Draco Malfoy sat silently in the Heads compartment, waiting for whoever was Head Girl and for Professor-no, Headmaster Snape, to show up. He was exhausted, and though he was relieved that Snape would be in control at school, he knew his role would not be an easy one. But better than the one Snape has to play, I'd say. Blasted Dumbledore, using all of us like pieces on a chess board! He's consigned all of us to hell. He wished with all his might that he could just go back to the days when he had believed, truly believed, in the pureblood supremacy, and had been so mortally offended by Potter's refusal to shake his hand. Now all he could think about was the smell of blood and the screams of dying people. He hadn't taken the dark mark yet. He was expected to on his eighteenth birthday, and never had he been more grateful that he was young for his year—he wouldn't turn eighteen until May.
The door slid aside, and he looked up. Granger. He should have known that with her enthusiasm for books and learning, she'd be Head Girl. Although he wondered just how Snape had convinced the Dark Lord that it was necessary that the Head Girl be a mudbl-muggleborn.
Hermione couldn't say she was astonished at the fact that Draco was Head Boy. After all, he was pretty smart, albeit arrogant, and he was pureblood and his father was high in the ranks of Death Eaters. What surprised her was that she had been appointed Head Girl. With Snape running the scene and Death Eaters crawling around the school, she would have thought that all the muggleborn students would be targeted and ostracized.
The silence lengthened as she first surveyed the compartment, then Malfoy's shadowed face, and continued on as she strode to the seat on the far end of him, sat, and dug out a book.
The next ten minutes passed in uncomfortable quiet, the tension at a level high. Malfoy could practically see the accusations forming on the inside of Granger's head, and he was getting extremely nervous at her continued silence. It didn't feel right. She always had something to say. You lived up to everyone's worst expectations. You're a coward. Would be killer. Death Eater. The Enemy.
But she remained silent.
She, meanwhile, was on edge. Malfoy she could deal with. He was still her age, whether or not he was on her side. All teenagers make mistakes, and she had a feeling he had had a hard summer. Haven't we all. Her parents…no. Don't think about them. Don't think about the looks on Mum's face when Dad was cursed to death. Don't think about killing, how it feels to have that curse race down your wand to end your torturer's life. Don't think about obliviating your own mother, and sending her to Australia unaware she had a husband or daughter, just so she could be safe.
The door to the compartment opened again, and this time Hermione did tense. There. He stalked in, complete with dramatic flourish and all, and her own heart seized. She had thought she was ready, to face Dumbledore's killer. She had known she would have to be ready, especially being Head Girl. She would be the one facing him the most out of all her friends. She just hadn't factored in the wave of nausea and anger that swamped her when he swept in as if he bloody well owned the entire train, still alive while Dumbledore was dead.
Breathe. Count. You are stone. You are stone. You show no emotion, feel no feelings. Her hands were clenched, her teeth gritted, but other than that, no other outward sign manifested her hatred and fear of Snape.
The dark professor studied both of them for a second, then abruptly began. "You two have been given the highest honor which Hogwarts awards. You have been selected Head Boy and Head-" here he sneered "Girl. Together, you are responsible for the wellbeing of your peers and fellow students, and to set a good example to those around you. As such, you will follow the laws of the school, including the new ones set into place just this term, and not question them. You will consult me before you decide a thing. Do not bother me with trivialities, such as the color of the room decorations for any upcoming balls. You both know your duties, I won't waste my time on repeating them. Good luck." He turned around and left. Hermione had barely heard a word. She was too busy trying not to leap on Snape and strangle him. Her breathing, once he left, became erratic and visions passed her eyes. Blood. Death. Her parents. His eyes, on her back- she could feel them watching her as Bellatrix crucio'd her gleefully. Her father's blank eyes. Her mother's shrieks. The dark mark.
Malfoy had watched, bemused, as Granger immediately tensed when Snape entered. He had been impressed at her self-control. He supposed he would have wanted to kill Snape, had he been in her shoes, and yet she sat there, cool as a cucumber, while the man she considered a killer lectured them, threw a barb at her, and left. Then he had gone, and Granger's breathing increased. Curious, he turned to her. Just as she started seizing.
Shit. What was he supposed to do? "Granger!" He tried to grab her arm, but her erratic movements got in the way. Panicking, he ran to the door and peered out and noticed the distinguishable red hair of a Weasley.
"Oi! Weasley!" It was the girl, Ginny, and she approached with eyes narrowed. He wasted no time on niceties. "Weasley, Granger's convulsing on the floor of the Head compartment."
Instantly the suspicious look was replaced by one of fear and despair. Without a word, she pushed by him roughly, and went straight to Hermione. "Hermione. Hermione! Ginny glanced up at Draco. "Malfoy, go get Ron and Harry."
"What?"
"You heard me. Go get them. NOW!" He had never heard that demanding tone in his life, and his instincts spurred him into sprinting before he could question his own logic at running at a Weasley's beck and call.
He skittered to a stop when he saw Potter and his friend, along with several others, gathered in one compartment. He opened the door without ceremony, and immediately found himself on the pointy end of seven wands. "Hey, watch it will you? I'm not here to play games. The Weaselette told me to get you. Granger's convulsing on the floor on the Head compartment."
Potter's eyes widened, and he looked over at his red-haired friend in silent agreement before both knocked Draco aside in their all-out dash for the door. Perturbed, he picked himself up and moved to follow at a rapid pace, wondering what it was all about. He wanted to see what was wrong.
He arrived just in time. Potter and Weasley stopped, and Ginny—currently sitting and holding the still-seizing Hermione's head, looked relieved. "Hermione!" Malfoy observed as, in practiced moves, Harry knelt by Hermione's left and forcibly grabbed her arm, pinning her down, and Ron did the same on her right, while Neville took her legs. Ginny continued holding her head she wouldn't harm herself. A blond girl—Luna—thrust her hand into her pocket, and came up with a vial. Ginny braced herself, and Luna poured the liquid down Hermione's throat.
The effect was instantaneous. Her body relaxed, and though she coughed once or twice, none of the potion came back up. Her breathing began again. When had it stopped? She felt so tired. "Hermione?"
The timid voice was Ginny's. Hermione struggled to open her eyes, and somehow summoned the strength to croak, "Hi guys."
The tension dispelled as the boys holding down Hermione let go in relief. Harry sighed. "I'm sorry Hermione. I should have known, what with the stress, and the- and other things, a seizure might be triggered."
Hermione sighed herself. "And it's not your fault. All of you. None of you are to blame for it. It just happens." She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. That was when she smelt it. Him. The smell that she always associated with him: the herbs used in potions, cinnamon, a hint of mint, and something muskier. Her eyes popped open, and she frantically scanned the crowd she had inadvertently drawn to the door of the compartment, before landing on a shadow near the back. Snape. I knew it. Her breath caught.
"Hermione." Ron's voice clued her in, and she smiled weakly.
"I'm fine. I don't think I seized for that long. It just felt that way. I'd just like to rest for a little while, maybe." Her friends nodded, and Neville and Ron formed a chair with their arms and boosted her into it so that they could carry her back. She put her fear and anger away to purge another day, and gratefully welcomed sleep.
----
Draco had also noticed Snape standing and watching as Granger went from full-on seizure to lucidity again. When the crowd cleared, he sidled up. "Sir?"
The man looked down. "What is it, Draco?"
"What was that?"
Severus Snape raised an eyebrow. "By that you mean Miss Granger's…actions?" Draco waited. Snape said nothing for a minute, then smiled humorlessly. "You will find that muggleborn witches are more prone to muggle diseases than purebloods, and the biases towards the muggleborn in the past has prevented very many studies being done to treat muggle diseases that do not generally affect the pureblooded population."
Draco looked at his mentor quizzically. "Um…sir?"
Snape sighed. "Perhaps it might behoove you to spend some time in the library, researching incurable muggle diseases. Know thy enemy, Draco." He stalked off. Draco stared after him. Honestly, the man was getting more and more cryptic each day.