"DAMN them!" Hermione cried, much to Draco's surprise. "How could they? How could they do something so damn bloody stupid! Just when I really need them they go off like- like- like lambs to the slaughter- trying- trying to be fucking gallant- trying to avenge me! Damn bloody fools!"
Draco had never heard such language issue from her mouth before. He was fairly impressed.
The look of horror that had spread across her face when Draco had first told her of Harry and Ron's disappearance had been replaced first by mounting distress and now by pure fury. Her hazel eyes were flashing; her cheeks flushed with anger. At least she looks healthy, like herself again, Draco thought. He shuddered, thinking of the eight long days she had spent looking- well, dead.
And he understood her concern over her two oldest friends- at least in theory- but he couldn't fathom her intense rage.
"I don't understand," he said. "Concern I get- but this anger- why? I'm kind of impressed, myself. Seems Potter and Weasley have considerably more balls than I ever gave them credit for. So- enlighten me."
"More balls…" she echoed faintly, and pressed the heels of her hands hard against her puffy eyes, trying to get control of herself.
"The reason I'm angry," she said after a moment, not looking up and grinding the words out between her teeth, "is that all this- this macho, chivalrous BULLSHIT is so NOT what I want or need right now! I wanted- I wanted them to be here, with me, I just wanted to try to- heal, to try to get on with my life and- and- HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT WHEN MY EVERY WAKING MOMENT IS GOING TO BE SPENT IN MORTAL TERROR UNTIL THEY EITHER COME BACK OR- or-" her words were choked off by fresh sobs. Draco reached out, intending to draw her into his arms again, but she shrugged him off.
After several moments of weeping into her drawn up knees, she raised her head and dashed at the tears on her cheeks. It was an angry gesture reminiscent of the one Draco himself had made all those days ago, sitting on the corridor floor. She seemed calm again, but her face was now more than flushed- it was hectic with color and her eyes were over bright. Draco thought she looked fevered.
"And another thing," she said, as though she had never stopped talking, "all this revenge shit- it's plain insulting. Why the hell should THEY avenge me?"
Draco was taken aback. "Are- are you saying that you don't think you deserve to be avenged? Because let me tell you, if I were to be given a shot at You-Know-Who right now-"
"That's not what I'm saying!" she interrupted impatiently. "What I'm saying is, Voldemort did what he did to ME, not to them and certainly not to you! You weren't even there! So why the hell shouldn't I be the one to avenge MYSELF!"
Draco was gaping at her. "Hermione," he said, sounding uncharacteristically shaken, "you said his name."
"You're damn right I said his name," she nearly spat. "Harry earned that right long ago, though blood, and now so have I!"
Draco was now more than fairly impressed- he was deeply impressed- and more than a little unnerved. Harry and Ron would not have been so surprised- they had both seen Hermione show her grit on numerous occasions- but Draco was really only familiar with library Hermione, so he was seeing a whole new side of her. (Well, his mind whispered, there was that time she slapped me…) They both lapsed into silence for several minutes.
Abruptly, Hermione heaved off the blankets. "All right, that's it then," she said, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. For the first time in eight days, her feet touched the floor.
"What- what's it?" Draco asked warily; this turn of events was making him distinctly uneasy.
"I know what I have to do," she said decisively. "Harry and Ron don't have much of a start- four hours, maybe five- right? And they don't even know exactly where they're going. If Harry's doing what I think he is- using his scar like a tracking device- (I began to suspect he could do that last year)- then the closer he gets the more painful it will become, and the slower they'll have to go. So I could still beat them there easily- if I knew where to find Voldemort. And once there I could take my own revenge, and not have to worry about the safety of my stupid, foolhardy friends."
Draco, who had been listening to this plan with mounting horror, seized desperately on its major flaw. "Hermione, the thing is- well, beside the fact that you are out of your everloving mind-you DON'T know where You-Know-Who is. So why don't you just lie back-"
"No, I don't know where to find him," she interrupted with quiet intensity, "but you do."
Draco rocked backwards with the impact of her quiet words. He was silent for a moment and when he next spoke, he seemed to be choosing his words very carefully.
"Hermione, I'm not going to attempt to deny my family's connection with the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters; that would be utterly pointless. But I want you to know- it is CRUCIAL to me that you know- that after what happened to you, this is one member of the League of Future Death Eaters who is canceling his initiation ball! It's only natural for you to assume that I'm right in with that group, but please believe that as of right now, that's changing. For good. You have my word on that."
His ice blue eyes held hers, searching deeply, probing…for what? What did he want from her? Acceptance? It dawned on her with mild surprise that that was exactly what he wanted- for her to accept him as Draco, just Draco. Not a Malfoy, the son of one of Voldemort's most prominent supporters, not a Slytherin, not a member of the League of- of junior arseholes- just Draco, her friend. She thought a moment about how to frame her reply.
"I wasn't trying to accuse you of anything," she said finally. "I don't even know whether you are personally aware of Voldemort's whereabouts or not, but I know you know people that are. All I meant to say was that I know you have connections and I'm asking them to use them. One last time, for me. Because," she added with a defiant tilt to her chin, "I couldn't possibly remain friends with someone who would let my other friends go to their deaths without helping me save them. So- will you help me?"
She watched the conflict that was playing out behind his pale eyes. His reluctance was clear. Finally he dropped his gaze from her and his shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. "All right," he said. "All right, Hermione. But not without deep misgivings, I have to tell you that. I honestly feel you've been through enough and that Potter and Weasley can take care of themselves- but if you insist, then all right."
"I do insist," she said, but gently. "And I thank you." She reached up and pressed her palm to his pale cheek. His eyes flew back to hers, startled by this display of affection, but in the next instant she was all business again.
"Go and pull your strings then," she said, her voice brisk. "As for me, I'm going to sneak up to my dorm for my clothes and wand. I'll meet you back here in- how long do you need? Will half an hour suffice?" Draco nodded. "Good. Half an hour then. Oh- and we'll need brooms. Can you get those too?" Another nod from Draco. "Double good," she said, and stood up.
Suddenly pressing a hand to her forehead, she swayed dangerously on her feet. "Hermione-" Draco reached for her, but she brushed his hand away. "It's just a little head rush, that's all," she said impatiently. "I mean, I've been lying down for eight days, right? It's to be expected. I'll just walk it off." She took a step toward the door- and collapsed.
00000
Swift and silent, drawing on the same seeker's reflexes Harry had used earlier, Draco threw himself forward and caught her before she hit the floor. Having seized her under the arms from behind, he hauled her back to the bed and laid her diagonally across it, her legs dangling over one edge, one arm flung over the other. Without conscious thought, he found himself straddling her, their bodies pressed close together.
If Harry and Ron had chanced to walk in upon this scene, they probably would have murdered him first and asked questions later.
Draco could feel the erratic beating of her heart beneath the terrified pounding of his own. Her eyes were open but unfocused. He took her face in both his hands and turned it up toward his, willing her to focus and look at him. "Hermione, snap out of it," he said in a low, urgent voice. "Hermione- look at me! Please?" There was no response. Her face was slack, hazel eyes devoid of expression.
Suddenly, to his own amazement, Draco yanked his hands away from her face as if her skin had burned him, balled them into tight fists, and slammed them down on the bed on either side of her head. "Goddamit, Granger, you little bitch, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!" he cried raggedly. There was fury in his voice, but in his eyes were only panic and despair. "Do you think I WANTED all this bloody chaos you've brought into my life?" he gasped. "Do you think I wanted to start questioning everything I was raised to believe in? Do you think I wanted to turn my back on the members of my own house? To be shunned by them forever? Do you think I wanted to….do you think I wanted to love you? YOU FUCKING MADE ME! And now you think you're just going to waltz off to that library in the sky and leave me in this mess? Well, you've got another think coming, mudblood!" And he slapped her, hard.
There's no arguing with results. The slap brought her back. Her eyes shut tight, and when they opened again a second later they were clear, though they bore an expression of puzzlement and hurt. "Draco….?" she said, and without waiting for a reply, slapped him back with surprising strength for someone who had been catatonic three seconds before. She left a red handprint blazing on his pale cheek.
They stared at each other for a long, intense moment, breathing hard. "God Almighty, Hermione," Draco finally groaned, "I never wanted to love someone like this. I never wanted to be this vulnerable- to know such fear. You're going to be the death of me." Lowering his head, he kissed her deeply.
Hermione reacted without pausing to think or to rationalize. Her hands wound through Draco's silver-fine hair and she kissed him back passionately. They kissed urgently, almost frantically. It was the kind of kiss lovers might share who know they stand on the brink of Armageddon.
And for Draco, at least, that was exactly how it felt- the end of the world. His world, which had begun to crumble the moment he had come across Hermione, pale and cold in Ron's arms, and learned that Voldemort- whom he had been taught to revere since he was a babe-in-arms- was responsible for the rape and nearly the murder of the only friend he actually valued; his world, which had begun to crumble then, finally came crashing all the way down around him with this kiss.
The Draco Malfoy he had always been- cold, calculating, detached, uncaring about anyone or anything save himself, his own best interests, and the cause he had been taught to believe in since earliest childhood- was utterly wiped out. Gone as completely as though he had never existed. He now belonged to Hermione, body, mind and soul. He was hers. He was (he thought despairingly) lost.
A moment later he pulled away and stood up shakily. He ran both hands through his near colorless hair, trying to compose himself, and looked down at Hermione, now raising herself on her elbows. The girl he loved. The girl he would kill or die for, if either was required to keep her safe and happy. He knelt in front of her and took both her hands in his. "I'm going after Potter and Weasley," he said. "I will bring them back safely- not for their sakes, but for yours. I swear it. I want you to stay here, and I don't want you to worry." Standing again, he turned for the door.
"NO." Draco stopped as he heard her stand up behind him. This time she kept her feet. "No," she said again, "I have to come."
He turned back to face her, his jaw set. "You can't seriously mean that. Hermione, you can't even make it across this room."
"I'll make it this time," she said, and her face matched his in stubbornness. "The alternative is unacceptable. Instead of lying here helplessly in mortal terror for two of the people I care most about in this world, now I'm supposed to lie here helplessly in mortal terror for three of the people I care most about in this world. I can not and will not accept that. And besides-" here she glanced away and swallowed hard before continuing- "there's something else. When I fainted just then, I saw….him. I saw Voldemort. Just as plain as if he were standing in this room. And he- he saw me too."
Draco didn't understand this, but he understood that it was important. He reached out and gripped her by the shoulders. "What do you mean, you saw him? How is that possible?"
"I don't know how it's possible," she said, shaking her head in frustration. Draco knew how much she hated not knowing the answer to a question. "But it was his doing, and I think he expected to see me dead, or close to it. That was his intention, after all- he left me alive, but only because he was sure I would die later. He wanted me to suffer and die slowly…for Harry's benefit. He said as much when- when he was done with me."
Draco felt a wave of cold, murderous rage wash over him. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. Which was saying something, for he was well acquainted with many varieties of rage. Always in the past, though, rage had come as a result of some injury or slight to himself. The rage he felt now on Hermione's behalf was a new experience altogether.
"-So when he saw me alive, awake and standing, he was furious," she said. "I saw it in his eyes- such anger. His face was contorted with it. And then he- he sneered at me and he reached out- reached toward me- and he clenched his fist. And it hurt- Draco, it hurt me, like all the blood in my veins turned to fire. It hurt until you slapped me and brought me out of it. See, that's the point- he can still hurt me. We're connected somehow, but I don't know how and I don't know how to free myself!" Her voice was rising; she seemed on the verge of hysterics. "And that's why I have to come," she said. "I have to kill him before he kills me, because he can- I know he can. He's just gathering his strength to attack me again. It's him or me. And if we don't reach him soon, it WILL be me. Draco, please don't leave me here to die all alone!"
"NO!" Draco cried hoarsely, and pulled her forward into a tight embrace. "No," he said again savagely, resting his chin on the top of her head, "No. You will not die- not while I have breath in my body."
He held her thus for a long time, trying desperately to determine the best coarse of action. His every instinct screamed at him to leave her there; Hogwarts was safe; he would have to be insane to take this girl, who could barely stand up on her own, into battle with him- for that was where he was going; to wage open war on the man his parents had raised him to serve.
And yet- if it was true that she was somehow connected to Voldemort and that he could hurt her- could kill her- no matter the distance between them, then she was no safer here than anywhere, no safer here than she would be right in Voldemort's lair. And at least if he kept her with him he would know if she went into another trance- he could bring her out of it again. If she stayed here alone in this room there would be no one to do that- she would remain in the trance until she died.
It was that thought that decided him- the thought of going and killing Voldemort and returning victorious with Potter and Weasley in tow only to find that he hadn't done it in time- to find that Voldemort had gathered sufficient strength to attack Hermione again before he, Draco, ever reached him. The thought of returning to find Hermione safely in bed in her hospital room, with Madam Pomfrey down the hall and Dumbledore right upstairs, but dead just the same- that thought was unendurable. That thought was awful beyond contemplation- so awful that his very body reacted to it by becoming physically ill. He managed- barely- to fight down a wave of nausea that threatened to engulf him, and then realized that he had broken out in a cold sweat. Just at the thought of losing her. How, he asked himself distractedly, how did it ever come to this?
"All right," he said finally, still with his chin resting atop her head. "You're coming. But I don't trust you to fly- you could go into another trance and fall off your broom. You're riding with me." He felt her nod against his chest.
"Let's go then," he said, stepping backward out of their embrace and pulling her by the hand toward the door. "If there's truth in what you said, we don't have a moment to spare."