Chapter 12) Draco and the Sleeping Girl

Selected Listening: Painting Flowers- All Time Low

Present Day

Draco screamed and hid his face in Anastasia's shoulder. By the time he stopped cowering and turned to see what attacked them, the hall had emptied. He looked down at his frozen frenemy and noticed a new necklace, a golden locket. Thinking quickly, he took it from around her neck and stowed it into his pocket. Maybe it would help him find the answers he needed.

From the other side of the castle Professors McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Snape bustled into to the hall.

"Oh no, Albus." McGonagall gasped. Dumbledore rushed forward, shaking. Snape bent down to check her pulse.

"Still alive. Only petrified." Snape looked up to his student. "Malfoy, what exactly were you doing with Miss Green just a moment ago?" Malfoy's teeth chatter was subsiding, but he still couldn't speak.

"Pro-professor, we were just talking, and then she tackled me. There was something behind us. I couldn't see what it was." Albus still stared at the unmoving girl, his eyes flitting frenetically between Malfoy, his colleagues, and his daughter.

"That's well and good, Malfoy, but how can we believe you?" McGonagall snapped with an acrid tone.

"I do not believe he is lying, Minerva." Snape said. She turned away and squeezed her eyes shut to blink away tears. Albus's stare shifted from shock to grief as he turned to the student.

"Are you telling the truth, Draco? Do you know anything about what's been happening? Anything at all?"

Draco's face morphed from frightened to furious in a matter of seconds.

"I didn't do anything! I don't understand why people keep accusing me of being the heir. If the faculty had an ounce of dignity or competence, they would have caught the perpetrator by now. Look what's happened! This is your fault." Though the anger gave him some sort of warmth, he couldn't shake the cold in his bones. Dumbledore stared blankly at his student. The Malfoy boy had a point.

"Malfoy, why are you shivering?" Snape asked.

"What's with the twenty questions? It's bloody cold in this castle. I was nearly petrified, isn't that enough?" he asked, folding his arms in front of his chest to warm them.

"I think it's best if you go to Madame Pomfrey for observation tonight. Come with me." Snape levitated Anastasia's body and they walked to the infirmary.

When they arrived, Potter and gang were just leaving.

"Professor, what happened?" Harry asked earnestly. "Where did they find her?"

"None of your concern, Potter." Snape said sternly and whisked her to an empty cot next to Creevey. Draco followed and watched over Anastasia earnestly. Her amber eyes stared into the rafters without seeing, her arms hovered, palms facing the ceiling. Moments ago, she had protected him. Him of all people. The pureblood idiot who obsessed over knowing the truth about this girl for so long, he ended up placing her in harm's way.

"But she's our friend," Weasley argued.

"Enough! Weasley, Potter—out!"

"Why does Malfoy get to stay?" Potter whined.

"Ten points from Gryffindor-"

"We didn't—"

"Thirty points from Gryffindor! Get out!" The two left begrudgingly.

"Not another one- heavens! It's Miss-D..Miss Green." The nurse corrected herself. Malfoy was listening. "That's unexpected."

"Why?" Draco demanded. "Is it because she's not a mudblood?"

"Language." Snape snapped.

"I knew it! I knew she was lying!" At first, he was excited, smiling even, and then the professors glared at him as if he had two heads, and he looked back to his paralyzed friend. "How-how long will she be like this?"

"Till Spring, like all the others." Madam Pomfrey frowned and placed the back of her hand to her mouth to cover her sob.

Snape stared at her incredulously.

"You, Minerva, and Albus have an attachment to this student—one greater than with the others. Excuse me for being course, Poppy, but what information am I missing that you undoubtedly have?"

The nurse turned away for a moment until she collected herself, and then returned Snape's glance, even though she would most certainly cry again. Draco pretended to not be listening by staring at the bridge of Anastasia's nose.

Every little thing about her made his stomach tickle in a way he hadn't experienced.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Severus. Don't I have a right to be upset when three students, one ghost, and a cat have all been petrified in the last quarter? I simply—" And then, Madam Pomfrey couldn't speak again.

"Right, well, I'll leave you to your work," Snape said and swept out of the infirmary, disgruntled.

Once she could speak, Madam Pomfrey gave Draco a pepper up potion. He settled into the bed next to Anastasia, steam pouring from his ears, and stared at the girl's face. There was one other conscious person in the infirmary, but behind a divider, so Draco felt comfortable pulling out Anastasia's locket and opening it. Inside he found a familiar picture of two wizards staring up at him. They looked happy, waving at him. His mother kept the same photo in one of the locked drawers of her vanity. He caught her looking at it sometimes, on particularly slow afternoons when she didn't have to be at work.

For once, he decided he wasn't going to tell his father about what happened. He was going to tell his mother. His mother knew where this girl came from. And he needed to know.

Draco Malfoy was released from the hospital wing the next morning. Part of him couldn't wait to leave the silent hall of frozen bodies, the other half of him felt bad leaving Anastasia behind. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault Anastasia was frozen like she was. If he hadn't been arguing with her, the monster may not have ever caught them.

He wished he could have seen what it was, so he could go after it. He would kill it if it meant Anastasia could wake up.

But he knew it wouldn't do any good.

When Draco arrived back at the common room, his friends erupted into a chorus of "where were you?" and "We thought you were in trouble!" and "Did you hear that Gryffindor girl got what was coming to her? Finally!"

Draco's gut twinged at the comment. He searched the room for Crabbe and Goyle. He found them huddled in the corner with a stack of chocolate.

"Malfoy!" Goyle said and scrambled up. Not even his friends called him by his first name.

"This is ours. Not what your parents sent," Crabbe said with his mouth full.

"Where were you?" Goyle asked.

"I had another fainting episode. No big deal." Draco said, snatching back the candy bar from Crabbe. They snickered.

"It's not funny!" he swatted them.

"Well, you'll be happy to know Green is down for the count. Got herself petrified last night. One less mudblood in our way." Goyle told him.

Draco was quiet, face bright pink.

"You look ill." Crabbe commented.

"I'm fine." Draco lied. He couldn't tell him that he was possibly saved from certain death by his mugggleborn rival.

"You wouldn't believe what else happened!" Goyle exclaimed suddenly.

"Oh yeah!" Crabbe said as if he just remembered. "We were eating at the feast after you went back to the common room."

"That's surprising?" Draco asked.

"No, well, after we came out of the hall, we found two cupcakes floating in the corridor."

Draco gave him a raised eyebrow.

"And when we ate them, and then we passed out!"

"And then we woke up in the broom closet, hours later!" Goyle said.

"You two ate yourselves into a coma…again. If you two were muggleborn, the heir of Slytherin wouldn't even need to come after you! You would get rid of yourselves!"

And then Draco paused.

"Wait…you woke up in the broom closet…how many hours later?"

"Ten, maybe eleven," said Goyle. Draco laughed.

"That's not possible…I spoke with you in the common room right after you two came back from dinner. Eight o'clock."

"We didn't see you after dinner." Crabbe said.

"Course you did! You were asking me if I was the heir of Slytherin again, and I told you no, again, and then I told you how I suspected…"

"How you suspected what?" Goyle asked.

"Nothing…nothing it doesn't matter. But the point was, you two said you were going to the infirmary because your stomachs were hurting."

"We never went," said Crabbe, "maybe you had a weird dream during your fainting fit."

"Maybe…" Draco drifted off.

Or maybe the heir of Slytherin had come looking for information on muggleborns…and he led them right to Anastasia.

But no…that would be silly.

Dear Mum,

How are you? Don't tell father this, but I was with the girl who was petrified over Christmas break. She had a locket on, and it has a picture of two people, the same picture as in your vanity. Who are they? There's this weird feeling I get when I'm around her. Whenever one of us is injured or ill, the other feels it. I haven't been able to keep my temperature up since her petrification. Do you know something?

Love,

Draco

He called upon Dobby, gave him the letter and threatened him not to say anything to Lucius. Every day Draco would check on Anastasia in the Infirmary, usually between classes and quidditch practice, a time when none of the other Slytherins would know he had gone. One day he brought a blue flower he found by the lake and stuck it by her bedside. Word got out that the girl on the other side of the divider was Granger. She had blown herself up and was there for the month.

"Malfoy, why do you come here every day?" Granger asked from behind the curtain.

"Not to talk to you, obviously." Draco chided.

"I mean…why do you care enough about Anastasia to visit, even though she can't speak?"

Out of all the people at school, he couldn't explain to Granger that he feared losing Anastasia the most. How after Blaise left, Anastasia was the only person he could speak honestly with. How Crabbe and Goyle never listened or understood enough to be good company. He couldn't explain how horrible his nightmare was after the quidditch game. He certainly couldn't explain how Anastasia might have saved his life by sacrificing her own, and his visits were his own personal way of saying thank you.

"I don't know who she is, Granger. But I'm going to find out." He ignored Hermione for the rest of his visit.

Quidditch practice had grown even more intense after the first game. Marcus was constantly bullying Draco around, asking him to fetch things, and serve as the target for the chasers to throw at. It had gotten even worse now that he was visiting Anastasia.

"Why you late?" Marcus demanded when Draco hopped into the lineup ten minutes later than he should have. He cleared his throat.

"I um, lost track of time."

"Lost track of time, huh? You better not lose track of the snitch in the upcoming Ravenclaw match, or you'll be booted off the team for sure. Fifty laps, Malfoy."

"Fifty!" Draco raged.

"Want to make it a hundred?" Flint asked. The others chuckled dumbly. Draco mounted his broom and shot off, taking a quick swig from his inhaler once he was far enough away from the team. It was growing frighteningly low as the game grew nearer.

Draco decided not to be late after that day, which meant he had to cut his visits short, him apologizing to Anastasia's paralyzed form and booking it to the field as fast as he could.

Of course, other people visited too. Mostly the Weasleys and Potter, but sometimes he would see McGonagall or Hagrid, or even the Muggle Studies teacher, sniffing a way in a handkerchief over the frozen body.

Draco didn't know what was wrong with him. Why couldn't he cry about this like the others? He cried more over the nightmare than the actual happening, and now he felt cold inside. Even his emotions had been frozen by Anastasia's petrification.

Despite a third student's demise, the term continued uninterrupted, but students were beginning to whisper of going home early, even if the school didn't close. It was in potions class one day that something truly strange happened.

They were working on a Wiggenweld potion—an antidote to a draught of living death and other sleep ailments—when two lonely vials of dittany and horklump juice hovered into the air. The students who noticed looked around and began to shriek in fright.

"Silence!" Snape said. "Peeves if that's you—"

But there was no answer from the uninhabited atmosphere. Upon being called out, the vials exploded above an empty cauldron. Students dodged the flying liquid and shielded their eyes from shards of glass that bounced of the tables and floors.

Class turned to chaos after that. All students suspected it was the heir of Slytherin and began panicking. Snape was given no choice but to dismiss class early. Draco didn't mind though. It gave him more time to visit Anastasia.

It was one dreary afternoon in February that Draco entered the infirmary to find Professor Dumbledore staring over her along with a colorful looking man with a twig on his shoulder.

"You see it's been this way since a week ago."

"Mm, yes," the man said, rubbing his chin. The upright twig moved and mimicked its owner.

"What are you doing here?" Draco demanded of Professor Dumbledore as he rounded on the foot of the bedframe. "And who is he?"

"Ah, yes, young Malfoy. I am here because I'm concerned, and this is my friend Newt Scamander, author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and he is also concerned."

Draco looked at Mr. Scamander, and back at Anastasia.

"Why are you here? Anastasia's not a magical creature. She's only petrified!"

His ferver gave both men a bit of a chuckle.

"Ah yes, well Anastasia might not be a monster, but we believe—" Newt began speaking, but Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder in warning.

"That's enough for the moment. Now, if you would excuse us, Draco, I need to speak with Mr. Scamander privately," Albus said kindly, and the two men walked out of the hospital wing.

Draco snuck to stand by the infirmary entry way, so he could hear what they said without being seen.

"I am afraid it is the same as before, Newt. Things have started moving about the classrooms, particularly where Anastasia sits. Professors have reported cold gusts, dark shadows. Flitwick is in a tizzy. It was bad enough the last time. Do you even know if an obscurial can infiltrate a person twice?"

"Well, you know as I do that no person had ever survived an obscurial before we cured Anastasia. Who are we to say that one can or cannot come back? We know now that obscurous are common in muggleborn magics from magic-fearing communities—and from powerful magical families that are somehow being suppressed from using their abilities—"

"What exactly are you saying?" Dumbledore asked.

Newt gave a somewhat-pitying sigh.

"Albus, I don't know how to tell you this, but when Anastasia came with me to China, she accidentally opened the boggart closet. The child's worst fear is to die without being remembered for who she was—and in her mind right now…that's what's happened. She's fighting for her life—"

Albus pinched the bridge of his nose, "Alright, alright…I need more time."

"You may not have it, my friend. Obscurous spawn fast. You'll have more problems than a petrification monster on your hands if you let this go on—"

"Thank you, Newt," he raised his hand requesting him to stop. "If only there was a way, we could tell her that she'll be fine in a few months—do you think she can hear us if we tell her?"

Newt shrugged.

"There isn't much information on petrified people's states of consciousness. Some report out of body experiences or seeing dead family members…but a far as how to contact them, we simply don't know."

Albus nodded and placed a truly grateful hand on Newt's shoulder.

"Please don't stray too far. I may contact you again for assistance."

"Certainly, Albus. I have a trip to the Ozarks planned in a month, but I'll be around until then."

Draco ran back to Anastasia's side and sat next to her on the chair he usually took.

"Anastasia? You're not dead. You're going to be fine…"

This is stupid. He told himself. She's not waking up until June anyway.

Draco didn't know what he expected. That she would give some sign that she could hear him? He didn't know what an obscurial was, but if it caused the explosion in potions class, it couldn't be good. He noticed in the past couple of weeks, on top of being cold and stiff, he also felt heavy. A weight dragged him down wherever he went. Every morning was a chore to rise from bed, and when he did, he had to walk around the dorm to stretch out his joints and warm up.

He had only felt this kind of heaviness once before in his lifetime. About a year before he met Anastasia. Right before the first time he was hospitalized for an asthma attack. He didn't expect it to come back.

From the day Newt Scamander visited, Draco had horrible dreams every night, and they always repeated themselves.

Draco wandered through a dark storm. The wind whipping him every which direction. He couldn't see much left or right, or even ahead of him, but every few minutes he caught glimpses of bright ginger hair.

"Anastasia!" he called. "Anastasia it's me! It's Draco."

He heard crying, furious crying, mad at everything in the world crying.

"Anastasia, please listen! I'm here! I'll find a way to unpetrify you. I promise!"

But no matter how he called, she didn't hear, and he couldn't close the distance between them.

The day of the Slytherin-Ravenclaw game arrived, and Draco sat on the bench in the locker room, waiting for the rest of the team to get ready. He felt particularly worn out that morning. His eyes kept closing on him, and the invisible weight dragged him down further and further.

Draco took the inhaler out of his pocket. It felt so light in his hand. He used as much as he had to for practice, and now there was almost nothing left. He took the biggest swig he could—

"Hello, Draco."

Draco stuffed the inhaler in his school clothes in his locker and slammed it shut as Lucius approached him.

"Father! I didn't know you were coming today."

"Yes, well I thought maybe you'd be less distracted today if I were here to motivate you," there was a sly glint in his dad's steely eye that let Draco know he was up to something.

"What are you—"

The chrome snake snapped down on Draco's shoulder.

"I'm here to protect my investment in the team. Flint kindly told me that you've been slacking off, which I hope you know is unacceptable considering how you lost Slytherin the first game in the most embarrassing way possible."

Draco wanted to snap back. He wanted to yell at Lucius for not accepting his condition, for not allowing him to have treatment that would prevent his attacks from happening in the first place.

But he knew all too well of his precarious position and looked away.

"Yes, father."

"Right, well. Flint also informed me that if you lose this game, you won't be seeing another for as long as he is captain. So, I pray you won't let us down."

"Of course not. I'm going to win this game for Slytherin. You'll see!" Draco pledged with a growl in his tone and a raised fist.

"Good boy. Victory drink later?"

Draco nodded, grinning.

Lucius always told Draco that when he won his first game, he would take him for his first butterbeer down at Hogsmeade. Butterbeer didn't have much alcohol, but enough for a twelve-year-old to be excited about. Lucius intended for this celebration to happen at the previous game…but Draco had failed him.

"Not this time," Draco said, tightening the laces on his boots.

Draco exited the stadium with the rest of the team. The crowds roared in the bright morning sun. The other Slytherins jeered at the Ravenclaws as the team took their places on the field. They waited, growling across at each other as Jordan listed their names.

"And finally, Draco Malfoy playing seeker for Slytherin—let's hope he doesn't mess up this one, folks, or that would be downright embarrassing."

"Jordan—" Minerva started warned.

"That was my freebie today, alright Professor? Alright, now let's get this game started—"

At the sound of Hooch's whistle, they were off, soaring above the field as they had so many times before. Draco wavered as lightheadedness hit him.

No, he thought, not now. Wait till after the game.

The chasers fought hard, scoring thirty points in the first ten minutes. All the while, Draco hovered about the field, searching for the snitch, and avoiding the occasional bludger.

Every moment the weight pulled on him.

He spotted the snitch above the Ravenclaw goal posts. He went for it, and when he did, the beaters came after him full force.

"Get the little git!" the beater spouted

He ignored them, doing his best to swerve and avoid each bludger as he sped towards his goal. He felt his heart hammering faster and heard the intensity of his breath, not being able to keep up.

The Ravenclaw seeker spotted him and lurched for the snitch as well. The snitch shot downwards. Draco sped forward, remembering the words of his father:

"…considering how you lost Slytherin the first game in the most embarrassing way possible."

The snitch hovered within reach. The Ravenclaw seeker closed in from behind. Draco's hand closed around the fluttering wings as he landed in the sand below.

Draco felt his side hit the ground, his ribs crack, the cool metal between his fingers, his lungs collapsing inside his chest.

The crowd cheered, and then they screamed.

Draco's world gave way to darkness.