Hermione could not believe what Harry had just told her. Her heart began pounding in her ears as she processed the information and then before she knew it, her hand was flying through the air before it found contact with his face. A loud smack resounded through the Common Room and people turned to look, but she didn't care.
"I told you that book was evil!" Her voice was shrill but she couldn't care less about how she looked or sounded. "I told you whoever wrote that was bad news and now look at what you've done! You could've killed him!"
Harry was staring at her incredulously, one hand up to his face where she'd left a stinging red mark. He tried looking to Ron for help, but the ginger just shrugged his shoulders, taking no sides.
"Just because one spell happened to be bad doesn't mean the entire book is bad!" Harry adjusted his glasses which she'd knocked askew and crossed his arms as he looked at her. "What do you care what happens to him, anyway?"
"Nothing," Hermione hoped her face wasn't betraying her by blushing as she lied. "But whether or not you kill another student at your school is absolutely of my concern."
Harry just shook his head while turning away, making to sit in one of the couches by the fire. She supposed hitting him had been a bit much, on top of his getting weekly detentions and not being able to play Quidditch any more. Or see Ginny. But she didn't care. He deserved it. As shitty a person as Malfoy had been in the past, he hadn't done anything like this. Just the sound of the curse, ripping through his skin and bleeding out on the bathroom floor, was enough to warrant at the very least a good slap across the face.
Hermione just curled up her hands into tiny fists at her sides as she watched Harry sit down, Ron moving to sit beside him. She couldn't take it anymore. Without another word or any explanation, she left the Common Room and made for the Hospital Wing.
As she half ran through the halls, she was reminded of when she'd rushed to Ron's aid after he'd been poisoned. Her flats slapping against the floor, being stopped by Malfoy in the halls. Even then he'd looked poorly, his skin pale and eyes dark. He didn't need this on top of all that he was going through.
Within minutes, she was at the entrance of the Wing. It was evening, visiting hours had to be over by now. She tried the door and surprisingly it opened under her touched. Quietly, she trod forward, scanning every bed in the long hall for the boy with blonde hair.
She found him in the same bed that Ron had occupied. His frame was thin and almost too long for the bed, but he filled the space and seemed at least somewhat comfortable, considering the massive bandages strapped across his chest that prevented him from wearing a shirt and kept him from being able to move. His eyes were closed and, as she got closer and closer to him, she could the thin veins that lined his eyelids, moving as his eyes seemed to dart back and forth under them. He was resting, but not easily. His slender hands were curled into fists on top of the sheets and when she reached out to touch his arm, all of his muscles were already tensed under his thin skin.
His eyes burst open and his head raised off the pillow at her touch, warm against his freezing skin. He tried to sit up to see who was with him, but couldn't without bending the bandages. His head flopped back onto his pillow and he turned his head on it to look at his visitor, pale hair falling into his eyes.
"Hermione?" His voice was groggy and confused as he struggled to focus on her face. She nodded, too concerned about him and whether or not Madame Pomfrey would walk in on her trespassing to notice him using her first name for once.
"I'm here," She moved her hand from his arm down to his hand, gently unfurling his fist so she could rest her hand on his.
"Who knew Potter had it in him," Malfoy turned his head back on his pillow to stare up at the ceiling, wincing as any movement seemed to disturb his wounds.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione said softly, "I know that I can't speak for him and he had no right to do what he did, but I'm sorry."
He looked at her through the corner of his pale grey eyes, searching her face. His lips tightened and he closed his eyes again, taking in a deep breath as if to calm himself.
"You've got a strange choice in friends, Granger," The corner of his mouth tugged up as he said it.
"Trust me," Hermione gave him a small smile back, squeezing his hand as lightly as she could. "I know."
She felt a wave of relief as he returned the pressure, bringing up his fingers to curl around hers. They sat there for a few moments, taking in the silence, drawing strength from each others touch. She couldn't believe she was in this situation, comforting someone she hated for so long but couldn't bring herself to hate now. Not when he was hurting so much. Not when he had so much to lose, all because of the world he was born into. She started tracing circles with her thumb on the pad of his as she contemplated what to say next.
"Is there-" She mulled the words over in her mind before she continued. "Is there anything else going on with you?"
Malfoy opened one of his eyes to look at her, the corresponding eyebrow raising in question. She smiled at the sight.
"I mean, besides being almost killed by one of my best friends, is there something else wrong?"
He let out a breath and took his hand from hers, bring both of his up to his face to rub at his eyes. He looked so tired, she felt guilty keeping him up like this. But she knew she was helping more than harming, or at least she hoped. She missed having his hand in hers the moment he withdrew it, but she was relieved when he decided to respond, hands still on his face.
"The Cabinet." He finally let out, dropping his hands and turning his whole head to look at her.
"The one you're using to communicate with your family?" Hermione recalled the tall, beaten up cupboard he'd pointed to in the Room of Requirement. He nodded.
"Basically, yeah. But I haven't heard from anyone in weeks. I don't know what's going on with my parents, and I still haven't figured out how to work it." His voice was gruff, thick with the sleep he was just in and frustration.
She stared back at him, unsure of how to respond. Going so long without knowing if your parents are dead or alive, if them living could even be called living in the state that they must be in, must be unbearable. Especially if their fates were riding on your shoulders. That's too much for anyone to handle, let alone a teenage boy who hadn't even finished his schooling yet. A teenage boy who looked like he was losing all hope, killing himself in the process of an impossible feat.
"What kind of a cabinet is it?" Hermione asked, suddenly struck by an idea.
"Vanishing Cabinet." He responded, puzzled. "It's twin is in Borgin and Burkes."
"So, basically, you vanish in one cabinet, reappear in the other?" She worked out it's purpose pretty easily. And she remembered that time when she, Harry, and Ron had followed him into Borgin and Burkes that summer, and Malfoy had mentioned the Cabinet then.
"Yeah," His face started to change into something resembling hope as he saw the expression on her face. She was staring down at him, determined about what she was going to do.
"I can help," She confirmed his suspicions, smiling down at him. "I will help. I'll take a look tomorrow, I promise."
"Are- are you sure?" Malfoy reached down and grabbed her hand where she'd left it beside him on the bed. He started to lean up slightly towards her. He knew she was more clever than he was, maybe she actually had a chance of fixing the damned thing.
"Yes," Hermione responded, more confidently than she really felt. Doing this would be actively helping him, but she couldn't find any way around it. She couldn't just leave him to keep working in vain, to go home to any empty mansion; empty except for the corpses of his family. She used to think that in life there was only right and wrong, but know she knew there were a million shades of grey, all of which she saw in his eyes. Along the way you just had to hope you were picking the right shade, which she hoped she was doing now. She intertwined her fingers with his and gave his hand another comforting squeeze, reassuring him further of her choice.
"Thank you," The words came out on a breath as his eyes started to flutter close. He needed rest so he could heal.
She leaned forward in her chair, ready to stay the night. And there, holding his hand in hers, she knew that this couldn't be wrong. She couldn't be wrong. She was helping someone in need, something her own parents had always taught her to do. Slowly, she rested her head on the bed beside him, her hair brushing his arm, and she followed him into a slumber where she had the most glorious dreams she'd ever had; filling her with hope and peace and comfort in times of such unrest.