"DRACO!"
Two voices shouted the name together; Hermione from her bed, and Snape from where he had remained by the door.
As Snape crossed to Draco's side in two quick strides, Hermione pushed herself into a sitting position, gritting her teeth against the pain and wooziness this caused.
"I KNEW something was wrong," she was babbling; "I knew it, I knew it, I- oh, my GOD!"
This last was uttered as, virtually throwing herself over the side of the bed, she saw clearly for the first time just how bad his condition actually was.
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Draco had only passed out for an instant, but it would have been kinder to him not to have regained consciousness so quickly- for along with his return to awareness came a screaming, blinding new agony such as he had never experienced before in his life. It was a pain that put Cruciatus to shame- here, indeed, was an experience worse than being stabbed and Crucio'd at nearly the same time- and it was coming from the gash in his side.
He bit down hard on the cry that threatened to escape his lips and immediately twisted himself onto his uninjured side, folding himself into a tight fetal position, trying to concentrate on breathing through the pain while wishing desperately for blackness to claim him again- anything, anything but this torment he was in.
He was barely aware of Hermione sliding out of bed and landing on the floor beside him, or of Snape kneeling on his other side a fraction of a second later, shouting his name over and over again in a voice made gruff by fear.
He only truly became aware of Snape's presence when the older man gripped him firmly and turned him once more onto his back, forcing him to straighten out again, telling him he needed to see the wound. Draco heard these words, but was unable to really make sense of them, so great was his suffering. He fought against his mentor, knowing only that he wanted to be on his side, that he wanted to curl up tighter and tighter until he disappeared altogether, ending this torturous pain.
But Snape would not allow it; he held him firmly, pinned on his back. Draco lay with his eyes tight shut, jaw clenched and head turned to the side, in the direction that his body yearned to follow, both arms pressed over the vicious wound that was causing him such agony, booted feet kicking out, trying to find something solid against which to brace himself in his attempt to fight off the searing pain.
"No…unngh…Sev…Severus, don't," he panted, as Snape attempted to pry his arms away from his side. He was desperate to keep the wound covered; protected. He was beyond reason in his agony.
"I'm sorry, Draco," Snape said, and he truly sounded it; "but I have to see the wound. I can't help you unless I can see what's wrong."
Snape managed, at length, to wrench Draco's arms away from his side. He knelt on the arm nearest him to immobilize it, and enlisted Hermione's aid to hold down the other one. She twined her fingers through Draco's as she held on with both hands. This left the potions master free to peel the sticky, blood-soaked clothes away from the wound. When he did so, Draco's entire body stiffened and his head whipped sharply, just once, from side to side, as if in a desperate, futile negation of the pain he was in.
"I can't…take…this," he ground out hoarsely from between gritted teeth; "hurts…too…bloody much!"
Snape felt a fist of sick, icy cold fear clench his heart, more from Draco's words than even from the sight of the wound he had just uncovered. The amount of pain Draco had to be in, in order to make such an admission, was unthinkable.
"Where the hell is Pomfrey!" he shouted, panicked, to no one in particular. "Goddamn it, I'm not a healer! I need some help!"
Draco heard this as if from far away, the words coming to him between the great, crashing waves of agony that were now threatening to engulf him. He was marginally aware of Hermione's hand in his, their fingers twined together; he tried to concentrate on it, gripping it tightly, visualizing, through eyes that were clamped shut against the pain, that small, warm, often ink-stained hand; that hand that now wore the ring that symbolized their love. He tried to use this thought, this vision, as a mental means of bracing himself against the agony that coursed endlessly through him, just as his feet had tried to find a physical brace moments ago, but he was overwhelmed. It seemed too much to bear, and yet he remained agonizingly, unremittingly conscious. His awareness of his surroundings was fading, however, as the pain took up more and more of his attention.
His strong, ingrained discipline was slipping; he knew that he would soon do something he hadn't allowed himself to do in years- not since the Hippogriff incident of third year ; start screaming from pain.
A voice in the back of his mind; the voice of his dry, sarcastic wit, which apparently, even now, had not been entirely subdued, spoke up. Well, why not? the voice said, and he found that even his thoughts had a far-off quality to them now- I've already screamed my head off once today, albeit for a different reason; why not try out some good, wholesome pain screaming too? Who knows, it might be a real-
"Uhhhnnnnnnngh!"
Despite his thoughts of a second ago, he managed to stifle the sound before it became a true scream, though only by an act of sheer, iron will.
"Pro-professor…Severus…I can't- you gotta- STOP!"
"Draco." The deep voice of his mentor sounded from just above his head. "Draco, look at me. Open your eyes. Please try."
Draco wrenched his eyes open. The pupils were dilated, as a result of his pain and shock; they were so wide and dark that his eyes appeared black, ringed by just the thinnest coronas of silver. Despite the agony he was in, those eyes widened in surprise when they focused on Snape's face- because tears were standing out in the hardened professor's eyes. It was a phenomenon no student of the potions master had ever witnessed before; indeed, Snape had not shed a tear in over twenty years. Nor was he shedding any now- but he looked as though he might, at any moment.
"Draco," he repeated, catching the blond boy's head between his strong hands, "listen to me. Madam Pomfrey is here now; she's examining the wound. You have to bear with us so we can discover what's wrong, what's happening to you. Do you understand?"
Draco could hear Madam Pomfrey's voice murmuring from somewhere beyond Snape, though he could neither see her- all his attention was focused on his mentor at the moment- nor make out her words. "Yeah," he gasped out, "I…Uuunnnngghhh!"
His entire body jerked momentarily right off the floor as the mediwitch probed cautiously at the wound (which had now begun, unbeknownst to Draco, to glow with an evil, pulsing green light). It was like nothing she had ever seen, and so her mind was racing back over years and years' worth of reading and research she had done on magical maladies, trying to connect what she was seeing with something- anything- she had encountered before, no matter how obscure the reference might be.
"Why am I…still awake?" Draco wondered aloud a moment later, wanting nothing more than for blackness to take him, in the wake of the new blaze of pain Madam Pomfrey had caused him- and then; "Severus…?"
"I'm right here."
"I think I…n-need something to bite on."
The resigned, matter-of-fact way in which this request was made cinched it; just as Snape turned to search for something that Draco could bite down on as he attempted to fight his way through the pain, a single tear escaped his eye and streaked down his face, which was haggard with worry; he was doing something he hadn't done since he'd been years younger than Draco himself was now; he was weeping. He ducked his head quickly and wiped savagely at the tear, and only Hermione saw; Madam Pomfrey was still engrossed in studying the wound, an expression of shocked, horrified recognition just beginning to dawn on her features as something finally started to click in her mind.
Regaining his composure, unaware that Hermione had witnessed his brief, unguarded moment, his gaze fell on the small, white pillow of her hospital bed. He strained toward it, just barely able to grab it without removing his weight from Draco's arm- Draco was still straining against him, still wanting nothing more in his pain beyond reason, beyond comprehension, than to cover the wound and roll himself into a tight, protected little ball, in an attempt to hide from his suffering.
The potions master yanked the pillow roughly out of its case and tossed it aside; the pillowcase he folded over and over again until it was a small, thick wad of material. He then leaned close over Draco, willing himself to keep control and not shed any more damnable, weak tears. "Draco," he said gently; "Draco? I've got something for you to bite down on. Draco- hey. You're going to have to open your mouth, if you want it."
Draco sucked in a deep breath through his clenched teeth, then obediently unlocked his jaw, for just the merest instant- enough time, just barely, for Snape to shove the pillowcase into his mouth. Draco clamped down hard on it, eyes squeezed tight shut again, fair hair now plastered to his forehead with perspiration, cords standing out on his neck as he strained against the waves of pain radiating endlessly out from his side.
Snape turned toward Madam Pomfrey, intending to tell her that if she couldn't figure out what was wrong then she should at least make herself useful by fetching Dumbledore, who probably could, and while she was at it, bring a cool, damp towel for Draco's forehead- and then stopped, arrested by the expression on her face. Judging from that appalled look, she had made some sort of connection- and it wasn't good.
Not that he had expected it to be.
"Poppy," he said tensely, "have you figured out what's going on?"
"Dear God," she breathed, an expression of utter, stricken horror on her face, "I can't believe what I'm seeing- oh dear, sweet God, who would do such a thing?"
"What is it?" Snape practically screamed. "Out with it, you bloody, useless fool of a woman!"
Madam Pomfrey was still staring at Draco, aghast. She was so deeply distraught that she seemed not to even register the insults Snape had hurled at her.
"I read about this once, years ago- but I've never seen it, nor ever dreamed I would," she said shakily. "Whoever did this was a powerful dark wizard, and unspeakably cruel. It's a time-released curse that was buried deep inside his body with the creation of this wound. It has the power of half a dozen Cruciatus curses; it is, quite literally, crucio-ing him from the inside out. There has also been a powerful wakefulness spell incorporated, to prevent him from escaping the pain by losing consciousness. If this curse is not lifted, it will kill him, but slowly- it will probably take a day or more- and causing him pain almost beyond human endurance all the while."
She paused, trying to collect herself; she looked as though she were on the verge of breaking down- then continued; "it's monstrous. Just- unthinkable. But the most puzzling thing is not the curse itself, but Draco's reaction to it. A wizard's natural magical ability, his- his magic reserves, so to speak, should afford him some degree of- not immunity, exactly, but ability to fight this thing. Because magic fights magic, as you know. And we all know that Draco has very powerful magic- so the curse should not be ravaging him as it is; he ought to be offering some degree of resistance to it- but he's not. He's reacting as though he had no magic; as though he were a muggle or- or a squib. I don't understand it at all."
But Snape had barely registered what she was saying about Draco's inborn magic, or sudden lack thereof; he was still trying to get his mind to grasp exactly what the mediwitch had said was happening to Draco as a result of the curse; the brutal and deliberate torture that was being inflicted on this boy he loved beyond all other human beings. This strong, proud, fiercely independent man-child who was now laid low on the floor; still struggling, still stubbornly fighting not to cry out in his anguish, holding tight to the hand of the girl he loved (a girl who had, at Madam Pomfrey's words, dropped her forehead down to rest on their joined hands and was now sobbing great, convulsive, body-wracking sobs). A wave of white hot rage such as he had never known- and this was a man well-acquainted with anger- engulfed the potions master.
'Draco!" He gripped the boy's shoulders hard. "DRACO!" He shook him, then yanked the wadded-up pillowcase out of his mouth. Draco's teeth came together with an audible click. Finally, the ice-blue eyes cracked open again, though they were now dull with pain- that ceaseless pain- and failed to focus on him. It was probably just as well; Snape looked alarming. He looked, in point of fact, like a raving lunatic.
"Huh?" Draco whispered again, just as he had outside on the path.
"I need to know who did this to you. Draco? Draco! The wound on your side- who gave it to you? Draco, TELL ME NOW!" Snape intended to find the person responsible and use whatever means necessary to see that they suffered every bit as much as Draco was now; more, if possible.
Draco's eyes fell shut again. "I don't know…professor," he whispered hoarsely; "there…were…so many of them. On all sides…hit-hit me…all at once."
Actually, this was not true at all. Draco knew exactly who had given him this particular wound. But even as far gone as he was, he was not about to reveal- he would NEVER reveal- that it had been his own mother who had done this to him. He did, after all, as Snape had noted earlier, still have his pride.
"GODDAMN IT!" Snape swore in his helpless rage, pounding a fist into the floor just inches from Draco's head; Draco, at this point, seemed beyond noticing. Then he rounded on Madam Pomfrey again. "Do you know how to treat it?"
Silently, not taking her wide eyes off the evilly glowing wound, she shook her head no.
Abruptly, Snape leapt to his feet, releasing Draco's arm as he did so. If Madam Pomfrey could provide no help, then he didn't see any harm in allowing the boy to cover the wound, if that gave him some small comfort. "I'm going to get Dumbledore," he said tersely, and started for the door.
"Wait!" the mediwitch called from the floor beside Draco. He whirled about, thinking that she had remembered some means of fighting the curse, but all she said was, "he's in with the Weasleys. They are all beside themselves. Molly is- I've never seen her so- I believe she may actually do herself harm. And in any case- I fear there is nothing to be done here. He's needed there."
It took every ounce of restraint Snape possessed to keep from crossing back over to where she knelt and kicking her in the face.
Fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, he spat out, "just because YOU don't know how to help Draco, doesn't mean that Dumbledore won't. Ron Weasley is beyond all help, but hope may still exist here. As for Molly, she has a husband and six other children in that room with her to prevent her from doing anything rash. Therefore, you pathetic excuse for a healer, I submit that Dumbledore is needed HERE MORE!"
"I couldn't agree more," came a quiet yet authoritative voice from the doorway, "though there is no call for such harsh words, Severus, no matter how deep your concern for young Draco here. You are not the only one who is overwrought just now; it is a trying time for all of us." It was, of course, the headmaster. Stepping into the room, he continued, "Please move aside, Severus- and you too, Poppy; let me see if there is anything I can do."
Within moments, he had rendered Draco deeply and mercifully unconscious.
"Oh, God," Snape groaned, from where he had seated himself on the edge of Hermione's bed. He let his head fall forward into his hands as Draco's tortured body finally relaxed. "Thank God. Is he…is the curse lifted, Albus?"
"No," the headmaster said gravely, straightening up from where he had been kneeling beside the silver haired boy. "I was able to overcome the wakefulness spell, but that had simply been added into the curse, almost as an afterthought. The main part of the curse- the part that is hurting him- killing him- is far stronger and more complex. It will require time and effort to undo. Time that I'm not sure we have. So enough talk. Let's get him into the room next door. I need more space to work. And Severus- he will require an immediate magic transfusion, in order to give him the means of resisting the curse just a little while longer, and thereby buying us more time. His own supply has been completely exhausted somehow. Am I right in assuming that you'd be willing to be his donor?"
"Anything," Snape said hoarsely, not raising his head from his hands. "I'll lay down my life if I have to. Only Albus…please don't let him die. He's…he's all I have."
"I give you my word, Severus, that I will do everything in my power to keep this child alive. Now if you would bring him, please…?" And the headmaster swept out the door, to prepare the room next door.
Hermione, still sobbing brokenheartedly, reluctantly let go the hand which had gone limp in her grasp as Snape went down on one knee and, with infinite tenderness, gathered Draco into his arms. Standing, he shifted the unconscious boy so that the hot, sweat dampened silver head lay against his shoulder. "I should have been faster," he whispered, in a voice ravaged by guilt. "I should have caught you- gone with you. I should have protected you. God, this is all my fault." He moved toward the door, then, murmuring as he went, "stay strong, Draco. Fight this thing. If you die because of my failure- I'll go mad."
And then he was through the door and gone, Madam Pomfrey, after ordering Hermione sternly to get back in bed and rest, following him out and shutting the door.
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Hermione did not get back in bed.
She remained sitting on the floor, drew her knees up to her chest, and continued to sob, arms wrapped tightly around herself, rocking slightly back and forth, alone and comfortless, until she reached the point of hyperventilation, when she literally could sob no more because just breathing had become difficult enough.
She finally raised her head, eyes still streaming, breath coming in tiny, shallow gasps all one on top of another, and pushed her hair back out of her flushed face. She turned her head toward her bed, intending to crawl over to it and climb back in- then froze. Something had caught her eye; something lying halfway under her bed.
"Accio," she said, in a shaking voice, and it came obediently to her hand.
"Draco," she whispered brokenly as she held the object, tenderly, cradled in her lap. It was his wand, which had fallen out of his waistband as he'd been thrashing in agony on the floor. Bowing her head over it, she kissed it, then pressed its smooth, cool length against her overheated cheek. When she raised her head again, the wand glistened wetly with her tears.
"L-lumos," she said in a choked little voice, and at first thought that nothing had happened; that the wand, which was inextricably linked to Draco's life force, had failed produce any light at all, which could mean only one thing…"no," she whispered, and bent close over it, searching, searching for any light radiating from it at all. "Come on, Draco- oh God, please…."
Her long, thick hair fell forward in a rumpled curtain, creating a dark, protected little space in which she held the wand, watching it intently. And it was only in this darkness that she found she was able to make out just the faintest hint of a glow coming from the wand tip. It was barely there, and flickering like a candle flame in a strong wind.
Seeing that fitful glow caused her to break down and sob again, both in relief and renewed fear. Really, as hard as she was crying, it was a small miracle that she heard the quiet voice at all.
"Mione…hey."
She raised her head, startled, at the sound of the familiar, beloved voice. "Huh-Harry?"
"Mm-hm. Where are you?"
"On…on the floor."
She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and crawled over to the side of Harry's bed. He didn't look as though he'd moved so much as an inch, but his brilliant green eyes were now open and gazing at her, albeit somewhat unfocused without his glasses on.
"Oh my God, Harry…" she reached out and clasped his hand; "I was so sure you…you were…and Draco…God, I thought I'd lost you both and- AND Ron- and- and what would I DO all on my own and- oh Harry, I was so scared!"
"Hey," he said softly, "don't do that to yourself. Hermione- don't. I'm okay. I am. And you think YOU know scared- bloody hell, do you realize that you actually went and DIED on me?" His face contorted with the pain of the memory. "Thinking I'd lost first Ron, then you- I wanted nothing more than to die as well. Christ, Hermione, I love you so much."
"I…I love you too. Are you really going to be okay?"
"Yeah," he murmured sleepily, eyes heavy-lidded, words beginning to slur; "I'll make myself, if I have to. I'm not gonna leave you, Mynee."
These words were, of course, intended to comfort her- but they had the opposite effect; fresh tears sprang to her eyes. "Draco said that too," she choked out, dropping her face into the crook of her arm where it lay on the edge of the bed, "but Harry- I really think…he's dying!"
"Wait, wha…dying- WHAT?" All sleepiness had fled Harry's voice; he now sounded well and truly alarmed. "Hermione, what's happened to Malfoy?"
"He left me," she whispered between rapid, hitching breaths; "When everyone thought you were- that you would- when they were all working on you. He snuck out; told me he just needed to go back for Ron, that he'd come back to me as soon as he could…but he didn't. He sent Ron back with a portkey, but he didn't come back for hours- and when he did he was half dead, under a curse. I don't know what happened to him, but I- God, Harry, I've never seen him in such pain, not even after Voldemort. And they took him into a different room and told me just to go back to bed, as if I- as if…and I found his wand on the floor and I tried Lumos with it and it won't stop flickering and oh…God…Harry…I can't lose him, I just can't, what did I live for, if Draco's going to die?"
And she lapsed back into broken sobs.
"Hey," Harry said gently, "what am I, chopped liver?"
"I…no…oh Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just…."
"Shhh…I know. I know. S'okay. C'mere." He patted the bed beside him, brow furrowing as he did so, as if even this simple gesture required all his concentration and effort.
"Malfoy's not gonna die," he said, as she pulled herself off the floor and up onto the bed, stretching out beside him, laying her head exhaustedly down beside his on the pillow, allowing her eyes to fall closed, overcome with weariness. "He already proved himself a fighter once- remember? He beat the odds that time; he will again."
"I…you really think so?"
"The only way Malfoy'd die is if he gave up, pure and simple. And he's not gonna give up on life. He's got you to live for, hasn't he?"
"You didn't see him," she whispered miserably, unconvinced.
"But I know him." And then, a moment later, "you're shaking. Come under."
As she crawled under the blankets, Harry reached for his wand, which lay beside his glasses on the nightstand, and murmured a quick spell to widen the narrow hospital bed- then, as an afterthought, summoned all the blankets from Hermione's bed for additional warmth.
Now snug under a double weight of blankets, Hermione curled up against Harry, their heads so close together on the pillow that their hair and breath both intermingled. She closed her eyes, though silent tears continued to leak from them, trickling slowly now down her face. Gradually her trembling subsided, but her breathing was still hitching and uneven. Her thoughts drifted from Draco, who was fighting for his life, to Ron, who had already lost his. She felt herself being pressed down under a weight of grief so enormous she felt it must surely crush her.
"It was never meant to be this way," she whispered, a long moment later.
"What way?" Harry's voice sounded drugged with exhaustion and the remnants of an immense pain.
"Just the two of us. Friends. It was never meant to be just the two of us. Without Ron. Never. How will we live without him, Harry? I can't- I can't even begin to imagine a life without him in it. I look ahead and I see years, decades…a lifetime that was supposed to include him. We were all supposed to buy houses in the same town- on the same street- raise our children together…my kids would have…have called him Uncle Ron. It's not fair! It's so unfair that my kids will never have an Uncle Ron. And how can it be that I might live to be sixty- seventy- eighty years old without ever hearing his voice again! I can't- I can't- fathom that, Harry. I can't make my mind accept it. It hurts…so bad…oh God, Harry, the pain is killing me and it won't ever get better, it won't ever go away, even if Draco's okay I don't- I just don't…know how I can live like this, when it was never meant to be! Why? God, why Ron? I can't…Harry, it's too heavy…I can't breathe!"
This was true; she was hyperventilating again.
"Hermione!"
Gritting his teeth hard against the pain it caused his still not-entirely-healed ribs, Harry rolled from his back onto his side, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her into a crushing embrace. Without knowing when he had started, he became aware that he was sobbing too; great, shuddery, wracking sobs that sent white hot pain lancing through his ribcage again and again and again. He was having no easy time breathing himself. Didn't matter. The grief he felt couldn't be contained; and despite the physical pain, it felt right, on a very basic level, to share this grief with Hermione. He pressed his cheek against her hot, damp forehead and they sobbed together; their tears intermingling now, too.
Clinging to each other like lost children, or like the only two survivors of some horrific wreck, afloat on a single piece of debris in the midst of a vast, dark sea, they sobbed themselves to sleep.