Chapter Five

...

I received many cheerful curses from people hating my recent cliff hanger. As promised, here is the infamous flashback. Onwards! JKR is the master of all who enter this domain.

There was nothing but a dim haze of pain clouding her senses when she woke for the first time. It took a while to even register where she was and what had happened. A distant corner of her brain screamed at her that she was in danger, but her body was so lethargic, so heavy she couldn't even summon the strength to open her eyes. Her eyelids felt like they were glued shut, too weak to even flutter open to take in her surroundings. The last thing she remembered was the smell of burning flesh and the hoarse screams of someone she couldn't identify nearby, as she watched the purple tinge of a curse ripple through the air towards her. She could still see in her mind the rabid, frenzied eyes of a Death Eater behind the spell, his mask slipping from his face, revealing a yellow-toothed grin and a desire to murder. Hermione felt the fear race up her spin, drawing her further out of sleep. She was going to die. She needed to get up. She needed to protect herself.

Her chest ached. That was the next thing she realized as shifted her body. Her eyes opened stiffly, slowly, only to be greeted by darkness and a pale ceiling high above her. Her throat burned as she gasped. Finally recovering from the shock of waking up suddenly, she grappled for her wand but found only soft cotton. The material was crisp and wrapped tightly around her waist. It didn't make sense. She swallowed convulsively and tried to sit up, whimpering as she felt the searing pain in her chest intensify.

Just take deep breaths… calm down… she told herself, inhaling deeply and relaxing into the pillow beneath her. That was the third realization. She was in a bed. Under a sheet.

Hermione forced her mind to rationalize the sensations she was experiencing. She liked to catalogue things, like study notes for a research task. It needed to be logical.

What do I know?

It was nighttime. There was no artificial light source in the room. She was swathed in white cotton, the kind of crisp material that rubs your skin. The confused aroma of a multitude of potions hung in the air. The foremost scents were asphodel and thyme. She was not wearing her normal clothes, at least not the ones she remembered. And there was silence.

Well… not complete silence.

Very faintly she could hear a slight sniffling, as if someone was breathing too hard or trying not to cry.

Hermione dismissed this last one, since it was so far removed from the sounds of battle she had been expecting. They were being chased by Death Eaters in the ministry last she remembered. The explosions of rubble and shouted spells had reverberated around the walls of the labyrinthine corridors. Not this grim, mournful peace.

Her mind arranged these feelings into some kind of rational order, and she let out a long, calming breath. She was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts.

Her racing heart slowed considerably, though there were still some troublesome questions nagging at her consciousness. Did everyone make it out alive? How did she end up back here? Finally she managed to crawl up the bed and drag herself to sit in an upright position, though she was still slightly slumped against the headboard. When she looked to her right she noticed a bed in the distance with the distinctive tuft of orange that could only be Ron Weasley's hair poking out from behind a curtain. A sigh of relief.

They must have been rescued by the Order. That was the only way she could still be here now and not dead somewhere in the bowels of the ministry of magic. Hermione glanced down at her hands, exposed by a sliver of moonlight, to see that they were trembling. She had always known that the darkness was out there somewhere. Listening to Harry talk about it had filled her with dread. But now she had seen it first hand. She had felt the vibrations of many spells racing through the air, scorching her skin. People she had never even met had tried to kill her.

Hermione closed her eyes, even though it was already very dark in the hospital wing. As she focused on controlling her breathing again, she became more and more aware of the other sound in the room, echoing softly around the vaulted stone ceiling. Hermione tilted her head to the side and concentrated. It was a weak sniffling coming from the corner of the room where a lone bed sat pressed against the wall. She opened her eyes and peered over there, but it was dark and the bed was shrouded by a stiff hospital curtain. Hermione spun her legs around and placed her feet on the floor. She shivered; it was icy. The pitiful sounds coming from the corner continued. Whoever it was seemed to be breathing very heavily in the peaceful hush of the night.

Slowly, shifting gingerly onto her feet, Hermione shuffled towards the sound. Her legs were aching and weak. But with every step she seemed to regain some strength, even though her chest was burning. She tentatively touched her fingertips, first to her grandmother's locket that thankfully still dangled gently over her skin, and then to the bandage that stretched up the centre of her ribcage. When she made contact with the coarse bandage, however, she flinched and pulled her hand away. It was agony. Whatever purple flamed spell had rushed towards her must have been very dangerous. Eventually she arrived at the corner bed. She reached out to gently brush aside the edge of the curtain and peeked in.

No one was there. The bed was empty.

Hermione sidled in through the curtain, following the sound of heavy, choked breathing. She leaned around the bed and found the figure making the noise. A gasp escaped her mouth and she pressed her hand to her lips. He mustn't have heard her because she was able to observe him for a long moment, standing there frozen in complete shock.

It was Draco Malfoy, but as she'd never seen him before. His distinctive blond head was lowered, forehead resting on his knees which were tucked up against his chest. He was slumped on the floor, hunched over in an upright foetal position. And he was crying.

The last time she had seen him, he'd been wearing a petty sneer on his face, and his inquisitorial squad badge had been gleaming menacingly from where it was pinned to his chest.

But now he seemed wretched and clearly distraught. Hermione's curiosity was instantly roused as she studied him, her own pain receding as her focus was drawn away from it and onto the boy in front of her. Anything was a welcome distraction from that searing pain. And there was some emotion welling up inside her that she couldn't quite pinpoint. Maybe it was pity or compassion. Maybe it was just wonderment at the oddity of Malfoy looking so broken and not his usual haughty self. And why he was on the floor and not in bed was uncertain.

Feeling guilty for watching him sobbing without his knowledge, Hermione stepped inside the curtain, leaving a slight gap in case she needed to escape quickly.

"Malfoy?" she whispered, surprised by how croaky her voice sounded in the eerie stillness of the night. The blond head jerked upwards and she found herself staring into two frantic, steely grey eyes. They widened in horror and he wiped furiously at his glistening cheeks as he glared at her.

"Piss off, Granger-"

His voice sounded thick and unwell. In fact, his whole face was slightly clammy and even more pallid than usual.

"Are you alright? Do you need me to fetch Madam Pomfrey…?"

She figured she had better ask. If he died in the night, wanker or not, she'd never forgive herself. She wasn't even sure why he was in the hospital or what was wrong with him in the first place. Maybe it was serious.

"I said piss off!" he spat, cringing away from her and looking repulsed. It didn't really carry much weight this time, though. Hermione brushed away the feeling that she was going down a very foolish path, and stayed rooted to the spot.

"Not until I know you're okay. Should I get help? Are you in any pain?"

Malfoy shook his head and turned his face towards the wall.

"Just leave me alone," he muttered, and this time there was no malice in his voice. He just sounded tired and overwhelmed. Hermione contemplated the gap in the curtain that would lead her back to bed and to sleep, which she desperately needed. She almost stepped back through it, her feet shuffling on the stone floor towards it, before her jaw tensed with determination. With a decisive tug of her hand, the curtain was pulled shut with her still inside. She edged closer to the huddled form concealed behind the bed. Her knees were shaking.

What in Merlin's name am I doing? She thought vaguely as she lowered herself to sit on the bed, unable to support her own weight anymore. But her teeth were still gritted stubbornly and she knew there was no going back. She had never seen this look on his face before. And she had to know what it meant. His normally cool, arrogant façade was cracking.

"What's wrong?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed in contempt. He wiped some snot from underneath his nose and clambered inelegantly to his feet. He pushed himself off the wall and stalked the two steps towards her until he was looming over her.

"Mind your own business, you nosy little mudblood."

Hermione blinked but otherwise showed no sign that his words affected her. They didn't really, not anymore. Hardened, cruel wizards had tried to kill her a few hours ago. Suddenly Malfoy's petty little insults seemed harmless in comparison. He was just a boy pretending to be like his father, she realised.

"Why are you in here?" she asked cautiously in response to his threatening growl. His cheeks were splotchy and pink from crying, and his eyes were bloodshot, narrowed in anger. But he answered her.

"You pathetic friends tricked us with that stupid toffee. I got a nose bleed…"

Hermione cocked an eyebrow in surprise, looking him up and down. She remembered Ron telling them about using the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products against the gang of Slytherins holding them in Umbridge's office while she and Harry had traipsed into the forbidden forest. It didn't normally affect students that badly though.

"And so you came to the hospital wing…?" her tone was dubious, which just made his jaw twitch erratically and his hands clench into fists.

"I'm allergic to fluxweed."

Her eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and sympathy. Magical allergies were always terrible, and unknowingly ingesting one as an ingredient in the Weasley twins' experimental lollies must have been a shock. He would have most likely experienced a critical fever for many hours, perhaps ever muscle spasms and cramps.

"Oh!" she gasped, biting her lip as she pictured him writhing around on the bed. Even though she couldn't stand him, she still would not wish that kind of pain on anyone. She herself was allergic to aconite. But he didn't seem in any physical pain now, "Are you alright?"

It was the second time she'd asked the question, and his reaction was just as furious this time.

"No I'm not alright," he hissed, looming over her and trying to appear intimidating, "My nose wouldn't stop bleeding for hours and my skin was on fire…" he trailed off as if he suddenly realised who he was talking to. He snapped his mouth shut and glowered at her.

"I know what you mean," she commented quickly, shrugging her shoulders in a casual gesture, "I'm allergic to aconite. It's awful…" she visibly shuddered, remembering a couple of days she had spent in the hospital wing after an ill-fated potions lesson several years before. Malfoy's body twitched a bit as he stared at her in disbelief and impotent rage.

"Thanks for sharing. I wish I had some aconite right now; I'd shove it down your throat. Now fuck off."

Hermione almost chuckled in the face of his anger. He was practically trembling. She wasn't much better off. Instead of moving, she wriggled forwards to sit on the edge of the bed, showing him that she wasn't intimidated by him. Even though she had no idea where her wand was. She tilted her head to one side.

"That still doesn't explain why you were crying," she commented.

Her words caused Malfoy to snap. She could see the rage kindling in his eyes flare up into a fire and he practically bared his teeth at her in a predatory growl.

"Shut your fucking mouth-"

Malfoy went to grab her shoulders, probably to forcefully push her away and out from his little sanctuary. But the moment he placed the pressure of his hands on her, Hermione's chest jarred in agony again. She sucked in a deep, hissing breath and tensed her whole body as one hand shot up to cradle against the wound that lay there beneath her bandages and the thin cotton of the pyjama top Madam Pomfrey must have dressed her in. Her breathing came out in ragged gasps as she whimpered and tried to block out the throbbing pain that was now radiating up the entire length of her skin.

Distantly she was aware that Malfoy's eyes had widened in horror as he glanced down at the bandage, which now had a reddish tinge to it. He released her shoulders immediately as if they had burned him and took a slight step back. As she blinked and controlled her breathing once more, she glanced up at him and saw him visibly swallow. His eyes were fixed on the stained cloth on her chest, poking out the top of her pyjama shirt.

"So it's true then…?" he murmured to himself and, to her astonishment, his face crumpled into a look of despair. Despite her own aching, trembling body, she focused on his expression, welcoming the distraction.

"What is?"

His lower lip was quivering as his eyes rose to meet hers. He looked a bit deranged to be honest. He pointed a shaky finger at her ribcage.

"You lot fought the Death Eaters at the ministry?"

She certainly wasn't expecting him to know that. She had barely had time to absorb the experience herself, let alone be questioned about it. Her ears were still echoing with the sounds of battle; exploding rubble, panicked shouting, vibrations of magic humming in the air.

"Yes, we did," she replied in a soft, tremulous voice.

"And they saw him? The minister and the aurors saw him there? He actually fought openly?"

She knew from the catch in his voice that he was referring to Voldemort, and she shivered too.

"I think so."

Malfoy's face crumpled even further at her acknowledgement.

"How did you know?" she asked curiously.

He sighed, running his hands through his blond hair until it was so dishevelled it would have been unrecognisable if it weren't for the unique, pale colour.

"I heard Professor Dumbledore talking to Cornelius Fudge about it," he admitted in a low, terse voice, "They were in the hospital wing earlier. They didn't know I was here or that I was awake."

The Slytherin boy seemed to have forgotten that she was even there when he collapsed back against the wall, covering his face with his hands and bending over to breathe more deeply. She stared at him in bewilderment, watching carefully as he seemed to grapple with his emotions. She had never seen even a tenth of this raw feeling before in his whole being. But now it seemed so visceral that he couldn't even contain it in front of someone he supposedly hated.

"Malfoy…"

She was going to ask him some more questions, but he interrupted with his own first, lifting his head from where it had been dangling and peering up at her from his slouched position on the wall.

"My father was there wasn't he?" He asked with a degree of trepidation. Hermione tried to hide her surprise at the question. She just took a deep breath and nodded.

"He was."

She could clearly recall the sight of Lucius Malfoy's eyes glinting at them in the darkness of the hall of prophecies. His debonair but menacing voice taunted them and bargained with them to hand over the glass sphere clutched in Harry's sweaty hand. Her thoughts were interrupted by a violent crack. She gasped when she realised Malfoy had turned and punched the wall behind him. Now he was leaning his forehead against it as if to cool his raging fever.

"He tried to kill you?"

"Yes. But Malfoy…"

She stood from the bed and took a step closer towards him. He looked like he was going to cry again. His eyes were red rimmed and his face was screwed up in misery. She stood close behind him and spoke in a gentle, curious tone.

"Didn't you already know that You-Know-Who was back? Everything Harry's been saying this year, and your father surely would have-"

Malfoy nodded brusquely and she trailed off. He seemed to have completely forgotten the fact that he was talking to the most infamous muggleborn in the school and his personal nemesis. It was all just spilling out seemingly against his will.

"Yes I knew. Father's been talking about him. I knew he was back. And I knew father was loyal to him. But this is different."

"Why? I thought you'd be…well…glad."

He stayed silent for a long time. His shoulders shook a bit but she couldn't see his face. Then finally he shook his head numbly at her. His pupils were blown wide and were almost ghostly.

"It was alright when he was hiding and the ministry were too stupid to act! I could just smirk and simper and pretend. But now? I'm terrified of him. Of everything he wants. Of my father too."

Hermione's eyelashes fluttered as she took in his words with shock and confusion. This was the last thing she expected from the arrogant bully in front of her. He had always seemed so bloody sure of himself.

"I had no idea," she confessed in a whisper. Malfoy choked out a sob and leaned his back against the wall, dropping to a crouch beneath her. Hermione lowered herself until she was kneeling before him at his new height.

"Father was arrested. That's what Fudge said. He was telling Dumbledore about all the Death Eaters they got into custody. Right?"

"I wouldn't know, I was unconscious. Someone cursed me…"

She touched her fingers gingerly to her wound and gnawed on her bottom lip. Malfoy's eyes flickered down to it and he cringed.

"It wasn't Lucius was it?"

"No," she responded slowly, shaking her head and wondering why the idea bothered him so much, "But I'm sure he would have tried if he'd had the opportunity."

Malfoy shuddered again and gripped his hair tighter between his fingers until his knuckles turned white. She frowned as she watched him become increasingly distressed.

"Why does that bother you so much? The idea of your father trying to kill me. You hate me."

"I don't know why it bothers me. It just does!" he gasped, refusing to return her questioning stare. She let out a deep breath and lowered herself to sit down on the floor next to him, leaning side-by-side against the wall. They sat quietly for a very long time. The gentle pattering sound coming from outside told her it had started raining. She looked up to see a few droplets, highlighted like pinpricks of silver by the moon, running indolently down the glass of the window above them. She closed her eyes for a few moments before turning her head to watch the boy beside her. It was another minute before Hermione decided she could press him further.

"Draco…" she murmured, and noticed when he winced at her use of his first name, "I'm tired and sore and I still don't even know if all my friends are okay. And I'm afraid too. Please…just tell me what's really upsetting you?"

Malfoy shook his head at first, but his eyes were shining with tears that he seemed too stubborn to allow to fall. He was blinking rapidly and he dropped his head back to lean on the wall.

"You wouldn't understand. You're just a…a…"

Hermione pursed her lips and stared directly at him in a challenge.

"Go on. Say it. You said it before."

Malfoy was silent. She thought maybe he would refuse to talk to her anymore, but then he suddenly turned his gaze towards her, and she saw that his cheeks were starting to look damp with tears he had tried to hide.

"I don't want to be a Death Eater."

"Why not? You seem to share a lot of opinions with You Know Who. Especially about people like me."

Her words were confrontational but she tried to keep her tone soft and encouraging. Draco shook his head numbly.

"I don't want to kill anyone!"

"Not even dirty mudbloods?"

His gaze seemed to drop to her chest again where she knew her bandage was stained a little bit crimson from blood seeping from the wound. She should probably be in bed.

"It's just blood, Draco. Red, sticky stuff running through our veins. Carrying oxygen. Sometimes clotting or congealing or spilling out when we're injured. We need it to live. Both of us. It's just the same as yours."

She brushed her pyjama top aside very minutely so that he could see the pink flush of her skin, her chest rising and falling and the stained gauze between her breasts. She saw him swallow convulsively.

"Show me," he begged in a hoarse whisper, his eyes still fixed on her chest. She squirmed a bit underneath his gaze. She hadn't even seen the extent of the damage yet herself, and especially considering the location of the wound it was still very private. But the fact that he was even having this conversation with her and asking her for this favour spoke volumes. If she could place even the smallest speck of doubt in his mind it would be worth it. Slowly, Hermione started to peel off the bandage. It stung like a knife through her chest, but she persisted through the pain. She didn't even realise she was hissing in breath through a stiff, tensed jaw until Draco rested his hand shakily over the top of hers. He helped tug on the corner of the bandage until the gash beneath was completely exposed to the cold air.

Hermione didn't want to look at it. She swallowed the lump in her throat and stared fixedly at the wall. But she felt Draco's gaze on her scarred skin, she heard his breath hitch at the sight of the ugly cut that she remembered slicing through her in a rush of purple. And, after a long pause, he touched her. His fingertips brushed over the skin so softly that she thought at first she was imagining it. But the slight throb of pain was definitely real, as were the goosebumps that spread up her arms and down her stomach. Then his fingers trailed up over her collarbone and down to fiddle with the locket of her grandmother's necklace. He seemed transfixed by the gentle glow of sapphire. He took a deep breath, not releasing the gold chain from his touch.

"I don't want to hurt anyone, Granger."

His voice was weak and she felt his breath release in small puffs on her neck and collarbone. She shifted to face him again, but he was still staring at the raised purplish scar on her chest and frowning darkly.

"Who says you have to? You're only sixteen, aren't you? Why would You-Know-Who want someone so young? You can't even do magic outside school yet!"

Draco shook his head sadly. He finally raised his eyes again to look at her, and she realised that he was crying. Fat droplets were running messily down his cheeks, but he made no effort to wipe them away.

"You don't understand," he spat, his voice cracking on a sob, "My father failed tonight. The Dark Lord will want to use me to punish him."

Hermione looked intently at him for a long time. Brown eyes locked with steely grey as they contemplated each other. But Draco's gaze was blurred by tears. She chewed on her bottom lip until it was red.

"Is there anything I can do?" she finally asked in a voice so quiet it was only barely audible. Draco blinked and then his face seemed to scrunch up in anguish for a split second before he abruptly turned to stare at the wall. She heard his pained gasp and she saw his shoulders start to shake. It was instinct that made her reach out. If someone had told her a year ago that this would happen, she would have scoffed and said the only thing that could possibly convince her to touch Draco Malfoy in any way would be to give him another punch in the face. But now she felt like her heart had been wrenched out of her chest and she was drawn to offer something, some small comfort to ease his distress. After all, no matter what his reasons were or how selfless his intent, the prince of Slytherin had just confessed that he didn't want to be a Death Eater. Maybe it was shock causing her to act this way. But the next thing she knew she had laid a hand on his shoulder. He leaned towards it. She ran her thumb over his cotton shirt, feeling the trembling skin prickle beneath.

With another heaving groan, Draco bent his body towards her and they both froze, inches apart. They were at a crossroads, both unsure whether or not to proceed. When she tilted her head she could feel his breath tickling her cheek. They stayed motionless like this until eventually Hermione lifted her fingers to brush the hair off his forehead. It seemed to tip him over his breaking point. With another sob he slumped against her and cried, resting his head into the curve of her collarbone. Hermione shuddered for a moment in stunned disbelief that he had actually caved and succumbed to his grief. Then she jolted into action. She lifted a hand and stroked her fingers through his hair, wrapping her other arm around his shoulders. Draco burrowed deeper into the crook of her neck. Then she became aware of the soft words he was muttering against her skin.

"Not like him. Don't want to be a murderer like him…so terrified."

Hermione made soothing noises into his ear as they rocked back and forth. They sat there for what seemed like hours, until the cold of the stone floor seeped through her cotton hospital pyjamas and made her shiver. For a long time the only sound that could be heard in the small, enclosed space was the occasional whimper or moan underneath his mumbled words. Or the howling of the wind outside as rain battered against the castle. But when Draco twitched against her after a particularly violent sob, Hermione actually cried out loudly into the quiet of the night, echoing around the high ceiling. Draco jerked backwards. He stared at her red, raw wound in horror.

"I'm sorry," he gasped as she curled in on herself. Hermione felt her body shake in agitation. Her chest burned. She took a few deep breaths.

"I didn't mean to…Granger-"

Draco's voice was thick and his cheeks saturated with tears not yet dried. He looked at her with abject misery. In the face of his obvious regret, Hermione waved her hand in dismissal, feeling the pain recede somewhat.

"It's alright. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It just took me by surprise."

Draco nodded with an expression of relief. The wind groaned against the castle walls as they both caught their breath. He was staring at her so intensely that she felt her skin prickle and heat into a pink flush. She watched in confusion as Draco licked his lips nervously and continued to pierce her with his gaze. Without any warning or sign of his intention, suddenly the blond boy lurched forwards, closing the gap between them. He pressed his lips to hers in a surprisingly soft kiss, pulling her bottom lip slowly between both of his.

Hermione seemed to suddenly become incapable of breathing. Her mind shuttered and froze in a state of absolute panic.

Fuck, he's kissing me… Draco Malfoy is kissing me…

She couldn't even move her lips to respond she was so taken aback by the sensation of his lips caressing hers. It was…nice, she realised. He tasted of spearmint mixed with the slight salty tang of his tears. Nothing like Krum's sloppy, too-fierce kisses. Draco's skin was smooth and musky. Hermione's eyes drifted shut against her will. And for a moment, just a brief, stupid moment, she kissed him back.

Draco panted out a few shallow breaths in quick succession before he increased the pressure of his lips. They danced together, chasing each other back and forth with sweet, unhurried kisses. His lips were cool and felt amazing against hers. Eventually she felt his fingers winding through her hair and drawing her closer, but he was careful of the raw gash on her chest., pausing only to fiddle again with the chain of her locket.

He kissed her like there was nothing else in the world outside the two of them together in this moment. Passionate and almost adoring. If her mind had dared to imagine such an absurd scenario before, she would have thought he would be demanding and hard. But everything about this kiss was tender, as if he was worshipping her lips with his.

When they pulled apart to breathe, Hermione allowed her eyelashes to flutter open again. She peered blearily up at the cool, handsome face of Draco Malfoy and her heart clenched in sudden terror. She was afraid of the rush of feeling that was running through her. As her skin crawled from all the overwhelming thoughts battling in her head, Hermione jolted back slightly and shook her head.

"Please…we can't-"

Draco's eyes, which had been hazy with contentment, suddenly sharpened as he stared at her, partly in desire and partly in horror.

"Oh shit…" he whispered. Their expressions mirrored each other perfectly. Confusion, dismay, fear…

"I don't… I'm not…" her voice was quivering as she tried to speak, but had no idea what to say. Draco seemed to be in exactly the same boat as her. But it seemed he had the perfect solution. His features suddenly darkened into a scowl and he leaned in closer, but not to kiss her this time.

"This never happened," he growled.

And before she could respond, he was scrambling awkwardly to his feet and grabbing his wand from the bedside table. Then, with one last look of dread, he was stumbling out from the curtains and practically sprinting from the hospital wing.

Hermione sat there on the floor for a long, heart-breaking moment, wondering what the bloody hell had happened. And how they were supposed to recover from this.

...

Well there you go. That's the memory. But still more questions to be answered in the next chapter. What do you think of their past encounter? Sad? Happy?