A/N: Every time I get a new review or someone follows this story, I do a little happy dance! Thanks for your support!
Draco woke groggily the next morning feeling like every centimeter of his body had been hit repeatedly by a small army of bludgers. He swallowed past the dryness in his mouth and glanced at the clock. Breakfast was just beginning, and he felt too ravenous to ignore it. Stumbling out of bed, he grabbed some Pepper-Up from his trunk, and staggered into his bathroom while downing the spicy cinnamon flavored potion.
In the mirror he noticed that he was still wearing yesterday's rumpled clothes, but it was the blood and bruises across his face that caught his eye. Where had they come from? What in the bloody hell had happened to him last night?!
He unbuttoned his shirt only to find more bruises littered across his chest, the worst of them concentrated near his sternum. With shaking fingers, he removed the rest of his clothes and stared uncomprehendingly at his pale and mottled skin in the mirror.
It bothered him deeply not knowing what had happened to him. It resonated with the frantic and anxious boy who'd been cowed by Voldemort's will up till last year, a servant to an evil maniac's whims. Draco had sworn to replace that boy at all costs, yet here he was haunted by his specter.
No matter how hard he tried to force his mind to give him what he wanted, he remembered very little of last night. He vaguely recalled drinking in the Slytherin common room with Blaise and Pansy, but he was drawing a blank after that.
Was I drugged? He wouldn't have put it past some of his housemates, but Pansy and Blaise were low on that list.
He made quick work of showering, healing what he could, rubbing ointment on his bruises, and dressing. He was determined to get to the bottom of things, but he was also starving. The Great Hall would let him kill two birds with one stone.
On his way out of the common room he noted that Granger was nowhere to be found. Not that it mattered, perhaps she was already at breakfast. He'd spent less time with her so far than he'd hoped to. Maybe he could fix that today.
In the time it took him to come to that conclusion, her cat had darted out from beneath the couch and started meowing loudly. Crookshanks flicked his tale in agitation as he circled his empty food bowl suggestively.
Draco rolled his eyes and made his way to the Great Hall, muttering about annoying pets under his breath. On the way there, he noticed something strange in the atmosphere. There was tension in the air, a subtle buzzing of social energy that confused him.
He made his way to the Slytherin table where he was relieved to find Blaise and Pansy huddled together by the far end. They were arguing quietly over half-eaten plates of breakfast food and crumpled newspaper pages. Draco surprised them both by plopping down next to Pansy and reaching for an empty plate.
"Spill," he demanded without looking at them as he served himself a heaping plate of food, "What in the bloody hell happened to me last night?"
Pansy sputtered at the sight of him, staring at his mottled, slowly healing face in horror.
"Draco! Your face," she cried.
Blaise regarded him silently.
"What. Happened. To. Me. Last. Night?" he repeated icily.
Her expression morphed into one of confusion, "Last night? Dray, we haven't seen you since Friday!"
Draco's brow furrowed, "But that was only yesterday. Isn't it Saturday?"
Pansy's eyes grew round and she suddenly tensed and leaned in close. Her eyes darted around nervously, and her voice dropped to a whisper, "It's Sunday... Let's talk about this in your room when you're done eating. Now is neither the time nor place."
Draco's confusion only grew. If today was really Sunday, then that meant he was missing an entire day's worth of time. A sharp current of alarm coursed down his back at the prospect of so much lost time. Anything could have happened to him in that time. It seemed like plenty of things had happened to him in that time.
What the bloody hell is going on?!
"Fine," he conceded mullishly, his frustration made evident by his aggressive movements as he made short work of his breakfast.
They walked back to his rooms in a strained and awkward silence. Draco wondered why Blaise had yet to say anything, and idly wondered how much more fucked his day could possibly get.
By the time they'd made it to his common room, he could tell Pansy was bursting with the desire to speak. The moment the portrait door closed, she unloaded on him.
"Granger's at St. Mungo's. She was assaulted yesterday."
Draco whirled around to look at her, not sure if he'd heard her correctly.
"We found out about it in the Prophet a few minutes before you came into breakfast, but they haven't mentioned if they know who did it yet. And now you show up this morning looking like shite and conveniently missing a day's worth of time. This looks bad Dray," Pansy said frankly, lighting the fireplace at the far end of the room and pacing in front of it while muttering to herself.
Draco was gobsmacked, a sickening pit of worry and concern erupting in his stomach at the news that Granger was in bad enough shape to warrant time spent at St. Mungo's. What had happened to her? Was she okay? And how could he possibly have anything to do with it?
He shook his head, feeling lost, "But I–I don't remember any of what's happened since I last saw you two."
Blaise caught his eye and wordlessly used Legilimency to invade his thoughts without asking. Had it been another time or place, Draco would have been the picture of spitting indignance and resistance, but as it was he felt desperate to show his few remaining friends that he wasn't lying.
As Blaise sifted through his memories since Friday, Draco felt himself falling into a downward spiral of emotions he was unused to feeling. The old him would have wanted nothing to do with opening that black box of anxiety. But now Draco felt no motivation to stem the tide, no motivation to hide from what his mind and heart were trying to tell him. He was too overwhelmed to run from himself anymore.
After what felt like ages mired in mental discomfort, Blaise retreated from his mind with a grim expression and turned to Pansy, "He's telling the truth. He doesn't remember anything past you and me Friday. His memory's been extensively modified."
"Fuck," Draco muttered shakily, dragging a hand through his hair as he fell back into the nearest loveseat.
Pansy's eyes narrowed, "The last time we saw you was in Slytherin common room on Friday night. You left with Theo and Elliot to... speak privately. We haven't seen you since."
Draco turned to her with a question in his gaze. Why didn't he remember leaving the party that night with his two Slytherin housemates? His mind went back to the conversation he'd had with Nott earlier in the evening on Friday.
Draco knew that bastard had to be behind this somehow, "Where's Nott, then?"
Pansy grimaced and her eyes shifted downward, "I saw him a few times throughout the day yesterday, but he hasn't shown his face yet today. He hasn't behaved any differently, though."
He caught her eye movements and the slight change in her body language.
"You know something," he hissed.
Pansy scoffed and paused in her pacing to roll her eyes at him, "Of course I know something. I always know something."
"Then tell me what the fuck you know, Pans," he growled, his eyes narrowing into slits.
She shared a long silent glance with Blaise before she sighed and asked, "What do you know about the Sons of Salazar?"
Draco took a moment to consider her question and shook his head, "Never heard of them."
His friends shared another long look.
"When you left with Theo Friday night... it was to talk about the Sons of Salazar."
She shifted nervously, but plowed on before Draco could interrupt her.
"It's a–" here she scoffed and shook her head slightly, "It's a secret society for purebloods."
That's news to me. Draco raised an eyebrow, silently encouraging her to continue.
"They've been recruiting within Slytherin for awhile, since last year I think. You were bypassed for... obvious reasons," she shrugged, "No one in Slytherin expected you to make it out of the war alive, if I'm being honest."
That stings.
Draco absorbed that information and wondered why neither she nor Blaise had mentioned any of this before. The trust he'd hesitantly guarded around his friendship with them began to weaken. In its place, a kernel of suspicion began to form. He remained silent, considering the implications of her words.
She resumed pacing, "I was so confused when Theo mentioned he'd be inviting you in this week. It didn't make any sense—until now."
At this, she stopped abruptly and shot Draco a piercing, indecipherable look. Something seemed to dawn on her.
"You were being framed," she exhaled quietly, her voice a cross between anxious and awed.
"What?!" Draco exploded.
"Ooooh that's rich!" she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "That conniving little roach! I'd be proud of him if it weren't for the fact that it's you, Dray."
"Explain before I hex you," Draco gritted out, quickly losing what little patience he'd started the day with.
"Doesn't it seem obvious?" she asked gesturing around wildly, "It's too perfect!"
Blaise sighed and stepped in to explain, clearly reading the exasperation in Draco's eyes.
"If what I saw in your mind is real, you're screwed. You don't have an alibi for the past day or so, your memory's missing, and you were clearly involved in a struggle. On top of that, consider what happened last night to Granger, who just so happens to be Harry Potter's best friend, not to mention your former bullying obsession, and your bloody roommate! All signs point to you, whether or not you remember any of it happening."
Draco's heart constricted at the logic Blaise had just laid out for him. It did sound bad when he put it that way. It sounded like the perfect set-up.
What if I am the one who hurt her?
But there was no way Draco would ever willingly physically attack Granger. Especially not after witnessing her torture in the drawing room at Malfoy Manor a few months ago.
It never stopped me from attacking her with words before all of this though, did it?
Under normal circumstances it may have taken Draco a few weeks or months to come to the realization that he no longer held any ill will towards Granger, but now? After this insane morning? He knew that he definitely didn't hate her anymore. Hell, he didn't even dislike her all that much.
Chagrined, he realized that in the short week they'd been back at school, she'd more than grown on him. He'd started to look forward to the scant windows of time they spent together sorting out Heads' duties after their busy schooldays. Her intelligence, wit, and sharp tongue had caught his attention now that his mind wasn't as clouded by hatred, but it was her caring that had endeared her to him. She couldn't not care about things.
At first he'd planned to use her to his social advantage, sure, but he had never planned on hurting her. Now, there was no part of him that felt interested in using her at all, not for any of his selfish ends. And especially not after this hellish day, which had only begun to unfold less than an hour ago.
If it's been bad for me, then what must she be going through?
A swell of self-recrimination and fury swelled in him at the possibility that he'd destroyed any chance he had of salvaging the Malfoy name by hurting the one person he'd hoped to befriend this year. The cold fire of indignation swelled further at the thought that he may have done it all under someone else's finger, like a Merlinforsaken puppet.
Now all Draco wanted to do was channel his rage, preferably towards helping Hermione if he was indeed responsible for what had happened to her. He had to redeem himself. But how could he possibly fig–
"Draco!" Pansy's shrill voice cut through his musings, rousing him from the tangent his thoughts had taken, "Snap out of it!"
His gaze snapped to hers. She'd come to stand directly in front of him with her hands resting on his shoulders.
"What are you going to do?" she asked seriously.
His gaze hardened, "I'm going to McGonagall."
Pansy stared at him as if he'd grown an extra head.
"Have you gone mad?!" she hissed with incredulity, "Do you want to throw your life away for something that may not even be your fault?!"
He tried to shrug her hands off his shoulders, but she dug her fingers in harder, "We can still fix this, Dray! We can still make sure this doesn't ruin you!"
Draco was shaking his head at her before she'd even finished speaking.
"No, Pans. The only way to fix this is to make it right."
She scoffed and tried to shake him, "You're not a hero, Dray! You're smarter than that."
Draco's expression hardened, "Maybe I want to be for once."
Pansy sneered, "Then you'll be doing it while rotting in a cell in Azkaban. Is that what you want?!"
"If that's what it takes, then yes!" he snarled.
Having heard enough, Pansy shouted, "I won't let you!"
Draco laughed bitterly in her face, "You don't get to decide!"
With that, he wrenched her hands off his shoulders and strode to the door, not sparing either of his companions another glance.
He heard Blaise's voice trailing after him as he marched resolutely into the hallway, "Looks like Draco finally grew a pair."
Before this weekend, Blaise's words would have infuriated Draco. Now they only served to further stoke the sparks smoldering in him, urging him onward. The heat of it felt unfamiliar to Draco.
Neither of his housemates followed him, and no one acknowledged him as he stormed through the castle's sparsely populated hallways. With a pounding heart and a grim expression, he came to a stop in front of the gargoyle statue that guarded the Headmistress' office.
He was relieved to see that McGonagall had broken with Dumbledore's precedent and left the entryway to her office open to students, no password required. With grim determination, Draco began his ascent up the steps and towards what he recognized would probably be the end of his time at Hogwarts.
Despite the gravity of the situation, strangely enough he couldn't find it in himself to feel much more than worry and concern for Granger. Perhaps he was in shock. The magnitude of what he was walking into was washing over him ineffectually, none of it really sinking in yet.
Draco would go to Azkaban for this if his suspicions were correct. Whatever his unwitting role in what seemed to have happened, there was no doubt that it violated his conditions of attendance and parole. But as long as he brought Theo down with him, it was a price he was willing to pay if it meant doing the right thing for once in his cursed life.
He climbed the steps in a daze. His heart had been frozen for so long, encased in sheet after sheet, and year after year of accumulated ice. As the light and warmth of his conviction drove him forward, reflecting and refracting through the glacial chambers within him that had remained cold and silent for so long, Draco allowed himself to hope.
Please just be okay, Granger.