Chapter 4: Alterations
"The result were very worrisome," a woman says, somewhere beyond the darkness.
"Is there permanent injury?" a man asks.
"Well, no," she says. "But enduring what must have happened to do this to her body, it will leave marks, even if it's not physical."
"Thank you Madam Pomfrey."
"Do you know what happened to that girl?" Madam Pomfrey asks.
"I have some idea," he answers. It is followed by a short, humorless laugh. "Did you have something to add Mr Malfoy?"
"No," Malfoy replies.
"And what brought you to the hospital wing?" Malfoy narrows his eyes as the tension in the room mounts.
"I found her," Malfoy replies coldly.
"And very well you did," Madam Pomfrey cuts in. "She was beyond exhausted. I was surprised she hadn't passed out sooner. She has malnutrition and frankly, her magic is near drained as it is fighting to keep her alive." There's a soft gasp. "I don't know what the situation was, but I don't think she would have lasted more than a few days, a week tops. The body is not meant to handle that kind of stress."
"Thank you again, Madam Pomfrey. Please inform me of any changes," the man say. "Mr Malfoy, it's time to get you back to your room. Come now."
"Will do, Headmaster," the witch says, their footstep fading. There's a swish of clothes and then it's silent.
"How could you let us die," he spits at the young girl. "After all we had done for you? After we had cared for you despite you being a witch? And then you just stand there why we die, doing nothing?" He roars his words inches from her face. His clothes covered in blood and his once kind face twisted in rage.
"I'm sorry," Hermione sobs. "Daddy, please! I tried to save you."
"No you didn't. You wanted to save your little friends so you sacrificed your own parents. But it won't mean a thing. You'll all die anyways."
Pain bubbles in her joints and burns through her veins. Bellatrix has her wand trained on on her as the mad woman laughs.
"No," Hermione screams, thrashing violently. Her arm hits something cold and hard. Pain radiates from the point of impact.
"Miss Granger? Miss Granger," a woman calls urgently. She slits her eyes open to see a kind woman dressed in white. Madam Pomfrey. She take in the white walls and many bed. The hospital wing. Her sobs don't slow, however.
"Shh, it's alright my dear," the medi-witch says, hugging the girl. But she's wrong. It couldn't be farther from alright.
It takes twenty-six minutes, but Hermione does calm down. When the last of the sobs dies away, Madam Pomfrey stands up and goes to sift through the potion cabinet. She returns holding a small vial with an aqua colored liquid and a larger vial containing a purple liquid. She hands the younger witch the smaller vial.
"Drink this," she instructs and Hermione downs the contents. "I will give you nine more of these vials and you are to take two every day over the next five days. Take each dose at least five hours after the previous one and no more than two in a day. This will return you magic and strength back to it's natural level. Due the stress you body has endured, it is safer to spread the regiment out, but by the end of the week you body will have returned to good health." Hermione nods and takes the vials when Pomfrey hands them over in a small sack. Then she hands the larger purple potion.
"This is a potion for Dreamless Sleep," she explains. "You body is in serious need of some good rest. Take three drops before bedtime. Now this potion can be very addictive. I would like you to take it every night for this first week. Then every other night the next week. Continue to wean until you are completely off if it, by the end of the month. This will give your body time to recover as well helping your mind with some decent rest.
"Now you may leave, but I want to come back if you have dizzy spells or anything out of the ordinary. Also keep to less strenuous spell casting for this week."
"Thank you very much Madam Pomfrey," she says.
"Of course, dear. And let me know if you need anything." Hermione agrees and leaves the room at the top of the tower. The sun peeks through the windows as she descends. It's barely morning, earlier than most will be up, but she decides to go to breakfast anyways after changing clothes.
Upon putting on new clothes, Hermione lets out a squeak of surprise. She shuffles through her trunk, with no luck. The skirt that normally ended below her knees, now only goes to mid thigh. The shirt is so tight, she can't button the top three buttons. All of the remaining clothes in the trunk were the same.
"I'm going to kill, Malfoy," she mutters to herself, while grabbing her bookbag. She runs into Ron in the common room.
"Hermione...your clothes," he says, eyebrows raised and eyes wide.
"Yeah...erm...I guess...I er grew a bit since last year...and I didn't bother to check before I packed," she stutters, blushing terribly.
"Grew? I'll say," he replies. His eyes slip over her legs and settle on her chest. She grips the cloak and pull it to cover her. Ron glances at her indignant look and goes slightly red before mumbling an apology and turning away. Hermione decides not to wait for Harry and be seen by even more people.
Walking into the Great Hall is definitely an experience. Few people notice the well-known but ultimately unpopular witch, but when their gaze slips to her outfit they seem to need to nudge and point it out to their friends. Hermione hurries to the Gryffindor table and sits. Across the hall, Malfoy meets her eye, a smirk playing on his lips. 'Merlin, I am going to kill that boy,' she thinks viciously before attempting to block everyone out and eat an actual meal.
The day actually manages to get worse from there. Pansy Parkinson feels the need to give dressing advice on their way to potions.
"You know Hermione," Pansy says, "even dressed like a harlot no decent wizard would touch a mudblood like you." The blood drains from Hermione's face before racing back to make her blush. Pansy walks on while she is frozen, stuck between embarrassed and angry.
By lunch, Hermione heads to the owlery to send a message to Malfoy.
"We need to talk ferret, tonight," is all that is written on the parchment. He has some explaining to do.
She finds a response scribbled on scrap of parchment stuck in the book she's reading.
"7th floor corridor, you know the one. 8:00 PM. -M" Hermione has barely processed the note when Harry sinks down at the dinner table next to her.
"What's wrong?" she asks, closing her book on the note and placing in her bag.
"I got detention," he huffs.
"What? Why?" The corner of his lips lift up.
"I punched Blaise Zabini in the face," he laughs before it turns to a scowl. "Snape gave me detention for a week." Her mouth drops open.
"Why did you do that?" Suddenly Harry is very interested in dishing up food. "Harry?" He doesn't look at her.
"Oh you know," is all he says.
"No, I don't," she narrows her eyes at him. He sighs, but continues staring at his plate.
"He...er…mentioned something about...erm...not minding spending the night in Gryffindor…" his voice trails off. She continues to stare at him in confusion. "With you," he coughs, but the words are clear. Her cheeks warm.
"Oh," she squeaks out. Harry's eyes finally find their way back to her.
"Hermione, you know I don't care. You're practically my sister. And you have never cared what anyone else said about you before. I don't know why this should be any different." She smiles him.
"Thank you," she whispers and leans over to I hug him.
Checking the time when she finishes dinner, it is nearly time to meet with Malfoy.
"Where are you going?" Ron asks when she stands to leave. His eyes wander every few seconds before returning to her face. Hermione crosses her arms over her chest, glaring slightly at the redhead.
"The library."
"It's only the first day back, Hermione. What could you possibly need to go to the library for?" When his gaze shifts from her eyes once more, her lips stretch into a thin line reminiscent of her favorite professor.
"To be alone," she huffs before turning on her heels and walking out.
"Prat," Harry scolds his friend.
Malfoy is already pacing in the hallway when Hermione arrive. Before she can say a word, he opens the door that appears and motions her inside. The room is small, cozy almost. There are two armchairs facing each other, one deep green and the other silver. Malfoy smirks before taking the silver one. There are side tables, one beside each chair with a cup of hot coco on each. The Slytherin emblem is woven into the plush carpet between the chairs. Hermione shuffles over to the green chair and sits.
Malfoy looks her over once before meeting her gaze. The smirk already etched into his features. Hermione scowls.
"What did you do, Malfoy?" she growls.
"What do you mean?" he replies lightly with amusement dancing in his eyes.
"My clothes," she pushes through gritted teeth. His eyes slip lazily over her form and she resist the urge to squirm or cover up more.
"What about them, Granger?"
"Stop messing with me. What did you do to my clothes?" He chuckles, still smirking.
"Oh that. I had an elf make a few alterations."
"You what?" He doesn't react. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Melin help me. I am two seconds from hexing you."
"I was bored," he answers. Her jaw hits the floor.
"Bored?"
"Yeah. Gingy was busy with you and I had already done everything so I decided this would be interesting."
"Interesting?" she sheiks. "Harry punched Zabini in the face for saying he wanted to spend the night with me." Malfoy, mid sip of his hot chocolate, chokes and spills it over the front of his robes. When he recovers, a smile is glued to his face.
"That's hilarious," he tells her.
"Malfoy."
"Oh come on, Granger. Blaise is harmless."
"Oh yes, because he wouldn't dare...how did Pansy put it? 'Touch a mudblood like me?'"
"Actually, he doesn't care about blood purity," he answers evenly. "Though when Pansy said that, you going white as a ghost to red as Weasel's hair in a matter of seconds was pretty impressive." Hermione scowls.
"I want my clothes back."
"No can do, Granger. They are changed for good." She groans and drops her head into her hands.
"I'm going to murder you, Malfoy," she mumbles.
"Oh don't be so dramatic," he says. "In a few days no one will even notice."
"Malfoy, the drama queen, telling me not to be dramatic. That's rich." He doesn't reply, just raised an eyebrow.