Disclaimer: People keep on coming up to me thinking that I'm J.K. Rowling...I just don't know what to do... (and if you believe that... I have some space boots to sell you).
Ch. 9
Moments with
Malfoy
As Hermione rushed out the door, she could hear the clicks of the cameras in her wake. She should have felt awful for leaving Harry in such a situation, but relief was the emotion swelling in her chest.
What would she have said to Harry? He'd gone through so much trouble setting everything up and was obviously very nervous. She'd probably just walked, or ran rather, out what he had hoped to be the biggest night of their lives.
She was relieved that she never had to answer his statement. What could she say—I'm sure I could be positively happy with you Harry, but I would rather not. Or maybe she could just tell him that a life by his side would be great, but she wanted something wonderful.
She crumpled the letter she held in frustration. She turned sharply and disappeared from view, leaving quite a few disappointed on-lookers behind.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Hermione threw open the door, hating herself for being so worried about a person like Malfoy.
The first thing that caught her eye was the utter mess of the room. The wooden chair was on its side and only one leg remained attached. The other three legs were thrown various places across the room. The standard issue bed that is magically bound to the wall had some how become undone and was turned completely upside down. The mattress sat shredded with springs protruding from several gashes about three feet away.
That was when she saw a table that had been conjured in the middle of the room. Four male orderlies stood over it looking exhausted and breathing heavily. The table was made of a dark grey metal and looked like something one might see in a creepy muggle horror movie. In terror, she noted that the table bore large leather straps about 4 or 5 inches thick. The orderlies prevented her from seeing any more of the scene. One of them leaned closer to another to say something and in the gap she saw a pale hand with long thin fingers. Her stomach dropped and she noted with revulsion that his fingernails were broken and bloodied.
Her momentary shock passed quickly and in a booming voice that was eerily reminiscent of Molly Weasley she cried, " WHAT HAS BEEN GOING ON HERE!"
Three of the orderlies were startled and upon seeing her face, cowered and fear. The fourth was tall, strong, and handsome with a name tag that read "Jake."
"Well, 'Lo there missy, They told us you'd be comin' Miss…" He glanced down at the pin that hovered right about her chest and smiled, "Granger."
He moved a little closer and said, "Don't you worry your pretty little head about a thing. You got yourself quite a nutter here, and I'm sure glad we're were here to detain him. Wouldn't want a psycho like him to rough up a petite little lass like yourself. Is there, uh, anything else I might could do for you?" he said with a leer as his eyes roamed over the golden dress that hung so tight on her small frame.
"Oh gosh!" she replied airily, "Jake is it? Well… I'm just so glad that there are big, strong men like you around. And there are a… couple more things you could help me with." She grinned.
"You could…" she giggled fakely, "NOT call me 'missy'. You will call me Healer Granger; you will not call my patient a nutter! And you will REFRAIN FROM STARING AT MY BREASTS!" she yelled, her breathy whisper now a full-out Molly Weasley rebuke.
He joined the other three orderlies cowering even farther in the corner.
"Now… gentlemen… your services are no longer needed. "She smiled sweetly, "SO GET OUT!"
The four of them took off running like four jr. high boys who just got beat up by a girl—a comparison that gave Hermione great pleasure.
"Not bad, Granger." Came a hoarse voice.
Hermione felt her heartbeat pick up slightly and let out a groan that sounded distinctly like "Oh shit!"
She turned around and finally remembered the reason she'd gotten so upset with those guys in the first place. There was THE Draco Malfoy bound by leather straps to a table. She felt like she'd just fell into a page of Pansy Parkinson's diary.
She moved towards the table slowly and the knots in her stomach only increased. The damage was much worse than a few broken fingernails. He was covered in bruises and his nose looked like it had taken one… or five… too many hits to the wall. There was a large gash on his forehead that looked to be bleeding pretty profusely.
She gasped, "You're bleeding Draco, I mean Malfoy, or Draco or… you… You are bleeding." She finished lamely.
"Am I?" he smiled.
Hermione nearly choked on her own tongue. Draco Malfoy never smiles… ever. Only Draco Malfoy would smile for the first time (in his whole life probably) when he's bruised, bleeding, and strapped to a metal table.
"You're bleeding AND you're smiling?" she said in disbelief.
"So I am." He replied.
He continued smiling and she was struck by the incredible difference between scowling Draco and smiling Draco (not to mention Drooling Draco).It was actually somewhat nice to see him looking happy. He didn't look half as haggard. She shook her head, realizing that any train of thought where it was nice to see Malfoy happy, was clearly a bad train of thought.
She cleared her throat, "So, um, you're not crazy… right now?"
"No, No I'm not." His smile widened.
"Well, that's um… good. You've actually been sane for like 5 minutes now."
"Sure have." He smiled… more.
"Well… Will you stop bloody smiling and tell me why in the name of Merlin you're a part-time nutter!" She yelled.
"Well, I suppose I could do that. But I was rather enjoying the effect my smile has on you." He smirked, and all traces of that innocent smile were history.
"Oh. You—I – Ugh! Just shut up!" She sighed in frustration, "So I did a little bit of searching and ruled out demon possession."
"Granger that might've been the sweetest thing you have ever said to me. I'm touched, really." He chuckled.
"Oh I hope you swallow your ego and choke on it." She snarled.
"That's not a very nice way to speak to your patient Granger."
She ignored him and continued on, "I also decided it wasn't an act. Because let's face it. We all know you're a horrible actor after that stunt with buckbeak. Even Parkinson could tell you weren't really hurt, she was just wanted to play nurse." She had to refrain from gagging at the thought.
"You know Granger, if normal girls are made from Sugar and Spice, what are you made from? Dirt? A skull? Everything dull?" He snickered.
"Oh shut up! It's not as though you know anything about making anything. I bet the only thing you've ever managed to make alone is a couple of ferret droppings."
"For your information, know-it-all, I can make lots of things, like tea, and coffee…" he trailed off dismally, "Oh and muffins! I make a mean muffin!"
"Maybe I was wrong… perhaps you are demon-possessed." She replied.
"Oh… get over it Granger. Would you get me off this table already?" he growled in aggravation.
"I don't know," She contemplated, "I think I like you better on the table."
He paused as a sneaky smile spread across his face, "You sounded a little like Pansy there… 'Mione."
"First of all," She scowled, "don't call me 'Mione. And second of all, gross. I don't need to hear about your sexual explorations with that cow. How you could get off on that…I'll never know."
He laughed and she fixed him with a curious glare. Malfoy was here smiling and laughing almost like he was… happy. What in the world did he have to be happy about right now?
She shook her head and undid the straps, releasing him from the table.
"There… now get up and tell me what's wrong with you. Other than the obvious facts that you are spoiled, annoying, foul, despicable, should I go on?" She grinned cheekily.
She turned to find Draco Malfoy completely zoned out with a small puddle of drool forming near the corner of his mouth.
"Great… He's back to being nuts and I still no nothing." She said under her breath. She was relieved that he at least seemed passive now. If he had gone violent and started throwing things, she wasn't entirely sure she could restrain herself from using her wand.
'Well' she thought to herself. 'Seeing as how my first lead is currently incapacitated, I think it is time to consult darling drooling Draco's diary.'
She grinned wickedly, " Oh… Karma is my BFF."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Harry Potter sat slouched in his seat with his head in his hands covering the scar that had made him so famous. He'd been sitting here for minutes (that felt like hours) thinking. He'd only really wanted two things badly in all his life. He'd wanted to avenge his parents and defeat Voldemort… and he'd wanted Hermione Granger by his side. He didn't just want her as a sidekick or a friend or part of the golden trio. He'd wanted her and he wanted her to want him back.
He'd been planning to tell her tonight… to tell her everything. He was going to tell her how she meant everything to him, that when he fought Voldemort, it was her he was fighting for, not his parents. He cared more for her safety than the safety of the entire world. He would have given anything to just make sure she was happy.
Now, he was in a dimly lit room decorated for a romantic night for two. Everything was according to plan, except for the fact that he was now alone.
The sorrow that had been weighing heavily in his chest began to ignite and slowly flame into frustration. What could have been so important that she had to leave in such a hurry? She'd been working for a little less than a week, what could they need her for that someone else couldn't do?
He could hear the whispers and the excitement outside, and that only fueled his anger. She'd left nearly twenty minutes ago and still people were waiting outside for him.
He stood abruptly and rushed for the door. He grabbed the handle and pushed the door open violently hearing the hinges creak under the pressure. He rushed from the restaurant hiding his face from the flashes that engulfed him. He headed for the exit determined to go after her and get an answer out of her.
He stepped from the restaurant into the cool star-sprinkled night that doused his anger like water to the flame. He took a deep shaky breath, surprised at the anger that had taken hold of him so easily. He covered his eyes in shame, glad that he had come to his senses before he had found her and done something even more regrettable.
As his anger cooled, it seemed that it had only intensified the weight on his shoulders. He closed his eyes and prepared to apparate home when he heard the flap of large wings behind him. He recognized the ministry owl and his shoulders slumped in stress.
He removed the letter from the owl's proffered leg and noticed regrettably that it was stamped "URGENT". All thoughts of Hermione Granger and his bizarre love life flew from his thoughts. If he had been a normal auror, the likelihood that this letter held bad news would be about 50... a fairly good percentage. BUT… unfortunately he wasn't just any auror, he was the head auror. And he wasn't just any head auror; he was Harry Potter. This increased the possibility that this letter brought bad news by about, oh, 49 percent.
Perhaps the world would have pity on him. Surely after the worst first date with your best friend who you've really loved for years in the history of the world, he would be spared more trouble.
Alas, he was Harry Potter… and it seemed that trouble had his number on speed dial. As he read the letter he wasn't sure whether his heart was about to explode, crumble, or just stop working all together.
It was a bad day this morning when he spilled coffee on his favorite shirt. It was a worse day when he walked in on his best friend (whom he loved and cherished and blah blah blah) naked. It was the worst day of his life, when she walked out on their date for her job. It was worse than all his bad days combined because she walked out after he just confessed his feelings for her. Now, today was officially worse than being locked in a room with Voldemort, Snape, and Umbridge for an entire year. Why? Because a prisoner had escaped from Azkaban. And not just any prisoner… but one due to receive the kiss in little over a week.
It just happened to be the kiss that Harry Potter was looking forward to see most. Some might call it morbid—the joy he had in anticipation of watching a death eater receive the dementor's kiss. But one could also call the very life of Harry Potter morbid. When he'd finally defeated Voldemort, he'd been tired and sick and in pain. The only thing that kept him going had been hate. Hatred had been the fuel that kept him moving, living and breathing. And each time he witnessed the dementor's kiss it served to evaporate some of the hate that had so powerfully captured him.
And he had needed to see this kiss more than any other, for he had so much hate for this prisoner. This man was hate in human form. Harry's insides burned with anger. How could the ministry be so stupid?
Harry furiously crumpled the letter and shoved it deep in his pocket. He would not be apparating to St. Mungo's to see Hermione, nor would he be going home. He was heading to the ministry to see if he could fix their fucking mistake.
He pulled his coat closed as the wind fiercely bit and clawed at his uncovered face. He'd worked so hard to find that scum and now he'd have to do it all again.
Before disappearing with a murderous crack, he lifted his chin into the wind and hissed, "Lucius Malfoy."
