Chapter Seven

Agitation

Hermione tried focusing her eyes and pushed her head back into her pillow in order to see Malfoy a bit better. Her bleary eyes widened and she reached up to gingerly touch his face. Involuntarily, he winced from the contact. He told himself it was because she had touched his sore bruises, but that wasn't the case.

"What happened to you?" she asked, her speech somewhat slurred. He gave her a sad smile and grasped her soft hand - here she was in the hospital wing, and her concern was directed at him. That in itself should have gratified him, but it didn't.

He cleared his throat and shook his head, "It doesn't matter. How are you feeling?"

As though she was trying to figure out just how she felt, a thoughtful expression graced her sleepy face. She was heartbreakingly adorable, her cute expression blemished with ugly brown and black bruises.

"My head hurts," she whined with a cute little pout on her face. It took most of his dubious control to keep himself from laughing. She looked like a little child that just figured out she was in pain, and didn't quite know what to do about it.

"I'm not surprised," Malfoy smiled.

"What happened?" Her sleepy voice sounded a little too sultry for Malfoy's liking. Maybe he was imagining things. Luckily for him, Crookshanks decided that he needed to make his presence known and none too discreetly swished his tail in Hermione's face. His tail caught a bit of her open mouth and she sputtered a bit and brushed the irritant from her face. This time, his control broke and he did laugh at her.

"Crookshanks!" she exclaimed and in an inexplicably silly and very uncomfortable move for both cat and human, Hermione dragged the animal to rest on her breasts and hugged him tightly. Crookshanks made a few indistinct noises to display his discomfort, but settled against her body. The cat looked at Malfoy and almost seemed to sigh. Malfoy really wondered about Crookshanks sometimes; he didn't care what anyone said, it was strange to have a cat so attuned to his mistress, half-kneazle or not.

Drunk. She was acting like she was drunk. She only need giggle uncontrollably and sway a bit to confirm his suspicions. He liked drunk Hermione. Drunk Hermione was less. . . no more. . .more. . . than sober Hermione.

Madame Pomfrey bustled over in her quick short steps. "What is it with this wretched cat?" she asked and brusquely yanked the animal off Hermione and pitched him on the floor. It seemed to Malfoy that Madame Pomfrey hoped the fall would destroy the poor animal. However, Crookshanks was made of tougher stuff than most cats and he trotted out of the hospital wing with the assurance of an animal who knew his human would be just fine.

"Oh Crookshanks," Hermione moaned.

Madame Pomfrey handed her a potion and ordered her to drink. Her expression and eyes cleared. Drunk Hermione was no more. Pity.

"Hermione, I'm going to cast a diagnostic spell. Just be still for a few moments, it won't hurt a bit," Madame Pomfrey said, in an alarmingly gentle voice.

Hermione clasped her hands over her belly and closed her eyes as Madame Pomfrey cast the spell. The blue light swirled around her and enveloped her entire being. Malfoy thought he could see the light moving in and out of her skin. If he were to be totally honest with himself, he would admit to being jealous of that light, but he wasn't, so he didn't.

Hermione's lips parted and she looked as though she was blissfully dissolving into another dimension surrounded by the cool blue light of the diagnostic spell. Malfoy resisted the urge to grab onto her to keep her firmly in this world. With him. He cleared his throat and looked away to break the trance he had sunk into. He was acting like a child. That could not be tolerated. Perhaps he didn't get as much sleep as he thought he did. Yes, that was it, Malfoy assured himself.

The blue light dissipated and Madame Pomfrey smiled down at her patient. "You are free to go Hermione. I want you to take this potion twice today and twice tomorrow. You are to rest for the next couple of days, and Albus has been so kind as to take your classes for the next two days." She gave Hermione a little bottle of yellow potion.

"Oh, but Poppy, the next few lessons are critical for the students. I really think I should be there. Really, I feel fine." Although Hermione had mellowed over the years, she still demanded the very best from herself concerning her work. Malfoy sighed. Where did this woman get her insane work ethic? He certainly would have no problem skiving off work a couple of days.

In an effort to show Madame Pomfrey how well she was, Hermione tried sitting up, but it seemed a bout of dizziness overcame her, and she fell back into her pillow.

"That is obviously not an option Hermione. I will not allow it. I want you to sit up for a few moments before you leave. I'm sure Professor Malfoy would be more than happy to assist you and escort you to your rooms." She said the last bit with a very knowing and smug look. And Madame Pomfrey left them to attend to Mr Jamison.

"C'mon Hermione, sit up," Malfoy slid an arm underneath her shoulder to move her to a sitting position. She seemed to resist him a bit, but he got her sitting up without much trouble. He sat next to her on the bed. He could see she was still upset about missing her classes. In his so very humble opinion, she was a bit too devoted to her students. Most unlike himself.

Malfoy reached for the short letter Potter left her. "Here, Potter came here last night and left this for you." He didn't know what else to say.

"Harry was here?" she asked, sounding disappointed she missed him.

Hermione took it and read it quickly. A slight frown gripped her lips. She hastily stuffed the parchment into the pocket of her robe. They sat there, not looking at each other. Hermione descended into what looked like a right bad mood. Malfoy had to take action. Strangely, he liked it when she got like this. Over the years, he had learned to deal with her moods and he could almost always make her laugh within a few minutes. At the very least, he was good for something.

"Now Hermione," Malfoy said playfully, "there's no need to pout about missing a couple of days." He felt it best if he didn't mention Potter's letter.

"I'm not pouting," she said sullenly.

"Sure you are," he said in far too cheery tone. "You forget, my dear that I can always tell when you are in a bad mood. And we both know that I am more than capable of pulling you out of one." All this was said with a ridiculously goofy grin on his face.

"Oh really?" she questioned, the faint beginnings of a grin on her face.

"Oh Hermione," he sighed dramatically, "how easily you forget." He shook his head. "Sometimes I really can't believe you. See, I haven't even put my plan into action and already, you're smiling. And believe me, my plan was devious and cunning and it ensured complete hilarity on both our parts."

"So what did the plan entail?" she asked playing along. He was gratified to see her fully smiling.

"Well, the original plan actually involved Crookshanks, but as he has so cowardly disappeared, I have had to modify the plan a bit."

"Crookshanks huh?" Hermione knew how the game worked. Malfoy would produce an absurd scenario of some sort and she would humor him, which in turn, would make her smile and laugh, which made him content, if not actually happy. It was a very odd circular way of going about things, but it worked for them. This is how their relationship worked – they often moved around subjects without directly addressing them.

"Yes, the old boy can be quite the little scamp when he wants to be. But as I said, he backed out, so I devised an ever better plan." He made sure to flail his arms and inflect his voice at the right times. She seemed to enjoy it.

"So what's the new plan?"

"Well, I really can't say, but it involved copious amounts of stinksap."

"Was the plan to dump a bunch of stinksap on me, or maybe Snape, or maybe some poor unsuspecting student?"

Placing his hand over his heart and mocking mortal shock, he said, "Hermione, please. We are adults. I'm much more creative than that. Do you actually think that I would stoop to something as juvenile as dumping a bunch of stinksap on Snape's head?"

"Yes," she giggled.

He pulled an expression that could only be described as self-depreciating defeat, he sighed, "Well then, you would be right."

She laughed and pulled him into a quick hug. He really loved it when she did things like this. He liked feeling her against him, but he never really knew what she meant with those innocuous touches. She released him from her hold and leaned back.

"So, are you going to tell me how I ended up here?" There was no anger in her voice, no concern. It sounded like she was just asking as a matter of academic curiosity, and not as a matter of personal violent involvement.

Damnit all to Hades! He had just pulled her out of a bad mood. He really didn't want to put her in another one. How could she change direction so quickly? He figured it must be a female thing. Let the poor ignorant male believe that all is right with the world, and then tackle him, just when he lowered his defenses. All women must belong to some sort of secret society in which they discussed how to completely befuddle the men in their lives. Really, it was the only possible explanation.

He cleared his throat. How to approach this? "Er, do you remember anything?" Okay, so he had no real idea of how to approach this. Was there no secret society for men to deal with women? Malfoy would have to look into it.

"I remember someone calling me a mudblood and something about the Dark Lord, and then everything was black.

"Well, that is pretty much everything I guess. You hit the wall pretty hard." He didn't want to discuss Mr Jamison's part in the ordeal, as he really didn't know how Hermione would take it. In his own school days, he had called Hermione a mudblood when he wanted to inflict the most shameful pain possible, and as a subconscious means of coveting her attention. But by fifth or sixth year, he could barely get her to turn her head when he used that particular moniker. But this was different. She probably hadn't been called a mudblood since their own school days.

"Who." It was a statement, not a question. He knew he couldn't evade the question any longer.

"Henry Jamison."

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "You're kidding me."

He shook his head, "'Fraid not."

She looked confused. Her expression was thoughtful and she turned her gaze to Mr Jamison's unconscious form.

She pointed to the bed where he lay. "Is that him?"

"Er, yeah."

He could see it in her face that she was trying to figure out the mystery that was Jamison. Her brow furrowed, her eyes narrowed, and she chewed on her lip.

"What happened to him?" She turned to face Malfoy again. His bruises and cuts suddenly made sense to her. "What happened to you?" Her voice was frighteningly quiet.

"Hermione-" What could he say? I tried beating a boy to death because he hurt you. No, that would not do at all. His body stiffened at the memory and he shifted uncomfortably. She would not understand his actions and she would most certainly not condone them. Why hadn't he thought of that? He had thought of just about every other imaginable thing last night, but he couldn't have thought of things that might be useful and relevant. Oh no. He really needed to get out of his head and live in the real world once in awhile.

"Malfoy," her voice was dangerous, "what did you do?" He found it interesting that she asked him what he had done, and not what Mister fucking Jamison had done.

"What did I do?" A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "That's not the question Hermione. The question is what he did. To you."

"Yes," she conceded, "but it isn't the only question. What did you do to him? Did you do that to him?" She pointed to the unconscious boy. How dare she question his motives? That boy tried to take his whole world away by taking Hermione away. His reaction was instinctive. In hindsight, he hadn't acted rationally, but how could anyone be expected to act rationally in such a situation? What else could she want from him? This strengthened his resolve. They would leave here. Now.

"We're not having this discussion here. C'mon, I'll take you to your rooms." His voice was hard as he roughly pulled the covers off her. He thrust her clothes at her, "Here, get dressed and let's get the bloody hell out of here."

He could see her confusion. His sudden mood change shocked her. Never had he treated her in such a way before. This was not good. He was breaking loose. He mistakenly thought that he had effectively put the events and thoughts of last night behind him. He must maintain control.

He turned his back as she dressed in an effort to get himself under control. The rustle of her un-dressing and then dressing sent waves of disturbance through him. He was angry with her for questioning him in such a manner. The painful memories and discussions he experienced last night slammed into him and congealed into a perplexing globbish mass within his poor mind. One person could only be expected to take so much.

Taken individually, he could handle them, but taken together, well, that was a beast of a different sort altogether. In isolation, each thought and memory could make at least some sense. He found that he could rationalize many things. But together they pointed to a life without reason and without meaning. Each event, each memory was disconnected from all the others, and yet they were bound by some interminable invisible fastening. The only thing that was clear in his life up to this point was pain and confusion. Neither of which contained any meaning.

But blessedly, that gruesome raging anger that accompanied his pain and confusion, just happily simmered beneath the surface, not yet ready to explode.

He took several deep breaths and closed his eyes. He could wait until he got Hermione back to her rooms, and then he could explode in whatever manner he found appropriate when that sacred time arrived. Yes, he could wait, but they needed to get out of here quickly. He needed to get away from her quickly.

He started walking toward the door in an effort to get them out of there and duck Hermione's questions. He heard her hurried footsteps behind him.

"Malfoy-" There was a pleading quality to her voice. He quickened his pace. He would be safe from his horribly beautiful little witch once outside the hospital wing. She would not start anything around the students.

Malfoy calmed significantly when the door to the hospital wing slammed behind them. He slowed a bit as Hermione was having difficulty keeping pace with him and he took her arm to support her, but he adamantly refused to look at her. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her sidelong glances. She said nothing, but tightened her grip on his arm.

The rhythm of their synchronized steps brought his agitation to a manageable level. Each step took a little of whatever the fucking hell it was he felt and placed it on the floor. A trail of malaise was left behind him.

Clack. Clack. Clack. Lower. Calmer. Softer. Clack. Clack. Clack.

Fleeing the chaos of the hospital wing into the relative normalcy of the castle soothed him. Childishly, he thought if he could physically leave the hospital wing, he could leave everything that had happened there behind him as well. But, for the moment, that thought served his purposes.

Unfortunately for Malfoy and his plan to get her to her chambers as quickly as possible, it was breakfast time and students milled around everywhere, which only served to increase his irritation. He was no longer in danger of having a serious meltdown, but that didn't mean he was in good spirits.

"P'fessor Granger, P'fessor Granger!" An unreasonably small first year boy ran to his favorite professor, his eyes wide with something. Malfoy didn't know and he didn't care.

"Are you okay? I saw what happened yesterday and we were all so worried in Ravenclaw yesterday. Some of the fourth years had this theory that Henry was in love with you and he hit you with that spell because he was jealous. But the seventh years said that was dumb, and he was mad because you gave him a bad mark. Is that true P'fessor Granger?" This boy reminded Malfoy of an especially hyperactive chipmunk. It could make a person tired just watching this aberration of nature. Malfoy discreetly tugged on her arm, but she would not have it.

"Oh, Sean, I know you are far too smart to believe such things." Hermione smiled down at the boy and he beamed at her. "And I thank you so much for your concern. I will not be in class for a few days, but I will see you on Monday, okay."

"Okay, P'fessor Granger. I'm so glad that you are out of the hospital wing. It was great P'fessor Granger; you should have heard the cheers at breakfast when the Headmaster said that you would be alright. We will miss you so much." For the sake of all that was holy, it was just going to be two days. "But the Headmaster said that he would be taking your classes, but you know, it just won't be the same-"

"O'Connell, don't you have class you need to be getting to?" Malfoy barked. The boy cowered and ran down the hallway. Hermione looked at him questioningly, but said nothing. Why she had to indulge these freakish little bastards was beyond his powers of comprehension. He failed to take notice of his sudden harsh attitude change regarding the students. Generally, he would have found such a display amusing, but he could not see that today, so they continued on their way.

Several more students and professors stopped them in the hallways. They were all so happy that she was well and they were so shocked and was she sure she was completely well and on and on.

"Oh Hermione," said a voice behind them. Yet again, Malfoy tried to keep her from turning, but it was little use. It only served in annoying Hermione.

A very distraught Professor McGonagall wrapped her arms around her colleague and hugged her tightly, effectively pulling Hermione out of Malfoy's grasp. Malfoy watched the usually stern older woman pull away from Hermione, her exquisite relief evident in the tears streaming down her wrinkled face. The sight saddened Malfoy. He had never seen Professor McGonagall so visibly upset before.

She choked back a delicate sob and straightened Hermione's robes and hair, "Oh, we shall have to do something about those bruises."

Hermione grasped the other woman's arms and softly said, "It's okay Minerva. I'm okay. I'll be all back to normal in a couple of days."

"Oh I know." The tears renewed themselves. "I was just so worried. And Albus, cruel man that he is, wouldn't let anyone see you yesterday." She swallowed and looked at Malfoy. He promptly looked away. "Do take care dear. I will stop by this afternoon and we'll have tea." Hermione nodded in a smiling confirmation and gave her another quick hug.

Dumbledore wouldn't let anyone see her. Except him. Because he was her best friend. Her best friend. True, he had been rather adamant about staying with her, but he sincerely doubted that McGonagall would be anything less. The mounting irritation left him and he was left with shame. He was her best friend. And he had been so callous with her. For Merlin's sake, she had just spent the night in the hospital wing. How could he be so selfish? She could have been seriously hurt, and he had snapped at her. He would have to apologize to her. Maybe tomorrow.

He was tired. Having one's mood vacillate between rage, happiness, sadness and plain old irritation within the space of an hour was tiring. When Hermione acted this way, he asked her if she took her premenstrual potion. He had only been thick enough to ask her that once, but still, the subtext was there. Once again, they restarted their journey. Their quiet footsteps led them to her rooms.

Clack. Clack. Clack. Tired. Beaten. Defeated. Clack. Clack. Clack.

They stopped at the suit of armor that guarded her door. "Strange." He uttered the password. Hermione never did tell him why she picked that particular word. Strange. The suit of armor glided aside and he pulled her inside.

"Er- here we are. I'll uh, I'll leave you. You should get some more sleep."

"Malfoy, don't do this." Her voice was also tired. Her expression sadly frustrated. "I'm not going to let you keep turning away from me."

"I don't turn away from you." Must get away.

"Yes you do. You do it all the time. You're doing it now."

"Please Hermione. Like you never do the same to me," Malfoy said defensively. He shouldn't have said that. He should have evaded the question and mentioned something about the time.

She thought for a moment. "Maybe I do, but it has to stop. We can't continue on like this."

"Listen Hermione, I have class," he looked at his watch to demonstrate his point, "ten minutes ago. I really have to go." He didn't want to start this now, whatever the bloody hell this was.

She rather forcefully took his cheek and forced him to look down at her. She was determined. And sad. He could see that.

"I'm not going to let us keep doing this. We are not going to escape from each other this time."

Her determination was a little frightening. "I gotta go. I'll see you later, okay." He turned to leave her.

"I know what you did to him," Hermione said. Malfoy stopped. "You can be so transparent sometimes." Malfoy felt her hand on his back. Its warm weight just rested there, giving him nothing, and expecting nothing from him.

"I have class." He pulled away and left her.

So he was transparent, was he? The agitation slowly started to grow again. It began in his gut and he could feel its dirty roots weave outward throughout his body and plant itself firmly in his being. And despite his best efforts, he could not stop it.

He hurriedly walked to his class.

Clack. Clack. Clack. Growing. Invasion. Infestation. Clack. Clack. Clack.