Chapter 4. Unlikely Allies
Hermione sat up slowly, dreading the pain which would course through her body as she moved. To her surprise and relief, she felt none. Madame Pomfrey must have cured her of whatever that potion had done to her. Looking around, she realised she was in the hospital wing. The rich scent of hot gravy hung tantalisingly in the air, making her stomach rumble hungrily. Through the window on her left, she saw that the sky was dark. How long had she been unconscious, she wondered anxiously.
As she lay back, feeling dizzy, the outlines of several people entered her vision. A mass of red hair told her Ron was nearby and she groaned inwardly. The last thing she needed now was a confrontation with him. Trying to avoid his eye, she squinted at the other figures, wondering who they were.
"Hermione?" It was Angelina Johnson. She sounded worried. As her eyes focused and adjusted to the darkness, Hermione realised she was holding a stack of parchment, some Chocolate Frogs and a steaming plate of shepherd's pie. That explained the smell of gravy, thought Hermione as her stomach growled again. Surprise overcame her fatigue. Until the war had broken out, she had never had much to say to Angelina Johnson. She had been sure Angelina was a good-natured, friendly and kindhearted girl, but her main interest was Quidditch, something Hermione could not understand. Now, however, she seemed to seize any opportunity to be with Hermione. It was as if she had unofficially adopted her as a sister. Hermione didn't mind. Being with Angelina helped to take her mind off the sadness and worry she constantly felt since Harry had gone to war.
"Hi Angelina," she replied hoarsely. "How are you?" She eyed the parchment hopefully. Could it be a response from Harry, she wondered, her heart doing a somersault in her chest. She had not been able to send her letter to him that morning. Had Angelina found it and sent it? If she had, she might get into trouble. Fear and admiration for her, combined with a surge of guilt, coursed through her body, making her stomach churn uncomfortably. Angelina had already helped her many times. It would be selfish to let her take the punishment for sending her forbidden letter, she thought.
"Fine," shrugged Angelina. "How are you? Professor McGonagal was really worried when you didn't turn up for class. I explained about Bulstrode and the Splitting Solution and she sent you this." She handed her the parchment and Hermione saw that it was the notes for that day's Transfiguration lesson. At the same moment, she became aware of more parchment in her pocket. Her letter had not been sent. A lump of disappointment burned in her throat. She ought to have known she wouldn't get a reply so soon, she thought. She hadn't been able to send her letter and why would Angelina Johnson risk a terrible punishment for someone she had not really spoken to until recently? She was being silly and self-centred, indulging in such hopes. Harry was in a battle, not on a cruise in a faraway holiday resort. She sighed.
"You're not in trouble," Angelina assured her, misinterpreting her sigh. "McGonagal understands. She said today that the war was something that would affect every wizard and that, if we're too anxious to go to class or do homework, she'll understand." She gave her a sympathetic smile and handed over the rest of her load. "Thanks," murmured Hermione, picking up the spoon Angelina had placed on the plate and beginning to eat.
As her spirits were revived by the hot food, Hermione noticed Melissa Diggory, Ginny Weasley and several other frequenters of her counselling service. She could make out other figures in the shadows being shooed away by Madame Pomfrey. Who were they, she wondered. Why was Madame Pomfrey sending them away from the hospital wing? She never usually denied students medical treatment or the chance to visit their sick or injured friends. She sounded angry as she spoke to the rapidly retreating figures, her tone harsh and cutting.
For several moments, Hermione conversed with her visitors, comforting those who were upset or worried, relaying the events of that morning to anyone who asked to hear her story and ignoring Ron, who soon began to sulk. "She's just brooding over her boyfriend and skiving off lessons," he muttered loudly before storming away. No one took any notice of him. All eyes were on Hermione, who felt very awkward, but relieved by the attention. Having to keep talking to these people kept her mind from contemplating the awful things which might be happening to Harry now.
All too soon, Madame Pomfrey chivvied them away, saying the patient needed rest. Hermione watched them go, Madame Pomfrey taking her empty plate, then lay back with a sad, exhausted sigh. She had awoken feeling so hopeful, but now she was injured, missing Harry, afraid for him and thinking of all the things she had failed to do. She had not sent Harry a letter. She had not attended Transfiguration. She had not been there for those who needed her. She had failed. "I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered into the darkness. "Sorry."
A groan made her look around. It was a boy's voice. He sounded tired, frustrated and in pain. Who could be suffering so badly, wondered Hermione. Why was no one helping him? She glanced around, searching for Madame Pomfrey, but she was now in her study. With another sigh, Hermione looked again at the boy and gasped as she saw him properly. It was Draco Malfoy.
He looked terrible, his face even paler than usual, two red spots in his cheeks. His grey eyes were watering, his skin clammy. He seemed to be trembling for some reason. Was he shivering with cold? This was unlikely, as it was always warm in the hospital wing. Was he frightened then, wondered Hermione, then dismissed the thought. There was nothing to be afraid of here in the hospital wing, unless Malfoy had a fear of the dark. Although she had never liked Draco, it pained her to see anyone suffer. Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, realised Hermione. It was up to her to help Malfoy.
Tentatively she stood and moved towards his bed. Seeing her, he tensed, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Get away from me, you Mudblood!" he croaked feebly. "Get away!" Hermione didn't move. Judging by the tremor and panicked tone of his voice, he really was terrified of something. But what, wondered Hermione. Surely he did not feel threatened by her? She was just a teenager, like himself, who he had often bullied for being a Muggle-born witch.
Suddenly he screamed, a terrible shriek of purest agony which echoed through the large dormitory that was the hospital wing, one pale thin hand clutching his chest. Was this one of what Ron had often called his attention-seeking tantrums, wondered Hermione, then discarded the idea. She could see the agony and terror in his brimming eyes. He was genuinely in pain and needed help. Still Madame Pomfrey did not appear. Why didn't she come, wondered Hermione. She couldn't believe the nurse was unable to hear the cry still reverberating off the walls. Clearly, she thought, it was up to her to deal with the situation.
"I'm here to help you," she told him, her voice gentle but firm. Reacting to the insult he had thrown at her, disgusting as it was, would achieve nothing. If Malfoy was just saying it to aggravate her, she would only give him a savage pleasure she had no intention of giving anyone. If, however, he was just frightened and in too much pain to think straight, she might scare or anger him, which might worsen his condition.
She looked at him again. There were dark shadows under his eyes. He was clearly tired. If he had been in as much pain before as he was now, he must have slept very badly, if at all. Hermione glanced towards Madame Pomfrey's office once more, panic rising in her chest. She didn't know very much about medicine or first aid. She shouldn't have to deal with this, she thought. She was a student, little more than a child. This was Madame Pomfrey's responsibility. She was being very irresponsible to Malfoy.
A surge of guilt and fear racked her dazed mind. How dare she even think of criticising a member of staff! How dare she! If anyone found out, she would be severely punished. Suppressing a shudder as she remembered the fates of other students who had dared to speak against the teachers, she returned her gaze to the boy on the bed. He was even weaker than before and still howling in agony.
For several moments, Hermione continued to talk to him, trying to find out what was wrong, but his pain seemed to render him incapable of coherent speech. Perhaps, she thought, if she lessened his pain, he might be able to tell her what ailed him. Besides, this act of kindness might make him see that she meant him no harm. Maybe her example would even lead him to start helping others.
Speaking softly, so that she did not disturb the other patients, Hermione muttered a spell Professor Lupin had taught her which alleviated mild pain. He had also taught her a charm to relieve severe pain, but she decided not to use it. After all, according to her parents, both of whom were dentists, pain was a signal from the body that something was wrong and should not be ignored. By removing some, but not all of Malfoy's pain, Hermione hoped, she would be able to discover the problem and solve it.
Malfoy relaxed slightly, his eyes fixed suspiciously on Hermione. He tried to sit up, becoming entangled in his blankets and the hangings around his bed and let out another shriek as the pain returned. Hermione hastily repeated the spell. "Where does it hurt, Malfoy?" she asked solicitously. "My chest hurts," croaked Draco, his voice hoarse from shrieking.
Hermione took another step forward. "Would you mind if I..." she began, but was cut off by Madame Pomfrey, who bustled over, her wand raised, looking furious. Malfoy dived under the bedclothes, looking nothing short of terrified. The matron thrust Hermione aside, telling her sharply to get back to Gryffindor Tower, before drawing back the blankets and pointing her wand at Malfoy's pounding heart. There was a flash of orange light, then Malfoy lay motionless on the bed, apparently no longer breathing. Hermione gazed at him for several moments, tears filling her eyes, then slowly turned and walked away, a cold, deep shame rising in her chest, like icy water in the lungs of someone drowning. She had failed to help Malfoy and in doing so failed Harry. Lowering her head, she trudged back to the library. She needed to be alone.
As she went, other students tried to talk to her, but she walked on, barely hearing what they were saying. Ron ran towards her in a corridor crowded with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students and attempted to kiss her. His breath smelled strongly of alcohol. Hermione pushed him away, not caring if she appeared rude. She had no time for his childish antics now. Her heart was thumping with anger, sadness and worry.
Malfoy had been in agony. Although he had always been an enemy to her and Harry, she believed, as Harry did, that it was best to help those in need and try to limit the number of enemies they had. It had been up to her to help him, but she had not. He might be dead now and it was all her fault. Eventually, she reached the safety of the library, but was too upset to read.