CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"First comes love and then comes pain."
"Love Boat Captain", PEARL JAM

"Harry!"

Harry looked up as Ginny clattered through the door, breathless and in a state of panic, and proceeded to stumble over to his armchair. Harry put down his book at once, alarmed. Ginny was as sensitive as her older brothers Percy and Ron, but all the same, it took a lot to get her into such a state as this.

"What's wrong?' he said, getting to his feet as she approached. Ginny practically fell onto him, and grabbed his wrists with both her hands.

"Oh my God, oh my God," she gasped, "McGonagall sent me-have you seen Ron?"

"Not for the last hour or so- he went for a walk on the Quidditch pitch- why, what's going on?"

"Oh, God- it's Hermione, she's in the hospital wing-"

"The hospital wing?!"

"Yes, yes, come on! Hurry!" Grabbing Harry by the hand, she pulled him out of the common room and to the hospital wing, explaining breathlessly on the way. By the time she had finished her story, Harry was legging ahead of her, dragging her along by the sleeve of her robes.

"She was attacked- they've found the people who have been doing it, by the way, and it's three Slytherins, a seventh year and two sixth years-"

"Who?" Harry demanded, as they dived through a tapestry.

"Millecint Bullstrode, Blaise Zabini, and Ignatious Farrel."

Harry swore. The three of them were notorious supporters of Voldemort and Zabini had even been taken to Dumbledore's office for questioning at one point. Not only that, the three of them were large and imposing figures who could easily beat a person as small as Hermione senseless. "What happened?"

"Well, as far as I can tell she had just stepped outside the library door, and they were waiting for her behind the pillars. She defended herself, of course, but only Millecint got hit by the curse- she's in the hospital wing as well, unconscious- and so the other two put down their wands and one of them- Farrel I think- had an old Beater's club, and they both started going at her-"

"Oh, God," Harry groaned, as he tripped up the third floor staircase.

"It gets worse-" Here Ginny grabbed him by the arm, and Harry's heart twisted with foreboding. "They found a truth serum in Millecint's robes."

"No."

"They were going to drug her, Harry. Get her to talk."

"No." A lump rose up Harry's throat. This was all his fault- if he hadn't involved her in all of this, no one would care that she was Harry Potter's friend- oh God, he'd been angry at her this morning along with it.

"I'm sorry, Harry…" Ginny said, squeezing his hand.

"Never mind," Harry said, righting himself with only a little sniffle. They'd reached the third floor now, and the both of them, breathless, had slowed down to a jog. "What happened, then? How did she get out of it?"

"You'll never believe it," Ginny said breathily, "but he came to her rescue!"

"Who?"

"Take a look! He's still in there!"

Harry stopped in front of the hospital wing door, and then, after another hand-squeeze from Ginny, opened it. Hermione lay in the bed near the window, pale and with a horrible white bandage around her head. But sitting next to the bed was something far more shocking- Draco Malfoy, holding her hand.

"Hey!" Harry said, before he could stop himself, instinctively stepping in front of Ginny. Malfoy looked up cautiously.

"Hello, Potter," he said wearily. Harry opened his mouth, but Malfoy continued talking, looking at Hermione while he did so. "Before you ask, I actually didn't have any part in this horrible episode, nor did I know they were going to be there. I didn't set her up, I didn't know that those three were the ones attacking people- though now that I think about it, I should have- and I didn't tip them off in any way at all."

Harry opened his mouth again- then stopped. Malfoy wouldn't have set her up, or tipped off anyone that she was going to be there, because he didn't want anyone to know about his being tutored by her. That part, at least, was true. "And the truth serum?"

Malfoy sighed. "I haven't talked to Bulstrode, Farrel, or Zabini once this year. Every moron who can read a newspaper knows that Hermione's your friend, Potter- of course she's going to know a lot of classified information. And once again, before you ask," he said, with a sardonic tone, "I haven't once asked her for any of that classified information. In fact, I couldn't care less about what she knows about Dumbledore, Voldemort, or whoever. I don't care about any of that."

They all lapsed into silence as Harry struggled with his conscience. Malfoy was making sense. Even if he had known about the three Slytherins attacking people and wanted to set Hermione up, surely he would have done it earlier? After all Hermione had been tutoring him for over a month now. And if Malfoy was behind this- if he really was the cause of Hermione's pain- surely he wouldn't be sitting at her bedside staring at her with the most morose, the most troubled, the most- familiar- expression on his face?

But it's Malfoy! He could be lying! But Malfoy wasn't a liar. Not in all the years Harry had hated him had Malfoy offered anything less than the truth. And something was tugging on Harry's heartstrings relentlessly about this situation. It had to be the truth.

"I believe you," he said finally, with a sigh. Ginny however, was not as easily convinced.

"What were you doing hanging around the library anyway?" she demanded boldly, "It can't have just been a coincidence that you managed to be in the right place at the right time? How do we know this isn't some big hoax?"

Malfoy looked perplexedly at Harry, unsure of what to say. "Ginny…" said Harry.

"He's lying, he's always lying! He's a nasty, slimy piece of work and he did this to Hermione, I know it-" Ginny said shrilly, ripping her arm away from Harry's pacifying touch.

"Ginny, calm down. Just listen for a moment…"

"She's right."

Harry looked at Malfoy sharply. He stared back with haunted blue eyes. Was he admitting it? Had Harry's instinct to trust him been wrong?

"I wasn't there by any coincidence," Malfoy explained slowly, looking at Ginny. "Hermione and I…we've…" He looked down at Hermione again and squeezed her hand. Ginny's eyes widened to about twice their usual size as she completely misinterpreted what Malfoy was saying. Harry couldn't blame her though- the way Malfoy was looking at her was so…affectionate, and so familiar- that harry would have misinterpreted what Malfoy was trying to say, had he not known better. (At least, he hoped he knew better.)

"Ginny, Hermione is Malfoy's tutor," Harry said, before Malfoy could say anything else. "Just his tutor." Ginny was immediately rendered mute

Malfoy opened his mouth, and Harry half expected him to say something like "Actually, we were more than that- much more…" but he didn't. Thankfully.

"But if I hadn't asked for lessons in the first place," he said heavily, "then she wouldn't have been there, and she wouldn't have been walking back alone from the library, and she wouldn't have been attacked. So you see it is my fault, and…" Another heavy sigh, and another forlorn look.

Harry blinked in surprised. Malfoy was taking blame. He was taking blame that wasn't even his. Never, in all the time Harry had hated Malfoy had his enemy ever been so…nice.

"But you saved her," Harry blurted out, as Ginny looked from him to Malfoy, looking for some sort of confirmation. Malfoy looked up suddenly. He looked at Ginny.

"Um…would you mind leaving the room for one moment? I just need to have a word with Pot- with Harry."

Ginny looked at Harry sharply. He nodded. "Just go. It'll be fine."

"I'll be waiting outside the door for you." She left with a final glare at Malfoy.

"Everyone is going to find out about this," Malfoy said, after she had closed the door behind her.

"They certainly are," Harry agreed.

"The Hogwarts rumour mill's going to be churning out about sixteen different versions of the story."

"Yes."

"I just wanted to know…" he shrugged, "I wanted to know what you were going to tell everyone."

Harry paused. "I'm not going to tell anyone, if I don't have to. And if I do have to…the truth."

"Yes, but…what are you going to tell Weasley?"

Harry hadn't been expecting that. "The truth, of course."

"He won't like it."

No, of course he won't. Why would he like to hear that his girlfriend's been lying to him, spending hours at a time in a quiet dark place with you? "How would you know?" Harry challenged, out of habit more than anything else. He was far too worried, far to weary, to get into a fight with Malfoy now. Hermione looked pale, and Malfoy's hand looked firmly attached to hers.

"Because I'm not stupid," Malfoy said- sounding as weary as Harry felt- "And for the little I know about him, I know he hates me. And I know that he doesn't know."

"Yes, but…how did you know that?"

"She told me. She feels awful about it."

Harry refrained from saying, "Yes, well, she should." Instead he said, "She'll tell him. She hasn't got anything to hide…" he trailed off, looking at Malfoy's hand tightly entwined with Hermione's. "Does she?" he said, chilled by the expression on Malfoy's face. Where had he seen it before…?

"No!" Malfoy said, looking up at Harry in surprise. "Of course not. But you must admit it will look suspicious to Weasley."

"Ron will be fine. They'll both be fine. But I'll tell them about your concern."

"It's not them I'm worried about. It's her. You know that everyone's going to be talking this for weeks. I mean," he made a face, "Hermione Granger, one half of the golden couple of Gryffindor, spending late nights in the library with Draco Malfoy, Evil Wizard Extraordinare? She's going to be the topic of everyone breakfast conversation until Christmas."

"You've got a point," Harry admitted, before he could stop himself. "But…this will affect you too you know."

"I don't care. I just don't want to see her hurt." And then Harry had a shock, for he had finally placed where Malfoy's expression had been seen before, as he looked down at her again.

Draco Malfoy was looking at Hermione the exact same way Ron always used to look at her.

When Hermione woke up, someone was holding her hand. "Ron," she mumbled, before she actually knew what was going on. But it wasn't Ron.

"How're you feeling?" said a voice that didn't usually accompany hand-holding.

"My head hurts," she said, too frightened to open her eyes. Actually, her everything hurt. She felt like someone had taken out all her bones, muscles and organs, played a game of Quidditch with them, and then put them back inside her.

"You'll be fine. Everything's going to be okay."

She opened her eyes. The white ceiling of the hospital wing glared down at her. "What happened?"

"You were attacked," said Draco, and he shifted a little closer, squeezed her hand a little tighter. (Hermione caught herself before saying "I'm so glad you're not Ron." Because if it were Ron, she would have to explain, and she couldn't explain until she knew what was going on.)

"I remember…" Hermione said. She'd stepped outside the library- they'd been hiding behind the pillars. "Millecint…" She'd been the first to step out. Hermione had been wary as she and Millecint had never been on the best of terms, frankly. "Hello," she'd faltered.

"Hello," Millecint had echoed cruelly before drawing her wand.

"They hit you with a leg locker curse," Draco supplied, as the images petered out.

"That's right," Hermione gasped. By the time she'd managed to break the curse, there'd been all three of them on her, zapping her with their wands, laughing. Painful electric shocks…and she could see their faces.

"Millecint Bulstrode, Ignatious Farrel, and Blaise Zabaini…" she said aloud.

"They've all been expelled," Draco said. Hermione finally looked up at him. He grinned at her. "I'm glad you're awake."

"I'm glad you're here," she admitted softly. The pain in her head didn't feel so bad anymore. His blonde hair fell forward onto his face as he bent down to talk quietly to her, explaining what happened.

"You hit them with a curse- Millencint fell unconscious but the other two were only startled." His big blue eyes were full of something she never recognized in them before. She wanted to give him a hug.

"And then…"

"The Beater's club."

"Yes…" Hermione said. It was a wonder she hadn't fallen unconscious straight away. She been momentarily blinded by the hard crack her head- then blood had started running down her face, and then she'd thought They're going to beat me to death, this is it…

"And then…" she said aloud. Just as she fallen unconscious, just as she'd finally screamed in desperation…Draco had come running out. That's when she'd blacked out.

Draco's hand in hers was bruised, badly- ugly purple shadows fanning out into yellow cris-crosses across that pale, soft hand. "Oh, Draco..." she said softly, turning the hand this way and that, and looking up to see that his jaw also sported the same bruises. His clear iceberg eyes confronted her face- vibrant with emotion. "You rescued me," she said.

And now the vibrant emotion was replaced with anxiety. "But if I hadn't sent you out- if I hadn't asked for tutelage in the first place- this wouldn't have happened. It's my fault you were there."

"Don't be daft," Hermione whispered, sitting up. "I should have been more careful, anyhow. It was stupid of me not to think I'd be targeted. I'm just lucky that you were there…" And now something stirred in her stomach, as it had done last night, in the library before the accident. He'd put his hand on top of her and looked into her eyes. And that's when she'd realised it, unfurling, swirling in her brain- changing her mind, changing her life- she did like Draco. She liked him so much. She liked him…too much. And now he'd saved her life, and it was…

"Oh- please don't cry…" he begged, cupping her face in his hands. Hermione shivered at the touch. "Hermione…Hermione don't."

"It's too much, it's too much," she choked, placing her hand on top of this, as those horribly warm and revealing tears shed into his hands. There was too much to say that she couldn't, and too much to feel that she wasn't supposed to. So she cried while he held her and stroked her hair and her face and he smelt of clean water and something else that was fresh and sharp in her nostrils. And all the while he was saying, "I'm so glad you're okay- I've been so scared for you and I just want you to be okay. I tried to knock them all down for you, Hermione-"

And then he was planting soft little kisses on top of her hair, on her forehead and both cheeks and her temples and her eyelids-

"Oh, stop," she squeezed out, through the tears and his warm embrace.

He pulled back immediately, guilty, breathless. "I'm so sorry-I'm a prick. I know, I shouldn't be touching you. It's just- Hermione…" She knew it for sure at that moment- that those secret, feelings, the clandestine yearnings that she thought were only hers had been with him too. He continued, frightened, breathless. His voice sounded surreal and strange, echoing softly into the hospital wing. "The moment I saw you in trouble I felt like the world stopped moving. I thought you were going to die." He paused. "I don't want to see you get hurt." Another pause, longer and deeper this time. "I don't want you to hurt any more."

She knew what he meant. "I don't…" she said, ever so softly, and reached for his hand.

The kiss came with it. The moment she touched him she knew she wanted to, needed to. It was a deep and longing, sweet and terrible kiss, that seemed to go on forever. And Hermione knew, in her mind, that it was wrong and wicked and betrayal- but along with that she knew that it was right. Because she felt for Draco, and he felt for her- and he'd saved her life. This is right- this is what's supposed to happen, her head murmured, as he cupped both hands around her face.

But if only she had heard the hospital wing door open and then close again, what happened next might not have been so bad.