That day was long and hard. Every double class with Slytherin plagued Hermione with thoughts of Draco, worries that his father would come home early, or that his mother's illness would worsen. During Ancient Runes she found herself in tears over not knowing if he'd made it home safely. She told her professor that dust from one of the old volumes had gotten in her eye, and rushed from the room.
Hermione hid in Moaning Myrtle's lavatory for the rest of her morning classes. Granted, she studied while she was there, but it was the first time she'd ever intentionally skived off classes, and she felt rather awful for it. That did not, however, outweigh the way she felt toward Draco. The uncertainty was terrible.
When the bell finally sounded and she could hear the other students filing down for lunch, Hermione slipped out of the bathroom and up to her dorm. What I really need, she thought, is more sleep. She climbed onto her bed, but going to sleep was a constant game of cat and mouse. Sleep kept running off in her mind, and as much as she tired to catch it, it would still elude her. She dozed lightly for a few minutes, then resigned herself to wandering about the common room.
As the end of lunch grew near, Hermione was finally able to sit and make some semblance of relaxation. She picked up the Daily Prophet and read until something caught her eye.
—Tragedy at the Malfoy Manor—
The glorious Malfoy estate was the site of much commotion today as medi- wizards tried furiously to attend to an ailing Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy and her young son, Draco. The Malfoy Manor is owned by Lucius Malfoy, a 43 year old wizard with strong political and financial ties in the Ministry. He was away on business when his wife fell horribly ill, but returned when he heard his son had left school to care for her.
"Draco is such a caring boy, he and his mother are very close," Mr. Malfoy was quoted. "He had planned to catch up with schoolwork on holidays, but returned to watch over Narcissa."
Unfortunately, upon young Mr. Malfoy's arrival home, he also became ill, and suffered a fall while still attempting to care for his mother. While rushing from his bedroom in a wing upstairs, he tumbled down the Manor's impressive fifty-one stair Grand Staircase. He has said, "I simply caught my foot on a rug. I was feverish, and wasn't paying careful enough attention." His shouts alerted a house elf, who contacted the medi-wizards. Mr. Malfoy arrived at the scene shortly after his son's fall, and was tending him when the medics arrived.
"He's strong-willed. His own illness did not keep him from attending to his mother," stated Mr. Malfoy about his son's accident.
Mrs. Malfoy is in St. Mungo's Hospital for further treatment, and most of young Mr. Malfoy's injuries were healed upon arrival to the hospital. He's expected to return to the Manor soon with his father, who said he is pleased to have his son home again.
Hermione slammed the paper down on an end table, and stood to pace the room.
"Injured in a fall, my arse!" she fumed. "That awful, disgusting, worthless Lucius Malfoy... 'pleased to have his son home', I'm sure he is. With Draco's mother ill, there's no one for him to terrorize!"
She immediately wrote a letter to Draco, asking if he and his mother were alright, and by the way, how was Blaise. Although she would have never admitted it, she knew that Draco was trying to do the right thing. It was just so painful to think that he cared for her, but couldn't be with her. She sent the letter by school owl to St. Mungo's, with strict instructions to only give it to Draco when his father had gone. The owl seemed to understand, so she opened the window and let him fly out.
The time between when Hermione sent the letter, and the time when Draco sent one back was perhaps the most difficult time of her life. She paced, she fidgeted, she was absent and distant. Harry was torn between asking her about it, and just standing aside. He knew she'd be too angry and upset to talk, but he wanted in some way to help her. He just didn't know how. So instead of speaking to her, holding her, or ignoring her, he took a new direction. When she'd pace, he'd pace. When she'd sit, he'd sit next to her. When she'd talk, he'd talk back. And that was all, because he was otherwise totally unsure what to do.
On the evening of the second day after she'd sent her letter, Hermione broke down. In the middle of pacing the common room floor, she fell to her knees in tears. Harry simply sat next to her while she cried, and eventually, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her wet face against his shoulder.
"Oh, Harry... What am I going to do?"
"What can you do?" he asked. "Fight Lucius? Are you going to take on someone with his power?"
"Of course not," she sighed. "I have no idea how I can help."
"I have an idea, alright? We'll wait for his letter, find out how long he's at St. Mungo's, then take it from there."
"How will that help?"
"You'll see..."
Hermione was confused, and that was a feeling she disliked above most others, but she trusted Harry.
"The key is patience," he said quietly. "We just have to wait."
Hermione hid in Moaning Myrtle's lavatory for the rest of her morning classes. Granted, she studied while she was there, but it was the first time she'd ever intentionally skived off classes, and she felt rather awful for it. That did not, however, outweigh the way she felt toward Draco. The uncertainty was terrible.
When the bell finally sounded and she could hear the other students filing down for lunch, Hermione slipped out of the bathroom and up to her dorm. What I really need, she thought, is more sleep. She climbed onto her bed, but going to sleep was a constant game of cat and mouse. Sleep kept running off in her mind, and as much as she tired to catch it, it would still elude her. She dozed lightly for a few minutes, then resigned herself to wandering about the common room.
As the end of lunch grew near, Hermione was finally able to sit and make some semblance of relaxation. She picked up the Daily Prophet and read until something caught her eye.
—Tragedy at the Malfoy Manor—
The glorious Malfoy estate was the site of much commotion today as medi- wizards tried furiously to attend to an ailing Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy and her young son, Draco. The Malfoy Manor is owned by Lucius Malfoy, a 43 year old wizard with strong political and financial ties in the Ministry. He was away on business when his wife fell horribly ill, but returned when he heard his son had left school to care for her.
"Draco is such a caring boy, he and his mother are very close," Mr. Malfoy was quoted. "He had planned to catch up with schoolwork on holidays, but returned to watch over Narcissa."
Unfortunately, upon young Mr. Malfoy's arrival home, he also became ill, and suffered a fall while still attempting to care for his mother. While rushing from his bedroom in a wing upstairs, he tumbled down the Manor's impressive fifty-one stair Grand Staircase. He has said, "I simply caught my foot on a rug. I was feverish, and wasn't paying careful enough attention." His shouts alerted a house elf, who contacted the medi-wizards. Mr. Malfoy arrived at the scene shortly after his son's fall, and was tending him when the medics arrived.
"He's strong-willed. His own illness did not keep him from attending to his mother," stated Mr. Malfoy about his son's accident.
Mrs. Malfoy is in St. Mungo's Hospital for further treatment, and most of young Mr. Malfoy's injuries were healed upon arrival to the hospital. He's expected to return to the Manor soon with his father, who said he is pleased to have his son home again.
Hermione slammed the paper down on an end table, and stood to pace the room.
"Injured in a fall, my arse!" she fumed. "That awful, disgusting, worthless Lucius Malfoy... 'pleased to have his son home', I'm sure he is. With Draco's mother ill, there's no one for him to terrorize!"
She immediately wrote a letter to Draco, asking if he and his mother were alright, and by the way, how was Blaise. Although she would have never admitted it, she knew that Draco was trying to do the right thing. It was just so painful to think that he cared for her, but couldn't be with her. She sent the letter by school owl to St. Mungo's, with strict instructions to only give it to Draco when his father had gone. The owl seemed to understand, so she opened the window and let him fly out.
The time between when Hermione sent the letter, and the time when Draco sent one back was perhaps the most difficult time of her life. She paced, she fidgeted, she was absent and distant. Harry was torn between asking her about it, and just standing aside. He knew she'd be too angry and upset to talk, but he wanted in some way to help her. He just didn't know how. So instead of speaking to her, holding her, or ignoring her, he took a new direction. When she'd pace, he'd pace. When she'd sit, he'd sit next to her. When she'd talk, he'd talk back. And that was all, because he was otherwise totally unsure what to do.
On the evening of the second day after she'd sent her letter, Hermione broke down. In the middle of pacing the common room floor, she fell to her knees in tears. Harry simply sat next to her while she cried, and eventually, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her wet face against his shoulder.
"Oh, Harry... What am I going to do?"
"What can you do?" he asked. "Fight Lucius? Are you going to take on someone with his power?"
"Of course not," she sighed. "I have no idea how I can help."
"I have an idea, alright? We'll wait for his letter, find out how long he's at St. Mungo's, then take it from there."
"How will that help?"
"You'll see..."
Hermione was confused, and that was a feeling she disliked above most others, but she trusted Harry.
"The key is patience," he said quietly. "We just have to wait."