, as he would've guessed, but it stopped every once in a while. The Healer assured him that it was probably her subconscious attempting to solve the mystery of recent events. Draco had not known that it were possible. So he only watched her intently.
As he was about to return to his reading, the door creaked. It opened wide enough for someone to walk in, and with his eyes spying through his book, he saw Potter and the She-Weasel coming in. Ginerva Weasley had bloodshot eyes, presumably from all the crying. Her arm was linked around Potter's as if she were a scared little girl lost in a forest. Potter looked better, Draco thought, and indeed he looked rather decent compared to their previous meeting.
Draco dropped the book on his side. Potter gave him a small smile while his hand reassured Ginny that it was alright. Draco watched as Ginny's eyes looked through the room, and as soon as her eyes landed on Granger, she whimpered. She let out a sob at the sight of Granger.
"Malfoy," Potter called him. Draco turned at the sound of his name. "News?" Draco only shook his head. Well, there was nothing to report. There was no attack. Granger was still unconscious. The Healers think that it might take days for her to wake up. Same news as when Potter left.
Ginny sobbed. Draco stood and caught a deadly sneer from Ginny. Of course, Draco did not recoil. He was rather neutral. Draco may have cleared his family's involved in Voldemort's vicious ambitions; but he cannot change the mindset of some people. Especially, of course, when Draco also targeted the Weasleys before. They could not have easily forgotten him and his disrespectful remarks toward them.
"I cannot believe this is happening," Ginny cried. She fell into Potter's arms which made Draco internally roll his eyes. "Who would've done this?"
"Well," Draco began. "I've looked at Granger's file. It does not seem informative on who could've attacked her like this."
"For all we know, it could've been you," Ginny glared.
"Ginny!" Potter replied as he was startled by his girlfriend's remark. Draco waved it off. "You should not have said that." Draco hid his surprise when he heard Potter defend his honor as it was the only unexpected reaction he received. He waited for Potter to say something else but Draco figured that Potter might have lost his way in trying to defend Draco and agreeing with his girlfriend.
"What? Do you honestly believe that he would just simply change so quick and start liking Hermione? Or Ron? He has always been a prat to us—most especially to Hermione," Ginny snapped. Draco expected this much reaction. At some point, he had been waiting for all this to come out and he had been waiting a long time. "Remember how he rubbed it in Hermione's face the word 'mudblood'? He even called our family 'blood-traitors'!"
Draco wanted to defend himself. But it was pointless. Ginny's mind had been fixed to despise him, and it was a rather natural reaction for how he had treated them. Without a word, he watched Ginny stormed out of the room in distress. Potter remained in his post, sighing, across the room with Draco. Draco chuckled to himself and remarked, "That went well, don't you think?"
Potter groaned. Draco wanted to laugh at Potter's reaction but did not seemed fitting in their situation right now.
"Look, Potter, it was as expected. The She-Weasel has her reasons to loathe my entire being—actually, I give her family the permission to loathe me all they want for I do not give a damn," Draco stated. Silence filled in the gap between them. It was an uncomfortable silence, and Draco prayed hard that Potter would say anything before he fell out of awkwardness.
Finally, Potter asked, "How is she?"
Draco turned to the unconscious patient. How is she? He did not know. He could only observe. The Healers did not elaborate further whenever they checked on Granger. He only said, "She has nightmares every once in a while. She'd toss and turn on her bed, sweating and panting, as if she's being chased in her dreams."
"What? Why didn't you bother to call me?" Potter inquired. His ears perked up when he heard Draco.
"It was not important. She did not woke up. We still could not ask her anything," Draco rebuffed. "The Healers say that it might have been her subconscious waking her up…" Draco wished that he could say something else but he did not have the words. He hated it when he did not know what to say.
Potter moved to Granger's bedside. He watched her. Draco wondered what he was thinking at that moment and he did not know why it intrigued him so much. Potter and Draco were not close. They were not even friends. They worked together; but going over drinks and talking about personal life, that would quite a huge leap in their so-called 'acquaintance'. Their conversations mostly revolved on work.
When Potter expressed his fear of losing Granger as well, Draco felt uncomfortable that Potter was telling him about this. This was not something Draco had anticipated. This was something that Potter should be telling the Weasleys' or Thomas or whoever else he might've been close to, but not Draco Malfoy. Perhaps Draco thought that Potter did not have other choice in this twisted situation and coming to Draco for help was nothing but desperation. That was that, Draco thought, desperation it is.
"What are your plans in this investigation?" Draco asked, just so he could break the silence that has been threatening to form again.
Potter looked at him with a shrug. "I think talking to Hannah Abbot might be a start," Potter said, and buried his hands in his pockets.
"Hannah Abbot?" Draco asked as it seemed that he have been lost again in the conversation.
"Oh, didn't the Minister tell you?" Potter asked. Draco snorted at that question. "I suppose not." Draco wanted to ask what he meant by that, but before he could, Potter continued, "Hannah Abbot was the one who tumbled with Hermione in Diagon Alley. She had just closed her shop and on her way home when Hermione seemingly came out of nowhere… How about you?"
"Well, I don't plan on doing anything at the moment. I have yet to patiently wait for Granger to wake up before I could acquire all the information. And I also need her cooperation, and agreement, on the arrangements for her protection," Draco informed. It was a simple yet boring plan. Draco was getting impatient; and if only he could shake Granger to wake up, he would've done that already.
Potter moved toward the door, ready to leave, when he turned back to Draco. "Malfoy, please call me if Hermione moves even an inch," Potter said. Draco rolled his eyes; but he saw the eagerness and mostly concern in Potter's eyes, so Draco nodded. Without a word, Potter was gone.
Draco had lost all his resources of entertainment. He shared with Granger the dullest room, and even staying here drove him insane. Not long, the door opened again. Draco expected that Potter came back for whatever reason, but instead he saw Minister Shacklebolt come in. Draco's senses were alerted at the presence of the Minister, but the Minister simply nodded at his reaction.
The Minister paced, and asked, "Has there been any progress?" Draco told him the same things he told Potter. He was already getting tired of the same inquiries; but it seemed necessary since almost everyone in the Wizarding world were worried about their war-heroine. Of course, he was certain that they were also wondering, and eager, to receive the answer to their questions—the same questions that have plagued Draco's mind for the past twelve, or thirteen, hours.
"I brought more documents from Ms. Granger's office. You might want to scan through it," the Minister claimed. The door opened, revealing Blaise Zabini who escorted the Minister to St. Mungo's with a box full of paperworks. Great, Draco groaned internally. Just as when he was ready to fall asleep. He just hoped that this would waken him. "I had also persuaded the Daily Prophet to retract the article before Ms. Granger can see it. I'm sure she will be distressed if ever she knew about it. Might I request that you do not inform her of the article?"
Draco nodded. "Is there anything else you would like me to keep her from knowing?"
"You can tell her the situation. Of her fiancé's death. But leave out the conspiracy of her doing it," the Minister asked.
"You do know that she's bound to know about it one way or another, right," Draco informed the Minister. The Minister knew, of course, but there was also a slight possibility that she might not. "Fine, you have my word," Draco finally caved in. The Minister fell into silence. He must be in deep thought. So Draco broke the silence, "Have you informed her parents yet, Minister?"
The Minister frowned. "No, of course not. It would best if we did not." Draco felt the need to ask why not, but he didn't want to force onto the subject. Perhaps it was not his place to ask. Although, curiosity bothered him. He did his best to shake it off.
Draco shared a look with Blaise. Blaise stood by the door, waiting for the Minister, smirking. Draco could not think of something that Blaise would even been smirking about. This was not a situation appropriate for smirking. However, it might just be to irritate Draco, and Blaise was succeeding at it.
When the Minister and Blaise left after a few more reminders and words of farewell, Draco went over to the delivered box. He lifted the lid from its top and decided to start scanning the documents. It might be worth looking through as he waited for Granger to wake up.
Author's Note: There are two things I'll apologize to. First, I apologize for the short chapter. So far the plot is getting better. However, it may take me a little while before I can update again since my laptop broke down. Depends on how circumstances will be. Second, I realize that there were a few typo-grammatical errors in the previous chapter, so I apologize. I am fluent in English, however it is not my first language, so I have lapses. Anyway, thank you for the support. I would like to hear your comments and reactions about this chapter so please leave a review. It helps me write better. Any comment will do-regardless of how negative it is, I will still appreciate and welcome it. Thank you again.
PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling.
