No One Noticed

By Mireekian

Saturday, Just After Lunch

That stupid, good-for-nothing little witch. She must have known. How could she not? She wasn't Head Girl for nothing, as she was so constantly reminding Draco.

Or was she? Maybe he kept reminding himself not to bait her so badly. He couldn't' remember. Everything was so fuzzy now. Either way, Granger obviously had power behind her words. She knew just how to get him while he was down.

That comment about his father had sailed by him – he'd heard them often enough since the end of fifth year. No, it was where she insinuated what could never happen – what he wouldn't allow, and most of all, what she would never agree to. But still, how could he not stop thinking about her lips? He had a curiosity now, and he hated not being able to sate such things.

It wasn't fair.

He could barely move, and she was using it against him. She knew he'd insult her after that. She knew, and she still said it. She knew he would be assaulted by that horrible pain…

She knew, and she said it.

That's all there was to it.

He swore violently.

"Now, Draco, watch your language," admonished a familiar voice nearby.

Draco jolted, appalled he had forgotten that the Headmaster was there. He forced his eyes open and craned his neck, and saw through blurry vision that Dumbledore was sitting at the end of the sofa near Draco's feet, flipping through a magazine of some sorts. He tried to focus on what it was, but the concentration sent a pang through his head and he groaned miserably.

"It's not right to hold reason for such words inside, Draco," said the Headmaster. "If you wish, would you like to tell me what it is that's got you frustrated?"

"No," Draco grunted. He felt like he needed to be somewhere and caught himself moving to throw the covers off, before realizing there was no need, nor any strength to do so. Still, his feet shifted restlessly beneath a comforter that was suddenly too heavy. He gasped hoarsely. "Too… hot. Can't breathe… help. Please. Help. Oh… Merlin, help me please."

Rational as ever, Dumbledore said, "We need that fever to break. Being warm is good for that."

Draco shut his eyes and moaned, all resistance suddenly leaving his body. "Please…" he breathed weakly. He didn't even remember to feel appalled at such weakness. There would be time for that later. He hoped.

He gasped in a hitched breath at that thought. Could this illness be the death of him? Could this tiny little curse that no one noticed he came down with be his end? After all this, a fevered haze was how he was going to go out?

…Would anyone notice when he was gone?

Sure they would. Pansy would cry for days. Then she would fail all her courses and be forced to marry Goyle. Then they would live horribly and poorer than the Weasley's for the rest of their lives because they were both too stupid to graduate.

The thought of pug-nosed gorilla offspring should have brought a smirk to his face. He stored it away for future use when his fangirls could go gaga over it.

Cheerful work, that. Talking about gorillas being the result of his death. Just to stop that unholy union from happening, he'd make sure this stupid affliction wouldn't take his life. For the sake of the future of the world's good-looking magical people.

Suddenly he found it difficult to suck in a breath.

His hand, shaking, inched up towards his neck to take away the pressure suffocating his lungs. "Dumble…" he began, barely a breath passing from his lips, then his hand fell limply to his side.

This couldn't be happening. What had he just sworn?! What had he just sworn… something about pug-faced gorillas. Wasn't it? The pug-nose on the creature suddenly turned into pink, worried lips, and the hair all over the creature gathered at the top of its head in bushy, frizzy locks.

The smile he'd been saving twitched onto his face before he opened his eyes and everything shifted into focus.

There was a faint pounding resounding through his ears, drowning out everything else. He squinted and saw Dumbledore firecalling what looked like Pomfrey, and leaning over him, her hazel eyes wide and frightened, was the epitome of the bushy-haired menace with the reddest, most natural lips he'd ever seen.

Oh, wait. The lips were forming something, resembling words. They were repeating the same thing over and over again, and Draco found it odd he couldn't hear what she was saying.

The smile slipped from his features and he felt a frown slide into place, trying to solve this new puzzle. He tried to concentrate on her whole face, seeing if he could get any clues from her expression, but a spreading fire in his head warned him that the Law of Parsimony was perhaps best in this situation.

He centered his senses, his blurry vision, his dulled nose, his muted ears, his numb touch, onto her lips. Though he would have been content with her face, lips were good too. Yes… good. Just like that. She leaned in, and dimply he felt the displacement of air as her hands clutched his biceps and shook him as best as she could. Now she was closer.

He sighed.

"Hold on, Malfoy. Hold on. Hold on. Hold on!"

He frowned.

Her mouth was forming those words. And they kept on saying it. For a moment he wondered if he was stuck in some new dimension with no capabilities of any sense that ran like a broken record, repeating one scene over and over again, but then…

He felt an old, bony hand resting on his forehead and suddenly he grew lucid again. Draco could have smacked himself when he realized he'd been staring at Granger's lips. Again. For longer.

Lovely.

Then Pomfrey broke into his vision, taking up Granger's place. A grimace twisted his features and when the mediwitch began bellowing out orders, he wished that Dumbledore had left him deaf.

"Albus, you need to track down the student or students responsible for this and get the name of whatever hex or curse caused this. Hermione, dear, are you certain you have no idea who could be behind this?"

"None at all, Madame Pomfrey."

Draco frowned. Only a Slytherin would have been able to tell it was a lie. Granger knew who did this? He'd kill her! Now if only he could move, or voice the threat so she would be forced to tell them out of fear!

…Threats were no fun when you couldn't mess with other people's heads.

"Alright. I'll be working on a cure," Pomfrey continued. "I'll need you researching what spells could have caused this, if the perpetrators made it up themselves – and you – must – watch – him – at – all – times. Is that understood, Hermione? Bind his mouth, if you have to, but keep him from saying anything negative. Now, about his unaware state, how often have you seen him like that?"

"Only after one of his fits."

Fits? She called them fits? That ingrate! Malfoy's didn't have fits. They had uncontrolled muscle spasms coupled with massive pain afflictions. Not fits. How disgraceful.

"Albus, did Mr Malfoy have a seizure in your care?"

…Seizure. That would work too. Uncontrolled Muscle Spasm Coupled With Massive Pain Affliction may turn out to be hard to inform bystanders if you had one in public.

"No, not under my care."

He imagined Granger flushing with humiliation at the unwitting insult to her caretaking abilities. By the Headmaster, of all people.

"That's not good," Pomfrey said gravely. "It means the infection is worsening. Was there any prior difference you noticed in Mr Malfoy before he fell into that state?"

"Yes, he said he was too warm and needed help. Also… I checked his fever and found it far worse than anything I've come across. Once I brought him back to awareness, his fever went down again – still worryingly high, but not quite that bad."

There was wonder in Pomfrey's voice when she replied, after she stood and began walking away from Draco's line of sight. "I've never come across this before. I believe when Mr Malfoy goes into that state, he is suffering mini-seizures. Many more of those, they will become regular and he will suffer them for the rest of his life, epilepsy or not. A full recovery, at this point, is quite doubtful."

Granger gasped. Draco conveniently stuffed the information to the back of his skull, behind that shroud of darkness. Hmm… it was quite inviting, that darkness. Maybe he should just slip into it. They wouldn't notice, would they?

"Draco," Dumbledore said, and his voice was far away. "Come back, now, Draco."

He opened eyes he didn't remember closing and found himself being levitated towards the Head's shared bathroom. That was a jolting experience. How long had he been out?

"Wha–" he tried to ask, but found his voice little more than a rasp on a breath.

Luckily Dumbledore was smarter than he looked. "We need to keep your temperature down, Draco, or you will never get a full recovery. It may come as bit of a shock but…"

The spell keeping Draco in the air lowered him into the empty bath, and Granger quickly helped him half-sit, half-lie in the cold tub. He shivered.

Then Granger started taking off his robes, and his eyes nearly bugged out of his skull.

He couldn't even move his arms to stop her. And Dumbledore was right there!

Then again, Draco wondered that if he had strength… would he still try to push her away?

She only took his shoes and outer robes off, leaving him in a black undershirt with the Slytherin crest on the upper left of his chest, and his black slacks. Then, with a blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks, Granger looked up in askance at their Headmaster.

Dumbledore nodded. Granger gulped. Draco felt faint.

Then, she pursed her lips, shook her head, and mouthed an apology. Not to Draco, but to Dumbledore.

Or maybe she actually said it…

Uh-oh.

Granger turned on the water, and Draco couldn't feel its temperature.

Uh-oh.

The water lifted his bare arms and he glanced at them, seeing the whole-body flush of a full-on fever.

Uh-oh. Uh-oh!

Then Granger leaned back over the bath, placed her hand on his forehead, looked back at Dumbledore, got a determined glimmer in her eyes, and suddenly…

The water burned. Like ice. He could smell Granger's hair. Like strawberries. He could hear his heart thudding in his chest.

The onslaught of unexpected senses pushed Draco over the edge and he nearly screamed from the sheer expanse of it. Instead, he dove back in his mind, found the darkness, and succumbed.

As the rest of his body followed his example and slumped limply into the water, Hermione Granger froze.

She glanced at Dumbledore.

Then she looked back at her patient.

"I think you may have overdone it, Miss Granger."

She'd been hoping no one would notice she put a bit too much oomph into the wandless spell she'd been practicing for healing in the infirmary.

…

She stared at the slack face of Draco Malfoy.

"Oops."