Recap: Just as he was bending up from her bed, the hospital wing door burst open, and two people rushed in, carrying another.
"MADAM POMFREY! WE NEED YOU RIGHT NOW, WE HAVE A SERIOUS CONDITION ON OUR HANDS!" one of the people screamed, his voice clipped and tight.
The other person that had helped carry in the body was a girl, crying. "Please," she whispered, into the hands that covered her face.
Looking over at the bed on which the boy had been deposited, all Draco could see was blood; shining, red blood, already seeping onto the white bed sheets.
XXX
Disclaimer: "Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive." – Sir Walter Scott. Well, seeing as I'm not too keen in getting tangled up in the web of the law enforcement/judicial system by reporting that this is all mine, I'd like to say that all characters (with the exception of Kaiden) are of JKR's creation. The plot, however… I take all the credit.
Warnings: References to rape. Also, some references of self-mutilation in correspondence to Ron. Language.
Chapter Ten: Sentry Duty
Draco was stunned. Now, not only did he have to worry about Hermione's well being, he had to worry about the person that had been deposited on the bed, much to his dismay; because the boy lying on crimson-stained sheets was so connected to Hermione on many different levels, that Draco had no choice.
He stared, transfixed, at the veins popping out of the dark-haired boy's neck and forehead as he screamed over and over for Madam Pomfrey, his voice becoming hoarser the more he yelled. Tears were streaming down his face as well as the girl's, and all Draco could think was that this was a first for him. He had never seen either of these people so vulnerable, and to be honest, it frightened him a bit.
They were Gryffindors, supposedly brave, yet here they were, bawling their eyes out over their fallen comrade. Pain tweaked at Draco's heart, for he realized that even if his fellow Slytherins found him an inch from death, they wouldn't cry over him. Pansy may, perhaps, but she was obsessed with him and it would be only too natural for her to go insane over his condition. But Crabbe and Goyle… Even Zabini or Malcolm — they wouldn't shed one single tear. And perhaps that was what finally made him think, just for a second, and only a second, that the Gryffindors were better people than the Slytherins, regardless of their bloodline. Perhaps their ability to love each other so completely was the reason why Slytherins despised them so much, for they could not love each other the way those of other houses could. Maybe it was all a feud because of jealousy, because they couldn't love, if they wanted to or not.
But Draco quickly disposed of that notion, for it was as inopportune a time to think about such things as it was possible to be. With one last glance at Hermione to make sure she was stable, Draco walked purposefully toward the still raging boy, even though Madam Pomfrey had already begun to work on her patient.
"Potter," Draco began smoothly. Harry jumped a foot into the air, obviously not noticing him earlier. "What happened?"
"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry inquired. "You shouldn't be here. I see no Slytherins whatsoever, and if you've only come to poke fun at Ron, myself, or Ginny, you better get running because I'm not taking any bullshit from you at the moment."
Without realizing it, a smirk slipped onto Draco's lips, and the image Harry received was not a good one. "Malfoy, I mean it. Get. Out. Now." Draco, however, didn't move, but looked over to the bed where Madam Pomfrey was muttering healing spells while waving her wand over Ron's arms, hoping to prevent any scarring that might occur because of his self-inflicted injuries.
"Potter, I don't mean any harm to you, or the Weasleys. I just want to know what happened."
"As if I'm going to tell you," Harry spat. "But what are you doing here?"
Without saying a word, Draco stepped to the side and let Harry's gaze fall upon Hermione, who was in a deep sleep. He saw Harry's eyes widen and moved just in time before Harry raced to her bedside, laying the back of his hand atop her forehead and inspecting her injuries.
"What did you do to her, you bloody bastard?" Harry asked, his voice trimmed with silky rage.
"I did nothing to her. I swear it. And even though I may be in Slytherin, my word is good as gold. Believe it or not, I'm actually the one that brought Granger up here. But I'm sure you're not going to believe me. Just ask that little first year Gryffindor, Kaiden — black hair, violet eyes."
Draco's eyes shifted to the unconscious Ron, and surveyed his body. It wasn't his head or legs that were bleeding, but his arms; deep gashes ran length-wise up and down the pale skin, leaving little mounds of red and purple inflamed skin. It was a sickening sight, but Draco continued to watch as the medi-witch continued her work, slowly, but surely closing all of the wounds.
Off in a corner, Ginny cried steadily, understanding completely what had led Ron to this line of action. It was all her fault because she hadn't talked to Hermione for him, after she had promised she would. And Hermione had broken his heart when she had kissed Harry (yes, Hermione had told Ginny all about it and the red head had guessed correctly that Ron was completely shattered). Ron didn't know of the kiss, of course, and all for the better. He would probably murder Harry if he found out, and then kill himself.
This thought only made Ginny cry harder. How could she have let this happen? Now her brother was lying in an infirmary bed, bleeding to death, and she could do nothing about it when it was her fault in the first place. This feeling of utter helplessness was new to Ginny, and she hated it.
Harry returned to Ron, demanding a report from Madam Pomfrey about him and Hermione. Once he was satisfied, he flopped into one of the straight back chairs by the beds that visitors were allowed to use. He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands, and finally gave in to the sobs that had been fighting for release ever since he had seen Ron on that desk, a look of complete despair, anguish, and regret on his face.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Ron had muttered, before fainting and falling off the desk. Harry had never been as scared as he had been when he saw Ron fall, as if in slow motion, to the floor. Tears had already begun to fall as he screamed in agony and rushed to his best friend's side. Ron had been deathly pale already and there was a small pool of blood beneath him.
As fast as he could, Harry had gotten Ron onto his shoulder and had ran full out towards the hospital wing, running into Ginny along the way. Upon seeing her brother thrown upon Harry's shoulders, Ginny began to panic. What had happened?
She'd ran along Harry's side until they arrived at the infirmary, where she couldn't continue and collapsed into the chair in which she still sat. She just couldn't believe that her brother, her closest sibling, had tried to commit suicide. She was dreading the inevitability of writing her mother about this. In fact, she didn't think she was going to. Madam Pomfrey was sure to write her parents. At least that awful task would be taken care of by someone else. But her mother would surely write her, if not show up in person, and question her about her brother.
Feeling uncomfortable, Draco sat down on the side of Hermione's bed that was furthest away from Ron's. He stared at her face until he had memorized every little feature upon it, and then looked away. He wasn't going to leave her, he decided. She looked far too fragile and he didn't want the weight on his shoulders if she happened to slip into a coma or worse, succumb to the darkness of death. No. He wouldn't have that guilt put upon him.
It wasn't like he had any choice in the matter, anyways. He was very loyal, and upon picking up her limp form and carrying her here, he had already sealed the deal of being her guard, with no way of turning away from the responsibilities that came with that decision.
"What happened to her?"
Ginny had weakly risen from her chair in the corner, and forced herself to walk over to Hermione's bed. Surprised, Draco looked into her red, swollen, expressive chocolate eyes, and felt sorry for the poor girl. Not only was her brother close to dying, but her best friend was in such critical condition as well. He still hated the Weasleys for being blood traitors, but he couldn't deny that he envied their compassion for other people, instead of being cold, like his family was. The least he could do was tell her what he knew, to ease her mind a bit.
"I don't know exactly. I wasn't there. A little black haired Gryffindor girl named Kaiden told me she found her down in an unused corridor, just lying there. I got her, and brought her here. All I really know is that she was beat up pretty bad."
Why was he doing this? He was a Slytherin for crissakes, and now he was trying to lift a part of a burden that a Gryffindor held on her shoulders, and a blood traitor to boot. What in the hell was he doing? This wasn't the way he would have reacted a month ago. What change had taken place within him that he was now pitying the girl before him?
Rose-colored patches tainted his cheeks in anger, as much as embarrassment, as Ginny said meekly "Thank you, Malfoy." She turned and sat on her brother's bedside, glancing at Harry as she went, who hadn't moved in over ten minutes. He still sat there, staring at the floor, his head in his hands, the form of complete misery.
Madam Pomfrey bustled over to check on Hermione, and said to Draco in passing, "You can stay until nine. But after that, all of you are gone. These two will be perfectly fine in my care." Although she was stern, Draco and Harry were stubborn.
"I'm not leaving!" they both shouted in unison. Madam Pomfrey was a bit shocked, and tried to argue, but to no avail. The boys were determined, and they wouldn't be swayed from staying put.
The look in the boys' eyes was so fierce it stopped Madam Pomfrey (for the first time, mind you) from arguing further. She had a reputation to uphold for being the 'tough medi-witch of Hogwarts,' so she compromised and said, "Fine. If, and only if, you do not disturb these two in any way, shape or form. If you do, you won't be coming back."
The boys nodded in assent and went back to their friends' bedsides, Harry alternating between Ron and Hermione. Every now and again, Harry would glare maliciously at Draco, thinking that there was no way that the Slytherin could possibly care about Hermione, the girl that he had christened 'mudblood,' the girl that he had antagonized for five years of her life.
"So what exactly are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. It was burning him up inside. How dare Malfoy pretend that he cared about Hermione's well being when everyone in the entire school knew he was destined to be a Death Eater, just like his father?
When Draco didn't respond, but continued his watch over Hermione, Harry repeated the question with more authority in his voice. The head of platinum blond hair turned slowly to face Harry, and the look upon it was furious.
"Potter. I have as much right to be here as you do. If you didn't notice, Granger hasn't been in the Gryffindor common room lately. She's been in the one we share. And inevitably, no matter how much you may hate someone at first meeting, the more time you spend with them, the more comfortable you are with them. And I only say comfortable for lack of a better word. Granger is smart. I can benefit from her, and she can benefit from me. So, back off."
The finality that rung out from Draco's throat was the last reminder Harry would get to leave him be. And the Boy Who Lived recognized the tone of voice for what it was and let things simmer for a while. But when the silence became to much, he began to make small talk, not for the pleasantries that came from talking with Malfoy, but because the silence was just unbearable.
"Hermione hasn't taken us to see your guys' common room yet." Harry informed. No response. "I hear that you two are going to be heads next year," he tried again, still fruitlessly. This was going to be harder than he thought.
"So, uhm, you're going to be planning a —"
"Just shut it with the small talk, okay?" Draco snapped. Huffing in frustration and annoyance, he said in controlled calm, "Look. Me and Granger are getting along a lot better now that we're forced to see each other every day. If Dumbledore hadn't given us these positions, we'd still hate each other and call one another names. Nothing would have changed. Just like nothing between you and I has changed. So just shut up and drop it."
Harry did indeed drop it, and they didn't speak to one another again that night, or the following morning when they were forced to leave the hospital wing.
XXX
When Hermione awoke about an hour later, she was disoriented and not in a pleasant mood at all. As soon as Madam Pomfrey came over to force her to drink a vile tasting potion that was supposed to bring down her fever, Hermione adamantly refused, turning her face away and glaring at the medi-witch.
"Miss Granger, please!" Poppy pleaded, trying to give the stubborn girl her necessary pick-up potions and other essential medicines that would help her to a better and faster recovery.
"I'm fine," Hermione stated, piercing the healer with her determined gaze.
"If you're so sure you're fine, Miss Granger, get up out of bed and walk to the windows and back." Hermione shoved out her chin, and sat up in bed. There was a little twinge of pain on the left side of her chest, but she persevered and stood up.
She didn't make it three steps.
Hermione gasped in agony and fell back onto her bed, tears streaming down her face as stars exploded in front of her. It felt as if a knife had been plunged between her ribs and the attacker was twisting it around and around inside her.
"Just as I thought," Madam Pomfrey crooned, shuffling over to the bed and getting Hermione settled, forcing the disgusting potions down her throat. "Hermione, I have to take a look at you, so please keep still." Brandishing her wand, Poppy whispered an incantation and the wand lit up. However, this wasn't any Lumos spell she had performed.
The charm she had cast forced the wand tip to light, yes, but not to provide light to its holder. No, this was another spell, which showed the medi-witch/wizard inspecting a patient the life force of the person in question. And on this day, Madam Pomfrey was surprised as she waved the wand over Hermione's abdomen.
The light had seemed to split, one half steady, the other, pulsating faintly.
Oh no. Not Hermione Granger.
XXX
Hermione was released a week later, and she had seen Ron's red hair poking out from behind the privacy curtains. Upon asking Harry what he was doing in there, he refused to tell her. She was furious with him for not updating her on everything that had happened and for also not keeping a detailed list of what homework she was to make up. Everything just wasn't going her way. Especially after the news that Madam Pomfrey had given her on the day she had been discharged.
"Use a concealment charm," she had advised, as she ushered the girl out into the corridor. They had already discussed what was to be done, but it was still at the forefront of the medi-witch's mind. She just couldn't believe she was having this talk with Hermione Granger, of all people.
"I will," Hermione had said. "Like I'd really want people knowing…"
She stalked off back to her common room like a bat out of Hell, ready to tear up Malfoy; it was, after all, his fault, seeing as it was his so called 'friend' that had raped her, nearly killed her, and caused this new problem.
"MALFOY!" she bellowed upon entering the room. He was sitting in one of the couches in front of the fire, dozing, but could anyone really sleep through a yelling Hermione?
Draco sprung up, mumbling, "What's the rush?" Hermione stomped over to the couch, fire burning in her eyes as she bore down on him.
"Did you tell him to?"
"Did I tell who to what?" Draco asked, confused.
"You know damn well who and what I'm talking about, Malfoy!" Hermione screamed, picking up a crystal candy dish and chucking at the blond boy's head.
"HEY!" Draco yelped as the dish went whizzing by his head, bursting on the wall. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Granger!" However, realization suddenly dawned on him and he whispered, "This is about who attacked you, isn't it." It wasn't a question, but a fact. Without saying a word, Hermione's eyes filled with tears and she whisked herself away into her room, slamming the door viciously.
"Granger?" Draco asked, as he timidly approached the door. He heard sobs issuing from behind it, and much to his annoyance, he felt sorry for the girl, and he wanted to help her.
Damn, he thought desolately. "Come on, Granger. You don't have to tell me who, but I at least want to know what happened. And wouldn't you rather someone know the truth about what exactly went on? Because you know how Hogwarts is. It's been a week, and there're already rumors going around; from nonsense like you were mauled by a troll, to some such idea that you were dueling with a banshee. And neither of those could possibly be right."
Draco heard the lock click after a few seconds, and he slowly turned the knob and peered inside. Hermione was sitting up against her headboard, knees drawn up to her chest; her nose was slightly pink, and her eyes were puffy and red from shedding tears.
"You know, you look a bit like Rudolph with your nose all red."
This caused Hermione to giggle, and Draco found that he quite enjoyed making the girl laugh. "So, Granger," he said, addressing Hermione with sincerity lacing his voice, "Start whenever you want."
She had never seen this side of him before; never had she thought he had this side of him. Malfoy had always seemed like such a two-dimensional person to Hermione, that he only associated with those who believed the same things as he, and that he only spoke to them about himself. It was a pleasant surprise to Hermione when he just sat there, waiting patiently for her to say something, and above all, he wasn't taunting her about her ordeal.
"It was Crabbe," she said, quite unintentionally. She hadn't meant to tell him that. Dammit she thought. Hermione saw his jaw clench, and didn't speak another word.
"Continue," Draco urged.
So she told him. She poured out her heart to him, about how Crabbe had violated her so thoroughly, how he had left her for dead. How she had accepted death, even welcomed it. She filled him in on the pain she had experienced, and she shared with him every detail of what Crabbe had said and done to her body and mind.
By the time she was finished, an hour had passed, and Draco hadn't interrupted her once. If she had known of the storm that was churning inside him, Hermione would have let him be and took cover. It was a raging hurricane within him, and he couldn't control his temper. Above all, he didn't want to.
"Granger, I apologize for Crabbe," Draco spat, "but believe me, he will not go unpunished for his actions. If it's the last thing I ever do, he will grovel before you and beg your forgiveness. I hate to even think that I had once consorted with that sorry sonofabitch. He will pay. I promise you. I may be a Slytherin, but men abusing women in any way isn't acceptable. Crabbe will be sorry he ever touched a hair on your head."
"Malfoy, really, it's not necessary — "
"YES IT IS!" he screamed, leaping up from his seat. "Don't you see? Because he did it to you, he'll think he can do it to other girls. And I just won't have it! I won't have that filthy slug soiling my house's name more than it already is."
Hermione looked down at her hands, which were busying themselves by mussing up the bed sheets. "Thank you, Malfoy. I didn't think…" Her voice trailed off. This was completely unbelievable. Malfoy was actually defending her.
She looked up when she felt a weight at the foot of her bed, and saw that Draco had once again seated himself there, staring at her intently. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked. It was completely out of character, but he had to know. Something inside of him was compelling him to ascertain that she was, indeed, fine.
The girl nodded.
Okay, you know that she's okay, now you can leave, Draco thought. But he didn't leave. Instead, he set his hand upon her cheek and wiped away the tear that had began to fall with his thumb, and whispered, "No more tears, okay? No more tears."
She nuzzled her cheek into his palm unconscientiously, then feebly said, "Okay."
It was then that Draco finally retreated to his own room, leaving Hermione spellbound by how soft his hands were.
A/N: Okay, guys, I just have to say that I am soo so so so so so SOOOO terribly sorry for the long wait on this chapter. It's been done for a while, but I normally don't update until the following chapter is done. And I apologize profusely for the wait. Thank you for being patient and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'm sorry that it took so long, and it probably will be the same for chapter 11. I have it outlined, but I do tend to get very bad writer's block now and again, and with homework almost every night it's getting near impossible to write. But I'm doing my best, just stick with me. Reviews are greatly appreciated! 3
Sneak Preview: Halloween's REAL Monster. How does Draco decide to get back at Crabbe for his transgressions against Hermione? And what is our Golden Girl hiding? Keep reading!