A/n: Sorry this took so long to post. It was kind of stupid of me to post chapter one of two series at once, no? Well, here it is. Oh, and I must remind you that I'm a d/h and h/h shipper before you go on. And I am well aware that Ron and Harry probably aren't ones to keep a diary, but hey, I need it. And sorry if the formatting is confusing, but sometimes ff.net destroys my italics and everyone ends up all perplexed. Oh, and this, and every other fic I'll be uploading, is set at British English Language so sorry if it confuses non-Europeans. I do apologise if I sound like some ancient English Author at times (that's what my beta-reader said, but she approved of it). I've been reading a lot of classics lately. And… how long do you have to not breathe to die? I'm not sure. Is all. Go on!
Disclaimer: Bleeding – ahem. Go to chapter One for Disclaimer. Oh, and I included a scene here inspired by one mentioned in Asuka Langley's Made of You, I think. I tried to email her (which was part of the reason why this took so long), but… Please don't sue me!
A Way with Words
Chapter two: Squids and Squabbles
Friday. Bloody hot. Divination today. Professor Trelawney was making those damn predictions as usual, but this one was a bit more upsetting than her 'death hovers among us, my children' bull. It had something to do with Harry and true love. Of course, Harry was embarrassed, and I rather think it upset him more when Lavender and Parvati shrieked and giggled. I couldn't help myself and said something rather, er, rude to them. Professor Trelawney gave me a detention for being uncouth to her favorite students. Old hag. But a detention couldn't be worse than Doubles of her own shoddy class, could it? I have to sleep now, early detention tomorrow. I can't believe they're making me do one on a Saturday morning. Damn them…
Ron W.
***
'Hermione? Ron?'
They were both there, waving at him and motioning over. Standing over a clear blue sky and on a patch of bright green grass, they looked happy and slightly… ethereal. They were both wearing severe white ensembles – Hermione in a ballooning white dress, Ron in a white shirt and trousers. Harry smiled, called out to his friends again, and he stretched his arm to reach for the two of them and started to run.
Suddenly, a dark cloud came up over his allies, though it appeared to be moving in slow motion. Ron and Hermione stopped waving and a look of terror came upon both faces. Hermione called to him to stop and run away, and Ron followed suit. Harry stopped in his tracks as the dark veil obscured Ron and Hermione from vision. Harry heard their terrified shrieks as Harry screamed in fear himself. Suddenly the cloud covered everything, even the space around him, until he was surrounded in black nothingness. Then the ground, or whatever it had been, gave way, and he felt himself falling, falling…
Harry woke up in a cold sweat. Bleeding hell, he thought. It was the first dream he had ever had with Ron and Hermione in it. Or at least the first relevant, dark one (A/N get your mind out of the gutter…).
Harry felt around in the dark for the curtain-rope, and pulled it to open the drapes. He then rummaged blindly in his bedside table for his glasses, unable to make out a shape. Remnants of the dream swirled through his mind as he slipped on his glasses and wiped his sweaty brow. He padded out of bed, and went to the pitcher by the window for a drink. His throat was dry and definitely needed water. As he poured himself some into a goblet, he looked out the window into the velvety purple-and-blue sky. It wasn't even morning yet. Stars twinkled in the Heavens, soothing him at least a little. He sat on the sill. The stone bricks were so thick that one could sit, or half-lie, on the sill, without danger of falling. He sat with his back to the side of the window, and lifted his leg up to rest his feet on the ledge as well. As he watched the stars sparkle against the dark background, he contemplated going to Dumbledore and telling him about his dream. The old man did say to go to him if any more dreams occurred. But this one seemed so irrelevant, so trivial compared to the ones he had been having about two years ago. And of course, since he found death-predictions from his Divination Professor rather discouraging and after the incident with the 'Grim' in third year, he wasn't one to believe in omens, not to mention any other form of divination, at all.
After a few minutes of quiet star-gazing and contemplation, Harry came to a decision: He would tell Dumbledore if any events related to his latest reverie would occur, and he wouldn't waste time thinking about omens and whatnot. But of course, as he slipped into bed and closed the curtains around him, he couldn't help wondering what ever the dream could mean. It was obvious, really, but he didn't quite want to believe the connotation that had immediately entered his head. It was too grim and pessimistic. But, he thought as he slipped off his black-rimmed glasses, who couldn't help being bleeding pessimistic at a time like this?
***
Diary,
More dreams. I hate them, really I do. I think I've had less peaceful nights than the whole student body put together. Just one of those disadvantages of being Harry Potter. This one had Ron and Hermione in it. Do you think that could mean something? OK, now I'm being really pathetic. Confiding in a journal is one thing, but asking it questions… At least you don't talk back, like Ginny's diary. Poor girl, but at least she had someone to tell her woes and they would actually answer back.
I have to go to bed – we're off to Hogsmeade tomorrow, but I doubt we can really go. It's so unbelievably hot.
Harry Potter
Hermione joined Ron and Harry in the Common Room that morning after lunch. She apologised profusely for having slept in, saying her essay on Ancient Runes, which was due on Tuesday, kept her awake. Ron was back from a very early detention of helping 'that old hag', as Ron had taken to calling Professor Trelawney, clean out her classroom and arrange the jars of sickening former organisms in the high shelves (Professor Trelawney had been a scientist in the Muggle world before she took the Divination job, if one could imagine), as Ron was so tall. It wasn't as bad as detention with Snape, but it wasn't Ron's cup of tea either.
The three of them wanted to go to Hogsmeade, but they were hesitant, as yesterday's heat wave hadn't lifted just yet. The streets of Hogsmeade were sure to be hotter.
'Besides,' said Ron as they headed downstairs, 'we can always go later.'
'Uh-huh.' Hermione was looking thoughtful and bit her lip, eyes on the ceiling. She had donned a yellow sundress under her robes, and her hair was gathered in a ponytail on the top of her head. 'Hm. So what are we doing?'
The heat seemed to muddle all their brains, as each was finding it very difficult to think. 'I don't know.' Harry wiped his glasses on his shirt as they jumped off the last of the marble steps to Gryffindor tower. All he wanted was to get some cool, fresh air, or perhaps go for a swim somewhere, the former unlikely, the latter impossible in Hogwarts. 'I don't want to go upstairs right now, Fred and George are trying new jokes on the second-years. It's going to be fiery hot outside…'
'Maybe we should go to Hogsmeade instead.' (A/N I know this exchange is most likely boring you to tears, but I can't do much else…) Ron shuffled his feet and led his friends outside. Just as they were passing through the gate, Hermione stopped and called, 'You guys go on ahead. I'll catch you up.'
'Sure.' Harry was desperate to get some roof above his head, and paid no attention to Hermione's leaving herself behind seemingly being a work of design. The sun was seemingly singeing his jet-black mop of hair and, eager to get away, waved to Hermione. 'See you later – one-thirty, Three Broomsticks!'
Hermione waved to them as well and turned on her heel to go back to the castle, her robes swirling behind her. Harry and Ron raced to Hogsmeade, eager to get to the village.
***
Even with his archenemies out of sight and the grounds being lovely, Draco Malfoy found himself unable to find pleasure in anything. He sighed inwardly. It was already unbelievably hot, and the ever annoying Pansy Parkinson simpering on his arm made him even more uncomfortable. He asked himself why he even put up with her, as she awoke in him unbelievable sensations of revulsion. No logical explanations came to mind and Draco contented himself in the belief that this was all for the better.
He and Pansy were strolling in the grounds, the trips to Hogsmeade having lost their novelty. Crabbe and Goyle had abandoned them to spend the day bullying the House-Elves for some food (Draco had told them where the kitchens were to get rid of the two). Pansy had her eyes closed and her head on his shoulder. She was wearing black robes, not the ones for school, though. Draco wondered how she could stand them, the weather being exceedingly scorching.
As they neared the lake, they spotted a familiar figure with long brown hair sitting on the edge, relaxing with a book. Draco contorted his face into a smirk he reserved only for that girl, and looked at Pansy, who was grinning maliciously. They walked in silence until they were right behind Ms Hermione Granger. Pansy cleared her throat and smiled snobbishly as Granger turned her head to look at them.
'What do you want, Parkinson, Malfoy?' she asked in an uncharacteristically indolent manner. Granger snapped the book closed and set it on the ground beside her.
Pansy didn't answer and looked deviously at Ms Granger. 'How come you're here alone, Mudblood? Potty and Weasel left you for each other?' She asked in a baby-ish voice. 'Tsk, tsk, how sad.'
Shocking! Draco grinned to himself at the idea of Granger's two best friends 'leaving her' for each other and absently snaked his arm around Pansy's waist. He felt Pansy shiver in pleasure and pull him closer possessively, smiling smugly at Hermione.
Hermione's face didn't change expression as she stood up and tucked her book beneath her arm. Then she smiled to match Pansy's, a smile Draco had seen only when she had said, 'Twitchy little ferret, aren't you, Malfoy?' Hoping he wasn't going to be reminded of his activities as 'Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret', he watched the exchange interestedly.
'Well, at least they didn't leave me for a Pug-faced little (here was one of the more distinguished words in her vocabulary) such as yourself, Ms Parkinson.'
Pansy's face contorted into a scowl. Draco could sense danger coming, and wanted to pull the girls away from each other and put as much distance between them as possible, but was afraid he would appear less… mean. So he stepped back, bracing himself for the sight of Pansy throwing a hex at the other girl.
But Pansy seemed to want to do more than a simple little curse, an idea obvious from the way she stepped forward and grinned wickedly.
'Fancy a swim, Mudblood?' Before the Gryffindor had a chance to grasp Pansy's words she was shoved into the great lake.
Draco felt horror and anger bubbling up inside of him as the smirk left his face and a yell for Pansy Parkinson escaped his lips.
'Pansy! What in bloody hell do you think you are doing?' He shouted wildly. What would become of her? What if the squid, the merpeople attacked her? They would surely be blamed! 'There are all sorts of things in there!' Then, without thinking or even removing his shirt (which, by the way, would have provided sufficient amusement for Pansy), he dove into the dank water, leaving behind a confused and ashen-faced Parkinson.
He searched for Hermione's body in the tarn. Then Draco spotted a white, brown and yellow figure floating a few feet away. He swam towards her with speed borne of innumerable swimming lessons, heedless of the tentacle that was coming his and Hermione's way. He sped towards her and, upon reaching her frail body, took it in his arms and pulled it close. He ignored the sensations that rushed through him at her closeness. She looked slightly ethereal in the water, with her hair floating carelessly around her in the attitude of a fan and her skin porcelain-white. They were both a bit deep into the water now (he could see what looked like a merperson's dwelling some yards away). He couldn't breathe, and felt himself wishing for a gust of air, when he noticed that Hermione wasn't breathing as well. Stupid! Of course she isn't breathing! Panic rose inside of him and he swam as fast as his legs would bring him with Hermione in his arms to the surface of the water.
The sun's blinding rays reached his eyes and he blinked. He was well above the water now, and he could spot Pansy standing a few yards away, looking as if she were contemplating calling for help. He dragged Hermione up to the edge of the lake and drew her up to the grass. His clothes, wet with water, clung uncomfortably to his body and lake water made his silver hair stick to his forehead, but he tried to concentrate on the matter at hand. Draco kneeled beside her, as Hermione lay, immobile, on the edge of the water. She still wasn't breathing, and her white countenance and lips were slowly turning a purplish blue.
Oh, no, Draco thought, I have to do something! If she dies…
'Pansy!' he yelled at his 'girlfriend'. Panicked, Pansy gathered her robes hurriedly, ran to Draco and kneeled beside him, with more concern for her being in danger of expulsion than for Hermione's well-being. Then she turned to him.
'We can leave her here,' said Pansy, looking around to make sure no one was in sight. She looked at Draco again. 'No one will suspect us, and they haven't any proof we had anything to do with this. Come on, before someone comes out and catches us!' She stood up and pulled on his arm, trying to yank him up. But Draco looked at her, unmoving, an expression of revulsion and horror on his damp face.
'Leave her here? We can't f***ing do that, Pansy!'
'And why the hell not, Draco?' Pansy's eyes blazed as she discovered another way of looking at the circumstances. 'You can't be saying you care for her health! Why –'
'Don't you get mad at me, you little witch!' said Draco, standing up and towering over the girl. Never did he think Pansy to be this stupid and uncaring! Hers was incredibly the worst plan he'd ever heard in his entire life. 'You're the one fool enough to push her in! Don't you know what's in that lake, you stupid girl? You, or worse, I could get expelled! Think of what our parents would say!'
The full gravity of the situation hit her with force, and the vexation, the agitation Pansy felt was beyond what she could conceal – she looked nervous, mortified, and grieved at the same time. Pansy cowered and tears started pouring out of her eyes. 'I'm sorry – I wasn't thinking –'
Like hell you weren't. Draco didn't give her a chance to explain. He shoved her aside and resumed his position beside the unconscious girl. He hesitated for a moment, then looked around. No one but Pansy would see, and she wouldn't be daft enough to tell anyone, would she? So he swooped down on her and began to perform Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, as Pansy looked on, both scared of her standing in the situation and horrified at the sight of her boyfriend 'kissing' a Mudblood.
***
Harry and Ron walked out of Honeydukes, both feeling slightly more elated than they did that morning. Ron was chewing on a piece of Liquorice Wands, and Harry was licking fudge sample off his fingers. They stood for a second, relishing the animating gales of cool wind on their faces. Both now pitied the rationale that had prevented their best friend from sharing such a pleasing sensation.
'Mmmm,' he murmured, 'that fudge was extremely tasty. Too bad Hermione didn't come.'
Ron swallowed his sweet and licked his lips. 'Well, she said she'd meet us at the Three Broomsticks, no? So we can show her later.'
But Harry wasn't listening – he was staring at some point over Ron's shoulder.
Ron turned around to see what it was, and sighed exasperatedly at seeing Cho Chang, who was doing an extra year of Hogwarts to study Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts, and some of her groupies, walk jauntily out of Honeydukes.
He blew a wet raspberry at Harry.
'Don't you ever get sick of looking at her, Potter?'
Harry snapped out of it and tried in vain to look as if he had no idea what Ron was saying. Eyes averted, he developed a fervent interest in fixing his packages. 'What? I wasn't looking.'
Ron blew air through his teeth and shook his head at Harry. He knew from when they were struggling to get dates for the Yule ball that Cho Chang was, perhaps without rival, the object of his friend's affections. Poor guy. He had thoughts of Ms Chang being involved in Professor Trelawney's prediction, and tried to stifle a snigger. Fat chance. For once he decided not to tease Harry about it – it was too pleasant a day for that.
Whilst making jokes about Professor Trelawney being a mortician (see the connection with death?) rather than 'science student' before Divination Professor, the two walked up High street, heading for The Three Broomsticks, where they were to meet Hermione for a Butterbeer or two. Hoping they wouldn't have to wait too long for her, Harry and Ron pushed the heavy door open.
The customers sitting near the door, namely a few Ministry wizards and an ill-disguised Hag, looked up at the gust of wind that entered the restaurant. They averted their eyes at the sight of Harry Potter, and, ergo, Harry pretended not to register their existence.
He and Ron swept to the back of the room, and sat at one of the wooden tables. A lady in turquoise heels came to serve them, and Ron's ears were overspread with a typical blush.
'Hello there,' said Madame Rosmerta with a smile. Ron looked away and pretended to be looking for Hermione. Harry, avoiding risking being out of Ron's good favours, never laughed at him for these little peculiarities, and found it unnecessary to begin now. He turned to Madame Rosmerta and returned her grin.
'A Butterbeer, please,' he said politely. Ron nodded and said, 'The same, Ma'am.'
The lady told them to wait, and asked if Hermione Granger would be joining them soon. 'You're almost never in here without her,' she observed.
Harry told her that Hermione would indeed be joining them later, but that he was unsure whether Hermione would want something else, she would order when she came, and would Madame Rosmerta come to their table when she did. Madame Rosmerta nodded her acquiescence and strode away to get their drinks.
Now Ron really was looking for Hermione. He craned his neck to get a look at the door and the other customers – perhaps she had come in while they were talking to Madame Rosmerta – to no avail.
Harry checked his watch and his eyes widened. 'Hey Weasley,' he nudged his friend. Ron snapped to attention. 'It's already two o'clock!'
'What?' exclaimed Ron in a loud voice of mortification. He unwittingly attracted the attention of a few diners. Ron checked his own watch. 'Damn, you're right.'
'Lighten up, Ron,' said Harry soothingly to his friend, while he himself was rather worried about Hermione; Ms Perfect was always punctual, never late. What if she had come exactly on time and left when they didn't? Harry made an effort to appear calm. 'She's probably on her way right now.'
For fear of being regarded as a worry-wart, Ron sat back in his seat, feigning calm. 'Right.'
After some moments, the two found themselves in danger of sinking into complete silence. Harry twiddled his thumbs and looked at the ceiling, as if finding the woodwork extremely interesting. Ron cleared his throat every few seconds and surreptitiously turned his eyes to the door repeatedly.
They were rescued by Madame Rosmerta, who came bearing their drinks on a tray. She placed a plate of marshmallows and chocolate biscuits in front of them, a ritual of hers and the three friends. Rosmerta had taken a liking to them, especially Hermione, who, like her, seemed to enjoy schoolwork, among other things.
Harry, always the nice little one, smiled at her and said his thanks. Rosmerta smiled back as he reached for a marshmallow and nudged the plate towards Ron, who declined.
Madame Rosmerta left them, saying she would give them the bill after Hermione came. Ron nodded to that and finally took a biscuit, chewing it absentmindedly.
Neither could mask the agitation they felt. Harry, in want of something to do, concentrated on his watch as his friend continued to be oblivious of all else but himself, his biscuit, and the door.
The hands of his watch ticked away the seconds; it was already ten past two. What could have happened? Hermione would have waited for them, not run off. He remembered Hermione's waking up late this morning and wondered if she had slept in again. But no, she wouldn't let herself do that; she still had some extra credit project for Professor Binns. He had a thought of his dream being involved in all this, but angrily pushed it into the back of his head, thinking he was getting carried away.
The scraping of a chair was heard, and Harry's head snapped up and he sat straighter. Ron was putting his hat on his head, checking his parcels, and looking to the door.
'Where you going?' asked Harry.
Ron pulled at his collar and said, 'I'm looking for her.'
Harry was rather glad he had initiated the search; he was getting rather anxious himself. He told Ron to wait outside, and as Ron trudged agitatedly to the door, he sought out Madame Rosmerta.
'Harry!' Madame Rosmerta was behind the counter. Her eyes widened at the vexed look on Harry's countenance. 'What's wrong?'
Harry pulled his moneybag out of his pocket and took out two Galleons. 'Hermione was supposed to meet us some time ago,' he began, 'and we're getting a bit worried.' He looked anxiously at the door, through which he could see Ron tapping his foot impatiently on the ground. Harry put the Galleons on the counter and hurried away, saying behind his shoulder; 'Keep the change, Madame Rosmerta.'
Packages in arms, he pushed open the door with his shoulder. Ron looked up at the sight of him, and both walked hastily back to Hogwarts gates.
***
'Breathe, Dammit!' he yelled, desperate.
Draco shook her by the shoulders, his mind racing. He was so nervous as to actually consider Pansy's plan – but even if they did leave Hermione here to die, Albus Dumbledore would still know; he knew everything that went on, something he knew from an incident in fifth year.
He swooped down on Hermione and tried breathing life into her again. He kept telling himself, among other things, that his lips on hers was nothing at all, and that he was doing this as much for his benefit as hers. But he knew in his breast it really wasn't 'nothing'. He should have cared less, but he didn't. He was increasingly worried about her health. Draco knew by now he had strong feelings for the girl – they definitely weren't hate, that was for sure. But she did hate him, didn't she? He succeeded in keeping his features steady as he continued with an activity he knew she would more than disapprove of, were she awake. Still, his closeness to her disturbed him very badly, and he couldn't help turning a few shades of pink as he tried to revive her. Thankfully, Pansy wasn't looking.
Pansy was keeping watch, Draco supposed, to keep her mind off what Draco was doing. He knew she was mortified by his trying to save her, but more from how he was doing it than why. Draco thought privately that she deserved to feel bad at this time – it was all her fault, after all! It was one of the few benefits of his decision to help her.
Draco turned back to Hermione. He paled further. It was almost a full two minutes since she'd breathed, and the possibilities of her dying weighed on him. There was a pulse, but it was irregular and slow. Again he tried to perform mouth-to-mouth, hoping very badly that he would, at length (no, perhaps not at length) succeed.
He lifted his lips from hers and scrutinised her face for a sign of recovery.
At long last her eyelids fluttered open. There was time only for the quickest arrangement of mind. He must be collected, calm, and mean – no sign at all of relief, attachment, whatsoever. He inched away from her a bit and kept his countenance straight, bracing himself for Hermione's reaction as she slowly stirred.
'Malfoy?' she breathed.
***
Harry socked himself on the head as an idea came to mind.
'Stupid!' cried he.
Ron stopped running and looked at him in surprise. 'What the bloody heck is the matter now?' asked he, afraid of further consternation.
Both were standing in the marble staircase heading to Gryffindor Tower, fresh from a quick run from the Three Broomsticks, looking for Hermione. Harry didn't reply; instead he stuck his hand in his robes, feeling around for a secret pocket.
'Why didn't I think of this before?' he muttered under his breath. Triumphant, he drew the Marauder's Map from his clothes.
Ron's eyes widened. 'I didn't know you carried that with you!'
Harry ignored him and perused the map. 'I don't think she's in Hogsmeade,' he said quietly. 'She would have stayed in a shop closer to the Three Broomsticks if she was.' Ron looked over his shoulder and began reading the delineation. He ran his finger over the page, and squinted his eyes to read the diminutive writing. There was headmaster Dumbledore, in Professor McGonagall's office (he did not want to think about what activities they were engaged in), Filch and Mrs Norris in a used classroom, and Lavender and Seamus somewhere near the Astronomy tower (same with the Professors). Hermione was evidently not in the castle – perhaps the grounds? Harry's eyes started to hurt from all the squinting.
He gave a start when Ron's finger suddenly darted to the parchment and he yelled, 'There she is!'
Harry looked at where he was pointing, and gave a small gasp. The names by the two dots closest to her read:
'Draco Malfoy' and 'Pansy Parkinson', the former situated uncomfortably close to Hermione's.
***
'Malfoy?'
Draco stiffened. He hated the sound of that name, utterly hated it. This assisted him quite nicely with the scowl on his face, however.
'Awake?' he asked, careful to keep his voice as indifferent as possible.
Hermione blinked, and sat up straight quickly. Mortification rushed to her countenance and her eyes widened.
'What happened?' she demanded.
He inched away again, afraid of what she might do to him. A curse was the best she could do, of course, but he certainly wouldn't curse her. No, nothing in the world could make him hurt her.
Except perhaps his father.
Hermione looked like she was trying to remember what happened. She glanced, no, glared at Pansy, as if recalling that Pansy, who was unaware that she was conscious, pushed her into the water. Her gaze then was directed to Draco, and a look of horror crossed her face.
'You – you saved me, didn't you?' she asked in a baffled voice.
He averted his eyes and stood up. 'Gee, no, I just happened to be here when you awoke.' It was a feeble attempt at wit, but he really could do no better – he was too overcome with nervousness at what she might do – would she ask how he saved her? What a burden that would be to both! Would she tell others to shame him? But then that would be shaming her too – why didn't he contemplate this before?
Unconscious of his inner conflict, Hermione tried to stand up. She took his hand; whether he had not himself made the first motion, he could not say – he might have, perhaps, offered it – she took his hand and he tried to help her get up from her position on the grass.
Hermione looked unable to stand on her own two feet; her knees shook and give way, and she plopped unceremoniously back down on the grass. 'I –' she stuttered, 'I c-can't stand up.'
'Duh,' said Draco under his breath. This made things a little harder – he and Pansy would have to help her up and get to the infirmary, for there was no one in sight – cursed, cursed Pansy!
He looked to where Pansy was standing. 'Pansy!' he called. The girl automatically looked up at him and Hermione, and seemed further distressed by the fact that he was holding her hand.
'You – you got her to wake up?' she asked feebly, sounding rather sorry for Draco's success. Draco himself was starting to regret it, just a little bit.
'Yes, Ms Parkinson,' said Draco, agitated. 'Get over here!' he barked. Pansy looked rather hurt at his cold tone, but Draco could not feel sorry for her. No, this was all her doing – in fact, she should be grateful he did this. She was not to know, of course, that he did not in any case do this for herself.
Pansy scrambled up from her stance on the ground and rushed to the two of them, eager to set the two apart. Draco looked at his and Hermione's clasped hands and instantly let go. A small blush spread over her cheeks, contrasting much with her very pale skin. Hermione looked like she was thinking very, very hard of what to do, and that, he supposed, would not include hobble hobbling up the stairs to the infirmary with these two Slytherins. She most likely thought, too, that they wouldn't be willing to help her anyway.
Pansy looked at Hermione like she was something very nasty under her boots, but did not speak, for fear that Draco would bark at her if she did, whatever she said. He looked very prone to barking right now, indeed.
None spoke. They were like that for some time, Pansy glaring at Hermione, Hermione returning Pansy's glower whilst thinking what to do, and Draco admiring how alert her eyes appeared and the brilliancy a blush added to her countenance, while, same as Ms Granger, thinking what he could do.
At length, he sighed exasperatedly and asked the invalid, 'what do we do?'
Hermione appeared troubled. Obviously she had not planned to spend her afternoon thinking how to get to the Hospital Wing with two Death-Eater children. Who knows, they might be Death-Eaters themselves. 'I – I don't know,' she sighed extensively.
Pansy couldn't help herself. 'What is the world coming to!' she exclaimed sardonically. 'Ms Granger actually doesn't know!'
Draco raised his hand to hit her; Pansy cowered, bracing herself for a blow, but he caught himself in time. He was not going to resort to physical pain – that was for Crabbe and Goyle. And hitting Pansy Parkinson! What was he thinking! He was awfully sorry for that, but he wasn't about to say that to her. Draco took a calming breath and scowled characteristically at her.
'Pansy,' he said in an angry, strained manner used by his father on his mother. 'If you are not going to be of any assistance, it would be best for all of us,' said he, chancing a glance at Hermione, who was watching him with a horrified expression, 'if you took your leave.'
Right now Pansy, mindless of what could conspire between the two if left alone, nodded meekly at Draco and didn't even frown at Hermione. She simply gathered her robes and scattered away, eager to escape from Draco's anger.
Draco turned to Hermione. She was looking around her and trying to get her clothes unstuck from her skin. With a blush did Draco observe how her robes clung to her pleasant curves.
Hermione felt his gaze on her and looked up. A blush to match his. He was thinking of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and, from the colour of her face, her mind wasn't very differently engaged.
She cleared her throat.
'So.'
He shuffled his feet.
'Um.'
She made another attempt to loosen her clothes around her.
'Er.'
Draco threw his hands up in exasperation.
'Oh, sod this!' he exclaimed. To Hermione's surprise, he swooped down on her and put a hand on her waist, another under her presently incompetent legs. Her breath was caught in her throat as Draco lifted her up from the ground.
His face was stiff and indifferent, carefully kept so. He looked at her and muttered, 'Breathe, Granger. I didn't revive you just to let you die all over again.'
Hermione, embarrassed, let out a small breath.
All of a sudden, both heard two voices coming from the entrance to the castle. Both stiffened as well – what could be worse than being caught in wet clothes at such an awkward situation as this?
'Sometimes I hate this castle for being so large,' a familiar voice panted.
Hermione and Draco paled. They really did not need an answer to the question. Evidently it was being caught in wet clothes at such an awkward situation by her best friends.
Ron and Harry ran out of the castle in a hurry. Hermione turned a paler shade of white when she saw Harry carrying an ancient, very brittle piece of parchment. Ron was looking around wildly, doubtless for her.
Harry caught sight of them and scowled. Not bothering to call Ron, he ran to Draco and Hermione as fast as he could.
He skidded to a stop in front of them.
'Hermione,' he panted, gracing Draco with a frown (which Draco returned most generously), 'What in bloody hell are you doing?'
Ron came up behind him, wearing an identical glower to Harry's. Hermione, Draco observed, was redder than a tomato, and looking exceedingly uncomfortable. It was sort of a nice change from her haughty, 'Honestly!' look.
'Look,' said Draco, and the two boys' glares grew more violent. 'Let me explain,' he continued, in a slow voice that one would use to speak to someone who 'didn't get it'. Hermione squirmed in his arms and he pulled her a bit closer, not close enough, though, to be noticed by Harry and Ron.
'Pansy Parkinson pushed Mudblood Granger' (taking note of the small flash of hurt in Hermione's eyes) 'into that lake. See there?' he said, nodding to the river. Harry crossed his arms across his chest, and Draco, remembering what he had seen in Ms Granger's diary the day before, frowned.
Ron's glare subsided a bit and he looked at Hermione with concern. He gave Draco a look that said very clearly, 'What happened, you jerk?'
'I got her out of the water,' said Draco with a bit of difficulty. He did not need to mention mouth-to-mouth resuscitation at all, did he?
'C-can I talk?' said Hermione in an agitated manner. Harry and Ron looked at her, and she seemed to sink further into him under their very penetrating gazes.
'I couldn't walk,' she said meekly, eyes averted. 'For some reason. And he couldn't very well leave me there, could he? Dumbledore would know.' Her confidence grew as she spoke, and, like Draco, she didn't appear to think it necessary to mention how Draco revived her. He also noted her mentioning Dumbledore – it was sufficient for an explanation to the two boys, but surely she didn't really think that?
'Uh-huh.' Harry looked uncomfortable for a moment. After a few moments' contemplation he stretched out his arms from her. Draco, sorry that he had to let go of her but not at all regretting that Harry would be taking her to the Hospital Wing instead of him (what if someone else saw?), gently put her in Harry's arms. Hermione's cheek was now burning under their attention, and Draco, in attempt to lessen her discomfort, stepped back a bit. Harry seemed unaffected by her weight, and wordlessly turned back to walk off to the castle. Ron followed them, but with a glance at Draco. Draco, after breathing a sigh of relief that it was all over with, and not at all thinking the two owed him anything, traipsed off to the Slytherin dungeons.
A/N: Er. OK! What's going to happen now? What if this leaks out to the student body? Trouble ahead. Oh, and in contrast with what Draco thinks, it is not over with.