To Draco's surprise, that fat lump of a woman that the Weasel called a mother was very understanding to his plight. Hermione, with no help from Ron and little from Harry, had explained everything to the red-headed woman. First and foremost, she'd wanted to give him food. And Draco, despite his dislike of these… these lower-class bumpkins, was in no position to deny it.
Hermione, although it was an utterly serious matter, had a hard time holding back laughter as Draco shoveled food into his mouth as though it had been years since he'd last eaten. She'd never seen him do that- come to think of it, she hardly remembered seeing him eat at all. Now, though, Draco was eating savagely, like a lion digging into a carcass. It had taken him a very long time to finish the multiple servings Mrs. Weasley had made him. Although Mrs. Weasley was being kind enough to him to make him food and whatnot, she shot him looks of suspicion, and Hermione suspected that Mr. Weasley would be even worse.
He was exceptionally full when he was done- and a good bit dirtier than before- and Mrs. Weasley led him to the couch. "I'll run him a bath, and Ron, get him something to wear. Harry, you two shall need to make room for him." She flashed them a look of concern that told them they were to watch him, and apparently not let him too close to Ginny, for when Ginny came in, Mrs. Weasley quickly hurried her away.
After he'd spent almost two hours in the bath, Mrs. Weasley dubbed him clean. For all the prospective insults he would throw at Ron in the future, 'dirty' and 'filthy' were entirely stricken from that list. He stumbled around afterwards clad in loose plaid pants and a Chudley Cannons sweatshirt. Usually Hermione was behind him, and she seemed intent upon finding some bloody place on him to point out and make him wash away.
Actually, it surprised him even further than these things to learn the next day that the Mudblood was the only one who would stay in the same room with him at all, except Mrs. Weasley at dinnertime. This didn't approve Draco's liking of her; he didn't want her following him. She looked like a lost house-elf begging for something to do.
"Arthur is going to be home late tonight," she began, a bit nervously. "He was too busy last night, but now you're going to need to tell him everything, or risk going to Azkaban." Draco's reply had been quite frank, and nobody had any reply to it.
"I want to go to Azkaban. They can't kill me there… and I need to talk to my dad."
Things stayed silent for a while, even after Draco had left the room. Mrs. Weasley had told Hermione off to her room, and the lights throughout the house (except for the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was sitting and reading a book) were off. Hermione was almost asleep when she heard a thump on the floor. She turned, and saw Draco, standing menacingly above her. She sat straight up, expecting the worse of him, but he merely whispered, "Why have you been following me?"
Hermione was taken aback. "Err- you're hurt, if you haven't noticed, Malfoy," she replied curiously. Draco looked to the open window, which he seemed to have entered through, in spite of them being on the second floor.
"So what?" he asked, a bit dangerously, his eyes curious and suspicious. "You're treating me different from normal. If you're trying to trick me, Mudblood, you aren't fooling anybody." Not letting her reply, he grabbed her hand, and pulled her forcefully to her feet. In the dim light, he looked frailer than he had when he'd fainted, but with the strength he'd used to take her unwillingly to her feet, he was obviously feeling better. "Come on, Granger, stop trailing your feet, we've got to go."
She was entirely speechless as he began trying to pull her toward the window, ignoring Ginny as she stirred long enough to turn away from them. When her voice returned, he was crawling on the loose brick spots down the wall. "Go-go where?" she stuttered, so confused by it all that she couldn't speak without stuttering. "You'll see when you follow me, you idiot," he replied, still at a whisper.
"No- no, I'm not going with you!" she replied harshly, raising her voice a bit. "Why would I? You've done nothing but insult me for six years- you're insulting me now!" Draco looked up, on the ground now, looking annoyed. "Just come on," he growled, pale eyes following her. "No!" she repeated. Ginny murmured in her sleep, and Hermione left from the window.
Draco cursed, and took off by himself down the dirt path.
Darkness had taken full effect now, and Draco's face was hard to make out under the meager moonlight. "Lanier!" he hissed into the darkness, eyes searching the bushes that lined the path. "Lanier, where the bloody- oh, there you are." He watched as a lanky figure rose from the bush. "You're alone, Malfoy," the figure hissed.
"You think?" Draco replied angrily, raising his voice. "I tried to get Granger out here because she's been following me around a bit, but she wouldn't come. What did you want me to do, tie her and drag her down here? Oh, of course- they'd all adore me for that."
"You aren't working fast enough. You need to have all three of them down here; the Mudblood isn't the one we want. It's old Scarface we're after." Draco fumed. "I know that! I'm not an idiot! And I'm working as fast as I can, you're expecting too much too soon. I'll have them down here in just a couple of days, I promise- just don't hurt my mother any more."
"Your mother is currently fine," was his dull reply. "But if you don't speed things up, we'll be sending Metalmouth to help you out." Draco's expression changed from angry to positively appalled. "No- no, no, you can't be serious. He'll just turn them all against me, you know that as well as I."
A sneer was quite visible on Lanier's face. "That's why I picked him. You'll have Potter to worry about, and you'll have to be watching Hermione and Ginny, because if something happens to them, they'll all blame you. And when your mission fails, I don't have to bother with you or your filthy mother anymore. If all three of them aren't here tomorrow, than good ole 'Reoro is going to be paying you a visit. The Dark Lord has already agreed with me."
Draco looked angry again. "You still have to get me what I need. Well, I've got a plan, and you need to get two things for me from Malfoy Manor. Make sure that you put a little dirt on them, like they were in my pocket when I got here…"
And as Draco continued talking, the Dark Mark burned on his right arm.
He entered the kitchen from the warm air outside at just before sunrise, to see the blank stare of Hermione and the hard, angry stares of the Weasley parents. "Where did you go?" Mrs. Weasley was the first to speak. "And why? What were you doing?"
He lifted his shirt. He'd stretched until the unhealed wound on his chest had pulled open again, and dry blood now coated his chest and stomach, and the inside of his thick shirt- to this accomplish feat he'd lost a lot of blood and was looking very pale. "It opened in while I was dozing last night and I didn't want you to make a big deal of it, Mrs. Weasley. I tried to get Hermione to come help me wrap it and junk, but she wouldn't come, and I figured you'd be more upset than she." Contrary to his fictional story, Mrs. Weasley looked believing but more or less unconcerned, while, for some reason, Hermione looked a bit shocked. He supposed, inwardly smiling, that she felt bad for not coming with him now. He hated her so much.
"And, Mr. Weasley," he began, looking at the other red-head, "I don't have much to say… I didn't hear any names and I don't know where they were keeping me. I know the one that was tortu- er, attending to me, that is, was a tall woman. She was really pretty and had kind of yellow-gray eyes, kind of like succubi do." Mrs. Weasley hurried Hermione out of the kitchen, where Draco and Mr. Weasley were left to converse for about an hour.
When he walked out of the kitchen, hands in his flannel pockets, Hermione looked up at him from the tacky couch upon which she sat, thinking, in the back of her mind, of apologizing for not going to help him. However, all sympathetic thoughts were revoked when he cast a malicious leer in her direction. In spite of the fact that he was injured, that didn't make him any less of a jerk, and Hermione found herself hating him as much as ever.
A/N: Sorry- more shortness! Dang, I've been busy. It's mostly been the gym I've been busy with, and dealing with my motherrrrr. So, my horrid chapters will be elongated the very next time I get the opportunity!