Chasing the Sun
Disclaimer: Don't own it. K?
Don't make a noise. Not the smallest sound.
Quiet as a mouse, Draco. I don't want to hear you at all.
Can't breathe, can't move. Legs hurt. Back hurts.
Father...?
Draco Malfoy stared moodily out of the train window, grey eyes fixated on the passing countryside. The trees zoomed past him, until he began to wonder whether it was the train that was moving or the trees themselves. His (slightly insane) reverie was interrupted by someone clearing their throat in the corner of his compartment. He rolled his eyes; McGonagall had been desperate to talk to him as soon as they'd met again. But he'd have none of it; it was bad enough—
No, remember our pact? We don't think about that, about what happened. It's gone. Done. El finito.
"Mr Malfoy!" barked McGonagall. Draco whipped around and fixed the woman with his patented Evil Glare. "We'll be arriving soon. I suggest you wear these." She offered him the dark patched robes, more patch than robe. To Draco, they looked like something he'd see hanging on the Weasel's washing line. Sure Weasley's got another robe to spare? I'd hate to inconvenience him. Draco sneered, knowing full well he'd rip them off the boy's back if he had to. McGonagall sighed; a long, world-weary sigh, as if she could read his very thoughts.
"Mr Malfoy, if we're going to help you—" Draco jumped up, his fine features contorting in anger. He wanted to scream What could you possibly do to help me! I don't want this; I just want to be back at the Manor with my mother! Leave me alone! But he could say nothing. He sank back into his seat and resumed his determined gazing.
"Hermione…you know you can't come with us," he said quietly. She nodded. "We need someone inside at Hogwarts, someone who can give us the information we need,"
"And you know I wouldn't miss my NEWTs for the world," she laughed nervously. Harry gazed up at her, smiling ruefully. "Promise me you'll write," she added.
"We'll both write. Even if I have to tie Ron to a chair."
"Stay safe, Harry. I… love you." She looked down at the floor. Something forced her chin up, until she was met with eyes the colour of emeralds. Harry's eyes.
"I love you too," he whispered, and disapparated.
"Miss Granger!" a voice startled her from her reverie. She shrank under the eyes of Professor Flitwick. "Now that we have you undivided attention, please tell the class how to perform the charm."
Hermione's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She knew this. She'd read about it over the summer. They'd practiced it in class. Why couldn't she remember? Her train of thought became frantic, and before she knew it-
"I don't know, Professor." She mumbled, eyes widening at her words. Gasps were issued from various places around the classroom, and Hermione wanted to bury her head in her arms.
"Then you would do well to pay attention!" Flitwick said, the sympathy in his eyes belying his tone. Hermione nodded miserably. Flitwick turned back to the blackboard, dictating as he wrote.
As soon as the bell sounded, she hurtled out of the classroom and back to the Gryffindor Common room. What was wrong with her? She was cracking up. She'd never been so, so stressed in her entire life. She couldn't work, she couldn't study, and she couldn't sit for five minutes with a book without getting distracted! She glared at the words on the page as they began to swim. She wiped away the tears furiously and turned in her chair to throw the book at the wall. She saw him standing there.
"Sod off, Malfoy." She sniffed. Then her eyes widened. MALFOY! There he was, smirking at her in that infuriating way that made her want to lob another book in his general direction.
"What are you doing here!"
He was the reason Dumbledore was dead, this snivelling Slytherin slimeball. He had the nerve to return to Hogwarts! The nerve to act as if nothing was wrong, and make out that she was the one with the problem! Ugh! She wanted to slap that stupid expression from his stupid, stupid face—
He coughed delicately.
And raised his eyebrow.
The colour rose in her cheeks and, withdrawing her wand, approached him.
"Answer me," she ordered, her voice going all shades of shrill.
The smirk grew even wider, and his eyes were saying what his mouth wasn't: Make me.
"Get out of my sight. I'm warning you. I will not be responsible for my actions if you linger here any longer. You killed Dumbledore, you filthy death eater SCUM!" her wand was at his neck. He continued smirking; she raised her hand and slapped him across the face.
"Miss Granger!" said Professor McGonagall, entering the Gryffindor common room.
"Professor! It's Draco Malfoy! He's—" she turned around quickly, whipping Draco in the face with her long, bushy hair. He flinched.
"On our side, I think you'll find."
Hermione gaped.
"I— oh, Professor, I'm so sorry! He was, he was doing that thing where he smirks. You know how annoying that is. And the eyebrow thing. Topped with the god awful day I've been having, I just – oh, I'm so sorry." Streamed from Hermione's mouth. Then she saw Professor McGonagall properly.
Deep lines were etched in Professor McGonagall's face, her eyes seeming to hold a new depth to them. Hermione's face softened at the sight of her beloved Professor looking so drained. Her wand clattered to the floor, barely gripped by her small fingers. She looked at Draco expectantly. He furrowed his eyes at her; no more.
"Don't worry, Draco," Hermione said scathingly, "No one expects you to be a gentleman." And she bent down to pick up her wand, her eyes on Draco the entire time.
McGonagall watched the scene with something akin to amusement. It was a relief from the stresses of her life. It was funny; she'd never really noticed how much Albus had had to do. There were meetings, conferences, sorting out errant students, offering emotional support to some of said errant students and don't forget the musing. Not to mention the lessons she had to undertake. And Draco Malfoy. It wouldn't do for them to keep arguing; after all, they were in this together. Not that Draco could argue back; it seemed this function was lost to him.
Severus Snape had come to her house over the summer, with the Malfoy boy. She had been very cautious at first, letting Snape in only with her wand at his neck. He had killed Albus. Now of course she knew Albus had wanted it – at the time she had been filled with hatred for the Potions Master.
The Malfoy boy had been a wreck. He wouldn't look at anyone for the first few weeks, keeping his head ducked whenever anyone entered the room. Even more peculiar was that he wouldn't—
No, she shook her head. Couldn't. Quite a few times she had seen him open his mouth, as if to say something, and then snap it shut immediately as the words failed to come to him. He had lost a lot of weight over those weeks, not that he had had a lot of it to begin with.
She had tried. Merlin, how she had tried. She could find nothing. So she had decided to turn to the brightest witch she had ever met; Hermione Granger. The girl lived off books; surely Hermione would find something that she, Professor McGonagall, had missed. She only hoped that Hermione would be as co-operative as possible.
Unfortunately, the scene before her belied her hopes. There was Hermione; glaring at Draco as if fixing her eyes on him would make her friends return, and Draco all the while inspecting his nails. Professor McGonagall had to admit that Draco's faux nonchalance was very effective. She could almost see smoke emerging from Hermione's ears.
Draco surveyed the room. There was McGonagall; her face twitching like someone had chucked a handful of itching powder at it, and Granger. Ooh, Granger. He had never found someone so easy to annoy.
"Professor, I am really sorry-" she began again.
"You needn't apologise to me, Miss Granger," McGonagall said tartly. "I believe Mister Malfoy is the one who needs an apology,"
Granger shook her head in dismay, backing up slightly.
Go on, Granger, he silently egged her on, apologise to me.
She caught his gaze and the fury flared up in her eyes once more. McGonagall's placid look was not lost on her, however, and she recovered herself in an instant.
"I, er, I'm sorry… Malfoy," she said slowly, as if not believing she was saying it. He nodded shortly. He couldn't trust himself not to laugh.
"Mister Malfoy," McGonagall turned to him. He rolled his eyes. "Please return to my office. I would like a few words with Miss Granger. Go straight there, do you understand me?"
He nodded sullenly, and drew the invisibility cloak around his shoulders. So much for fun, he thought, I hope she gets seriously detentioned.
"I don't need to tell you that you acted very rashly," Professor McGonagall said wearily. Hermione nodded miserably. "The fact of it is, Miss Granger, that Mister Malfoy cannot speak."
Guilt flooded through her as she mentally replayed the scene involving her and Malfoy. What had possessed her? And in front of the Headmistress!
This had not been a good week.
Curiosity overcame her, and she couldn't help asking meekly, "Why can't he speak, Professor?"
Professor McGonagall tried to hide a smile. "I knew your curiosity would get the better of you sooner of later, Miss Granger. The truth is, I do not know. Professor Snape brought him to me this summer, in a worse condition than he is now. I'm sure you did not fail to notice—"
"I noticed."
"Then again, you are not looking any better yourself," Professor McGonagall eyed her keenly. "This has a lot to do with Mister Potter and Mister Weasley. Am I correct?"
"Yes, Professor." Hermione felt awful. If it was this recognizable… oh, she did try to hide it. But she worried. She worried for her best friends, her brothers.
"Hermione," Professor McGonagall sighed. Hermione blinked. Did she just…? "I need your help. We've tried everything. I feel I've exhausted the possibilities. Except one."
"Do… do you want me to do some research, Professor?" Hermione stammered.
"I'm afraid not. You're the only possibility, Miss Granger."
What was Granger's fucking problem!
Draco paced angrily in his bedroom. If you could call it a bedroom, he snorted, glancing around the cell with disdain. The walls were brick and painted milk-white, the bed a hard mattress connected to the wall. There were no mirrors (his jailer had been adamant) and there was a small window only big enough for Draco to fit his fist through.
Not much to work with at all, Draco sighed and sank onto his 'bed'. He was normally good at escaping trapping situations. He had had to be. Lucius's twisted sense of humour had seen to that. Draco shuddered remembering the one time…
No, he shook his head emphatically. It does no good. I'm on the 'light side' now. We're all optimistic-like and can't even consider defeat.
He considered his recent defeat. Granger was not the type of girl who slapped people; she put all her force into it, so that it was almost as bad as a punch.
Draco ran a hand through his hair in frustration. And he couldn't even taunt her! Oh, what he would give to be able to say something as simple as 'mudblood' and watch her squirm.
And what did McGonagall want with the stupid muggle?