Chapter Six- Violet Spoons, Underground Rooms and Hermione Granger
Hermione didn't leave his bedside.
At lunchtime, she'd considered visiting her teachers to collect the work both she and Malfoy had missed but had taken instead to counting the bricks in the opposite wall, first bottom left to bottom right, then the reverse, and then top right to top left, and the reverse. She couldn't now remember how many bricks there were but it had seemed somewhat important at the time. Eventually, when the light faded from the skies and Madam Pomfrey had been to check on her patient (who hadn't woken up once) before disappearing for a final time, Hermione allowed herself some sleep.
The chair wasn't particularly comfortable but she was small enough to make it work. Even so, her neck twisted at a funny angle and she clutched onto her knees, her tongue tasting nothing but potion in the air, and the silence of the sleeping castle. She slept fitfully, woken all of a sudden in a seizure of voiceless panic, before she realised where she was and what had happened the previous day to get her there. There was never much momentum to her nightmares- they simply frightened her into consciousness and she was left grappling for a piece of what made them so haunting.
Hermione was asleep when she heard him screaming.
She jolted awake, the chair clattering, and looked around. Malfoy was writhing on the bed, gripping the side of the mattress so tightly his arms had turned white and the blue of his veins gleamed in the moonlight. His face was screwed up in agony, and he'd bitten his lip so hard it had reopened the cuts, and the blood trickled down his chin. Hermione stumbled to his side. She felt his forehead, her other hand wrapped over his clenched fist, shaking him. He was burning.
"Malfoy," she whispered. She ragged his hand, trying to wake him. He just whimpered. "Malfoy. It's not real. Wake up! Wake up-"
He shot up. His hand twisted to grip hers, and his eyes, wide and frightened, darted around the room, lingering on the dark shapes in the shadows. Malfoy finally looked at her- she wasn't sure if he really saw her- and threw up.
Hermione jumped out of the way. He was still holding her hand so tightly she thought he might accidentally break her fingers, but she managed to rub his back with her other hand, making soothing noises, as he retched. He continued to gag even when there was nothing left and he was running on empty. When he was finished, his body slumped and he fell back against the pillows, sick drying on his chin.
Hermione pressed her lips into a line. He looked so spent, so inexhaustibly tired. She pried her hand out of his, and Malfoy didn't even open his eyes, and began to clean him up, vanishing the pool of vomit that had stained the floor and the bedsheets.
She sat gingerly on the edge of his bed when she was done. He looked dead, grey and exhausted, and Hermione wanted to hold his hand again, to remind him he was still alive.
"Bad dream?" she whispered. It seemed like a stupid question once it shattered the air. Malfoy nodded. He still had his eyes closed and he was taking big, silent breaths that racked his chest. "I get those too."
He didn't reply. Hermione wasn't sure whether he had even heard her, but she stayed sitting beside him, staring down at her shoes. The night felt quieter than before.
"I need to get out of here, Granger," Malfoy said. Hermione didn't know whether he meant the bed, the school or something bigger. He finally looked at her. "Can we go somewhere?"
His eyes were tired and bloodshot.
She nodded. "Okay. Where would you like to go?"
She checked first that Madam Pomfrey wasn't stirring, listening at her door for any sign the matron was awake. The castle was silent, however, and Hermione crept back to Malfoy, shimmying his shoes onto his feet because he was too weak to do it himself, and handing him his shirt.
He hissed when he gingerly swung himself round to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling his shirt on. She looked away as he buttoned it up.
"You need to be quiet," she told him. "It's past curfew."
Malfoy snorted. "I'm not a First Year, Granger. I've done this before."
She pursed her lips but chose to ignore him and they set off from the Hospital Wing together, into the dark and silence. Luckily, they didn't encounter another soul as they walked, neither one daring or perhaps willing to speak first. Hermione tried to be inconspicuous when she glanced at him, monitoring his face for any sign of pain, ready to catch him if he fell. He gave her the liberty of pretending not to notice. To his credit, Malfoy didn't falter once.
She didn't really know where they were going, nor who was leading, but their feet seemed to carry them down to the same place. Malfoy tickled the pear, and didn't spare her a glance as they both ducked their heads and stepped into the kitchens.
Hermione was surprised to see that, despite it being the middle of the night, the kitchen was still in full swing. Elves bustled in and out of the little doorways, and the ovens in the main room were all on, emanating a comforting heat.
"Master Draco!" Winky exclaimed. Her eyes shone and she stopped immediately, wiping her little hands on her apron. Her face grew mournful and she cried, "Master Draco isn't well! Master Draco should be sleeping. I's go get the usual for Master Draco?"
Malfoy swallowed, glancing at Hermione then back at the trembling elf. "No, thank you. Just two teas please, Winky."
It was only then that Winky noticed Hermione and she blinked and beamed. "Missus Hermione! Come right this way, Winky will get you your teas. Sit here please!"
Winky led them to the little circular table in the corner. They both sat down. Malfoy curled the sprig of rosemary that tickled his ear, and it bounced back against the wall. There was mistletoe a little further up, and vines of thyme by her shoulder. She watched Winky as she bustled away to fetch them their drinks, smile plastered on her face.
"They work through the night?" Hermione demanded as soon as the elf had disappeared. She made sure her voice, though horrified, was low enough that they couldn't hear her.
Malfoy shot her a scathing look. "They do shifts, Granger. Just like any other professional establishment. Giving them liberties not even wizards get would be an insult."
"But-!"
"Granger," he seethed. He closed his eyes. She recognised the warning, and she shut her mouth.
Neither one of them spoke again until Winky returned with their teas, beaming when they thanked her. Hermione inhaled the smell of jasmine. She took a sip, and it warmed her though, replacing the rancid aftertaste of potion. Over the rim of her teacup, she watched Malfoy play with his spoon.
Hermione placed her cup back down on the table. "Can I-?" Malfoy raised his eyes to her, but held it out for her to take. Her hands were shaking slightly.
"Watch this," she said. "You'll be impressed."
His eyebrow quirked. "Doubtful."
She scowled at him, though quickly redirected her attention. Hermione breathed on the spoon, fogging it up so she couldn't see her reflection. She glanced up at him. His dark eyes were locked on her. She tilted her chin up slightly, and placed the spoon on her nose, holding it there for a moment, before moving her hand away and holding both her arms in the air.
The victorious grin only lasted a second, for the spoon fell and clattered to the table. Hermione let out a surprised noise, looking at the piece of cutlery like it had betrayed her. Malfoy snorted, and her eyes shot to him. There was a slight curl to his lips, and the sharpness of his eyebrow softened. He caught her eye, and froze. Hermione blushed, and took a sip of her tea.
"What's your favourite colour?" she asked him. She knew the question was trivial but she couldn't think of anything else to say and she was curious to know the answer.
Malfoy blinked at her. He repeated dubiously, his lip curling to show her just how unimpressed he was by her small talk, "My favourite colour?"
"Just play along," she snapped at him and he raised a single white eyebrow but complied nonetheless.
Malfoy inhaled deeply, staring at her. "I don't know. It depends."
"On what?"
"On how fucked up I'm feeling at any one particular time," he replied lightly. Hermione's eyes were locked on his pale and pretty face.
"Well, what is it now?"
And Malfoy raised his chin, eyes unfocused and glazed over. He was silent for a few untouched moments before the smallest smile curled his lips and he said, "Violet."
Her eyebrows raised and she repeated, "Violet? I was expecting green."
"How terribly cliché of you, Granger." His smile was cool and sharp like flint. "I'm not your typical snake."
"No," she acceded. "But you are a typical Slytherin."
"And what's your favourite colour then, Granger?" he snarled. "Crimson and gold? You wouldn't want to disappoint the stereotype, would you? Merlin forbid we disrupt the harmony of good and evil at play here. Or is it white? And before you open your smart mouth, I know it's not a colour, it's a fucking shade."
Hermione stared at him. Her skin had prickled and she looked away to trace at the cracks in the wall. She said, "Violet is a very nice colour."
Malfoy blinked, and his entire body slackened, shoulders dropping, hackles lowering. A charming smile, dripping with sarcasm, stole across his face. "I suppose I'm not feeling overly fucked up at present."
"You must've had a good sleep up until that nightmare then," she commented. "You've been out like a light since this morning."
His face darkened. He hadn't touched his tea. It was probably stone-cold. Hermione swallowed, and her eyes returned to the wall because there was something that trapped her when she looked at him for too long. So she read the safe lettering on the barrels, wondering how many bricks there were-
"It's always the same one."
She looked at him then. "What is?"
Malfoy didn't meet her gaze, but stared at his tea. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his long eyelashes were congealed and falling out. His skin was pallid, stretched taut over his skull, as though he was a skeleton wearing flesh that was two sizes too small. And, damn it, despite it all, there was still something pretty about him, in the same way a rose retains its elegance even as it withers.
"My nightmare."
He looked like a skeleton but the fragility of his voice was all human.
Hermione found she clung to the humanity in him.
"It always starts with my Mother. She's sitting in the garden, next to her roses. She was always proud of her flowers. She grew them without magic, and when I was young, we'd spend hours planting seeds so the garden would be full of colour in spring...
"They're white. The roses. She looks so happy, like she used to before, and I'm standing a little way off, watching her. Sometimes I try to call to her but she never hears me. It's like I'm some sort of ghost, as if we're not in the same memory, or she's too far away, and then I hear a crack."
Malfoy craned his neck to the side, eyes screwed shut. Hermione saw the veins pulse under his skin.
"I turn around and my arm starts to burn, and He's there, in my drawing room. My father is behind Him, and my Aunt, and they're holding-" His breath hitched. "They've got you. And Potter. Even Weasley. You all look different, like you did that day. Dirty and frightened, with Potter's face so bloated he looked more like Longbottom in First Year. They throw you all at my feet and they ask me if you really are who they think you are. I can't answer. I never say anything. And then my-"
His breathing became panicked, and silent tears fell from Hermione's eyes. She watched him, and her hand gripped her arm tightly because she could feel the knife against her skin again.
"My aunt grabs you. She- she- fuck, she- cuts you, and all I do is watch. I hear you screaming every time I close my eyes. Sometimes it's enough to wake me. But when it doesn't, when it's really bad, I manage to break free and I- I fucking run, Granger. I run from that room, and I leave you all there, and I run to my mother in the garden, and all the roses have bled red. And she just sits there, and I try to wake her up, to bring her back to me but she's gone. I wake up when everything starts to go cold and I feel this-" He stretched out his foot, dragging his trousers up to his knee, exposing the flashing blue anklet, "- fucking sentence against my leg. I wake up when I know they're coming for me, when I feel them reach for my soul."
Malfoy couldn't look at her. His lip was curled and his eyes were hooded, his fist clenched against his knee. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.
She wanted desperately to hold his hand and to tell him things he needed to hear, but she worried she would be overcome with agony if she let go of the scar. Numbly, Hermione realised how the war was still raging, even though it had ended months ago. It hit her quite abruptly.
"You had no choice," she said quietly.
"Everyone has a choice, Granger. You said you get them too. What are yours about?"
"Mine change." Hermione swallowed. "I can never remember them when I wake up but they seem so- real when I'm asleep. Sometimes it will be memories from the war. Sometimes it's things I anticipated happening but never did. But they're so- so hazy. I can't recall them."
She opened her mouth to say something more but the breath choked her. "I feel like every bone, every organ and part of me has been muddled up so thoroughly and completely that I'm no longer the same person. I have nothing in me anymore, Malfoy. I have nothing else to give."
"Don't say that," he murmured. His voice and eyes were ice.
"Why not?" she demanded. Hers were fire.
He slammed his hand on the table. "Because you cannot lose hope! The moment Hermione Granger loses hope is the moment the rest of us realise we're fucked, okay, Granger? And I don't need that reminder!"
He'd risen, chair clattering to the ground behind him, and his shirt was buttoned unevenly so she could see the bruised flesh underneath. It was dark and purple, and Hermione clenched her teeth. She wanted to shout back at him. That ugly flare of fire that reared up in her stomach whenever Draco Malfoy opened his mouth had been dormant for so long. It was bizarre, she thought, so out of the blue that it made her snap her lips shut with the sudden clarity of it: Draco Malfoy was the only thing that made her feel anything anymore. It didn't matter that the feelings were usually annoyance or despair. It made her tense her jaw and have something to cling on to.
"I need to check your injuries. You vomited up most of the potions and you shouldn't even be out of bed," she said. Malfoy relaxed, but only just. He shrugged, tossing his head away from her, and she moved closer. Her fingers shook a little as she unbuttoned his shirt, and Hermione couldn't help but wince at the state of him. She prodded his stomach, eyes flicking to his face to check for any sign of pain. She knew Skelegrow worked fast but she had a feeling he was holding back. Her fingers dusted over the valley of his ribs, where the bruises covered his skin; she knew the yellower ones must have been from previous altercations, but the large, blue ones were so painfully fresh. Hermione dragged her eyes to his scar. It was so deep, and long, groping from his throat to his belt, almost as though someone had tried gutting him, slicing him open. It had to be dark magic. She could think of no legal spell that would do such irreparable damage- and it was irreparable. Hermione could tell by the way the scab wept and threatened to break and bleed again. She doubted he would ever be free of it, and then wondered what he thought about that. She knew his vanity had once known no bounds, and wondered if he hated what he saw when he looked in the mirror now. The other, smaller cuts across his chest were shallower, and she wondered if these were Harry's doing. She chewed at her lip, and prayed to any God listening that they weren't. But then, she couldn't tell if that was better or worse.
She wished he didn't have scars at all.
Hermione dared to look up at him. He had his eyes closed. She took a deep breath. "Malfoy." He opened his eyes and looked at her. His eyes, though light, were dark. "I know this is a stupid question but- are you okay?"
He didn't even move. She couldn't tell if there was a scuffle between his brain and his teeth or if he hadn't heard her properly. And then, he said, "I'm fine, Granger. We should head back before Pomfrey realises you've kidnapped me."
Hermione couldn't spare him a laugh.
They thanked Winky for their tea, though Malfoy's remained untouched, and made their way back to the Hospital Wing in silence. Hermione used her wand to open the heavy doors without so much as a creak, and they slipped inside.
Malfoy shrugged off his shirt and his shoes, and he eased himself onto the bed.
"You should take some more potion," said Hermione.
Malfoy pulled a face. "You're not my caretaker, Granger."
Arms crossed, she raised her eyebrows at him. "I'm not? Then what have I been for the past twelve hours? You're babysitter?"
He settled himself into his pillow, pulling the covers up to his chin, but he still managed to glare at her. "Don't push it."
She huffed, but let it drop. Her body felt far too heavy, and she collapsed into the chair, resting her head on her hand and checking the time on her watch. If she fell asleep immediately, she could still squeeze three hours. Somehow, she doubted she'd even manage that, jasmine tea or not. There was something about this night that felt unattainable.
"Are you okay, Granger?"
Malfoy was looking up at her blearily, fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open long enough to get an answer from her. Hermione swallowed. She smiled at him, and brushed a bit of white hair from his eyes because she knew he didn't have the strength to be rude about it.
"I'm Hermione Granger," she said quietly. "I have to be."