Green And Red
Disclaimer – this story is based on situations created by J.K Rowling or the corresponding owners. I own nothing!
Summary: Hermione pays a visit to Draco in the Hospital Wing. During-HBP. HG/DM
Green And Red by Elven Victory
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Hermione looked up from the yellowing pages of her schoolbook and sighed. The Gryffindor Common Room was still nearly empty, and Ron and Harry had still not returned from dinner. Biting her lower lip impatiently, the muggle-born witch shut her book with a sharp snap and raised herself from the chair she had been sitting in, looking towards the portrait hole. A small group of second-years in the corner of the room looked at her.
Dinner had been terrible; she had fallen into a heated discussion with her two best friends, and those types of arguments didn't happen all too often. Earlier in the day, Snape had found Harry cursing Malfoy in one of the school bathrooms and, as a result, had given the-boy-who-lived detentions until the end of term. Hermione had only given Harry a few warnings at dinner, but soon Ron and Ginny had stepped in, too, to back him up. It had turned into much more than an average, run-of-the-mill conversation.
Suddenly Hermione felt irritated. She was only caring for Harry's safety… he could have been expelled… he could have killed Malfoy… he could have been sent to Azkaban for murder! Images of dark cells and Harry being led away by official-looking wizards flashed past her eyes… rats scurrying out of cracks in walls… Snape grimacing over a dead Draco Malfoy…
"Hermione?" A voice shook the muggle-born out of her musings. She looked round; Neville was standing a few feet behind her, holding out what appeared to be a sheet of parchment. "Hermione, are you feeling all right? You looked ill then." With a nod from his companion, he continued: "Can you help me with my essay?"
The brown-haired witch took the sheet of parchment from Neville and scanned her eyes over it, again biting her lower lip.
"Neville… I would, but…" her voice trailed off. For one of the first times in her life, she wanted nothing more than to be alone, to think. Correcting other people's essays didn't seem very appealing to her at that minute. "Can I help you later? I'm supposed to meet…I said I'd meet… someone in the library."
"Oh," replied Neville, looking slightly crestfallen. He took his essay back; he was slowly backing away. "All right. I'll meet you later, then. Thanks, anyway…" And with a reassuring smile from Hermione, he turned around and walked up the steps leading to his dormitory.
Hermione watched his retreating back and sighed. She had told a downright lie to one of her friends, and she felt guilt filling her again. Something seemed to make a decision for her; before she knew exactly where she was going, she snatched up her half-read copy of The Structure of Antidotes, disappeared through the portrait hole, and found herself walking down an empty corridor. She guessed it was only an hour into dinner, at the most, but she couldn't go back into the Great Hall. She couldn't bear to see Harry's angered face as he talked in low voices to Ginny and Ron…
While walking briskly, she opened her book and read a short paragraph in the middle of the page. But some alien force had seemingly taken hold of her, because she couldn't concentrate on what it said, or what it was trying to tell her. She closed the book, disappointed, wondering where she could go.
As she walked absently down a flight of steps onto the second floor, she suddenly felt a pang of guilt. Harry hadn't apologised to Draco Malfoy for nearly killing him. Though he was the trio's archenemy, no one deserved to be literally torn apart and left to die. What made it worse was the fact that the curse had come from that terrible potions book.
Hermione, who by this time had reached the second floor, decided that it was best to apologise to Malfoy on Harry's behalf, since he seemed incapable of doing it himself. Perhaps, even, if she showed some interest in her best friends's enemy's health, Professor Snape would have a slightly higher opinion of her? Or maybe, he would even halve Harry's detentions, praising her for being so… so…
"Miss Granger?" For the second time in the hour, a voice shook her out of her musings. Hermione had halted in the entrance to the Hospital Wing itself; Madam Pomfrey was looking at her suspiciously, a pile of clean bed sheets in her arms. "Can I help you?"
The muggle-born nodded, looking around. The room looked completely empty. Maybe her thoughts had shown on her face, for suddenly, Pomfrey looked round and turned her gaze on the bed at the end of the ward. Hermione looked; sure enough, the very last bed was occupied by a figure bent over something.
"Are you here to see Mr Malfoy?" asked the matron, turning back to look at the visitor.
"I… well… yes…" she trailed off, her bravery deserting her. "But if he's busy, perhaps… I… it wasn't important, anyway…"
"Well, he's eating his dinner at the moment." Madam Pomfrey looked back round at Draco. "Mr Malfoy! I suppose you still haven't finished? It's probably gone cold by now."
For the first time, Malfoy looked up; he looked sulky. In his lap was a tray with an almost-untouched meal in it. He didn't seem to notice Hermione.
"I don't want it," he said in a voice as sulky as his expression. "It tastes disgusting."
Madam Pomfrey looked offended. "Mr Malfoy! You won't be leaving my care until you eat something, whether it tastes disgusting or not!" Draco began pushing food around with his fork. The matron looked back at Hermione. "Oh, well. I suppose a quick visit will do him the world of good. Perhaps you could even make him eat, Miss Granger."
Obviously Malfoy had been listening to the matron, because his head darted up. He looked directly at his visitor.
"You?" he asked, his expression part sulky, part angry. "Granger? What are you doing here?"
Hermione did not reply: Madam Pomfrey spoke for her.
"You have a visitor, Mr Malfoy. Miss Granger has kindly taken the time to see you for a short visit. No more than twenty minutes, please." With a quick glance at the muggle-born, she turned and made her way towards her office.
Draco Malfoy stared at her. His face had turned sour; he looked affronted.
"Come to gloat?" he asked, turning back to his dinner and pushing more food around with his fork. "Has Potter sent you to revel in his glory? Or, maybe he wants you to finish off the curse for him, so he doesn't get in trouble?"
Hermione sighed. She walked towards him, the last shred of bravery leaving her.
"No, Malfoy," she said, sitting on the bed next to him. "I actually came because…" She didn't finish: she had suddenly realised how ill her archenemy looked. It wasn't often that she got so close as to see his face properly, but now… he looked as if he were hanging onto the last strands of life – with difficulty. His skin had a grey tinge to it, and was it her imagination, or were his eyes rolling up, inside of his head? His lips were turning white…
"What are you staring at, mudbl-"
"Malfoy!" gasped Hermione, realising now that she had been staring at him as if he had grown seven heads. "Malfoy – you're dying!"
Draco glared at her, an unreadable expression set on his face. He could have laughed, if he wasn't feeling so unwell.
"You came all the way down to the Hospital Wing to tell me that I'm dying?" he asked her, after what seemed to be five minutes silence.
Hermione shook her head, averting her gaze to her feet. "You just surprised me, that's all. You look ill. You look…"
Malfoy seemed to lose patience with her. He shook his head angrily. "Wouldn't you look ill, if you had just been hexed with something that rivals the Killing Curse?" He took a rather aggressive stab at the cold pie on his plate. His eyes had turned stormy. "I don't know if your boyfriend's told you, Granger, but he would have killed me, if it hadn't been for Professor Snape's quick turn-up."
"Harry's not my boyfriend! Leave him alone!"
There was another silver flash as Draco's fork darted viciously into the pie. "Potter's obviously been practising dark magic, right under your nose, and you haven't even realised it. He probably went back to you today, and you praised him for what he did. But then, I suppose you wouldn't know, would you? You wouldn't know how it feels to be torn apart, blood running down every inch of your skin. You wouldn't know." Suddenly he fell silent. It beat down on them like a thick blanket.
Hermione looked up at his plate: the pie was now mutilated. Its contents were running freely down to join the vegetables. She admired the way in which the brown gravy had splashed up onto the fork's silver handle: the two colours seemed to appeal to her. Malfoy was picking at some carrot that had somehow ended up on his bed sheet.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice dripping with cold anger. He sounded shaky.
Hermione took to looking at her feet again. "I came to apologise on Harry's behalf, because I know he won't do it himself."
"I don't need a mudblood's pity, Granger." Malfoy's tone, even to him, stung. He looked away towards the window, his eyes fixed on something far, far away.
"No, I suppose you don't want any sort of pity, do you, Malfoy?" asked Hermione. She looked at the surface to her right, suddenly remembering her copy of The Structure of Antidotes. She sighed deeply, remembering Harry, Ron and Ginny in the Great Hall. Suddenly Neville's essay sprang to her mind.
There was a strange, heavy silence: a silence the muggle-born had never felt before. It was highly uncomfortable. It was as if –
Her gaze returned upwards, only to lock with Malfoy's own. He had been staring at her, though the expression on his face was no longer sulky, or smug, or even far away. But then his eyes shifted: no, now he was staring at her. He had been looking right past her shoulder.
"You really should eat, you know," said Hermione at last, looking at Draco's mutilated dinner. "I'm sure it's not that bad. And besides, you'll only anger Madam Pomfrey if you leave it untouched." She hated this: she had an alien feeling she had never felt before. It was deep and unexplainable.
"Stop staring at my dinner, Granger. This filth is not edible, and I'm not hungry anyway."
"But you will be."
Draco looked at her oddly. His eyes were calm again; they were stony grey.
"Have you seen Crabbe or Goyle?" he asked, and immediately shook his head. "No, I don't suppose you have, being a Gryffindor."
Hermione wondered why he had asked. "They were at dinner. Why do you ask, Malfoy?"
"They said they'd visit me again," came the cool reply.
"And they haven't?"
"What do you think, Granger? Do I look as if I've been seen at all today?" He took up his cutlery, pushed some once-called-pie onto his fork and shoved it into his mouth. The muggle-born noticed this, but said nothing. "Goyle came by earlier and told me he'd be back later. The idiot hasn't showed up. I guessed as much. If he remembered anything apart from where to find food, it would be a miracle."
"I can try and find him…" Hermione wished she hadn't said it. Malfoy looked at her again. "Hasn't anyone else visited you?"
"I don't think Crabbe even knows the way to the Hospital Wing."
"How about Pansy Parkinson?" Malfoy shook his head silently, and ate a bit more of his cold dinner.
"It doesn't matter, Granger. They'll see me tomorrow…" It sounded more like a threat than a statement.
For the first time, Hermione looked at the part of Malfoy that was obscured by the sheet.
"Are you…" she began, feeling stupid. "Are you hurt?" At seeing Draco's questionable look, she continued. "I mean, only, Harry said you were cut open…"
"I was," replied Malfoy coolly. He looked down at his side and pulled back the sheet slightly. "Professor Snape fixed it, partly, but Pomfrey says I'll have to stay in the Hospital Wing until it heals fully."
"Does it look bad?"
Draco looked at her, as if questioning his actions. And then, to Hermione's amazement, he pulled up his hospital-gown and exposed the injured skin. The muggle-born gasped. There seemed to be a row of red slits down his side, as if someone had stabbed him viciously and repeatedly.
"See what Potter did to me?" asked Malfoy, replacing his gown over the skin and pulling his bed-sheet up. "He's not so nice after all, is he, Granger?"
Hermione's shock showed on her face. For a second a wave of pity for Draco flooded over her, but then she remembered what Harry had told her.
"But he said you tried to curse him, Malfoy. Apparently you were going to use the Cru-"
"Shh!" The Slytherin looked around, almost anxiously. "Do you want me sent to Azkaban?"
"So it's true?" When Draco made no reply, the muggle-born gasped. "Malfoy! How could you?"
"But it doesn't kill, does it, Granger?" And suddenly she caught a flash of something in his eyes: something she had not seen before. When he spoke there was a slight urgency in his voice. "What else has Potter told you?"
"He told me what you were doing before you cursed him." Malfoy's cheeks flashed pink. He immediately looked down at his dinner.
"I think the twenty minutes are up, Granger…" he said; his tone had changed. "Perhaps you better go."
Hermione nodded. She couldn't get up quick enough from the bed she was sitting on. The Slytherin's changed attitude had shocked her again. Her eyes travelled briefly over The Structure of Antidotes lying on the bed.
"Malfoy?" she asked.
"What?" he didn't look up. He was eating.
"I can leave my book here, if you like. It would be something for you to read if… if you get bored."
"All right," replied Draco softly, putting the fork into his mouth again. As if he had been caught off-guard, he spoke to her again in a more forceful voice: "Fine, Granger. Do what you want. I don't care." He didn't dare look up.
"Bye, then."
"Bye." Malfoy only looked up from his dinner when he sensed she had turned round and was safely walking away.
He felt cold and shaky, almost afraid. It wasn't that Hermione frightened him… it was anything but. What frightened him was what people would do if they knew how he felt at that minute.
He would never, ever look at her in the same light again.
THE END
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