The Insanity Raging
Disclaimer: J.K.Rowling owns all the characters but Ditty, although she's welcome to borrow her if she wants.
A/N: 186 reviews! Thanks go to: KeeperOfTheMoon, KAOS, Wind Elf, rubberducks, Malishka, dracoNmione, willowfairy (x2), Siobhan (madiszon) The Dragon Guardian Of The Sea, Katrina, Queen Li, Mystical_Fascination, Dragonsbane, Escaflowne no Miko, Akira Gown, Rebecca, mutsumi, Sanaria, Tendra, Seisui Megami, kei-chan, Draco Lover, ~* paper star *~, hyper_shark, MoonDancerCat, ?????, New Light, Xtreme Nuisance, mya14, liklpwincs, Saotoshi Hatsuma (x4)(x15 on F+I!) JAMTillDawn, Purple People Eater, heavengurl899, dragon eyes, danapotter, VanillaStar, Rinsa, Angel: da Newsies fan, dixiedogbud, AideeEight, Italia12 (x4), lexi wood (x2), angellumpcioos, Romantic Fool (x3)!
Also, a big thank you goes out to everyone who reviewed Fire and Ice, which just passed 800 reviews! I'm bouncing on my bed with joy, but the springs are squeaking menacingly…
I think someone (Akira Gown?) thought that the door opening was someone entering the cell. Read over the end of last chapter – it was Ditty using her new freedom to let them all out.
I seem to have caught, not writer's block, but its complete opposite. Instead of not being able to write, I'm unable to stop myself writing. Which means you have yet again a super-length chapter – 7 pages on the dot. Enjoy it!
~*~
Harry paced the floor of the Gryffindor common room, for no other real reason than that he didn't know what to do, and pacing was what they did in books and films. He ran a hand through already messy black hair. 'Where could they be?'
'We've already said this a million times. Malfoy Manor.' Ron was sitting in an armchair, sunken deeply into its cushions. In one hand he held an old Charms textbook, in the other a roll of Spellotape. Pages seventy-one to one hundred and fifty-six were laid out on the table in front of him, and he was slowly but surely sticking each one back in place. 'Where else could they be?'
Harry threw himself onto a sofa. 'I know, I know.'
There was silence for a few minutes. Harry fidgeted on the sofa, trying to think of something. Some way to help Hermione. And Draco.
It still didn't feel quite right, calling him by his first name. It had been a slow and arduous process, learning to get along. He suspected that they would have murdered each other a long time ago if not for Hermione. As it was, they managed to get on, having civil conversations and using first names against years of habit. But Hermione was happy, and Draco did care for her. And he supposed that was what mattered.
'We should be grateful she's with Draco, I suppose.' Harry said eventually. 'At least he'll watch out for her… but I wish I could do something.'
'Stop getting worked up. Draco's with her, as you pointed out. He'd die before he let her be hurt. He almost did, remember, when the school got attacked by Death Eaters and he jumped in the way of the killing spell?'
'And then you knocked his father out before he could kill anyone, yes, I remember.' Harry replied. 'I just hate not being able to do anything.'
'Do something else, get your mind off them.' Ron recommended, accidentally tearing the piece of paper with pages ninety-three and ninety-four on in half. He mouthed an obscenity, which Harry was fairly sure Mrs. Weasley wouldn't approve of.
'You know you could just use a charm to stick them in?' he said.
'I tried it, but all the pages went back in the wrong order.' Ron grumbled, trying to remove some Spellotape that had accidentally wrapped itself around his fingers. 'Do your Transfiguration homework or something.'
'That's not due for weeks!'
'Just do it. It's distracting having you moaning. I almost stuck page eighty-five opposite page eighty-two before.'
Rolling his eyes, Harry headed up the stairs that led to his dormitory.
When he returned a few minutes later, arms aching from the pile of huge textbooks in his arms, he found Professor McGonagall standing in the middle of the common room. Ron turned to smile at him, a look of excitement in his eyes.
'They're back!'
~*~
'Now that we're out of the cell, the question is how do we get back to Hogwarts?' Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully, trying to ignore the fact that Malfoy was in the room. Hopefully they could just get back to Hogwarts and ignore each other. No more of this ridiculous psychological warfare… trying to get her to think she loved him indeed!
'Ditty knows the passages.' said the little house elf, whose eyes were wide and brimming with joyful tears. She wore Draco's sock proudly on one foot, and when she walked she trod as though she was wearing a sock of solid gold encrusted with jewels. 'Ditty can lead you out of the house.'
'We should get out of here before my father comes.' said Draco, who was leaning against a cabinet that stood against one wall. 'Lets get out of here first and worry about getting back later.'
'Whatever happened to Slytherins with their cunning planning?' she asked spitefully. He gave a graceful shrug.
'Fine. Ditty, lead us out of here.'
When she looked back later, Hermione always remembered the escape as an endless succession of twisting corridors, each one just as grey and colourless as the last. She remembered the light: cold and colourless moonlight slanting down from high, imposing windows. She remembered carrying Ditty on her shoulders so they could move faster, and remembered how Malfoy was detached and silent.
It was the silence that she remembered most of all, silence like the edge of a knife – with a subtle wrongness about it, the potential to harm, although she couldn't tell why she felt that way. After all, it was a perfectly normal silence, broken only by the two pairs of footsteps on unforgiving stone and occasional joyful squeals or directions from Ditty. It was the kind of silence made by two people not speaking to each other, but an inner sense told her that it should be filled.
When they finally opened the last door and found themselves only meters from the road, the change in atmosphere left the senses reeling. From dull greys they emerged into a paradise of after-dark contrasts, beneath an ebony sky punctuated with tiny crystalline stars. The moon's light was silver now, glittering on the leaves of trees and casting dramatic shadows. The musty smell and dismal echoes of the claustrophobic corridors had given way to fresh, clean air, filled with the noises of night – the wind stirring up the branches of the trees and the almost imperceptible sounds of nocturnal animals far away.
Draco walked to the edge of the road, slowly and with an almost pensive look on his face. 'I'm not sure if this will work, but…' Carefully and deliberately, he held out his left arm.
There was an instant when he looked ridiculous. And then – BANG!
Hermione jumped, gasping despite herself. The thing that had just appeared on the road was so big and so colourful that she couldn't take it all in at one glance. It looked faintly ridiculous. The violent purple shading was alleviated only by intermittent windows that looked as if they hadn't been cleaned in years, and probably harboured some extremely rare germs amongst the grime. Golden lettering flashed in the moonlight:
'The Knight Bus.'
Hermione, of course, had read about the Knight Bus. It had been started in 1988, she remembered, by a Ministry official named…
Draco cut off her attention by turning towards her. 'Transport. Who said I couldn't plan?' he asked, in a vaguely amused tone of voice.
Hermione scowled at him, her mind working quickly to come up with a suitable retort. She had always hated him for his blind prejudice and cruel bullying ways. The fact that he was trying to get her to believe that load of rubbish about Memory Charms irritated her, probably more than was really rational. She put this down to the fact that the very idea of loving him was repulsive.
'And how do you intend to pay for the bus?' she pointed out, smirking spitefully at having found a flaw in his plan. 'We haven't any money.'
Draco frowned but didn't get a chance to reply, because at that moment the bus doors slid open and a tall, gangly figure dressed in the same garish tones as the bus stepped onto the path. Hermione had heard Harry's tales of his escape from the Dursleys in third year, and she guessed this was Stan Shunpike. Had Harry been there, he would have noticed some differences: he had grown taller and lost the pimples, although his sticking out ears still remained.
'Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transportation…' he began, before trailing off at the sight of them. His eyes grew wide.
'Ern, look 'ere!' he exclaimed. 'It's those kids that were in the paper!'
Draco had assumed an angelic expression, which Hermione itched to slap. 'Excuse me, but what do you mean?'
Stan turned and picked something up from near the driver's seat. He held it out towards the two of them, and Hermione could clearly see that it was a recent copy of the Daily Prophet. More surprising was the fact that there were two separate moving photographs of herself and Draco, under the headline 'Search For Missing Hogwarts Pupils Continues!'
'Everyone's been searchin' for you. There's been a notice on the Muggle news an' all.' Stan stared at them like the Holy Grail. 'What happened?'
'It's a rather long story.' Draco said. 'We really need to get back to Hogwarts, but we don't have any money with us…'
'That's alrigh', we can let you on for free, can't we Ern?' Stan puffed out his chest self-importantly. 'We're doin' our civic duty, 'elping you back to 'Ogwarts.' He ushered them onto the bus, having paid no attention whatsoever to Ditty. But then, Hermione remembered, wizards never did pay attention to house elves.
She took a bed at the far end of the bus, and sat upright on it, resting her chin on her knees. Ditty sat beside her, euphoric with freedom. She seemed to consider that the best thing to do with her freedom was to compose extremely rude poems about Lucius. Hermione wondered where she'd learnt some of the ruder words, but didn't say anything about it. Secretly, she agreed wholeheartedly.
Stan kept running around the bus, from the front to welcome new passengers, to Draco who was tactfully sitting away from her, and then up the aisle to Hermione. He seemed to think that they would die if he didn't check on them every five minutes.
The bus journey was as boring as most. She couldn't even stare out of the window, as the thick coating of grime was almost impossible to see through. Eventually she asked to borrow Stan's copy of the Daily Prophet, which he gave her with a reverential respect similar to a high priest honouring a deity.
'On Tuesday night,' Hermione read aloud, hoping to disrupt the flow of rude poetry, 'two Hogwarts students vanished mysteriously from the school. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore said that he was 'treating the disappearances as very suspicious.' Aurors have been alerted and are currently searching the country.
'The search so far has revealed nothing of sixth year pupils Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. The two missing children are among the highest academic achievers in the school. In Gryffindor and Slytherin respectively, sources confirm they have overcome the traditional hatred between the two houses, and have been boyfriend and girlfriend for six months…'
Hermione stared at the sentence. Shock was her first thought, but was quickly replaced with a surge of anger. First Malfoy tried to get her to believe it, then he got Ditty to try to convince her, and now he'd even somehow misinformed the Daily Prophet. Why was he doing this? Only one thought presented itself – he was trying to mess with her mind, to drive her insane. And very possibly succeeding.
' Does Miss Hermione believe now?' asked Ditty in a very quiet voice.
'No!' she said with a vehemence that surprised even herself. 'He's trying to drive me mad or something.'
It couldn't be true. All her life, all her years at Hogwarts, Malfoy had hated her. She had hated him. It had been a certainty, like the rising of the sun or the tides. And then he came along with his ridiculous story of Memory Charms and love and it was ridiculous, laughable, except if it wasn't true then why were there all these gaps in her memory and why did Ditty and the Daily Prophet say it was true and why did she somehow have an instinct deep inside her…
She stared at the photograph version of Malfoy, gazing smugly and arrogantly at the world. Her fingernails dug into the photograph of their own accord, denting and tearing the cheap paper.
She cast the paper onto the opposite bed. 'It's not true.' she stated.
Had she looked closely at the photograph of Draco, she would have seen a look that on another's face would have been described as heartbroken.
~*~
The escape from Malfoy Manor had not gone at all the way Hermione had expected. In books, escapes always involved danger and excitement. Often there were heroic rescues, clever tricks or pursuing enemies – quite like Harry and Ron's rescue the previous year, which in her imagination had become like a Muggle action film.
But their escape had been almost too easy – after they had figured out how to free Ditty and unlock the door, it had been effortless. Their journey through the underground passages of Malfoy Manor had been without obstruction, they had travelled back to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus even though they didn't have any money. They had reached the Great Hall after everyone was in their dormitories, and given Professor McGonagall the fright of her life when she had inadvertently walked into them.
Now they were waiting in Dumbledore's office, sitting in separate chairs before the Headmaster's desk. Hermione felt uncomfortable under the gaze of the portraits hung around the walls, which seemed to peer at her critically. She became acutely aware that she had been wearing the same clothes for almost two days now, and that they were creased and covered in dirt. She began to ache for a shower.
Ditty, who was sitting in between Hermione and Draco, tugged her sleeve for attention. 'Ditty has been thinking.' she said in a whisper. Dumbledore's office seemed to overawe her. 'Ditty wonders if Miss Hermione could ask Professor Dumbledore if Ditty could… come and work at Hogwarts? Ditty doesn't want to have no work, and Ditty's old mistress thought very highly of Professor Dumbledore…'
Hermione smiled. 'I'll ask him. I'm sure he'll let you. The Malfoy's last house elf works here too, his name is Dobby…'
She was cut off in mid speech by the entrance of Dumbledore. Ditty seemed to shrink further into the seat from nerves.
Dumbledore smiled benevolently. 'I must congratulate you, Miss. Granger. I believe that this must be a record. Normally, I find you or your friends in here at the end of summer term with a tale of mortal peril to relate to me. However,' he said, seating himself in the ancient chair and looking the two of them in the eye, 'this year, it seems to have taken you just one month.'
Hermione blushed involuntarily. 'I'm sorry.' she said in a sudden rush of guilt. 'I should have been more careful…'
'It is not your fault.' Dumbledore assured her. 'Professor McGonagall is bringing your friends from the common room. They have been, as I'm sure you can guess, extremely worried.'
Hermione barely had time to nod before a knock on the door announced their arrival, and she whipped round in her seat, excited by the prospect of seeing her friends again. Professor McGonagall opened the door with a polite smile.
'Mister Potter and Mister Weasley, as you requested, Albus.' she said, holding the door open. Harry and Ron entered, grinning from ear to ear.
'Hermione!' they exclaimed together, and in the ensuing muddle of anxious enquiries and assurances that she was 'Absolutely fine' she completely missed the fact that both boys gave Malfoy a short nod - not a particularly friendly nod, more a nod of recognition.
A soon as Harry and Ron had sat down in the rather hard chairs to Hermione's right, Dumbledore spoke. 'Now, I would appreciate it if the two of you would tell me more about your adventures.'
Hermione opened her mouth to begin her account, starting with how they left Hogwarts… and stopped. Because she couldn't remember. She remembered watching Harry and Ron play Quidditch at lunchtime, and something about a library and books, but then… She knew she had been in the Potions lesson, because she remembered handing in her essay. But she couldn't remember who she had been working with.
The inexplicable loss of memory frightened her. She had always relied on memory, on memorising anything she would ever need. It made her feel safer, ready for any situation. But when things began to vanish… and the only possible alternative was even worse than the memory loss.
'Is something wrong?' asked Dumbledore. Hermione shook her head.
'It's just…'
'My father cast a Memory Charm on her.' Draco said, his tone neutral and so guarded that it verged on sounding bored. 'She doesn't remember anything about me since we…' he trailed off, letting the obvious remain unsaid.
Hermione frowned at him. 'Will you stop lying? There's no way on Earth I'm ever going to believe you, so just… stop messing with my mind!' She had to restrain herself from using inappropriate language. She was in front of the Headmaster, after all.
'Wait, are you trying to say that Hermione's forgotten she ever loved you?' Harry asked incredulously.
'What do you mean, 'she ever loved you'?' Hermione's tone became a little wild. 'I never loved him. Stop being so… ridiculous!'
'Miss Granger,' began Dumbledore with a frown, 'I realise this must come as a great shock to you, but he speaks the truth. You have been romantically involved, to my knowledge, for at least six months.'
He went on to say something else, something about memory and side effects and forgetting, but Hermione didn't hear. A curious deafness had come over her, a deafness that wasn't being unable to hear so much as being unwilling to hear. It couldn't be true, it couldn't. She and Malfoy hated each other. She remembered how he'd called her a Mudblood in second year, and laughed when poor Ron's spell went wrong. She remembered slapping him in third year, and how he had tried to get Hagrid fired. She remembered him taunting her at the Quidditch World Cup.
More than these, she remembered the little things. The smirks, the taunts. The way he would knock her arm in Potions if he had the chance, trying to ruin her work. The way he always had a smart answer for anything she could throw at him. The way he looked down at everything. The way he treated her as the lowest of the low, as nothing more than a worm or slug or other slimy unpleasant thing…
Hermione Granger hated Draco Malfoy. How could it be any different?
But now a thin line of doubt was emerging, worming it's way into her reasoning. But you've lost your memory. You can't remember some things. And sometimes you catch yourself thinking about him as if you know him well. It could be true…
Hermione stood sharply upright, interrupting Dumbledore mid speech. 'Okay, the joke's over.' she said. 'I'm sure it was really funny, but can we please get back to serious matters now?'
At the beginning of the sentence, her voice had been firm and resolute. By the end, it was a plea.
'Hermione…' began Harry, and that was when Hermione's very last reserves of denial broke into fragments. Because she could tell when her friends were lying, and they weren't.
They weren't lying.
Hermione threw a wild glance around the room: Harry and Ron, their faces anxious but slightly puzzled, Dumbledore, a serious and pensive frown upon his face, and Malfoy, who she'd never seen quite like this – or she didn't remember seeing him so – looking pale as snow and almost vulnerable. Unguarded.
Hermione turned and fled, the insanity raging in her ears.
~*~
A/N: Hermione's stopped denying it at last! A while more to go before they actually fall back in love, but I can guarantee they'll be back together a good way before the end.
Reviews please! Otherwise I'll… ack. Imagine your worst nightmare and imagine I said it.
