Chapter 2: Date the Girl Who Has All the Answers
"Who do you think it is this time?" Goyle questioned as Snape led them back to the dungeons after the cancelled Quidditch game.
"A mudblood, no doubt," Theo answered, nudging Draco.
There was a sickening feeling in Draco's stomach as he snuck a covert glance at the Gryffindors in the corridor ahead of them. A head of bushy brown hair was notably missing and the stone sank further into his gut. He faked a scoff. "Obviously. They're the only enemies of the Heir around here."
"It's still a student," Tracey murmured, looking wide-eyed and frightened. It was no wonder, with her being half-muggle herself.
"Yes, well, Father says he's nearly gotten the Board of Governors convinced to get Dumbledore out. If there was an attack, this is likely his final day as Headmaster," Draco replied, finally tearing his gaze away from the Gryffindors as they turned to head up to their Tower.
"Can't come soon enough, if you ask me," Crabbe piped up.
"A good thing no one asked you then, Mr. Crabbe," Snape drawled, pointing down the staircase that led to their common room.
"You're going to try for the position, right, professor?" Draco asked and the others all chimed in their agreement.
"Provided the school remains open," the teacher answered and he watched until the last student filed in and the wall sealed shut.
Draco had never considered the idea of Hogwarts closing. Was there ever a time such a thing had happened? The thought of returning home to wait out the capture of whomever—or whatever—was attacking students brought an uneasiness to his mind. His father would push him toward Durmstrang, while his mother would hire a team of private tutors to visit the Manor.
He flopped onto a couch, feigning boredom though his mind was full of worry. The chatter of his peers addled his brain and he looked at the room as a whole. "Will you all shut up? Going on like a bunch of pecking hens."
No sooner had he said this did the Bloody Baron swoop through the tapestry of Salazar Slytherin. "Two more petrified," he announced.
"Mudbloods?"
The Baron winced at the choice of words, fancying himself more refined than the ease with which they spewed bigotry. As though a man who killed his love interest and then himself could ever be considered refined. "Aye. One. And a half-breed."
Draco's eyes immediately turned to Tracey, as did every other person's. "We're all safe then," he ground out, watching as she leapt to her feet with a sob. She always was the weakest Slytherin. Probably her muggle heritage. Don't even try that, Malfoy. Granger's face swam behind his eyelids as he clenched his eyes shut.
"Who is it?" Pansy asked, watching Tracey's retreating back and smoothing a hand over her skirt.
A glance around the room told him that the others were all nervous under their stoic, haughty exteriors. She ran her hands over her pleats repeatedly. Theo ran a hand through his hair. Daphne had the grace to look appalled.
"A Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw girl. The one who chases after the pretentious Weasley boy," the Baron answered, moving to a tray of fruit and cheese by the fire, wistfully placing his fingers near a grape.
He wasn't certain which girl he was referring to twittering after a Weasley, though he couldn't necessarily call Ron Weasley pretentious. An imbecile, maybe, but he lived too far into his brothers' shadows to be pretentious. Still, he tried to picture the Gryffindor crowd heading to their tower. Granger's was the only head he can recall missing. None of the rest were remotely remarkable enough to be noticed in absence.
Blood rushed north, staining his cheeks a fiery crimson as his ears began to ring. She was petrified. A glance at the master astrology-based clock in the corner of the room told him the mandrakes wouldn't be ready for nearly two lunar cycles.
The others were talking around him, a hushed din of speculations. "...wonder who the Heir is…" "...two students at once…"
"...has to be Granger…" They'd gone round and round about who the Heir may have been and fallen short each time. For the first time, Draco thought he might like to duel the bastard when his identity was revealed.
"You alright, mate? You're looking rather...red."
Draco gave Theo a nod and plastered a sneer across his face. "If it is Granger, then she'll make an uglier statue than even Horog the troll." The others snickered and he felt the blood in his veins tingle as it coursed through him. He felt as though he might faint. He couldn't believe the words he was saying, even as they flowed from his mouth. "It's probably just as well. Not like anyone would ever want to date the girl."
His father's words still made him sick, and his mouth tasted absurdly stannic. The thought of being just like his father had always appealed to him...until a certain Gryffindor began appearing in his dreams. He hated himself for it, for the thought that he would fall short of his parents' expectations, and simultaneously because he was too big of a coward to defy them. He stood, grabbing up the nearest book and excused himself with the excuse that their conversations were far too repetitive and dull for his liking.
Lying on his bed, Draco tossed and turned, ignoring dinner and everyone's beckoning. He needed to see her. Needed to know that she was still alive in the shell of her body. He bided his time throughout the day, waiting until everyone was snoring before getting up.
He was jittery, his nerves a bundle of sensitive wiring sparking off at the slightest sound. If he were caught in the hallways after hours without a reason and an escort, he faced possible expulsion according to Snape. No matter how many times he told himself that he was safe, that the Heir had to be a Slytherin—what other House would they come from, with all of the self-righteous people housed in the other three? Surely a fellow Slytherin wouldn't attack one of their own...right?
Gulping, Draco continued forward, feeling along the wall of the dark corridor. He dare not light the tip of his wand for being found out. The Prefects weren't even out patrolling, the teachers too afraid of one of them being petrified. Instead, he saw Trelawney's face illuminated by the tip of her wand as she passed ahead of him.
He stepped sideways into an alcove, pressing himself flat against the stone wall. Her footsteps drew near and he could hear her mumbling under her breath. "I knew it from the moment the grim appeared in my bottle of sherry. Children were going to die here. And now?" She tutted and swept her wand in his general direction. He noted that her eyes weren't following the wand's tip and were trained instead ahead of her.
He listened as her voice grew faint before sliding out of the alcove and making his way through the corridor once more. He was nearly to the Hospital Wing, praising the gods that Filch's beast was also a scrap of stone. Outside of the doors leading to the infirmary, Flitwick sat on a chair to keep watch. Nearing three in the morning, he was just beginning to nod off.
Draco pursed his lips. He couldn't readily move the chair with the professor in it. With the flick of his wand, he knocked a suit of armor over in the far corridor. The sound of it clattering woke Flitwick, who jumped into action. He ran off in the direction of the noise, leaving Draco to slip past his chair and move it into place as he entered the hospital.
His mouth ran dry upon seeing the beds along the right side. Each had the silhouette of a student within. Unmoving. A draft ruffled the curtains of the nearest bed and he shivered. Peering in, he saw the immobile body of Justin Finch-Fletchley. He breathed, not quite a sigh of relief, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. It rattled him to see anyone in that condition, and despite the ruse he put on in front of his classmates, the attacks were setting him on edge.
Each one of his classmates faces, stony and ashen, brought with it a new wave of nausea. By the time he finally reached what had to be Granger's bed, he was having to hold onto the foot of the bed through the curtains to breathe away the need to vomit. He gained a semblance of courage and opened the curtains a fraction to see her in the bed. One hand was extended outward and curled as though she had been holding something and the other lay loosely closed by her side. There was a look of determination and surprise on her face.
Draco looked around him and stepped into the sanctioned area within her drawn curtains. Though she wasn't undressed or indecent, it somehow felt like a violation to see her in such a compromised state. His hand went to hover over her closed one, barely grazing the flesh there. He didn't deserve to touch her, but somehow he felt as though she needed someone by her side. Speaking words of assurance.
"You've certainly gone and got yourself into a shite situation, Granger," he stated, wincing as assurance turned to accusatory. "I thought you were the one with all the answers?"
His voice sounded harsher than he'd intended. But the unease was turning him hostile. If Granger couldn't figure out what was going on, who could? "Granger," he grabbed her hand forcefully, trying to squeeze it to get a reaction. Nothing moved and he shook her hand, effectively shaking her entire form. "Granger, this is ridiculous. You can stop pissing about now. This is foolish."
Still, her body remained stiff and her eyes fixed in an unnerving stare. He looked from the haunting gaze and over the blankets. The subtle jostling of her body had knocked something loose from her hand. Furrowing his brow, he reached for it and found it to be the torn page of a book. He scoffed, unfolding it. "Never thought I'd see the day Hermione Granger defaced a book—"
His voice faltered at the drawing of a giant serpent that adorned the page. A basilisk. It seemed like a nasty beast, with the ability to petrify and devour human beings with little more than a peek of his eye. At the top of the page, she'd written the word, 'pipes.'
She evidently believed the pipes of Hogwarts to be the key to the basilisk's success. Ludicrous, but the most plausible explanation. "Granger, you swot, maybe you do have all the answers," he murmured, making a copy of the page for himself. He'd write his father about this. Maybe there were more books in the Malfoy library that would offer more information. He could sneak it into her school bag when she awoke.
With a final look at her stricken face, he swallowed hard. There was an unarming flapping in his stomach as he tucked the page back into her hand and let his own linger a moment longer. In another life, they would have had an easy friendship. Or more. He dared not allow himself to finish the thought. He'd overstayed his visit already and he could already hear the indignance of the teachers in the corridor where he'd created a distraction.
"See you around, Hermione."
Date the girl.