Chapter 4

Everyday, Hermione went to visit Draco, her guilty conscience constantly plaguing her waking and sleeping thoughts. Draco, however, did not notice, but continued to wall himself up from the inside. He evaded her concerned gaze, and when she questioned him gently, he only replied with vague answers. Hermione did her best to make him feel better about the scars that ran across his pale cheeks.

"At least all of the burnt skin is gone," she said comfortingly. "The scars aren't all that bad."

He merely closed his eyes. Hermione took that as a signal to leave.

Madame Pomfrey worried about him as well. Whenever his friends visited, he grew steadily paler as they plagued him with questions about what had happened.

When they left, he looked frail and weak. No one had ever seen him like that before.

"Hermione," Draco said one day while she was giving him the Transfiguration homework. "Why do you keep visiting me?" Hermione stopped scribbling and looked up, staring at him quizzically.

"I'll stop if you don't want me to," she said quietly, slipping the paper onto the table beside his bed.

"No," he replied hastily. "It's just that I don't understand why you keep coming. You hate me." Hermione smiled despite the severity of his expression.

"I don't hate you. I just hate the way you were raised."

"What's wrong with the way I was raised?" he asked heatedly, a mask of feigned anger sliding onto his handsome face. She dropped her smile, and shoved her book into her bag.

"What do you think?" she asked coolly, and then walked briskly out of the infirmary.

She came the next day after dinner, and found Draco leaning over a book about Muggles.

"What are you reading?" she asked as she pulled a chair up beside the bed.

"How Muggles Live Their Lives, by Thomas Wells," Draco said in a disgusted tone. "The most boring thing I've ever read."

"Typical," Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes.

"How can you stand being around them? They're so dull!" Draco moaned, tossing the book onto the bedside table.

"My parents are muggles," Hermione answered stiffly. "I was born a muggle. I am used to it."

"Still-"

"Draco, you were born around magic. Imagine a muggle being in the wizarding world, they'd be just as confused as you would be if you were forced to live in muggle London."

Draco frowned suddenly. "But, we're much more superior to them."

"Malfoy, I'm muggle. Am I stupider than you?" She held up a finger before he could answer. "Think before you reply to that question." Draco paused.

"No," he finally said grudgingly. Hermione nodded, and pulled out her assignment book.

"Now, in Potions we are studying…."

There was something wrong with Harry. Ron was as usual, completely oblivious.

Hermione, however, noticed that he was silent and withdrawn from their conversations. He had dark rings around his piercing green eyes, and his hand shook whenever he held something.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked while they were doing homework in the Commons room. Ron had run off to the bathroom, leaving the two of them at the table.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully, dropping his quill onto his parchment. He ran his hand through his dark hair and looked at her woefully. "I don't know."

"Has something upsetting happened?"

"Not particularly," he replied, and a slight tremor ran through his voice. Hermione sighed tiredly.

"Harry, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong," she said looking at him sternly.

His shoulders slumped. "Hermione," he said, but then stopped.

"What?" she prodded.

He looked around, as if someone were listening. "I keep having dreams about Malfoy, I'm afraid to sleep because of these dreams."

"Malfoy!" Hermione said in alarm. "Do you think he's in danger?"

Harry looked around again. "Yes."

"Why?"

"His father," Harry said through gritted teeth. "I can't explain it Hermione. It's just a premonition, and I could be completely wrong."

"You can tell me Harry, I have Draco's best interests at heart."

He shuddered, and then continued with his story. "I see Malfoy, in the infirmary, and his father standing over him, yelling. Yelling about Voldemort not being pleased."

Hermione flinched at hearing the name, but nodded for him to continue.

"Lucius says things about how Voldemort wants Malfoy, I mean, Draco, to kill Dumbledore, but Draco won't do it. Draco says something about how it isn't the right time. And then, suddenly, Draco has a huge gash across his cheek, and I have no idea how it got there. Lucius is laughing and saying that Voldemort will hurt Draco more if he doesn't kill Dumbledore."

"Wow, Harry," Hermione finally said after a long tense silence. "That's pretty serious. Should I tell Draco?"

"Yeah, you should. I should probably tell Dumbledore, but I'm too afraid," Harry whispered.

"Afraid what?"

"That he'll laugh or something."

"Harry, when has he ever laughed at you?"

"Never," Harry said, looking positively miserable. "But ever since, you know, Sirius died… I haven't been able to really trust him."

"Trust me, Dumbledore won't laugh. Dumbledore, even if he doesn't really believe you, will do something about it. I promise."

Just then, Ron skipped up, a jubilant expression on his face.

"Guess what I found in the toilet?" he exclaimed. Hermione made a face.

"Do we really want to know?" she asked.

"Trevor!" He pulled out the green toad from behind his back, displaying it proudly. "Boy is Neville going to be happy!"

The next morning, Hermione went immediately to the infirmary, to tell Draco about Harry's dream. Madame Pomfrey was standing by her patient's bed when she arrived, staring down at Draco with a slightly puzzled expression

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked as soon as she was within hearing range.

"Mr. Malfoy seems to have caught pneumonia over night," Madame Pomfrey told her as she spooned a purple potion into Draco's mouth. "I have no idea how he caught it, he was perfectly well last night." She sighed, and walked off, muttering about drafty castles.

"Draco, did you give yourself a cold?" she asked as soon as Madame Pomfrey was far enough away. He looked up innocently.

"Why would I do something like that?"

"Answer the question, and don't lie. I'll know if you do." He sighed deeply.

"Yes," he mumbled ill naturedly. "I gave myself the damned cold. And I'm regretting it now. If I'd known it was such a big deal-"

"Draco, don't dismiss this as something immaterial," Hermione snapped, putting her hands on her hips. "You were getting better! Why are you inflicting yourself with-"

"I am not!" he hissed, suddenly venomous. "How dare you assume…"

"I know you better than you think, Draco Malfoy!" she said. "How dare you do this to yourself? It's bad enough you won't tell me about those scars on your cheeks."

"I have a right to keep that private," he cried angrily.

"Fine," she said. "That's not why I'm here. Look, you have to watch out for your father. Harry had a premonition. He saw you being hurt by your father, in this very infirmary. Draco, you must be careful."

"Careful?" he spat. "Why should you care about me?"

"We've gone over this already!" she cried in frustration. "You're just being stubborn and mulish. Just listen. You have got to be careful."

"Of my own father?"

"Malfoy," she said coldly. "You know very well that your father isn't the nicest person on the planet. He and Voldemort are the only one's whom you truly fear. Beware them both. If you end up dead, because you are meddling in something you shouldn't, don't blame me."

"Funny," he laughed cruelly. "You said that before I got a face full of potion."

Hermione picked up her bag. "I warned you then, and I am warning you now. Sometimes I am wrong, but rarely when people I care about are involved."

She stalked out but halted when she reached the hallway. Had she just said she cared about Draco Malfoy? This day could not get any worse.

A/N: Hmm, yes I agree with Hermione. Admitting affection for a Malfoy, tsk tsk. Don't worry, Draco's gonna take a chapter of two more to soften up, and even then, our prejudices never truly leave, do they...