IMPRESSIONS chapter twenty-four
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, except for stuff you don't recognize.
Summary: An emotionally, physically, and mentally wounded Draco needs someone to help him, whether he wants to admit it or not, after his father lands in Azkaban, his mother is committed to St. Mungo's, and his entire world crumbles. Romance/Angst.
Author's Note: Please review!
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"Miss Granger, if you could stay just one moment…" Dumbledore called as Hermione turned to leave Defense Against the Dark Arts. After finding himself unable to find a new professor, the Headmaster had taken the job upon himself.
Hermione glanced up sharply as she stuffed her book into her bag. "Professor?" she inquired in a hesitant tone.
"Don't worry, Miss Granger, I just need to ask a few questions," said the Headmaster reassuringly.
Hermione nodded and her eyes flickered over to Ron and Harry, who were leaving the room, chatting animatedly with Dean Thomas and Parvati Patil. She felt a twinge of jealousy and hurt but buried it, flipping her mass of curls over a shoulder and lugging the bag off the desk. She walked over to Dumbledore's desk, unable to shake the slight apprehensive feeling she held in her gut.
"Professor?" she repeated.
Dumbledore peered down at her through the half-moon spectacles that were perched on his slightly crooked nose. "Miss Granger… I was wondering if you would be so kind to give Mr. Malfoy his homework? As you are the only one who knows of his condition, I find it most appropriate for you to do so."
Hermione could not suppress a sigh of relief; she had feared that Dumbledore would ask if she knew anything about Draco's curse—or, for that matter, the countercurse. "Of course, Professor. Shall I bring him his homework for every class?"
"That would be most appreciated, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. "But I do have two last questions…" his voice turned more grave.
"Yes?" Hermione asked, her stomach clenching.
"Miss Granger, do you know how long Mr. Malfoy has had his curse?" Dumbledore inquired gently.
Hermione fought to give the appearance of truth. "No, Professor," she lied.
A wrinkle on Dumbledore's forehead imperceptibly deepened. "I see. Miss Granger, is there anything you would like to tell me?"
A shadow of fear flitted through Hermione. "Not that I'm aware of, Professor…" she said weakly, giving a half-hearted chuckle.
The wrinkle deepened more. "Very well. If you do find out anything of the curse, please let me know… Any information would be most welcome."
"Of course," said Hermione, a bit too eagerly.
Dumbledore paused before speaking again. "Miss Granger… If I may say one more thing before you leave…"
Hermione turned towards the ancient wizard again, an expectant look on her face.
"Be truthful with yourself, if not with anything—or anyone—else," said the man quietly. "You may leave."
Hermione's jaw dropped slightly but she snapped it up. "Yes, Professor…" she managed, before positively running from the room.
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Hermione walked into the Hospital Wing with considerably apprehension. She was finding it difficult to act as though nothing had changed—after all, she had found out that she had to fall in love with her worst enemy to save his life. But he isn't your worst enemy, a tiny voice in the back of her mind said, Not anymore. You forgave him, remember? And he's been nothing but nice. As nice as a Malfoy can be, anyhow. Hermione ground her teeth and ignored the voice, forcing herself to be calm and relatively happy when she entered the room, for Draco's sake.
He was reading a book when she entered, and looked up sharply, obviously in reaction to the pain her mere presence caused. "Hello," he said easily when she walked in.
Hermione flushed. "You're-you're in good spirits," she grated out.
He looked surprised at her attitude. "Yeah, well, Madam Pomfrey says there might be a way to cure me that would involve very little trouble, or something."
Hermione's eyebrows rose in spite of herself. 'Very little trouble?' For him, maybe. "That's excellent. Maybe I won't have to do the whole translation, eh?" she attempted a light-hearted smile.
He glanced at her, bewildered, but shrugged it off. "Still wearing my cloak, I see," he said, sliding the familiar smirk onto his features.
Hermione went a deeper shade of red; she hadn't even realized that she'd taken to wearing it everywhere. "It's—awfully soft," she managed finally.
Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "Right…" he said.
Hermione sighed. "Dumbledore told me to bring you your homework…" she trailed off, holding out a slip of parchment with the assignment written on it in purple ink.
He reached out and his fingers brushed hers as she handed it to him. She flinched at the contact; he winced slightly, but glanced at her suspiciously. "What's wrong with you?"
"What do you mean?" asked Hermione, desperate for him to believe him.
"There's a reason you're not in Slytherin, you know," said Draco with an amused leer on his face.
"What are you talking about?" Hermione questioned in an unnaturally high voice.
He rolled his eyes. "You can't lie if your life depended on it."
More like, 'if YOUR life depended on it, Hermione thought bitterly, but she remained silent. "Well, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just under a lot of pressure right now, okay?" she snapped at him, the words coming out more sharply than she intended.
"Pressure?" he frowned. "To do what?"
Hermione glared at him and regretted it when she saw a shadow of pain cross his face. "Well… school, and Harry and Ron still not talking to me, and translating that thing…" Hermione ran a hand through her unmanageable hair.
"That's no more pressure than you had a week ago…" he commented quietly.
Hermione gaped at him.
"Well, come here then," he said finally.
"What?"
"I said, come hear," he repeated irritably. "Didn't you hear me?"
Hermione flushed and walked closer to his bed, and with a sudden movement, he grabbed her robes and pulled her down forcibly, and touched her lips with hers firmly.
Her surprise was infinitely greater than it had ever been in these situations—with the possible exception of the very first time. In spite of herself, his taste and smell overpowered her senses and she relented, accepting and reciprocating the kiss, against her better judgment.
She pulled away rapidly, though, when the effect her close proximity was having on him. He relaxed into the pillows, his hands clenching the sheets and breathing raggedly as he fought to control the pain that swept through him when they touched.
He coughed; droplets of black blood—the substance that Hermione hated so much—dribbled from his mouth to his flushed lips.
Without a word, Hermione handed him her Gryffindor scarf, which she had tied around her bag.
He accepted it, brushing it past his mouth to catch the beads of blood.
Hermione waited a while. "Why did you do that?" she asked in a low, angry voice.
He grimaced, and Hermione, noting it, forced herself to let go of her emotion. "Why did you do that, when you knew what would happen?" she repeated, her tone softer.
He shrugged and glanced at her, the Malfoy smirk causing her to roll her eyes—"It was worth it," he said.
Hermione felt herself staring at him in undisguised surprise for the second time. "W-what?" she whispered, not sure she had heard right.
He changed the subject abruptly. "Will you bring me my homework from all the classes I have with you? I'm all right, but Pomfrey thinks I'm too 'delicate' to handle it." He scowled, his opinion of the mediwitch obvious.
Hermione relaxed into the subject change with apprehension. "Of course."
"Right," he muttered, leaning back into the pillow. Hermione noticed that his chest still rose and fell with more speed than was normal, and she guessed that the effect of the kiss on his curse hadn't yet dissipated. "Should I leave, so you can recuperate?" she asked quietly.
He straightened immediately. "I'm fine," he said harshly. "What is this, Lamertum Capropos?" he questioned, in reference to the homework Dumbledore had given them.
"Oh, it's a low-level form of the Patronus, used against lesser evils," said Hermione, launching into the subject of academia with ease. "It's mainly used against"—
"Can you make a Patronus?" Draco interrupted.
Hermione flushed. "I can, actually, but I've never tested it out against a real Dementor…"
He looked mildly impressed. "That's advanced."
"Can you?"
He nodded. "My father taught it to me summer before last."
"What its shape?" asked Hermione curiously.
"Eagle," he said nonchalantly. "Bit boring. Yours?"
"It's an otter," said Hermione. "I haven't figured out why, yet."
"Oh," he said, flipping open the well-worn book.
"What's that you're reading?" asked Hermione interestedly, leaning in to see the title.
He yawned. "It's Quidditch Through the Ages. Read it a million times, actually… It's quite boring, now."
Hermione looked surprised, and she wrinkled her nose. "Typical."
"What?" he said, mildly affronted.
"That you're reading that stupid book," said Hermione, sniffing. "Harry and Ron read it all the time. I tell them constantly that they need to read some good literature, but…"
"This is good literature! It's the most acclaimed Quidditch book in recent history!" said Draco angrily.
Hermione sighed. "I prefer to read Hogwarts: A History."
His jaw dropped. "You've read Hogwarts: A History?"
"Of course! It's my favorite book!" said Hermione eagerly. "Have you?"
"Yeah, I read it in second year," he said dismissively. "I was looking to see if it talked about the Chamber of Secrets."
"Of course," said Hermione, her eyes darkening.
"Not to open it, or anything," he said defensively, aware of her intense sensitivity to all things anti-Muggleborns. "Just wanted to know where it was…"
"Sure…" said Hermione disbelievingly.
"So, how far are you with the translation?" asked Draco.
Hermione remembered with a jolt her task, and flushed red. "Okay, I guess…" she said quietly.
"How far?" he pressed.
"Erm… Three quarters?" Hermione offered hopefully.
He narrowed his eyes, and jerked out his hand, his long, pale fingers closing over her wrist. "Why are you lying to me?" he hissed.
Hermione paled. "I'm not!"
His grip tightened. "You act totally normal while we talk about anything other than the translation, but as soon as we go back to that, you start blushing all over the place and avoiding my questions and lying!"
Hermione whimpered, and he released her arm when he realized the intensity of his grip. She walked back, cradling her arm and he muttered, "Sorry…"
She said nothing. "I'm not hiding anything, okay?" she snapped after a minute.
"Bollocks."
"Shut up!" Hermione cried, her voice cracking. "Stop it!"
He bent over, clutching his stomach as the vile-colored blood started seeping through the sheets.
Hermione was immediately repentant and her eyes filled with tears. "Draco, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she repeated over and over.
He said nothing, but the muscles in his jaw were tense.
As if on cue, Madam Pomfrey rushed in and she gasped when she saw Draco bent double.
"Miss Granger, time to leave!" she said shrilly, sweeping the curtain around the bed and ushering Hermione out.
Hermione nodded tearfully and rushed out of the Hospital Wing after one more contrite look to the blond Slytherin.
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Many hours later, Draco realized with a start that she had left her red-and-gold scarf with him, and he impulsively lifted the wool to his nose…
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Author's Note: I apologize for the wait! I'm afraid the chapters are going to be coming out much less rapidly than before, because the romance part of it is SO much harder to write for me. I hope this was a good chapter!
GIANT THANKS TO ELLE!!!
THIS CHAPTER DEFINITELY WOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED—OR ANYTHING SIMILAR TO THIS CHAPTER—WITHOUT HER TREMENDOUS HELP!!!
Thanks to Julia, for her incredible review (and letter!)… I am eternally grateful.
Ar-Zimraphel had turned off the light…