Clandestine Rendezvous
Chapter 2: Recovery
----1----
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, leaned back against the back of the chair and studied his best friend Hermione's turbulent slumber. Sweat poured down her agony-etched face as she tossed and turned, moaning with pain. He was worried; Headmaster Dumbledore had said that the right head of the runespoor had bitten her—the right head was the most dangerous and the most poisonous of all three. Dumbledore, Snape, the Potions teacher, and Madame Hooch, the nurse, were working rigorously to concoct an antidote to the snake's poison. That is, Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey probably were. Snape hated Harry and his friends; except for obeying Dumbledore, he wouldn't ever help them.
His other best friend, Ron Weasley, paced back and forth at the foot of Hermione's hospital bed, occasionally stopping to look up at her, then returning to his roundabout path. Ginny, Ron's younger sister, read aloud from the "Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them" textbook, looking under Runespoors.
[The following has been taken out of the actual textbook.] "…The Runespoor, though not in itself a particularly vicious beast, was once a favourite pet of Dark wizards, no doubt because of its striking and intimidating appearance. It is to the writings of Parselmouths who have kept and conversed with these serpents that we owe our understanding of their curious habits. It transpires from their records that each of the Runespoor's heads serves a different purpose. The left head, (as seen by the wizard facing the Runespoor) is the planner. It decides where the Runespoor is to go and what it is to do next. The middle head is the dreamer (Runespoors may remain stationary for days at a time, lost in glorious visions and imaginings). The right head is the critic and will evaluate the efforts of the left and middle heads with a continual irritable hissing. The right head's fangs are extremely venomous…."
Ron looked up again at Hermione's writhing body as he listened to Ginny. He walked swiftly to Hermione's side, scolding her in a barely controlled, hysterical voice. "Why did you have to stay and help Malfoy? He's an annoying git, and he hates us. You would have gained nothing from helping him! Look at the little wound he got from the runespoor, and look at you! He's healing fine! You got the brunt of the attack just by staying to try to save him! And now you're going to die…." Ron broke down, kneeling by the bed and wrapping his arms around his head and leaning his forehead against Hermione's mattress, shaking with silent sobs.
Harry and Ginny watched this painfully, each feeling a different sort of pity for Ron. "You can't know if Hermione's going to die for sure, Ron," Ginny said gently, closing the book. "Dumbledore will find a cure. I—we—know he will."
"And what if he doesn't?" Ron's head shot up and he glared at Ginny through red, swollen eyes. "I'll never let Malfoy get away for causing her death."
"Come on, Ron. Think on the bright side. Hermione will probably recover and all will be back the way it's supposed to be."
"You know, Harry," said Ron darkly, "this is partly your fault also." Harry looked shocked. "You know you weren't supposed to go into the Forbidden Forest. Why else would Hermione go there? She went to find you because you went off with Cho. Then she met up with Malfoy and saved him from the snake."
"Don't forget Ron," Harry argued, crimson tingeing his cheeks. "I was the one who saved her."
"…when you were the reason she was in danger in the first place!" Ron sniffed loudly.
Harry regarded him with a hurt expression on his face. "Ron, you know I would never knowingly harm Hermione," he said in a quiet voice.
"Who knows what you do and why you do it," retorted Ron, taking hold of Hermione's hand. He didn't look at Harry. "Because of you and because of Malfoy, Hermione is unconscious, delirious, and probably going to die."
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In the next bed over, behind a curtain, Draco Malfoy lay awake, listening to Ron's frantic babbling. "…because of Malfoy, Hermione is unconscious, delirious, and probably going to die."
Draco turned his head away so he didn't have to see the light shining through the thin curtains near the other bed. It wasn't that he felt bad about the mudblood becoming feverish and restless. Malfoys never felt bad about anything they did. They never regretted anything. And besides, it wasn't his fault the idiot girl had gotten hurt. In fact, it was most likely she who caused the snake to come out of nowhere to bite him. Served her right, getting bitten by that abomination.
He attempted to move his left arm, the one that was bitten by the runespoor. His muscles were stiff from disuse and sore from the poison, but it had obviously gotten past its crucial period of healing. He would regain complete use in a matter of two or three days.
But the mudblood… from Weasley's distress, it was obvious her condition was much worse than his. Draco could not remember what happened to her; in fact, he was pretty sure he had blacked out from the poison. Draco was appalled to realize he had fainted in front of Granger. No, not fainted—Malfoys never faint—he had fallen unconscious in front of Granger, who was both a mudblood and a girl.
Draco shook his head in horror. As long as Granger didn't remember, and the Boy Who Lived to Plague Handsome Blokes Such As Draco Himself kept quiet, he wouldn't have to be embarrassed in front of the whole school. He could just imagine the uproarious laughter overwhelming the Great Hall when that piece of news was revealed. He would lose his reputation, his place as the school's most magnetic male, and his fellow Slytherins' respect in one day. He could just see the vile Professor McGonagall hide a smile behind her goblet, or the batty headmaster, Dumbledore chuckle at him. He wouldn't be able to endure their laughter. No, Pothead and Mudblood must never utter a word about what happened to anyone.
Draco turned to stare at the ceiling again. That is, if Mudblood ever woke up.
----2----
Hermione was washed into consciousness by waves of lavender and winds that blew away the pain biting constantly at her ankles, her thighs, her shoulders and her arms. The animal gnawing away at her insides was carried away on the wings of singing angels, each resplendent in dazzling white light. The cuts made by the serpentine creature that had attached itself to her form were washed away on the oceans of time.
Hermione wanted to stay here forever, to float in the peace of purple skies and lilac sea, but she knew that the land of healing could only last so long. So, with a heavy sigh and a final look at her healing grounds, she gently glided back up to the real world.
Her unconsciousness reacquainted itself with the heavy sense that those who "are" carry around with them. It recognized this heaviness as a "body" and "mass." It was also knowledge and wisdom. All the worldly matters of life slid back into place for Hermione as she awoke in the hospital wing, groggily recognizing the voices beyond the curtain.
"Of course, when Miss Granger awakes, Professor Dumbledore expects to see her in his office," Professor McGonagall, the Transfigurations teacher and the head of Gryffindor House, said in her stern, curt voice, just beyond the blue curtain from where filtered daylight cast her white sheets in cerulean light.
"That is completely out of the question! Miss Granger will need her rest! The potion we gave her was from an old text, and therefore may not work as well as it could to help her," Madame Pomfrey argued, voice hushed.
"Nevertheless, she will speak with Professor Dumbledore." Professor McGonagall's voice, unyielding as ever, pulled Hermione out of the sleepy recesses of semi-consciousness.
"How long have I been asleep?" she croaked.
Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall drew back the curtain to see Hermione watching them, a worried expression in her eyes, despite her weak condition. "Just a little over three weeks, dear," replied Madame Pomfrey, rushing to check Hermione's pulse.
"Three weeks?" cried Hermione in despair. Her voice cracked and she coughed violently, spitting up blood.
Madame Pomfrey was outraged. "Is this any condition for her to be in when she faces Dumbledore? Miss Granger needs rest, and lots of it." She took Hermione in her kind, but firm hands and laid her down onto the bed again. "Now you must take a nap, Miss Granger, before I make you take a potion."
Hermione answered with a distraught, but sleepy, "But all my homework!" before sinking into the pillow and snoring gently.
Professor McGonagall nodded at Madame Pomfrey. "Very well. I will convey that to Dumbledore. Goodday, Poppy."
----3----
Draco didn't bother to try to shove the food into his mouth. He could feel the whole of the Gryffindor table glaring daggers at him, whispering about how Granger's mysterious illness was due to something he did. Normally, that wouldn't have fazed him, but having all of your most detested enemies watch your every move was not very appetizing. It had been two weeks since he was let out of the hospital wing, two weeks of being whispered about in hallways and pointedly ignored by every other house besides Slytherin—they cheered him when he came back from recovery, right after they got over the embarrassment of presuming he had no chance of living and not gone to visit him at all.
Dumbledore had not bothered to ask him what happened that day in the Forbidden Forest, assuming he would lie. And the crazy old man was right; Draco would lie, lie, and lie again, because the truth was mortifying and he could easily blame all on Granger.
Professor McGonagall seated herself back into the chair besides Dumbledore. It was obvious she had gone to visit the mudblood, and everyone fell silent as they waited for her to finish talking to Dumbledore. They watched Dumbledore's face intently, waiting for any signal of Granger's recovery. When the corners of his mouth tugged up, the whole Hall jumped up and cheered. Not that they actually felt so strongly for Granger, of course. It was because Draco's "plans" of "killing" a Gryffindor and "lowering moral" had been foiled, and everyone in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff hated Draco Malfoy as the epitome of the cruel Slytherin.
Some Slytherins also jumped up and cheered, evidently having no clue as to what they were cheering at until Draco shot scalding looks their way. They realized no one else in Slytherin was celebrating, and Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zambini sat down glumly, realizing that they had been applauding for something the Slytherins did not support. Draco felt strangely relieved. Granger was not dead. It meant that the others would stop whispering behind his backs and planning his demise.
One good thing had come out of the incident. Potter and Weasley's friendship had become strained, as Granger's injuries had come between them. Draco could see the longing look in Potter's eyes when he glanced at Weasley; he missed his friend immensely, and though Weasley felt the same way, the redhead's loyalty to Granger would only allow him to forgive Potter if Granger forgave Potter.
Draco scowled. Loyalty made him sick.
----4----
If Hermione could wish something away, it would be the inevitable meeting with Dumbledore. She had stayed in bed for several days, smiling as Harry and Ron piled present after present beside her bed. Most were from Gryffindor, some from other houses, and many from Harry and Ron themselves. Dumbledore came a few times himself, though he never spoke of the incident. Hermione was still too weak then. But not now.
Someone knocked on the door as Hermione hoisted herself up into a sitting position. "Come in," she said, hoping it wouldn't be Dumbledore.
It wasn't.
Draco Malfoy entered, glancing around the bed at the presents. Hermione saw something in his gray eyes —was it anger? Jealousy? Despair?—just before they hardened and turned to her.
"Granger," he said, stepping over the squealing, enchanted teddy bears sitting at the foot of her bed.
"What do you want?" asked Hermione suspiciously.
He gave her a scornful look. "What do you think? We were both involved in the accident, and therefore both of us will have to speak with Dumbledore." Hermione analyzed his face. His usual smirk was absent, and his eyes seemed strangely sincere through the barely concealed spite. "So our stories have to match." He scowled again, as if sharing anything with a mudblood was an insult.
"I am going to tell the truth," replied Hermione turning to look at the window overlooking the Quidditch field. "It's the simplest way."
"We will both get into much more trouble than is necessary," Malfoy rejoined.
"Then we'll take it."
"You are one stubborn cow, mudblood."
She whirled her head back to stare at him. "You nasty little bastard," she said, enunciating every word. "I helped you, and all you can do is call me names?"
He was about to speak again when Dumbledore walked in, hiding a small smile. The two angry teenagers did not notice the twinkle in his eyes.
"Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, I was informed you were both here, in the hospital wing." He smiled kindly at Hermione. "Do you feel any better?" he asked her, noting her anger with an amused look.
"Yes, Professor. Much better."
"Now then, you will be able to explain to me why you were in the Forbidden Forest, when it was, as its name implies, Forbidden?"
"Professor," Hermione replied, shooting a scathing glance at Malfoy, "Crookshanks went missing a few hours before. I thought I saw him standing near the Forbidden Forest so I went looking for him. I thought I would be inside in five minutes, but then I saw Malfoy being attacked by the runespoor."
Dumbledore's gaze moved on to Malfoy, who was smiling unpleasantly. "And you, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked softly. "Why were you in the Forest?"
"I saw Granger go in and thought I should bring her in. The runespoor attacked me with no reason." Hermione breathed sharply. Malfoy had not revealed that Harry was there.
Dumbledore watched the two closely for a few minutes before nodding. "Very well… I'll have to assign some sort of punishment… both of you will serve detention with Professor Vector for a week."
Professor Vector was the Arithmancy professor, a subject both Malfoy and Hermione were brilliant in.
"I'll expect you two to start next week." Dumbledore hid a chuckle as he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Hermione and Malfoy stared at each other for a long time, wondering why Dumbledore had assigned them to such a lenient punishment. At last, Malfoy broke away and walked off, but not before sneering at Hermione and saying, "See you at detention, mudblood."
Hermione turned away and laid back down on her bed. She closed her eyes and told herself to sleep, but her mind took her back to the same question time and time again.
Why didn't Malfoy tell Dumbledore about Harry?
----x----
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all of its counterparts belong to JK Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I claim to.
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