IMPRESSIONS chapter twenty-five
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!
[[Warning: A few swears in this chapter…]]
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Hermione slept fitfully, plagued by dreams of blood and guilt. When the sun did shine through her dormitory, she jumped awake eagerly, anxious to escape the blaming dream-world her unconscious mind thought up. She showered and dressed as fast as she could, hoping to get down to the Great Hall without any type of encounter with her friends. She grimaced. Are they even my friends anymore? I can understand Ron being angry with me, if he thinks I like Malfoy, since he fancies me and all, but Harry?
She sighed and swung Draco's cloak around her shoulders without thinking and winced. "This will surely make them madder," she decided, reluctantly slipping off the soft, warm cloak—which she had repaired after it had gotten terribly drenched and muddy from the storm—and setting it on her bedspread. She fingered the material gently before letting her fingers graze the Malfoy crest one last time and turned away, hauling her book-filled bag over her arm and leaving the room with her dorm mates still sleeping.
There were only a few early risers in the Great Hall; two Slytherins (Lawrence Cortez and Deirdre Maloney, three Hufflepuffs (Hannah Abbot and two third-years that Hermione didn't know), one Ravenclaw (Padma Patil), and no Gryffindors.
Barely suppressing a sigh, Hermione sat down at the very corner of the table and began to eat a meager breakfast, her dreams having lowered her appetite. She fought back the feelings of guilt that she hadn't told Draco about the completed translation, and forced her mind to other things.
She had successfully gone over two essays in her head before Hermione nearly choked as a barn owl dropped the Daily Prophet onto her crumby plate.
LUCIUS MALFOY SENT TO AZKABAN—AGAIN!
Hermione immediately set down her fork—long disused—and grabbed the paper to her, her eyes widening as she read the article.
Lucius X. Malfoy, lord of Malfoy Manor, was sent to Azkaban after being apprehended in an attempted raid of the Valency home along with four other 'Death Eaters.' Mr. Malfoy, who has been tried for Dark Activity twice in the last twenty years, was sent to Azkaban early this summer and released just a few weeks ago. While he convinced the Wizengamot his was under the influence of the Imperius Curse the first two times, Mr. Malfoy's testimony was insubstantial and speculative. It was a unanimous vote to have him sent to Azkaban—without the privileges he had been allowed in his last stay. Mr. Malfoy's sentence is of an undetermined length as of press time.
In Mr. Malfoy's absence, his son, Draco L. G. Malfoy, will assume all responsibilities of Malfoy Manor. He is a sixth-year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Forgetting that she was in the middle of breakfast, Hermione slammed her glass of pumpkin juice down on the table and snatched her bag, running out of the Great Hall without so much as a second glance back.
She was breathless when she reached the Hospital Wing, and ignored proper rules of etiquette, choosing instead to rush inside the room to Draco's bed where he was staring at the ceiling moodily. "Draco!" she said joyfully.
He glanced at her with one eye. "Yes?" he asked coolly, though the screwed-up look his face had held just a moment ago had disappeared as the effect of Hermione's happiness reached the wound.
"Draco—your father!" Hermione said, holding out the crinkled newspaper. "He's been sent back to Azkaban!"
Draco's eyes darkened. "What?" he snapped, ripping the paper from Hermione's outstretched hand. He skimmed the article quickly and then threw it away in disgust, sitting up and running a hand through his silver-blond hair. "Bloody hell," he said, though in a tone of utter defeat.
Hermione looked surprised. "Aren't you happy? This means that he won't be able to do anything like this to you anymore!"
Draco glared at her, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood shakily. "How is that good news, Hermione?" he asked wearily.
"What do you mean?" Hermione inquired in disbelief. "Draco, he was the one to give you that terrible curse, he was"—
"The only one who can lift it?" Draco spat, regaining his fire in an instant. "In case you haven't noticed, Hermione, we haven't gotten any closer to solving that stupid translation, which means that we're no closer to curing me of this bloody curse! I overheard Pomfrey talking to Snape, and he says that if the curse isn't lifted soon, I'll die!"
Hermione went very pale and a nauseating feeling of guilt washed through her stomach. "I hadn't thought of that," she said in a small voice.
"Well, you ought to have! Since I'm going to bloody well die, now that my dad's in Azkaban! The bloody idiot! Why wouldn't he have just stayed out of bloody trouble?" Draco snarled, kicking his schoolbag viciously, ignoring the stabs of pain and the blood that started staining the white tee shirt he wore over the thick bandage wrapped around his torso.
"Stop it," said Hermione pleadingly. "Draco, I swear, I'll start working on the translation," she lied, her mind going into panic as she realized that now Lucius was completely out of the equation— and Draco's only hope was in her.
"So what? Who's to say that that stupid book will even have the cure? Or what if the cure is impossible, or something? Able to be done only on a leap-year, maybe?" Draco spat.
"Draco—calm down—you're making it worse"—Hermione begged him, but he continued ranting.
"I might as well write the bloody will now, since I'm going to die in 'approximately two weeks,' according to Snape!"
"Stop thinking like that," Hermione intoned beseechingly.
"You can say that!" Draco roared, turning to her. "You aren't going to die, are you? You aren't going to die when you're fucking sixteen years old!"
"You aren't either!" Hermione said shrilly back to him. "Stop acting like it's all over!"
"Shut up, Granger, will you?" Draco said, somehow deflated. He slumped his shoulders and sat back down on the bed, his silver-blond hair falling over his face and hiding him.
"What's wrong?" asked Hermione, walking closer to her and placing a hand on his shoulder without thinking.
He gasped and jerked away, and Hermione backed up hurriedly. "I'm sorry!"
Taking ragged breaths, Draco leaned back on the hospital cot. "S'okay," he whispered, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Draco, I promise, in all my breaks, I'll go to the Room of Requirement, I'll work on it as much as I can," said Hermione, trying vainly to cheer him up.
He cocked his head. "What's the use?"
She glowered at him. "How can you say that? I'm sure there has to be a cure! The Room of Requirement wouldn't have put the book in there in the first place if it weren't going to be useful!"
"How are you to know?" he asked bitterly. "I've accepted my death. Why can't you?"
"YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE, DRACO MALFOY!" Hermione suddenly shrieked, placing her hands on her hips. "I WILL NOT LET YOU DIE!"
"Miss Granger?" asked an incredulous voice.
Hermione froze and a slow smirk spread across Draco's face as Madam Pomfrey walked into the Infirmary, looking aghast.
"Madam Pomfrey, I'm sorry, I just—lost control," said Hermione, blushing furiously.
"Well, be that as it may, I do not want you upsetting my patient," said the mediwitch severely. "I think it's time for you to go."
Hermione nodded wordlessly; shot a glance at Draco, and whipped around, her wild hair flying behind her as she rushed out.
"You have a very… devoted girlfriend, Mr. Malfoy," said Madam Pomfrey amusedly, touching her wand to Draco's neck to find his pulse. Above his head, shining red numbers glimmered.
Draco stared at the woman in surprise. "She's not my girlfriend!" he said in amazement.
"She's not? Why not?" asked Madam Pomfrey.
Draco choked. "She's Granger!"
The mediwitch looked at Draco sternly. "Now, that's no way to talk about young ladies, calling them by their last names."
Draco ignored the woman and sat still, wincing as she cast some pointless healing charms on him in a futile effort to heal the gash.
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"I might as well write the bloody will now, since I'm going to die in 'approximately two weeks,' according to Snape!"
"I might as well write the bloody will now, since I'm going to die in 'approximately two weeks,' according to Snape!"
"I might as well write the bloody will now, since I'm going to die in 'approximately two weeks,' according to Snape!"
Hermione's eye filled with tears. Go away," she ordered the tiny voice in the back of her mind.
She spent the rest of the day in a daze, answering questions as was expected of her, doing her work well and efficiently. Her mind was in another place; even the Slytherins noticed it, as she made no attempt to retort when they made fun of her heritage and her studious attitude.
When Ron prepared to make his daily sarcastic comment about she and Malfoy, it fell upon deaf ears, although the rest of the Gryffindors had given an appreciative chuckle.
In fact, the only time her eyes showed a sign of life was when the last bell for classes rang the day. Harry and Ron looked on in astonishment as she stuffed her notes in her bag, minimized her quill and book in a split-second and swung her bag over her shoulder, practically running out of Charms. Granted, they had been taking notes all period, but taking notes wasn't something Hermione usually dreaded.
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Hermione moved as fast as she could without rousing anyone's extreme curiosity, dying to get to the Room of Requirement. There has to be a loophole! There has to be another way he can be cured!
She opened the door to the room and stopped dead.
Draco was standing at the table, his face in slack disbelief as he held Hermione's neatly written translation in his hand.
He glanced towards her, his mouth open. "Were you going to tell me about this?"
Hermione, her eyes wide and her face scarlet with embarrassment, said nothing.
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Author's Note: I APOLOGIZE FOR THE WAIT! I had SUCH a hard time with this chapter… I'm sorry, but I think that every four days or so may become the new routine. It has been getting loads harder for me to write lately, because the plot—and romance—has thickened. Major thanks to Elle, Julia, Monica, and all my reviewers! I think I got something crazy like 32 reviews for chapter twenty-four alone! Anyway… I'd REALLY like to have 400 reviews before I post chapter 26—and no, it isn't written yet—so if you could just drop a little review for me…
Ar-Zimraphel