Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

They are in their 7th year

Don't Speak

Part Two

"Hey Ginny?"

The stoic redhead stopped her persistent sucking of a sugar quill to glance up at her friend. "What is it, Herm?"

Harry and Ron, who were also in the room, glanced up with interest. None of them had even said a word in the last five minutes, and now Hermione was asking a question, with a slight break in her voice. This was big news, they were sure of it.

"Uh…. I was wondering if we could go to Diagon Alley tomorrow for a bit of a shopping trip. You know, clothes and bits?"

The two boys rolled their eyes, and returned to scanning their copies of Martin Miggs: Mad Muggle. It sounded like girl talk to them, and that was definitely something they didn't want to get involved in.

Ginny quirked an eyebrow in interest. "School's not for another three weeks. We still have plenty of time."

"Yeah, Mione," Harry grunted from behind his comic. "Don't have a coronary."

"I am NOT having a coronary!" Hermione protested. "I just think that we should all at least try to be organized this year!"

No one was listening. As usual. She huffed quietly to herself, and decided to take a run outside anyway. Some fresh air would do her good.

OIOIOOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

The entrance to Bruno's Broom Bonanza was especially crowded this morning, thanks to one special guest. Oliver Wood, Quidditch star, and Chaser for the championship team Puddlemere United, was visiting, and his arrival elicited screams and other goings on from the ninety-odd girls surrounding him.

Hermione, being a gloriously curious witch, stopped by the shop on her way to a bookstore. She caught the guest of honour's eye, and he quickly beckoned her over.

"'ermi-ne!" he said in his charming Scottish brogue. The two embraced like old friends, and he sat her down next to him behind a table.

"So 'ow are things at 'ogwarts lately?" he asked.

"I wouldn't know, as I haven't been there in almost a month." He chuckled quietly to himself, and Hermione began chatting easily with him. He stopped their conversation for about a half hour to sign some autographs, then they eased back into talking, about his work, and her school mostly. Harry came up occasionally, and Oliver seemed quite amused that Ron had taken his place on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.

"Bloo-y bloke co-un't catch a Quaffle if I' bi-' 'im righ' on 'is bloo-y nose!" he exclaimed with vehemence.

The clock struck ten behind them, and Hermione jumped in her seat.

"Omigoodness! It's so late!" she shrieked. Bidding goodbye to Oliver, she stood up, and headed down the street. But it didn't seem so familiar after all. The once lighted store fronts were now dark as lethifolds, swallowing up the icy moonlight.

After walking in circles for about five minutes, she finally decided to stay put on a street corner, and wait for someone to pass by. It didn't happen.

Someone's staring at me.

She silently counted to ten, and then whirled around. A pair of cold, lifeless eyes stared back at her.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!"

She reached out to push her attacker away, but her fingers hit cool glass, and buckled.

What?

Then it hit her. She laughed nervously at herself, and hit her forehead with her palm. It was the St. Mungo's entrance, which she should have been familiar with! Still a bit giggly, she faced the dummy (which now looked rather comical and fake) and enunciated, "I am here for volunteer hours. My name is Hermione Granger."

It was really late to be working, but Hermione was too freaked out to care. The mannequin beckoned her inside with one of its ridiculously gloved fingers, and she walked through the glass into the sterile environment.

The Welcome Witch stared bleary eyed at her. "A bit late to be logging hours, don't you think, Miss Granger?"

Hermione just shrugged, and headed down the hall into the coffee lounge. Healer Salle, a French wizard with extensive study in pixie bites, was the only one there, and he looked pretty out of it. Pouring herself a mug of java, she donned her lime green robes, and flipped through her authorized patient files.

Katy Morris

Room 407

Compulsive eye-crossing. Must be led around.

Hermione snorted. There had been a lot of Spell Damage lately, most likely induced by students being home. On the bright side, several new jinxes had been discovered this week, and she had even found the origins of a hex that made one's toenail's fall off. Highly useful.

She abandoned the files on the table, next to the now comatose Healer Salle. Roaming the halls was more her thing, she could maybe do a bit of fetching for the more needy patients, and if she was lucky, she could catch a nap in an empty room.

CRASH!

"MFRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Pushing open the door, she bolted out of the coffee room, and down the corridor of the Artifact Accident ward, towards the source of the agonizing scream. She skidded to a halt in front of a vaguely familiar door, and ran in.

"MALFOY! What did you do here?"

Malfoy was half lying, half falling off of his bed, clutching a few reflective shards of glass, bed sheets wrapped protectively around his middle. Hermione spared any explanations, and ran to his side, hoisting him back up. He was moaning in a horrible, strangled way as she pulled out her wand, and re-adjusted his wires.

"It's okay, it's okay…" she mumbled, both to herself, and him. His breathing became less shallow, and he finally fell back onto his pillows, groaning. She stared, shell-shocked, at his sweaty face, and tense body.

That had come on impulse. All of it! She had rushed to an emergency situation, and acted instinctively to fix it! She would make a Healer yet!

"Are you…better?" she choked out, then remembered that he couldn't answer. "Oh…sorry."

He rolled his eyes at her, clearly thinking up a million witty comebacks in his head. Hermione smirked to herself.

Oh, what a pity, he can't talk back.

To his obvious protest, she sat herself down on the visitor's perch, making herself at home. "It's quite quaint here, isn't it?" she said, looking around his room. The walls had been charmed green, with little silver detailing, and there were hundreds of gift baskets and other goodies strewn about.

"I guess they've forgotten that you can't eat."

He can't eat!

Under the pretense of giving him a good, hard glare, she stole a quick look at his body, and nearly fainted. At first, walking in, she hadn't really noticed his frame, but at rest, she could fully understand.

He was emancipated and gaunt. His brilliant blue eyes were sunk in to his face, which was scarred and disfigured from the break. Hermione had heard stories, mostly from Parvati, of his "rock hard abs" and "toned arms", which were now nearly skin and bones. He was a skeleton.

"I…."

He glared back at her, not enjoying her company at all. She turned pink under his stare, and averted her eyes to the floor, where the shattered remains of a hand mirror were located.

"So this is what made the crash," she mumbled. She had always assumed the Malfoy was vain, and this now confirmed it. Jostling his wires for a stupid mirror?

Deftly, she repaired the mirror, and placed it back on his bedside table.

"Mffffungh."

"I…..I shouldn't let you look at yourself." She edged it farther away from his grasp. "You need to heal, not stare at yourself."

Glare. Glare, glare, glare.

"Your glaring isn't working. I won't let you see yourself."

It was all protocol, after all. Patients involved in disfiguring accidents were never allowed to see their reflections until they were visibly improved. In Malfoy's case, seeing himself might discourage him, and he would lose all drive to heal himself.

Finally, he just grumbled and sunk into his fluffy pillows. A few minutes later, he was out like a light.

"Hermione?"

She spun around on the cold metal stool, and saw Healer Salle standing at the door, smiling. "I'm heading by your way, and I was wondering if you wanted a walk back."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you." Salle offered her his arm, and with one last glance at Malfoy, she walked out the door.

OIOIOIOIOIOIOUIO

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