DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: WARNING! This chapter contains mild descriptions of torture. I have raised the rating accordingly.
Not For the Faint of Heart
Chapter 4: The Dream
Hermione ran down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door into the garden. She went to her bench and hid herself behind the roses, sitting down and catching her breath. Her thoughts were all jumbled as she desperately tried to make sense of what had just happened.
What was I thinking? How could I have done something so idiotic? I kissed Malfoy; which stands to reason that I must not have been thinking at all. It was a rather nice kiss, however. His lips were very soft. No! You will not think about his lips! He's Draco Malfoy – Evil Incarnate, Junior. You know as soon as you go back to your bedroom, he's going to hound you about that kiss. And he probably won't leave the Pettigrew thing alone either. She lay down on her back, putting her arms behind her head, and staring up at the stars through the trellis above her. What am I going to do? How am I going to fix this? Malfoy still needs to take two doses of the blood replenishing potion or I'd chuck him out right now. But I can't just toss him out on his ear if he isn't fully healed yet. It just wouldn't be right. She continued pondering the dilemma she had placed herself in, until she finally fell into a troubled sleep.
Hermione was walking down an unfamiliar corridor. It didn't look like Hogwarts, but more like Sirius' house in Grimmauld Place. There was dark wood panelling and elegant silvery green wallpaper on either side of her. At the end of the corridor, there was a set of double doors. As she drew nearer to the doors, she could hear someone whimper. When she was close enough, she looked through the space between the two doors and saw Draco Malfoy curled up on the floor inside.
"So Draco, you think yourself too good for the Dark Lord. You are a disgrace to all you have been taught." Lucius Malfoy walked up to his son and kicked him in the stomach. Draco grunted as the blow hit him, but stayed still.
"I disagree, Father," he said quietly. "You have taught me that a Malfoy does not take orders, he gives them. You have also taught me that as a pure-blooded wizard, I am superior to Mudbloods and half-bloods. I will not submit myself and blindly obey that half-blood maniac as you do." As he said this, Draco slowly got to his feet, swaying slightly.
"You ignorant child!" Lucius spat, smacking Draco across the face. "The Dark Lord is more powerful than you can imagine. In fact," he said, smiling malevolently, "I believe it is time to show you just how powerful I have become in his service. Come." Lucius grabbed Draco's upper arm and pulled him toward the doors where Hermione was standing.
Panicking, Hermione jumped away from the doors just before they flew open in front of father and son. Lucius walked past her as if she wasn't standing there, but as Draco was pulled past, he locked eyes with her. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he seemed to whisper her name.
Drawn by some inexplicable force, Hermione followed the two Malfoys. She was led through dark corridors and down staircases, until finally they came to a cell. Entering the cell, the elder Malfoy threw his son to the ground, then murmured a spell that wrenched Draco up face first against the wall and tied him there by his wrists.
"Now, Draco, you will understand the power that the Dark Lord gives to his faithful followers." Lucius then said something that Hermione could not understand. She knew it wasn't Latin based and tried to decipher it, but before she got far, she was distracted by the effects of the spell. It was as if Draco was being flogged by an invisible person. His grey silk shirt was being shredded as his body jerked with every blow, but he didn't utter a sound. Blood began to seep from the wounds as the lashing continued. Hermione gasped loudly and covered her eyes with her hands.
"You see, Draco? All the fun of a whipping and no one has to get sweaty and dirty. Well, I think that's enough for the moment. Turn around." Hermione peeked through her fingers to see what was happening. Lucius waved his wand and Draco was unbound, spun around, and bound again. Draco looked up and locked eyes with her again, mouthing the words 'Granger, help.' "Let's try something else," Lucius said. "Here's a classic that I know you'll appreciate. Crucio!" The curse hit Draco in the stomach, and he writhed in pain, biting his lower lip to stay silent. He seemed determined not to let his father hear him scream.
Horrified that the man would do this to his own son, and sincerely wishing to help Draco, Hermione went into crisis mode. Ignoring all possibilities that she might be hurt herself, she ran over to Lucius and tried to stop him. She yelled at him, but he couldn't seem to hear her. She stood in front of him to distract him, but he couldn't see her either. She attempted to slap him, but her hand just went right through him. Mystified, she stepped back from the madman in front of her. She didn't understand why it was that Draco could see her, but to Lucius it was if she wasn't there. She turned back to the boy being tortured who was still looking at her with pleading eyes. Thinking hard, she tried to come up with a plan of action. Something seemed very familiar about this situation.
"Ah, the old tried and true methods are so reliable, but there's something that I've been developing that needs a trial run." Lucius raised his wand again, and fired a curse at each of Draco's legs. Crying out, Draco slumped, but was held up by his bound wrists. "Perfect. I'll leave you to contemplate your decision. However, I'd best cover you up first. Your mother would be furious if you caught cold while you were down here." He waved his wand, and a cloak appeared around Draco's shoulders. Hermione was baffled at the incongruity of Lucius' actions toward his son. "I shall return in…oh…whenever I feel like it." Saying this, Lucius left the cell, locking the door behind him.
Hermione rushed over to Draco and tried to help, but she found that her hands passed right through him as well. She didn't know if she was a spirit or something else, but she was getting very frustrated. "How badly are you hurt?" she asked him.
"I'm not sure," he whispered, obviously in great pain. "Granger, what's going on? How are you here?" He seemed desperate to know the answers to these questions.
"I don't know. All I know is I'm here, but I can't help you. I don't seem to have a corporeal form." She was very irritated with this fact. "Can you Apparate?" she asked him. She knew that if she could get him to her house, then she could help.
He nodded slowly. "I have my license, and I think I can get through the wards, but Lucius took my wand. I'd rather not Apparate in this state without it, I'll splinch myself." His face was twisted in pain.
"You have to try. You need medical attention. If you can get to the grove of trees behind my house, I can help you." Hermione tried to convey to him mentally the location he needed to get to so she could find him. She saw him trying to concentrate, and she willed him to have the focus that he needed to Apparate with his injuries. She didn't know if this was a vision or a hallucination, but she was starting to realize that the injuries that had just been inflicted upon Draco were the same as the ones he had when she had found him earlier.
With a loud crack, he was gone. Hermione felt herself being pulled away as well, the dungeon cell fading into darkness.
Hermione opened her eyes and found herself on her bench in the garden behind her home. The sky was beginning to lighten, indicating that dawn was coming. Was it a dream? Had her subconscious invented the whole thing? Or, was it a vision of what had happened to Draco before he disrupted her holiday? If so, what had happened after he had Apparated? Where had the owl come from? She had always discounted Divination, mostly because of that fraud Trelawney, but this vision, or dream, or whatever it was had seemed so real. Wondering about the implications of the entire experience, she went back into the house.
Exhausted beyond reason, but not ready to confront Draco quite yet, Hermione lay down on the couch in the living room. She pulled her wand from her pocket, changed her clothes into pyjamas, and summoned a novel from the bookshelf. Opening it to a random page, she laid it on her chest so her parents would think she had fallen asleep while reading. When did I become so devious? she asked herself. But I don't want them to think that something's wrong in my room. Dad will investigate, and then he'll find Draco. Wait a minute, when did I start calling him Draco? Figuring she was so tired she just couldn't think straight, she closed her eyes and gave in to the oblivion of sleep.
Someone was shaking her, calling her name. Hermione reluctantly opened her eyes and saw her mother standing over her. Groaning softly, she sat up.
"You must have fallen asleep while reading, dear," her mother said. "You looked uncomfortable here on the couch, so I decided to wake you. But why were you down here? You usually read in bed before you fall asleep."
Thinking quickly, Hermione replied, "Well, Crookshanks kept pouncing on my feet, so I shut him in my room to settle down and came down here to read for a little while. Oh, he must still be stuck in my room! I hope he hasn't ruined anything." Jumping up from the couch, she hurried past her mother up the stairs to her room.
Opening her bedroom door cautiously, Hermione peeked in. Draco was sleeping on his side, facing away from her, his hair tousled from sleep. Crookshanks was curled up in the small of his back. It was an adorable arrangement, if one didn't factor in Draco's personality. Hermione wished she had a camera to preserve the moment. Coming into the room completely, and closing the door behind her, she walked over to the bed and picked up the cat.
"Come on, Crooks, it's time for your breakfast," she whispered, not wanting to disturb her patient. However, as soon as the weight and warmth of the cat was gone from his back, he rolled over and looked at Hermione. "Oh, Draco," she said, surprised. "You're awake."
"Yes, Granger, thank you for telling me," he drawled. "I would never have figured it out for myself." He paused, realizing what else she had said. "Wait, what did you call me?"
Confused by his question, she thought about the statement she had just made and realized she had called him Draco. Startled, she put her hands over her mouth, causing her to drop Crookshanks, who growled and darted under the bed. "I, er, called you Draco," she said through her hands.
"Might I ask why a filthy little Mudblood like you would dare to call me by my given name?" he sneered, sitting up.
Hermione sat at the foot of the bed, resisting the urge to slap him for his insult, and thought about the question instead. Why did I call him Draco? What happened to calling him Malfoy? She slowly realized that she had been thinking of him as Draco ever since her dream the night before. In her mind, 'Malfoy' now referred to his evil bastard of a father. She looked down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap and said quietly, "I had a very strange dream last night about you and your father."
"Y-you did?" she heard him stutter. Glancing up, she saw fear in his eyes for a moment before they returned to the normal façade of indifference.
"Tell me, was it real?" she asked him, practically begging. "Did all that really happen, or did my subconscious come up with the entire scenario to explain your injuries? Though," she continued, babbling to herself, "I don't think I want to know if my subconscious is that twisted. A father wouldn't really do that to his own son, would he? I mean, it's just so horrifying to think that someone could do that to another human being. No one is that heartless, are they? I just-"
"Granger!" he interrupted. "Stop your inane prattle!" She blushed, embarrassed, and looked back down at her hands. He continued. "Pray tell, what exactly did you see in this infamous dream of yours?"
Staring at her lap the entire time, she slowly recounted what she had seen and experienced. By the time she got to the point where his father had broken both of Draco's legs, quiet tears were running down her cheeks. When she finished her narration, she sat quietly, waiting for him to refute the entire story.
"Well, Granger," he sighed, "I think it's safe to say that your subconscious mind is not as deranged as one might wish. There might be hope, however; perhaps hallucinations are becoming contagious."
"You mean-" she began, furtively wiping the tears from her eyes before glancing up at him.
"Yes, that is exactly what happened to me." He had a very neutral expression on his face as he said this.
"Including my part in it?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"What do you mean?" she asked angrily. "I saved your life, you ungrateful wretch!"
"You are wrong about that, my dear Miss Granger," he said silkily, "I am truly grateful for your help, even if I now have a life debt to a Muggle-born."
"A life debt?" she asked, calming slightly. "What is that?" She was wary of his motives in being somewhat nice to her. She may have kissed him, but she still didn't trust him. An idle thought that Draco's voice sounded like Professor Snape on a good day came to her mind, but anxious to hear Draco's explanation, she filed it away for future contemplation.
"Surely you've read about the concept of wizarding life debts, Granger." She shook her head. "No? Well basically, since you saved my life, I owe you a life in return, preferably your own. There will be a magical bond between us until that life is repaid. And Malfoys always repay their debts."
"Well," she said, still trying to figure out his agenda, "It's time for you to take another dose of blood replenishing potion." She stood up from the bed and went over to her desk to get a vial of the potion. She handed the potion to Draco, who took it, allowing his fingers to graze along her palm in the process. Startled by the sensuousness of the contact, she snatched her had back.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"Whatever do you mean, Granger?" he drawled in reply, a curious look in his eyes.
"Just now, that…Oh, forget it." Raising his eyebrow at her agitation, he drank the potion, handing the vial back to her. She took it, careful not to touch him again. "My parents should have left for their surgery by now, so if you would like, you can come downstairs and have some breakfast. You should be strong enough." From her calculations, Draco hadn't had anything to eat for at least thirty-six hours, so he must be very hungry. As if on cue, there was a growl from his stomach. His eyes widened, and a slight embarrassed flush came to his cheeks.
"Actually, Granger, contrary to my stomach's belief, the most pressing need I have at the moment is to use the toilet. Where is it?" He got out of the bed slowly as he said this, and stood in front of her, shaking.
"Oh, goodness, you haven't been since you arrived, have you?" Hermione was mortified that she hadn't thought of this before. "It's across the hall, next to the stairs. Do you need any help?"
"I am perfectly capable of taking care of it myself, Granger, but thank you for the thought." Saying this, he went to the door, opened it, and headed to the loo.
Hermione sank down onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. I can't believe I just asked him if he needed help going to the toilet. What's even more unbelievable is that he thanked me for thinking of him. Perhaps he has a head injury after all. I'm not that good at the diagnostic spells yet. Just then, Draco sauntered back into the room, shirtless.
"If it isn't too much trouble, Granger, could I perhaps have a change of clothes? My trousers are stiff with blood, and this shirt is hideous. I couldn't stand to wear it any longer. Where on earth did you find it, the rubbish heap?"
"For your information, Malfoy, that is one of my father's favourite shirts." Although I've never figured out why. She grabbed the blue paisley shirt from him, and laid it over her desk chair.
"Well, then your father must have horrendous taste in clothing," he sneered. Then his eyes turned pleading. "I would really like some breakfast, but I would also like to clean this blood off me."
"You can have a shower then," she said, going back into 'Madam Pomfrey' mode. "I'll get you a change of clothes and a towel and leave them outside the bathroom door. I'll probably have breakfast ready by the time you're done." She was confused by his sudden mood changes. One moment he was his usual sneering self, and the next he seemed like a lost little boy. She didn't know what to think.
Draco nodded in confirmation of her instructions, and went back into the bathroom. Hermione then went to the linen closet and pulled out a clean towel and a flannel. She then went into her parent's bedroom. In the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, she found her father's old jogging suit. He had given up the sport some years ago, and was now just letting himself go. She figured Draco wouldn't want to wear something quite so Muggle, so she laid the clothes on the bed and transfigured them into a more sophisticated outfit; a pair of charcoal trousers and a white button-down oxford shirt. She took a pair of her father's boxers out of the top drawer, hoping they would fit, and then folding all the clothes together with the towels, set them on the floor outside the bathroom door.
Five minutes later, Hermione was downstairs fixing breakfast for herself and Draco, when she heard a knock at the front door. Turning down the heat on the eggs, she walked to the front hall and opened the door. Startled by who was there, and dismayed at what he would do if he found out who was in the shower upstairs, she almost slammed the door in his face. Standing on the front step was the last person she wanted there that particular morning.
Ronald Weasley.