WILTED CELANDINE

Chapter Twelve

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First person, Hermione's POV

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The screaming. It had gone on for what seemed forever. Ever since he had woken up this morning, the demon, the half-vampire, had been screaming. It was horrifying.

I felt like my head would split. Even when not near enough to the hospital wing to hear the raving screams of Draco, the sound echoed in my mind. I knew that I was the cause of his pain, and of his hopelessness. Never had his existence seemed so bleak.

How did I know this? Because I knew him. In the middle of the night I had crept into the hospital wing, and listened to the bloodsucker's mumbled nightmares. He was born from pain, death, and ruthlessness, and yet he lived those horrors each day and night. My heart was beginning to become frozen. I feared that it would soon become as rock-hard as his, for the darkness encased in that demon was seeping into me. It was almost as if his Bite really had poisoned me.

But I had found what I knew to be important. A locket that I only glanced at once before, in the locker room, had hung around his neck on a silver chain. It was an oval shaped locket, made of glass, painted a light, peaceful, sky blue color. Deceiving. It belied his true nature. Upon carefully opening it—with much difficulty to find the proper charm to unlock such powerful magic—I found inside it no pictures, nought but a simple sprig of a plant.

Yet I had recognized the healthy, blooming flower for what it was immediately. Celandine. The four petals, formed in the shape of a cross, appeared to be, at first glance, a member of the order Cruciferce. But in fact it was not. This plant, related to Poppies, was highly poisonous, fatal unless treated soon after poisoning. Any contact with the orange juice, which comes from the Celandine stem or leaves, and the acrid, powerful irritant works its terrors.

This plant had been used in Potions class earlier this semester! Goyle had accidentally knocked my potion on me, and immediately my skin had reacted to the Celandine poison. My eyes widened in surprise at the remembrance. How ironic.

Celandine had begun this change in my life, this sudden involvement with Draco Malfoy, the half-vampire who had managed to make me hate and simultaneously become entranced by him. Perhaps Celandine could mend the situation, too? It could be just the cure I had been searching for.

The question was, the cure to what? To the magnetic way I felt linked to Draco Malfoy? To the stirring in my heart that said I couldn't let go of his tortured soul? The sudden entrancement and need to associate with Draco, and help him solve his problem?

I hoped desperately that it would be the cure to all of these things. Or at least to what made me regret feeling any of them.

I awoke with a quick jolt, wondering how I had managed not to hear my alarm ring. No wait, not alarm. No digital clock. That was only for at home. I was at Hogwarts, so that meant my wake up call was instead a consistent beeping noise spell that my wand would put into effect at a certain tick of the dormitory clock. But that hadn't been what had woken me up.

Hastily shoving the hair from my face, I sat up, and promptly let out a startled yell. OUCH! A sharp pang of pain had shot across my torso when I had done that, and the light brush of my cotton pajamas against my back hurt for some reason. And…wait…why was I in the hospital wing?

Waving my hand, I soon got Madam Pomfrey to stop at the foot of my bed, and that was when I asked her, "Excuse me? What happened? Why I am I here?"

"Why, Miss Granger, I would think you would remember! Two of your fellow Housemates found you unconscious in a little corner of the library. You just happened," here she tsk-ed loudly, "to have opened a very dangerous book. From the Restricted Section, of all places! You somehow managed to unlock the gigantic old thing, apparently, but the warding spells, being a bit rusty, seemed to have caught you off guard and hit you all at once."

Taking this all in quickly with a simple nod, I asked, "What are my ailments, Ma'am, and when can I get out?"

"A broken bone in your wrist, a horrible gash on your poor back, and several awful bruises. Perhaps a twisted ankle, too. You're lucky it wasn't anything more than a disarming spell. You would be ready to go out by now, but I've been so busy with your neighbor that I haven't had time to even make your healing potions, talk about letting you take them and having you sit and wait a few hours. I decided to simply let you rest and focus instead on young Malfoy over there."

I blinked as the woman walked over to the bed to my right, pulling closed my curtains and, I supposed from the rattling noise, pulling open another patient's curtains. I almost groaned in aggravation. Here I was stuck in the hospital wing, valuable time being wasted, and I was stuck next to the very person I had been trying to avoid and not think about.

Unable to hold back my curiousity, I stood up on my bed with great difficulty, and looked over to see what Malfoy, whom I had dubbed "Noisy Bloodsucking Ferret," was up to. I hadn't expected to see him healthy, of course, but had at least expected him back to his usual nasty, condescending Slytherin self.

However, I got quite a surprise. The half-vampire looked very pale—paler than usual, I mean—and his eyes were closed in this oddly solemn, calm way. One hand tightly clutched the blankets, and the other set down the bottle of medicine he'd just been forced to gulp, before brushing back his silvery hair from his face.

Yes. Brushing back his hair from his face. For once, the git was without his gel, and had lost the slick, sleek, I'm-a-nasty-Slytherin-you'd-better-beware look. But he was still a prissy pretty-boy. Oh yes. The way his platinum-blonde locks fell gracefully against his scalp as he brushed them away, the way his long lashes contrasted beautifully with his silvery eyes. And his face was so perfect, so utterly flawless. It was almost frightening that this boy could have such beauty.

I reminded myself sharply that his beauty was only physical. Inside he was dark and wicked. No more wasting thought on that rascal, Hermione, I told myself sharply. But then I found my gaze wavering back to his eyes. How intense they were, so unreadable…his irises were bright yet also contained a glint of something sinister. They were like liquid fire…

I squeaked as suddenly I realized that he had been watching me almost the entire time. Every glance of mine stare at his eyes had been his gaze locking on me. Quickly I fell back onto a lying down position on my bed, groaning loudly as the pain shot through me again in yet another spasm.

It was dusk, the sun's feeble rays barely falling through the windows anymore. Madam Pomfrey was finished checking on all her patients—I surmised that it was only I and the half-vampire—and all was quiet. Too quiet, I thought, barely brave enough to laugh at my own lame joke. I had watched way too many Muggle movies during the summer.

I lay there for what seemed eternity, waiting for something to happen, wanting peace, yet also unable to not be filled with anticipation. I wanted something to happen, I admitted. This was one of my only times at the hospital wing, and I had only been awake for a half hour or so, yet already realized how boring it was. I was so used to being busy, yet here I was with so much time. My mind, of course, was totally blank as of what to do. There was absolutely no source of entertainment, or even something to study or read, available.

I sighed loudly, looking up as the curtain was pushed aside, and the half-vampire came to sit on my bed. For some reason, I wasn't afraid. I wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps it was because I felt that, since I had gone through the worst of it, there wasn't much left that was unexpected. Or it could have been because I had stolen what was dear to him and thus had the advantage. Then again, maybe I was confident because I felt I knew him well now.

I suddenly realized how foolish I was, as he leaned in, his eyes boring into mine, one hand on my shoulder. I wasn't near as frightened as before, yet apprehension still filled me. Draco Malfoy was still unpredictable. Suddenly I remembered the bite, and the kisses, and I didn't want him near me anymore. I didn't want to feel that conflict take over my concentration again, and I didn't want to experience any more pain.

I made sure not to blink as he stared at me down the length of his nose. Then his fingers tugged lightly on the chain around my neck, pulling my silver cross from underneath my white hospital robes. He pulled it up closer to his eyes to gaze at it in the slight light. I watched as his fingers, so long and aristocratic, twisted the tiny sterling silver cross around and around. Crosses had no effect against vampires; from what I had read, that was a myth, just as holy water and garlic being effective also was myth.

My eyes widened as he bent down to bite the chain, the cross momentarily in his mouth before he slipped it into his pocket. Grinning at me, he whispered, "In exchange for what you stole from me, I'm taking this. It's only fair."

How dare he! My mother had given that cross to me, and I had kept it close to my heart for many years. It was important, and he thought he could just take it from me like that? How dare he claim that it was fair! It was not! His locket and Celandine were replaceable! My cross, a sincere gift, almost able to be called a family heirloom, was not!

I was about to open my mouth and give him a piece of my mind, when Malfoy—I refused to see him as the likable 'Draco' I had taught Herbology lessons to—put a finger to my mouth. Brushing a curl of hair from my forehead with his other hand, he whispered, "Ssshh. You don't need a voice for this."

Did I even want to know what he meant? A voice for what? Just as I contemplated biting his finger and then berating him as well as asking him to be decent and start making sense, I felt something tickle my chest. Sitting up, I realized that Malfoy was dangling the broken chain that had held my cross right at my neckline, about to drop it down into my robes. I grabbed his hand in protest, but was a moment too late. The tickle of metal slid down my skin as the chain fell into my robes. Frowning, I shot Malfoy a glare, and stood up to try and shake the thing out of my clothes.

Unfortunately, the hospital robes were quite complicated. Instead of being simple like our ordinary school robes, there was a tight cloth wrapped around my body—almost like a strapless dress—and then over that was a normal pair of robes. However, over that was a coat, which, instead of being normal, had the two sleeves, separated, and tied to close at the front and back. Malfoy had made sure that the chain got stuck in between two layers of clothing—the under cloth, and the normal robe, stuck at my waistline by the silly coat thing.

Repressing a shriek of anger, I wiggled around in quite a silly way, trying to shake the chain out, probably looking much like a dancing baboon of sorts. I could see that Malfoy was shaking in muffled laughter, and this angered me even more. I gasped as the chain slid down to an extremely uncomfortable position, and quickly wiggled a bit more to force it away from the area. I began to despair however, as I found that having the coldness against my thigh was no improvement in comfortableness.

Finally, after three or so minutes, I gave up, and grumbling quietly, I sat down, feet dangling off the edge of the bed. My harsh glare stopped Malfoy from further teasing me, and instead he obeyed my unvoiced commands and untied the coat for me. I had just got the robe over my head, and stood wearing nought but a tightly fitting thin cloth wrapped snugly around me, when I realized Malfoy was still there, and was looking at me.

The wretched boy! Vampiristic or not, he was just as insensitive, disrespectful, and hormonal as any adolescent male. I raised a hand to slap him, but he caught my wrist, and grabbing my other wrist, he managed to drag me back to lie on the bed. I scratched and kicked, but to no avail. Eventually he put a gag in my mouth—he still had his wand. Grabbing my hair—OUCH—to pull my ear but inches from his mouth, he whispered fiercely, "Do you want me to tie you up? Do you want to be humiliated? If you want your hands and ankles to be tied while I do my business, by all means, continue struggling. But I must warn you; you may accidentally get another broken bone if you continue being so stubborn. I don't want this to be forced. I don't want to have to control you to make you enjoy this. You've already destroyed my life enough as it is by knowing my secrets, so can you give me some respect and let me do this gently, without you interrupting?"

I managed to push the gag out with a bit of gnawing and jaw twisting. "Respect? RESPECT? You want my respect?" I was outraged. "I think you've got it all wrong. Draco Malfoy, you-this-I-ludicrous! All of this! Absolutely insane! You're the one manhandling and abusing me. I think it's more a question of you respecting me, rather than the other way around."

For a few moments, his guard was down, and he stared at me in shock, eyes unusually wide. But then he quickly switched to a new mood, and smirking, he said, "Alright, alright. I'll respect you and stop…manhandling you. As for abuse, that is a harsh word to use, and if it was abuse—which none of it was—then that's only because you rebelled! Remember our bargain? I told you I'd answer your questions if you didn't rebel."

Trembling in rage, I hissed, "Okay then, Mister Malfoy, answer one more question for me: What is it that you want from me?"

"I want you to accept your fate, damnit!" I jumped at the volume of his voice, and then stared as he continued. "You didn't understand before! When I said that," his voice lowered to a nearly inaudible whisper, "When I said that you were mine, I meant it literally. You're a vampire victim, Hermione, whether you like it or not. I didn't mean to choose you, but you've gotten the Bite. Whether you like it or not, you're mine now. My energy source. My…listen. Here's how it works with vampires like me. I'm only half vampire, I'm psychic, and I'm cursed. People like me have phases.

"Phase One: becoming a vampire. I was born one, so forget that. Phase Two: beginning the cycle. That means that I begin a cycle of biting, a pattern of sorts. Each vampire has their own pattern, according to their own personal circumstances. I'm psychic, so I need energy. What better place to get energy than at school? So, I began at age eleven. It was easy! All I needed to get energy was to touch a person for a certain length of time, or even a belonging of theirs. A simple borrowing of a book and then returning it; looking over a fellow Slytherin's Potions essay; using a used knife to butter my toast. Easy. But the rest wasn't easy; my pattern. I had to do what I had to do. You don't want to know the details.

"But anyway, the point is, my pattern has changed now. Instead of going from donor to donor—donor is the vampire's word for whom we suck blood from—I have chosen one donor. One person now will give blood and energy. If I am deprived for a long enough while, as I now have been for weeks, then the options of how I get my energy become minimal. That's when my curse kicks in. Remember the story about the magical pool? That effects me all the time, but I only go that extreme with donors if I've lost energy enough to need it just to do daily things. I know it's complicated, and it takes getting used to, but…I'm sure you will eventually."

My mind was spinning. This was so confusing! And frustrating, really. It seemed to be that I was now Draco Malfoy's slave! "So wait," I said, "let me get this straight. You suck blood like a normal vampire, for food and drink. You don't need to eat as much as humans do. Since you're a psychic vampire, you drain energy from people, and use that energy for yourself. Any type of physical contact of you using something of theirs, or touching them, gives you their energy. Is that right?"

He nodded. "And," I continued, "Due to your curse of feeling," I gulped nervously, glad for the darkness that hid my blush, "unusually extreme sex desire, you occasionally, um…" now my blush was so hot I could feel it.

I continued before he could finish my sentence, "You used your donors' bodies as well, when it was needed. But usually you only used the bodies of your donors—young virgin girls, I presume—when you lacked the energy to go about doing daily things, and got ill enough to have a hard time breathing and such. Otherwise, you simply used donors to suck blood and nick a bit of energy here and there, correct? And I also assume that you switched from donor to donor, used an improvised Memory Charm to make them forget, only did this once a week or four times a month or something consistent like that. And Annika Stein was your first mess-up. Now you're saying that instead of that pattern, I am to be your one and only 'donor,' your source of blood and…energy. Correct?"

Draco nodded twice, and clapping me on the back—causing me to wince at the pain given to the injury I had there—he said, "Well done. I knew you would figure it all out. That's the girl I'm used to. Not confused and knickers-tied-in-knots Granger, but the smart-arse Granger."

I ignored his comments. "Granger? I thought a little while ago it was Hermione? And what am I to call you? Master? Lord? Oh Almighty Bloodsucker? Destroyer of my life?"

As I couldn't help but chuckle, he shot me a withering glare, saying, "Just Draco will do. And when in public, Malfoy is fine. Now remember—"

"'Don't tell anybody, living or dead, anything that you just heard, or else!'" I recited, mimicking what I knew he was about to say. Draco brushed his hair away from his face again, nodding. Then he leaned back to lie down beside me, sighing loudly.

I stared at Draco for a few moments, wondering what life would be like with so much association with him, before lying down to snuggle against him. My head rested on his chest, and one hand of mine was combing through his hair, while the other wrapped around his waist. I was too tired to stress about everything he'd told me, and currently, I just wanted someone to be beside me, to comfort me.

It was nice having him so close, for some reason. I loved the smell of his cologne, and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The soft cotton of his white hospital uniform rubbed nicely through the thin cloth of what I wore. His hand, firm and callused, was reassuringly clasping mine, and the touch of his skin—what little his top left uncovered—against my cheek was smooth and soft.

I lifted my head up as a little groan came from Draco's throat, and I felt him fidgeting slightly beside me. Tilting my head so that my mouth was right by his ear, I whispered, "What's wrong?" He moaned, and then his hand pulled away from mine, and instead went to cup my cheek tenderly. I began to become worried. Why was he all of a sudden so needy and sensitive? What did he want?