Disclaimer: yes I don't own anything you recognize. You caught me.
Author's Note: oh good god, I feel like such a bloody idiot. Being in France, I wasn't able to get my hands on an English copy of HBP until a short while ago. I just read it and am sitting here just kicking myself. I feel like I threw away so much potential. Please guys, I beg your pardon and I hope this little concoction of mine isn't too much of a disappointment.
Chapter Eight: Subscriptions
Sorry, friends if I left you a bit of an edge. I have gotten hasty with words recently. So where was I, oh yes, I died. Actually, to clarify, that was where every rational thought was pointing. I mean, I was thrown clear into the Forbidden Forest, not many people survive that.
However by an act of chance or luck ( I can't decide), my oversized robes got me stuck in a tree. You can imagine my horrid greeting when conscious became me. I was too weak to move, thank Merlin. I forget exactly how long I was cradled in the tree that felt more like a cactus.
I tired like I have never been before in my life. Just as I was deciding that releasing myself to unconsciousness yet again, I heard voices which drew me back to the world of the living.
"Malfoy! You prat, we have to go into the forest to find her! Not fly over it!"
"Potter, shut up! You're only here because you want some glory for youself."
"You have a habit of running out of the Forbidden Forest crying like a child."
"What! You lie, Potter."
"If you are in denial, so be it."
"Go amuse yourself with Weasel, why don't you? Stop wishing you could switch houses like some hufflepuff poof."
"The day I want to be a slytherin is the day I am under imperius."
"Hey! Where do you think you are going?"
"She isn't going to be stuck in some tree, Malfoy. She's going to be hurt on the ground."
"Or dead on the ground, it's bloody dangerous!"
"That's why we need to get there fast!"
Oh dear lord, the two of them came looking for me? Half of me would have rather died. Speaking of which, I think the only thing standing in between me and death from bleeding was my sarcasm. That shall follow me to the grave. Even then I think the small of it will waft up from the dirt.
"Potter, fucking hold on a second! Do you have any idea how hard it is to park a bloody broom in these trees!"
Oh no, they were leaving and I was still stuck in this tree. I didn't know how high up I was. Could I roll myself out? But that would hurt. Fuck this was a tough decision. Knowingly rolling yourself out of something just so you will fall and hopefully make a sound . . . I decided to try screaming.
I ended up with a hiccup.
This, to my horror, left only one option as the bickering of the two rivals started to fade. I just prayed I wouldn't bust a lung or something.
THUNK!
"Oh god, we're gonna die!" were the first words out of Draco's mouth. He spun around, frantically searching for some monster that he just knew was there to kill him.
"Relax, or leave, Malfoy," Harry snarled.
"Then you tell me what that noise was!"
"It was nothing, now come on!"
Above me a branch snapped and just barely got my feet. I must have moaned or something because Draco started to insist. "No, I swear on a Dark Mark that there is–oh bloody fuck, is that a dead animal? Oh fuck, what killed it?"
"What are you ranting about now?" Harry wheeled around in annoyance. When he caught sight of what Draco was referring to, his tone changed drastically. "Is that her?"
"I always knew Marlow would have a closed casket."
Harry smacked Draco out of the way and rushed over. Tentatively taking my shoulders, he rolled me onto my back off my side. I coughed feebly and my previously slack face tightened painfully. I couldn't bring myself to say anything.
"You're doing good, Xandra," he stroked my hair briefly before trying to figure out some way to lift me.
"Come on, Marlow," I heard Draco's voice somewhere nearby. "Don't die now. That would be such a waste. Don't pass out now."
Despite the words of encouragement, I was so tired. I think I broke a rib on the way down. Oh god . . . my last thought before blacking out was something about how ironic it was that the two were so dysfunctional.
I had a dream that I was a man. It was most traumatizing because I had red hair in this dream. I also got seasick and hid behind a rock in order not to be eaten by a dragon. It was most horrendous. Like Alice in Wonderland but I couldn't find that bloody mushroom to make me grow taller. I was wearing a dress at one point; just in case you find that amusing. That bloody dream left me feeling a little warm and fuzzy and coming to the reality that something wet was dripping on my head was more depressing than horrible. Which did I prefer? Good question.
What is that dripping on my head? Merlin!
By the time I was able to finish that exclamation, I was also able to feel the pain shooting through my body. You know, I didn't curse. Instead I slumped into the pain and tried to focus on the figure above me.
Draco was leaning over me with his brows furrowed in concentration. I thought I saw sweat all over his face but my vision was probably still blurry. He didn't seem to notice that I had come back to consciousness and thus, didn't bother to halt the manhandling of my wounds.
I hissed sharply, getting his attention at the same time. "Marlow, you're alive."
"I can see that," I said in a sarcastic whisper. I just didn't have the moral to speak louder. "Lucky me," another shot of pain hit me. "What'd I miss?"
"Well, the quidditch match ended after that spell hit you. Then I came to look for your corpse and Prince Potty had to come along. Then after I found you, we got attacked by centaurs."
"Where is Harry?"
"What's with the first name?" of all things he could be saying, of all the tones, he had to be a prat when I was two steps from death.
"Where is he?" my voice sounded like a rusted pipe.
"Pleading for his life. I had to carry you here myself."
"What?" I tried to exclaim but fell flat into a whisper once again.
"You might want to think about losing weight, you're really heavy."
"Is he alright? What happened, Draco!" I tried to sit up but he pushed be back down.
"I don't know, alright? Now calm down before you tear something." His tone had changed completely. I was surprised because that was indeed sweat on his brow. The slytherin prince was worried. I felt rather smug and fuzzy. I laid back down on what I concluded was stone.
"Do you have your wand?"
"Why would I have my wand during a quidditch match, Marlow?"
My eyes widened and another blast of pain shot through me. "Draco, you are no mediwizard."
"Pass out again, Marlow, it will be easier for me."
"Self-centered prick."
"You say this when you are indebted to me with your life?"
I was so tired but clung onto consciousness. "Where are your brooms?" I choked out the words slowly.
"Broken. At least mine is . . ." the rest of what he said faded out and I felt myself falling back into the blackness. As the images blurred and my frame of view got smaller, I remember seeing Harry just before I closed my eyes completely.
The next image I remember was feeling very safe. Well, that isn't much of an image is it? My face was buried into some black Hogwarts robes. The smell was distinct and comforting. I caught a glimpse of the forest beneath me. I wasn't scared, I don't exactly remember why. A thin but genuine smile spread over my lips and I turned my face into the robes once again. I closed my eyes and came to the conclusion that if I never woke up again, a moment like this was the best sendoff I could ask for.
I rolled over onto my side and stared at a hideous pile. I located flowers, newspapers, heaps of notes, chocolate and a bunch of papers with a pen beside them.
I rolled over onto my otherside and stared at Dumbledore. I was surprised because I didn't have any idea what was going on but I was incredibly docile for some reason. I had more potions in me than Snape's classroom. "So good to see you awake, Miss Marlow."
"What happened?" I croaked. At the time I didn't remember much of anything.
"If you roll back over there is a rather detailed summary in the copies of the Daily Prophet your uncles sent to you."
"Fuck the Daily Prophet, they dictate too much of my life, what happened?"
"An attempt was made on your life, Miss Marlow and you are quite lucky to be alive as we speak. You had massive internal bleeding, several broken ribs and your ankle was in twelve pieces. Had Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter not went after you, the assassin would have been successful. You are quite a lucky girl."
I suddenly had a flash from my flight. The robes. I must have been on a broom and before the question of identity could get out of my mouth, the old man was already on another tangent. "The suspect still has not been apprehended. There are strong feelings that the motive was professional not personal."
"Oh joy," I said sarcastically even though my voice was nearly gone. "Glad to know those hufflepuffs haven't finally snapped."
"Speak of which," Dumbledore continued with a twinkle in his halfmoon glasses. "You have had quite a number of visitors these past three weeks."
"Three weeks!" I turned to him so sharply that I hurt my neck.
"And you will be here for about two more so I suggest you get some sleep."
"I would like to leave as soon as possible," I tried to push myself up but failed.
Dumbledore stood, preparing to leave. "I am sure you would but if you will give me your confidence, I believe it would be best if the outside world was under the impression you were still in critical condition and thus, couldn't be bothered."
It took me a moment to see the logic of his plan. "Good idea, Professor."
"I'll make sure to let your friends know you are now conscious."
I was going to say thanks but he left a bit too quickly and I was stuck on the word 'friends'. As I mulled over it more, I wondered if he was being smug with me. I got rigid with pride, stiff with confusion and eventually lax when I read the messy scrap of parchment beside my bed: To Alexandra Marlow- Wake up and stop stalling on my answer. –Draco Malfoy
"Self centered prick," I muttered before I rolled over and fell asleep.
For the next few weeks I stayed in bed and received my mail directly. I hate my subscription to the Daily Prophet, Wizarding Finance and every other bloody newspaper I receive. I went from front page, to inside article, to half a page on the front, two pages in and I hated it. It was the type of hate that I couldn't let go thus I was reveling in it as I skimmed the pages.
Over these few weeks it seemed that Madame Pomfery was determined to keep people away, just as I had gained consciousness. I only seemed to have visitors when I was asleep. Bloody conspiracy, I say. But eventually I started leaving notes ready for when I would fall asleep from those medipotions. Notes like, sod off Malfoy—I'm sick, and Find me some cigarettes and I'll think about your offer faster. I didn't get any kind reassuring notes from Harry which I'll admit, left me a bit sour but I did get my cigarettes. That of course, threw Madame Promphery into an uproar and got stuck with another vile potion instead.
Then one day, when I woke up at some oddball hour, there was somebody sitting on the edge of my bed, reading my latest note to the blonde slytherin. "Malfoy, I need more cigarettes. I see you have your priorities." Oh god, the voice was female. I scrambled to turn on a light and saw of all people, Eleanor Baddock at the edge of my bed. Bloody hell, I didn't even know she went to school here anymore.
"Can I help you?" It was near bloody impossible to keep an air of dignity at that moment. My face was discolored, I had mad hair and had just woken up.
"I am here to help you, actually," she spoke softly but without the signature Hufflepuff shyness.
"Oh ho," I was intrigued by anything at this point so I smothered my snappy reply. "And it is?" but some things never change, my tone still came off as snarky.
"I know who tried to kill you."
"Well, thank you for telling me before the Daily Prophet."
"They are disgusting," she said so quickly I was actually surprised. There is always two sides to everything.
"Yes, so it seems." I had been plotting the death of the editor for a week now in my sleep. "But you were saying . . ."
"It was Lucius Malfoy."
"What!" I exclaimed. "That's ridiculous, Lucius wasn't even there." Oh god, how disgusting is that? I just called the father by first name when I address the son by last name. Nasty.
"He isn't the type of man to do is own dirtywork, now is he?"
She was right. "I suppose so," I hissed the words painfully. "Do you know who did it?"
"Someone from your workers union."
"Fuck, I didn't know I was that bloody unpopular."
"You never know was much as you like to think," there was bite on her words the reminded me that she was no ordinary hufflepuff. I decided to go with the flow.
"Alright, say that's true. How do I know you aren't lying or fibbing or have any sort of proof?"
"My father used to work for you."
I laid there, completely and utterly shell-shocked. No! No, that just wasn't so. Charles Baddock had not worked for her father nor had he worked for her. Malcolm would have said something. Charles Baddock has lost his job—Malcolm would have said something. Someone would have said something!
But at the same time it was all so logical. Malcolm and I were distant cousins. Why would Charles Baddock not have a hand in ME if he could? My father would have certainly taken it into account and . . . I just tumbled into a pit of guilt.
"Why are you telling me this? You don't owe me anything . . ."
"Call it karma," and then she was gone, leaving me alone to wrack my brain for something I did to deserve that information.
The next time I woke up, I couldn't decide whether or not Eleanor Baddock had been a hallucination or not. I was for the first time in weeks feeling energized and decided that if I could just get out of the hospital wing fast enough, I would be one step closer to somewhere. I pulled back the covers, swung my legs off the mattress, tiptoed to the door and darted out when Madame Pomfery turned her back. I think she saw me so I tore off in a lopsided run until I was out of the hospital wing entirely.
I ran into somebody on the stairs and fell back onto my butt. I hope it wasn't a teacher or else I was in trouble. It turned out to be Neville.
"You're alright!" he exclaimed.
"Six weeks of rest will do that to you. What happened?" he had a purple eye that was just to hideous to ignore.
"Oh, my wand um. . ."
"Hurry up to the hospital wing then before that festers," my face twisted in pain. Poor boy.
He scurried past me but just before he was completely gone, something occurred to me. "Hey Neville, what's the date today?"
"It's Friday, December…15th, I think."
"Thanks," I said, hurrying off to the dungeons. That meant kids were still in classes and I had a couple hours to collect myself. I was still in pajamas after all.
So I had an idea now of who tried to kill me but what I didn't know was why or what to do about it. I decided that if I just could get a cigarette and Blaise, the pieces would start moving. Of course, in the end they started moving regardless.