Chapter Two
Panicked as Anything

A particularly smug Draco Malfoy was sauntering down the darkened hallway with his usual smarmy smirk. He had just successfully delivered a fresh batch of 'Potter Stinks' badges after curfew and was sneaking his way back to the Slytherin dungeons. He was vaguely aware of Peeves' atrocious singing voice off in the distance but was otherwise alone in the dark. He had just rounded a corner when he was sent falling to his knees.

Disgruntled at his momentary lapse in the grace that he was so proud of, Draco had to know the cause. It was not what he had been expecting.

It was a body.

He nearly carried on his way until his squinted eyes registered that an all too familiar bush of curls was attached to it. Draco was astounded, not to have tripped over a body in the hall but to see the ever so righteous mudblood breaking curfew.

It was a full minute before it occurred to Draco that she wasn't moving.

Ever the courteous gentleman, he nudged her with his foot. Nothing. With an exasperated sigh, he pulled out his wand and whispered, "Lumos."

The sight he was met with nearly made the so carefully composed boy lose his dinner.

Blood. Everywhere. Had it not been for the telltale disastrous hair, Draco wasn't convinced he would even have recognized her.

It was as though that blasted bird from the previous year had mauled her, only with knives for talons. Had Draco been familiar with Muggle culture, he might've likened it to having been hugged by Edward Scissorhands.

He was stunned. His hands fluttered helplessly above her. Draco wasn't sure whether he didn't want to touch her because she was, as his father belabored, a filthy mudblood or because he was afraid he might hurt her further.

"Merlin, Granger, what the hell happened?" Draco exclaimed incredulously, momentarily forgetting to keep his voice down among the snoring paintings. He was at a loss. They should have been in bed hours ago. She was bleeding profusely and paler than Draco. Admittedly, he had not thought such a thing possible. Then, there was the simple yet crucial fact that he was Draco Malfoy and that being seen with the half dead Gryffindor princess surely meant his death sentence. He cursed and tried to shake the still girl awake.

"Granger, wake up!" he ordered in an urgent whisper. No response. His eyes scanned over her once more for a clue as to how she ended up in such a state. By her limp hand was a stack of splayed letters. He snatched up the closest one and squinted his eyes. Wand light held to the parchment, Draco's stomach churned.

Blood dripped ominously from the soaked letter. Its message was chilling.

Stay away from them, you vile bitch. Toying with Potter and Krum, who do you think you are, you filthy mudblood? Hopefully this letter ensures that you see just how filthy your blood truly is.

Hate mail? Draco wondered curiously. How…unexpected. He was under the impression that everyone was falling at Granger's feet.

The other thing that made the blonde sick was the name in the crude letter. Someone else had called her a mudblood. Yes, he had been calling her that for years, but he was met with the startling reality that her blood was, in fact, as red as his own. He watched in morbid fascination as the crimson liquid splashed onto the stone floor.

What had he, or the sender of the lethal letter, been expecting? A muddy brown? Honestly, he wasn't sure. But it was this that finally spurred him into action. Mudblood or not, bleeding that much was deadly for anyone.

With hesitant hands, Draco Malfoy scooped Hermione Granger into his arms.

Draco prayed to any deity that would listen to keep their path clear until the hospital wing. He was pleased to find her light as a feather, for he was able to move quickly. She let out a small groan and his heart leapt.

"Granger?" Draco whispered hopefully. "Granger, stay with me. Come on."

Her head lolled back once again. He shifted her so that her head was cradled in the crook of his arm. Hermione's deathly pallor was illuminated amongst the quivering shadows thrown by the torches burning dimly along the halls. Draco felt something akin to fear. He put it down to knowing that it would mean his head should the bloody saint of Gryffindor met her death in his care.

He hurried his pace but did not run. Malfoys were far too dignified to be seen running. Especially when carrying the embodiment of their greatest prejudice.

After a close call with Mrs. Norris, Filch's foul feline, Draco fell to a halt outside the hospital wing. He pounded madly on the mammoth doors. "Madam Pomfrey!" he screamed.

The door swung open with a gasp.

"So, it was something in the letter that I opened?" Hermione Granger wondered sleepily. Madam Pomfrey, eyes red from what Hermione was certain could not truly be tears, nodded gravely. "Miss Granger, I am very disappointed that you kept those letters to yourself. You almost died with that one last night. If it hadn't been for-"

"Hermione!" a voice cried. She turned her head weakly to see Harry and Ron sprint into the room. They skidded to an ungraceful halt at her bedside. "Are you okay? We didn't even know you'd gone last night! McGonagall came in this morning and told us something happened to you!" Harry exclaimed, green eyes wide with worry.

The Boy-Who-Lived already had enough stress in his life, what with the Triwizard Tournament business. Hermione felt a rush of guilt. She worried her bespectacled best friend far too often. She knew it nearly killed him when she had been petrified by the basilisk second year and last year her stress levels had raised his through the roof.

Ron, face nearly redder than his ginger locks, half fell onto her bed. "'Mione! Bloody 'ell, thought we'd lost you the way McGonagall carried on."

"You nearly did, dearies," Madam Pomfrey frowned. "As I was about to tell Miss Granger, here, you actually might have if it weren't for-"

The witch was once again interrupted by Hermione's companions. Ron scoffed. "What's bloody Malfoy doin' here?" he sneered. Both Harry and Ron glared over the bedridden Hermione who was attempting to prop herself up. Her struggle went unnoticed as her two friends were busy staring down their childhood enemy.

Huffing in frustration, Hermione abandoned her efforts and simply turned her head in the direction they were looking. Her honey colored eyes were assaulted by a shock of silvery blonde hair ducking into the towering mahogany doors. Grey eyes met hers and the blonde froze. His eyes flicked from Hermione to her fuming friends to Madam Pomfrey. With a nod from the latter, he retreated back into the hallway.

"Wonder what that git was doin' in here," Ron grumbled. Harry shrugged and muttered. "I bet her comes in just to mess with all the sick people. I can't imagine easier victims for Malfoy."

The corners of Hermione's lips twitched downwards. "I'm sure he had a perfectly good reason to be here. Now, if you please, I apparently almost died yesterday, so I'd like to sleep more."

The two boys shifted awkwardly. Madam Pomfrey offered them a small smile before shooing them away.

Hermione let out a sigh, wincing as her body protested, and the tough but kindly witch approached her bed. "So, I understand the spell and what happened because of it, but…how did I get here? I remember opening that letter by the library."

"Well, Miss Granger, I've actually been trying to explain that. I am most assuredly shocked by the manner in which you were brought to my care last night. There was a frightful banging and shouting. And then, I opened the door to see you in his arms. You were so pale…there was so much blood…"

Hermione nodded thoughtfully but then paused. An eyebrow raised. "Madam Pomfrey…whose arms?"

"Why, it was the Malfoy boy, actually."

Draco's pale face burned. He hadn't expected to see Scarface and the Weasl in the hospital wing so early. He told himself that he only wanted to check on her to see if carrying her all that way had been worth the effort.

He anxiously paced the hall, undecided if he should try to go back inside. However, even after he watched Gryffindor's favorite idiots stumble out of the hospital wing, he couldn't bring himself to enter.

She had been awake. She had met his eyes. He didn't know how much she knew about the previous night. As Draco stormed down the hallway, sour scowl on his pointed features, Madam Pomfrey was explaining his role in Hermione's dramatic arrival to the hospital wing.

"Malfoy?" Hermione gaped. "Draco Malfoy, the boy who hates me and everything I stand for, carried me here?"

"Indeed. He was in a right state, poor dear, panicked as anything. Though, I suppose anyone would be with how hurt you were," Madam Pomfrey shrugged. Hermione shook her head as vigorously as she could. "Forgive me, Madam Pomfrey, but you must be mistaken. Malfoy would sooner spit on me than bring, let alone carry, me here."

"I may be getting on in years, dearie, but my eyes are better than ever. And I can assure you that it was young Mister Malfoy that delivered you last night. Caused quite the commotion, actually," the gray haired witch explained. "Both your Head of House had to come down. Professor Snape was in a right tizzy over being dragged out of bed at such an hour. And Professor McGonagall was most distraught over your state, Miss Granger."

Draco shuddered as he trudged to class. Potions was usually his favorite subject, but the last person he wanted to see was his godfather. He slunk into the room and claimed a seat at the back. Scarhead and Weaselbee shot him their usual glare and he returned fire with his trade mark smirk. But a frown took its place the second they turned their raven and red haired heads. Snape had appeared at the board.

Draco withered in his seat under the disappointed glare the greasy haired man directed at him. He had thought carrying a bloodied Granger would have been messy, but it turned out to have nothing on the aftermath of it.

Both Snape and McGonagall had been summoned. The sight they were greeted with must have been terrifying. Pomfrey was fretting about a bloodstained bookworm while Draco was sat shaking in shock on the bed beside them, robes brown with dried blood.

"What is the meaning of this?" Professor McGonagall had demanded. Draco merely turned his head reluctantly to Hermione's still motionless form. His Transfiguration teacher gasped. "Granger? What in good heavens happened, Poppy?"

The witch in question was too busy muttering spells and mixing potions, so she jabbed a finger towards Draco.

"Mister Malfoy," Professor Snape breathed heavily, "Do explain yourself."

"W-well, I was heading down-" Draco began to stutter.

"Out of bed after curfew, Malfoy?" Snape sneered.

"No, er, well, yes."

"Professor Snape," McGonagall cut in with a sharp tone, "It is obvious to me that both our students were out of bed after hours. The important question is how Mister Malfoy, here, came by Miss Granger. Do explain, boy."

Draco gulped, feeling guilty though he knew he had nothing to do with the state Hermione was in. "I was walking back to my dormitory when I tripped over something. I didn't have any light because I was, er, trying not to wake up the portraits. And when I looked to see what I tripped over, it was Granger. I swear she was like this when I found her. There were loads of letters around her, and that one there is what I think did this. The message in it rather implies it, I thought."

The mention of such evidence piqued McGonagall's interest, and she reached for the blood soaked parchment that the blonde held out to her. Snape read over the other teacher's shoulder. Moments later, he muttered something to her, presumably the spell the letter had unleashed. His cold eyes landed on his godson. "That's 10 points from Slytherin for being out of bed after hours."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, glancing from Hermione to Draco. "That's 20 to Slytherin for bringing Miss Granger here, Mister Malfoy. But do avoid breaking curfew in the future. Professor Snape, if you could be so kind as to guide Mister Malfoy back to his dormitory?"

The dark haired man clasped a hand on the blonde's shoulder and shoved the boy out of the room.

Back in his four poster bed, curtains blocking out the world around him, Draco stewed. And worried. He was angry for having been caught, for having to have stumbled, quite literally, across Granger. But then, despite assuring himself that he had spent enough time on the Gryffindor, he couldn't help but worry about her.

He pulled his green comforter over his shoulder and curled up. He buried his face into his pillow, willing the image of a cut up Granger out of his mind. He found that it did not work. With only a few hours till class, Draco tossed and turned, anger and concern eating away at him.

"Mister Malfoy! If I must repeat your name one more time, that will be detention for a week!"

Draco jumped nearly a foot off his chair as the voice of his Potions master ripped him from his daytime nightmare. He quickly gained control of his flustered features, hardening them into a mask of indifference. His classmates sniggered, and Malfoy didn't even bother glaring at the two morons seated in front of him. The Boy-Who-Lived or, in that particular case, Laughed, was too much for the young Malfoy that day. He had enough to think about. Putting him and that offensively idiotic ginger in their place would have taken more effort than he had the energy for.

"It-it was you?" Harry stuttered. "You saved Hermione?"

Draco had fallen silent after finishing his story, but Hermione spoke up. "He did. Harry, if he hadn't found me, I would've died of blood loss."

"Why didn't you just leave her there?" Harry backtracked rapidly and apologized profusely to the indignant Hermione. "What I meant was, you always talked about wanting her dead. I mean, just earlier that year, at the World Cup. You told her to 'keep her bushy head down', that it wasn't safe for mudbloods like her. What made you save her?"

Draco nodded in recognition. "Did it ever occur to you, Potter, that I am not as evil as you think? That I warned her about the danger in a way that was safe for me. Sure, it was an insult, but anything else would have been unbelievable. It's different when silly threats repeated to make your father proud turns into harming innocent people. I could never truly want Hermione dead. I'm afraid she's one of the few hopes we have left in righting this mad world of ours."

Harry had no response. His mind was overwhelmed by all of the doubts he now had concerning his memories. What had else he seen or heard that actually meant the opposite of what he always believed? The truth was suddenly such an ambiguous fantasy to him that he felt lost. To cover the discomfort that Draco's impromptu speech gave him, Harry nodded stiffly. "Well, let's carry on then."

Hermione sighed. "Becoming friends with Draco was actually easier than I had originally imagined…"

What do you think? Is it okay?