A/N: Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. I would continue to write this for an entire page if I thought it could possibly make up the extra long wait for you guys, but I know it can't. So I'll skip the inadequate apologies and go straight to the next chapter.
Moments of Sanity
Chapter 16- Friendly Enemies
"Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into friend." Martin Luther King, Jr.
She could feel herself blush from her face right down to her unmanicured toes. Her mind was on overdrive, looking for the words to say, any words that could possibly explain what she'd been doing and why Malfoy was naked. She looked down, hoping he couldn't detect her distress, and caught sight of her wrist lying limply in her own lap. There were already bruises beginning to form where he had held her so tightly. She covered the marks with her hand and chanced a glance upward at Draco.
He still looked quite bewildered, glancing back and forth between her and the door, as though he were still waiting for some ridiculous dream Ron to come prancing through the door.
"Don't you remember?" she asked.
"Remember how and why you got me naked? No, unfortunately I don't. If only, Granger, if only. But I have a feeling that hearing your recount won't be near as much fun as living it." He drawled, and then looked off wistfully as though a scenario of his own invention were playing before his eyes.
"You don't remember anything? You don't remember me… um… bathing you?"
She thought she might have detected a hint of pink on his cheeks, but when she looked again, it was gone.
"Nope, I'm afraid I don't. But I wouldn't be opposed to a recreation of that particular event. " He smirked.
It was easy, then, to sink back into old familiar attitudes. She settled a glare on her face and sent him a rather rude hand gesture as an answer.
"Oh, come on Granger, it is your job." He smirked and continued, "And now that you mention it, I still feel very… dirty." He stretched his arms out over the sides of the tub, no longer bothering to shield any of his more private parts.
Hermione turned away without a second glance or anything else that would encourage him. Her life was bizarre enough at the moment without engaging in battles of sexual innuendo with Draco Malfoy.
"I'd rather die," she replied as she busied herself tidying up the rest of the room.
"Come now, Granger, we're both adults. I don't mind you admiring my physique, as long as you don't mind me admiring yours," he said with a sneaky grin.
"Well then, take a good look at my arse as I'm leaving, because it's the last time you'll see it!" she sneered and turned towards the door.
"Granger, wait!" he yelled.
She paused, but didn't turn around. She hadn't really intended on leaving-- she had just wanted to see his reaction.
"Don't go, Granger."
"Why shouldn't I?" she asked, still facing away from him.
"I just… I—" he paused trying to find a less pathetic way of telling her that he needed her. "I was only kidding. Have a little pity." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hated that word. Pity.
She turned then and laughed openly. "Pity? YOU are asking ME to have pity? I never thought I'd see the day."
"I bet you never thought you'd see the day that I'd be in here, either. I know I sure didn't," he replied bitterly.
"You overestimate yourself. I've always known you were crazy." There was a tinge of challenge in her voice.
He sat upright in the bathtub, water sloshing around from his sudden movement, and nearly growled his reply, "I'm NOT crazy."
"Right," she replied flippantly. She knew she was being cruel, but she'd been busting her arse for this guy for weeks now and for what? So, he could continue to mock her? Plain and simple, Draco Malfoy was a prick. And after absorbing so much prickiness, one eventually came to the inevitable explosion. And this-- this was it.
"I thought I should let you know, today is my last day. I've been granted a transfer to another department," she lied.
What little color he had drained from his face within a matter of moments.
"You might want to get dressed," she adde, "My replacement should be here shortly. I'll wait outside while you change." She was out the door before he even attempted to reply.
As soon as he heard the door click shut, he sank down into the tub until his entire head was beneath the water. He waited there, holding his breath, and his eyes shut tightly to keep out the soapy water.
He didn't even know how to react. Perhaps he had severely underestimated Granger's compassion. It seemed that like everyone else, she too, had changed drastically with the war. A sense of hopelessness settled in his chest and seemed to weigh him down, pushing him further below the surface of the water.
Would it be so bad if he were never to emerge from under the water? He'd always harbored a certain fear of death. He assumed that most people feared death, or rather feared what would occur after death. It was terrifying not knowing what was waiting—hell, heaven, or perhaps worse, nothing at all. Fear of death came with feeling inadequate, with leading an unfulfilled life. More than anything, it came with being a bad person. And if Draco considered himself any kind of person, it certainly wasn't a good one. Now, Granger, she should have no reason to fear death. She was the exact opposite of him. If he were honest with himself, he would know that she was probably the closest thing to perfection walking the planet. And if he held nothing back, he'd know that above anything else, she was good, too good-- well, at least too good for him anyway.
If he had stopped, he would have realized how peculiar it was that his thoughts, possibly his very last thoughts if he didn't emerge from the water soon, were not of life or the absence of it. His thoughts weren't about what he should have done better or what he shouldn't have done at all. One would have thought that, being Draco Malfoy, his thoughts would have been first and foremost of himself. But they weren't.
They were solely about her.
But he didn't stop to realize how unselfish his thoughts were. His lungs were beginning to burn from lack of air, and he was flirting with the edge of unconsciousness. He didn't spare a single thought for saving himself, almost as though it wasn't even an option.
He could conjure an image of her in his mind perfectly, right down to the last freckle. Again, he didn't stop to realize the oddity of this idea. He just continued pondering her image. He didn't blame her for leaving him, not in the least. It was what he deserved. And if he had to be rejected by someone, it was right that if be her.
He was nearing his last breath of air when two small hands closed around his arms and tugged fiercely.
"What in the name of Merlin are you doing?" she shouted.
There was an evident edge of panic in her voice. And he wasn't sure which he enjoyed more—that first breath of air or the sound of her voice.
His lungs were burning as he gasped for breath. He had a feeling that his face was even paler than usual. He coughed, unable to keep up with his urgent need for oxygen. He looked up at Hermione, expecting to see worry, or relief, or anything else besides the rage that was written clearly across her face.
"Let's get one thing straight here and now, Malfoy. I'm not the same girl I was in school, and you are not some house elf who deserves my help. I grew up, and the war taught me many things. It taught me that some people aren't worth saving, not worth my compassion. Some people NEVER change. And some marks are deeper than the skin on your forearm," she hissed.
He found himself lowering his head in shame, and self-consciously glancing at his now-bare forearm. If not for a hundred other things, he owed Potter for killing that bastard and subsequently removing that hideous mark from his arm forever. He hung his head and waited for her to continue her screaming. But when her words came out in little more than a whisper, his head shot up.
"But despite all of those things, I helped you. And if you would like me to continue helping you, you sure as hell better believe that you're worth it. Otherwise, I never will."
Silence hung between them, but he didn't lower his eyes, and her gaze never wavered.
His breathing was constricted, but he knew it had nothing to do with his previous brush with death. Her words meant many things, but more than anything it meant that she cared. He wasn't sure how to react to that. And he hated that her caring affected him. He was supposed to hate her, but instead he just hated that he didn't. He didn't trust himself to reply, so he just nodded.
She waited a moment, studying his reserved demeanor, and then returned the nod.
"So," he continued quietly, "who is this replacement?"
It was her turn to lower her head. "Oh, well, about that. I wasn't entirely telling the truth."
"What part of that was the truth?" He asked.
"The part about waiting outside while you change." She smiled demurely.
Draco found himself filled with something almost like hopefulness and the sudden lightness in his chest almost enabled a small laugh to escape from his mouth. Almost.
Hermione was surprised to find that he wasn't angry in the least, but for the first time in weeks, looked almost happy. The silence continued between them, but it wasn't awkward, but light and surprisingly comfortable.
"Well," Hermione started, "I'll leave you to it. Let me know when you're done."
She quietly retreated from the room. The door closed with a click and Draco sighed. He was surprised to find himself smiling, but he didn't suppress the feeling. He gloried in the hope that had broken through the bleak bondage of the spell.
This moment of hope was like an eclipse of the sun, managed to shine through the darkness and create a moment of infinite and radiant beauty. But like always, a moment is just a moment. And after the moment ends, it's nothing more than a memory. And with time, the luminescence of that memory diminishes and the feeling of that hope dissipates.
It is a dangerous thing, hope. It can brighten up any moment, but in the event of failure or loss, it makes the darkness even deeper
This was how Draco's mind worked. Every good thing had a dark and terrible shadow creeping in its wake, except Granger. Granger, in his mind, had no shadows, no darkness. She was continuous, abundant light—illuminating, even if sometimes blinding.
He sat there, motionless, lost in his thoughts for a few moments, before finally rising from the tub. Water splashed around him, filling the space he had previously occupied. He searched for a towel, but found none. With a scowl he stepped out onto the cool floor, leaving small puddles behind as he padded towards his clothes. He picked up his ward-issued pants and shirt, but found no boxers.
He called, "Granger!" then turned back to the bed to look again.
He heard the door open and shut and barely thought to cover himself before he heard a small scream.
"Oh God." She whispered. "I—oh my—I'm sorry," she replied, after whirling around to face the opposite direction. "I… you… you called. I assumed. Oh God."
This might have been one of the most embarrassing moments of his life (right up there with the ferret incident), if it weren't for Hermione's absurd sputtering and blushing, which were highly amusing and almost cute.
"Now Granger, I told you earlier that you could admire my physique as much as you like, but you must return the favor."
She turned around determined to lash out at him, but realized he was still nude except for the pants he was holding in front of his body, blushed even more deeply, and covered her eyes.
"Jesus, Malfoy, why are you still naked?" she asked.
"Because I enjoy it?" he ventured.
She made a noise that was terribly close to a growl and he continued, "I yelled for you because I couldn't find my boxers."
"Oh," she replied, her hand still over her eyes. "I Vanished them."
"You what?" he questioned, "What have you got against my boxers that would make you want to Vanish them? You prefer briefs?"
She made to reply, pointing her finger at him, but had used the hand that had been covering her eyes. Again, her eyes were drawn to his bare form, and blushing ensued.
"Oh Morgana," she mumbled, and with one flick of her wand, he was dry and dressed from head to toe.
He looked pleased, but paused for a moment. As though it were completely normal, he grasped the top of his pants and lifted them a few inches from his body, peering inside.
Hermione stared back at him, gob smacked.
Draco, in a matter of fact manner, answered, "I was just checking that you'd got the boxers."
Hermione just rolled their eyes.
An awkward silence filled the void between them, almost like the morning after a one-night stand, but without the sex and hangovers.
"Are you going to explain or shall I just venture a guess?" He asked.
"What's there to explain? I gave you a bath," she replied. "But don't worry, I didn't see the precious Malfoy family jewels."
"What does my being naked have anything to do with the Malfoy jewels?" He asked, his confusion evident.
She laughed briefly before mumbling, "I guess that's strictly a Muggle phrase."
He didn't take kindly to her laughter, especially when he had no idea what was funny.
"Relax, Malfoy. I waited until you were underwater to Vanish your under things, so I didn't see anything. Or at least I hadn't until a few moments ago."
There was a small pause, and then the two of them shared a laugh. Everything suddenly seemed ten times lighter and much more amusing. The two settled into an amiable silence, he sitting on the bed and she in a chair she Conjured. It was almost like they were two friends, enjoying a comfortable afternoon together, perhaps reading or listening to Wizard Radio. But they weren't friends, and there were no books or radios in sight.
"So, I have news," she began, "about the spell."
The ease of their earlier moments dissipated, leaving the air filled with tense excitement and the tiniest sprinkling of hope. She saw the muscles of his hand tighten with anticipation and was sure that the rest of him was on edge as well. He opened his mouth to tell her to hurry it up, but found that his voice was absent.
She continued, " I… er… well, I found some books in Malfoy Manor."
His voice came rushing back with vengeance. "Malfoy Manor? What?"
"Harry is in charge of the ministry inspection there, so he allowed me to look in the library there."
At the look of panic on his face, she quickly continued, "He doesn't know. Don't worry. I haven't told anyone about you."
He played off the panic carefully, as though worry were the farthest thing from his mind. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall whenever that conversation takes place."
Hermione rolled her eyes and continued, "Anyway, I found a book about Malfoy Family Punishment Curses. Sound familiar?"
If possible, Draco lost every ounce of coloring fromhis face. He nodded jerkily and closed his eyes. When they reopened, Hermione saw a hint of fear hidden beneath their stormy, grey exterior. It was evident from the look on her face that she expected him to explain.
"I don't know much about it, just whispers. It isn't something that is spoken of in polite conversation." His voice dropped in volume, "The curses have only been used a few times in our entire history, but when I was very small, around seven, I wandered into a room deep in the manor that I'd never noticed before. There was a painting of one of my ancestors called Frederic, I believe. He'd been disowned by the family and punished with one of the Malfoy Curses. It had come at a time when there was a great rift between members of the family, and in an attempt to make him an example for all those considering rebellion, they'd had a portrait made of him after the effects of the spell. It was a horrible thing to see. I had nightmares about it for years."
He broke off from his story and Hermione realized that he was shaking. She looked into his eyes, and as though a veil of some sort had been dropped, she saw his hopes and his fears laid bare in his anguished orbs.
"I can't become that, Hermione," he whispered so quietly that she might have thought she'd imagined it, were it not for the movement of his lips.
Her eyes were suddenly overwhelmed with tears, and had he been Harry or Ron, she would have hugged him with all the strength she had. But this was Malfoy, so she just blinked away the tears, and nodded in understanding.
"According to the book," she said, "there are three spells, but I only had time to read about the first one before I came here. The first one is the only one known to have been used, which means it was probably the one used on the man in the portrait you saw. I didn't have time to translate the incantation, but the explanation said that the spell mimics insanity until actual insanity occurs. Also, the spell adapts according to the weaknesses of the host."
There seemed to be a never-ending void taking up residence in his chest, stealing away his breath, stealing away his life.
"So that's it then." he replied.
She cleared her throat quietly, "Sounds like it."
"Did the book happen to mention a counter-curse?" He asked.
Hermione lowered her eyes and answered carefully, "The book gave very little information, but I'm hoping to glean more when I translate the incantation."
Draco could tell that the book had left little hope for a cure. She looked up at him then, some emotion that he wasn't familiar with shining through her eyes, and it seemed to draw him towards her. He slowly leaned towards her, ready to speak or touch or anything, when there was a knock at the door.
Hermione's eyes flew towards the door. When she looked back at him, she was worried.
"Um… be crazy!" she ordered as she made her way to the door. She turned back to find him shaking with his face screwed up oddly.
"For goodness sake," she whispered, "that's not crazy. Just sit there in a daze or something."
Draco did as he was told, and she opened the door just enough to stick her head out.
There was a young woman there, probably fresh out of Hogwarts. Hermione recognized her as one of the desk attendants.
"Healer Granger, there's an owl for you from Harry Potter." The young girl's voice seemed to climb an octave when she uttered Harry's name. Probably another fan girl.
"Thank you," she replied, taking the letter from the girl and slipping back into the room.
Draco was scowling up at her, shaking his head fiercely. She stopped for a moment and looked at him. "Not bad, I'd believe you were crazy."
"Funny," he replied, "I'd say the same for you."
She laughed mockingly at him, and then sank down onto his bed.
"Are you talking to the fire-starter now?" he asked.
Hermione blanched, remembering the night she'd confessed to him what she'd seen of Harry, and then blushed, remembering what came after. She bent over the letter, unrolling the scroll carefully. When she straightened, Draco was sitting right next to her, the heat of his body calling to her.
Under the pretense of reading the letter privately, she cleared her throat and moved across the room. All in all, it was a rather long apology for his behavior as of late, attributing it all to the stress of work, in particular the escape of Lucius Malfoy. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest as she read that name.
She glanced up at Draco who was lounging charismatically on his bed. She hadn't told him yet, and something in her urged her to keep silent still. They both had enough to deal with at the moment.
She returned to Harry's letter and sighed. She had absolutely no desire to visit Harry. Every time she thought of him, it was accompanied by a rush of fear and flash of fire. She'd much rather stay here with Draco.
Her head snapped back up to look at Malfoy, as though he might have heard her surprising and possibly traitorous thoughts, but he was still lying there on the bed, oblivious to the frightening leap her subconscious had just taken.
She wasn't sure if it was their situation or just him, but something had propelled them from enemies to allies, or perhaps just allied enemies. The possibility of friendship between the two of them danced persuasively through her mind. She looked at him again, his hair falling casually across his eyes, and it was easy to forget about the chaos surrounding them. He glanced up at her momentarily, his eyes free of malice and scheming, and she felt a rush of heat deep in her belly before his eyelids fluttered shut.
The desire rippling through her and the realization that it was the end of her shift propelled her to speak.
"I have to be going."
Draco's eyes opened and he propped himself up on one elbow. His hair dangled alluringly across his forehead and Hermione had to force herself to take a step towards the door, rather than towards him.
"I'll research the spell as much as I can and we'll talk more tomorrow. But I need you to be careful about how you act around the other healers. When I have to give an account of your progress,I don't think I could explain you talking to another healer or hitting on some young nurse."
He laughed, but found that the idea of hitting on or even speaking to another woman had never crossed his mind. He'd been in the company of a few females during some of his sane moments, but this problem wasn't something he shared lightly. It belonged to him… and Granger.
"I'll be back tomorrow," she added and turned towards the door.
"Granger."
She turned back towards him.
"You've been spending an awful lot of time here, and I'm not stupid enough to think St. Mungo's makes you stay this long."
A small blush crept up her cheeks and she fiddled nervously with the sleeve of her robe.
"But I thought I'd say… thank you."
She glanced up at him and their eyes locked for the briefest of moments. Then, two words and half a dozen emotions filled the space between them.
"You're welcome."
A/N: Thank you all for being patient with the long wait and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I hope that you all will leave me a review, too! Also, I just saw the OotP Movie-- amazing!
Reviews make the world go round! (and they make me smile!)
