Thanks for following. For those who've read my other stories I think overall this will be a tad shorter. So let's get right back in…
Chapter Five
…
Over the next few days, the two new friends awkwardly ironed out some of the more problematic kinks in their relationship. Draco was very cagey and defensive at the best of times, while Granger had become far too independent on her own lately. They slowly adjusted to their new friendship status, even though nothing substantial really changed in their routine. They both just worked together in the library as per usual, sat side by side at mealtimes and chatted about the NEWT exams. But now they also threw in the occasional morning walk around the lake. They engaged in more general, superficial banter about the wizarding world (nothing overly deep or personal). And they tended to smile more and say mundane things like "how are you today" and "the weather is getting colder, isn't it?"
It took several days for them to really have a proper conversation, one that wasn't centred mostly around their schoolwork. It had started with them bickering lightly about her vegetarian diet after breakfast one day, and Draco had quickly lost track of time as Granger went into more detail about meat production in the muggle world while he told her what he knew about the same process in the magical world. Needless to say, she'd already done her research on the topic, and proceeded to rant for ten minutes straight about the lack of social awareness among wizards and witches. She only stopped when Professor Babbling arrived at the library to begin Ancient Runes class. Then she snapped her mouth closed quickly, a crimson blush coming to her cheeks as she realised that she hadn't paused for breath in quite some time.
"Sorry," she mumbled as they moved towards their seats at the back of the library, "I let my mouth run away with my brain."
Draco chuckled and shrugged his shoulders casually.
"Don't apologize," he told her, "It was very stimulating."
His tone was dry, and Granger snorted in response, still looking a bit guilty. He suspected her other friends didn't pay as much focused attention to her as he just had. Maybe they merely zoned out or shushed her when she sunk her teeth into a topic like that, rather than hanging onto her every word like he had.
Draco pursed his lips and started retrieving his notes from his bag. If only she knew the truth. But it's not like he could tell her that he'd found the whole little speech quite arousing and that he'd been trying and failing to kill the damn butterflies fluttering in his stomach for the last ten minutes as he'd become lost in the heated outrage simmering in her brown eyes. He was so wrapped up in her that he hadn't even noticed the teacher arriving.
No, he couldn't tell her that.
As the week progressed, the other Eighth Years began to notice a change in their interactions as well, it seemed. Although Granger was entirely unfazed, he certainly noticed their small cohort muttering to each other behind their hands and pointing towards them when they thought they weren't looking. Screw them. Let them gossip. He hadn't done anything wrong. Not recently, anyway.
But it wasn't always easy to ignore the contempt of their peers.
That dinner he was late to arrive, slipping into the hall and running his hand through his hair to smooth it down where it had grown dishevelled from lying on his bed throughout the late afternoon. As soon as he entered, he could tell that Granger was royally pissed off about something. Even from a distance he recognised that heavy crease between her brows as she snapped at someone. Draco blinked and hurried over, wondering what had happened. And as he approached the table, he heard the last few words she directed at a Ravenclaw boy who was sitting a few places down from their usual spot.
"…really none of your business, Timothy."
"I thought you fought against people like him."
"People like him? Seriously?"
"He's a Death Eater, Hermione. Just like his dad-"
"You don't even know what you're talking about, and you clearly don't know anything about him."
"I know enough," the other boy responded sullenly, but otherwise seemed rather put in his place by Granger. Someone cleared their throat awkwardly when they saw Draco approach the table. About four loud conversations suddenly started up at once to drown out the argument, while plenty of self-conscious stares were thrown his way as he tentatively took his usual seat. Draco tried to swallow past the suddenly dry feeling in his mouth. He stared down at the platters of food in front of him, his stomach rolling with anxiety as he tried to pretend that he hadn't overheard the tail end of the conversation. His eyes flickered to Granger, who was sitting next to him and glaring at her water goblet.
As far as he could tell she'd been defending their friendship to other Eighth Years at the table who'd taken issue with it. Some of them had obviously confronted her about it before he arrived. It sounded like she was holding her own but the scowl on her face told him she wasn't happy about it. Draco licked his lips and tried to continue as normal. He even managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of beef stew, though it sat like lead in his gut, and he barely tasted it.
Eventually he raised his eyes and noticed a few people staring at him, their gazes suspicious and not at all welcoming. The only person not shooting him wary glances was Longbottom, who was picking at his own food down the other end of the table with a contemplative frown. Everyone else appeared openly distrustful.
Merlin's saggy balls, he'd barely just befriended the witch and already he was dragging her down, making her the subject of ridicule and criticism.
Screw this!
Pushing his plate away, Draco shot to his feet without warning, prompting a few frightened looks, before striding from the Great Hall as quickly as he could. He walked briskly without pomp or flair, crossing the Entrance Hall and beginning to climb as far away from it all as he possibly could. He climbed staircase after staircase until his lungs burned and his calves twitched in complaint. There was no particular goal in mind or direction he was chasing, he just walked blindly until the hum of noise from the Great Hall faded into nothing. And still he kept going.
It was with a mild jolt of surprise that he eventually recognised his surroundings. As he scaled one final spiral flight of stairs, the cold, crisp air battered his face and he suddenly emerged on top of the Astronomy Tower, greeted by the dark night sky above.
Draco froze and stared around the space with a grimace of pain. The last time he'd stood up here he'd been face-to-face with a very much living Albus Dumbledore. He'd stood here trembling, listening to the old wizard as he offered him help.
Help? It was too late for that, he remembered thinking. If the old man had truly wanted to help him, he would have done something sooner. It was no secret by then what Draco was trying to accomplish. It was the worst kept secret in Hogwarts. And the Headmaster had been more scarily omniscient than even the Dark Lord. He remembered his own snivelling voice too, shaken by the threat of Death Eaters at his back and terrified for the fate of his mother. Rejecting the offer of help. Sniffling and crying while he struggled to maintain a firm grip on his wand.
He'd been nothing more than a pathetic coward. Too weak to defy the Dark Lord and too pitiful to obey him.
Draco stumbled towards the edge of the tower with quivering knees, gripping onto the parapet and taking deep gulping breaths of fresh air. He looked out over the grounds, cast in moonlight and so peaceful. More peaceful than his own tumultuous thoughts.
He wasn't sure how long he remained there; eyes closed as he drank in the feeling of the icy breeze on his inflamed cheeks. But after a while he became aware of footsteps tapping softly against the stone behind him. He knew who it was. Nobody else would have dared follow him up here. Nobody else would have bothered.
Draco spun to face the witch as she emerged onto the tower. Her brown eyes drifted around the space as if she too were haunted by it, before alighting on him and softening a little. She sighed and stepped closer, cocking her head curiously to one side.
"How did you know where I was?" he asked numbly, watching as she awkwardly tucked a piece of parchment that she'd been holding back into the pocket of her winter coat.
"I have my ways."
Draco snorted, reminded of her answer to his question about sneaking into the Restricted Section. But then, he'd always suspected that Potter had some more underhanded methods of deceiving the staff and getting around the castle.
"Why are you here?" he asked curtly, spinning back around to face outwards. It was too difficult watching her brown eyes swimming with pity and compassion.
"Timothy was out of line," she murmured, and he felt rather than heard her coming up beside him to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, both looking down at the Black Lake glistening below.
"Is that so?" he asked vaguely.
"Yes. He should have kept his ignorant mouth shut."
He could tell she was still blustering from earlier, the anger simmering below the surface. He almost chuckled but was worried it would sound more like a sob.
"He's not wrong, though," Draco commented softly, shrugging his shoulders and swallowing the lump in his throat.
"He's completely wrong!" she protested, her voice rising in outrage, "He's an arrogant, presumptuous little-"
"Damnit Granger," he interrupted with a growl, turning to face her and glaring down at her, realising for the first time how close she'd stood, and how tall he was compared to her. He ran his hand through his hair in a shaky, unconscious gesture and continued. "You've got this idealistic image in your head that I'm some innocent victim. I'm not. I never was."
"Neither are you the evil Death Eater that you imagine in your own head! You're not a bad person, Draco."
"You don't know that. You don't know me. Bloody Timothy sees me more clearly than you do."
"Is that right?" she challenged him. Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, though he wasn't sure whether it was from anger or from the cold wind whipping against their faces. "You think I don't see you? That I don't see you standing here wallowing in your regrets? That I don't see the way you try to hide yourself at the back of class, try to pretend to be invisible? You think I don't know that you hate yourself far more than any of those imbeciles down there hate you?"
Draco sighed. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes for a moment. Her words were painfully true and pierced right through him.
"How can I not hate myself?" he asked her tiredly. He let out a breath in a shaky whimper and then reached down to grab his forearm, "how can I forget the terrible person I am, when it's branded on me forever?"
He pushed the sleeve of his jumper up impatiently, exposing the dark, hideous shape of the Dark Mark to the night air. He flinched as he noticed Granger's horrified gaze. She quickly blinked the expression away, but he hadn't missed it. She was disgusted. Of course she was, it was grotesque. Granger's own arm twitched unconsciously as if in sympathy and she seemed to struggle with herself for a long moment. She opened her mouth a couple of times to speak but couldn't seem to find the words. Eventually she managed to say something, her tone tremulous.
"It's not you, Draco. It's just a brand – something that was done to you."
Draco scoffed and shook his sleeve back in place, concealing the terrible sight once more.
"How can you say that? Timothy and Dean and Terry and all those other Eighth Years might not know the full story, but you do. You were there at Malfoy Manor, remember? You saw what went on there. You… you were just moments away from... from… you almost died. And I just…I just…"
Draco's eyes pricked with tears, and he spun away. He heard Granger's ragged in-drawn gasp behind him as she fought for breath. The wounds were clearly still fresh for them both. Curling his hands into fists, Draco leaned against the side of the tower and felt a lone tear slip down the length of his nose. Frustrated, he swiped it away roughly.
"I get nightmares about it you know. I wake up screaming, the sheets sticking to me in a cold sweat, and I can hardly breathe." He spoke quietly, his whispered voice almost ragged with emotion. He turned slowly to face her again and saw that she'd turned pale. "And I see your face. Every time. Just staring up at me. Begging me to help you. And I keep telling myself to do something. To just step forwards or…or… something. Anything. But I can't. No matter how much I try I can't seem to move-"
Granger held out her hands, palms out, to stem the flow of his words.
"Stop," she whispered hoarsely, her eyes wide, "Please. I don't blame you for not helping me, Draco. You couldn't have! I…please… please just don't talk about that."
He stared at her in confusion for a moment. It was odd to see the strength sapped out of her, reducing her to quivering shadow of her former self. He realised that this one memory of her torture at the hands of Bellatrix was possibly more scarring than anything he'd ever been through, and he felt a pang of guilt and sympathy.
"I'm sorry... Gr…Hermione…I'm so sorry."
She'd been staring at the ground, her eyes glassy and unfocused, but now they darted up to stare at him in wonder. Draco felt himself shiver. It was maybe the first time he'd said her name quite like that. It was a magnificent name, he thought. The syllables rolled off his tongue like honey and he had to force himself not to repeat it a hundred times just for the pleasure of it.
"Don't…" she began to stammer, but he leaned forwards tentatively and placed his hands on her shoulders. His heart was pounding, and he was afraid she was going to jerk away from his touch.
You're don't deserve her forgiveness, he reminded himself, forcing his fingers to remain perfectly still and not travel across to the tantalizing path of her neck. But to his utter astonishment she didn't move away from him. She just peered up at him, standing so tall above her, her expression troubled.
"They're right. I'm not a good person," he repeated with feeling, steely eyes locked on brown ones, "If I was anything more than a miserable Death Eater, I would have saved you. But I didn't. I was a coward. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Hermione."
He repeated it even though his voice was choked and hoarse. She was trembling under his hands; he could feel her shoulders shaking. And the glassy sheen of her eyes turned red and blood-shot. Next thing he knew her lower lip quivered and twisted as she let go of her infamous control.
Nice, Draco you great bloody fool, you made her cry…
He cursed himself as he watched her shudder. But then her next action truly shocked him, because she seemed to sort of collapse forwards, falling into his much taller body and burying her face against his chest. Draco was so shocked he froze completely, his body tensing up until it was rigid against her. But she just grasped onto the front of his jumper with both hands and held on as she began to cry in earnest.
She was heaving against him, great sobs wracking her small body while he just stood there awkwardly for an age. Then, so hesitantly he must have looked like a total idiot, he lifted his hands up and placed them on her back. He just rested them there for a while, wondering what he was supposed to do. After a while some kind of natural instinct kicked in and he began to pat her back gently, rubbing soothing circles in the space between her shoulder blades. He could feel her tears soaking through his jumper, but he didn't mind. He was actually comforting someone. Sure, he was the one who'd upset her in the first place, but she hadn't just slapped him and run away. She'd fallen into him, seeking solace in his arms. Draco's pulse raced with a mix of nervous energy and self-recrimination as he wondered what to do. He wanted to pull her closer, but he was paralysed with fear. It was barely even an embrace, his hands just placed softly against her back in a clumsy gesture of reassurance.
Just as he'd decided he should pull her closer and hold her properly, damnit, he felt her pull away. He immediately dropped his arms, taking a small step back to give her room to breathe as she hiccoughed and tried to regain some measure of control over herself. When she looked up at him again her face was all splotchy and red, but she was still fucking gorgeous, and he swore vehemently to himself inside his own head to pull it together.
"Thank you," she murmured, causing him to blink in surprise.
"What the bloody hell for?" he stammered a bit angrily, "I'm the one who upset you."
"No… no you didn't upset me," she told him, which he thought was stupid, and told her so by pointing to the wet stain on his jumper.
"Seriously?"
Hermione chuckled wetly, wiping her nose and cheeks, which were still damp.
"Okay I guess you did, but not like that. I don't… I don't like remembering that night. And yet I can't seem to forget it. I never needed or wanted an apology from you. I always understood rationally that you couldn't have helped me, and I certainly have never blamed you. But it was still nice to hear it from somebody. Harry and Ron and the others… they all sort of just pretend it never happened."
"Oh…right." He wasn't sure what else to say but was pleased that his apology had actually meant something for once. Everyone else seemed to just throw it back in his face.
"For what it's worth, I forgive you. For…you know…everything," she told him.
"You do?" he asked a bit incredulously. She nodded, a shaky smile on her lips.
"Of course. I still think you were too young, and you shouldn't have been put in that position in the first place. You never really stood a chance. And now that the war's over I can see your guilt, your penance. I truly believe that you deserve whatever forgiveness I have to offer. It's yours if you want it. I just wish you'd forgive yourself."
Draco pushed his hair back from his face and chuckled dryly, his heart not really in it.
"Easier said than done."
"I'm sorry the others are all so…so… cold towards you," she added with a frown. Draco shrugged, shaking his head.
"I can't really blame them, can I? And I did warn you that being friends with me would invite plenty of questions and judgment."
"That you did," she replied wryly, sighing. Draco contemplated her for a moment before closing his eyes and just saying what was on his mind even as a voice inside told him not to risk it.
"Are you sure you still want to go through with this whole foolish 'friends' idea? It's not too late to back out."
He said it quickly, wanting to give her the opportunity to take a step back if she felt she needed to. He wouldn't even resent her for it, although he desperately wanted to stay in her company. But Hermione widened her eyes, putting her hands on her hips in a familiar and adorable pose of outrage.
"Are you daft? I don't care what other people think! They can shove off. I have always and will always continue to follow my own better judgment, thank you very much."
Draco couldn't help the small smile that curled at his lip.
"Is that so?"
"Count on it," she told him, dropping to lean against the wall of the Astronomy Tower and looking down at the ground below once more. The moon had peaked out from behind some clouds and was bathing the whole area in dapples of silvery light. A sort of peaceful silence descended between them then. Draco was certain they'd both worn themselves out emotionally.
He gripped the stone edge in front of him and took a deep, steadying breath. His chest was still aching, and he felt a twinge of anxiety every time he looked sideways and saw the tear tracks on her face.
It turned out being friends with Hermione Granger hurt like a bitch.
But he wouldn't trade it for anything.
…
…
Draco's dreams returned in full force over the course of the next week. He found himself waking up every night hot and itching for something under his skin. Sometimes he was so far gone already when he woke up that he was already grinding himself into the mattress below and muffling his groans into his pillow.
The whole thing was interrupting his sleep and leaving him feeling tired and grumpy and still painfully frustrated when he rose in the morning.
The images had become a little bit clearer too. Whereas before he had simply revelled in the agonising sensation of lips and hands on his skin, now he found himself reaching out into the darkness to grasp onto the phantom witch who haunted his dreams. Wrapping his fingers through her curly hair, gasping into her neck as she drove him wild, peeling the layers of clothing from her body. Why did she always wear so many bloody layers? Surely in his dreamscape he should be able to imagine her naked and open. But no, every night she was wrapped up like a damn parcel. Blouses buttoned to the neck and wrists. Just like in real life. Once or twice, he had woken up in the middle of unwrapping her, just getting past the final tantalising layer of underclothes when he was jolted back to awareness suddenly.
And now there was something new and dangerous mixed into each fantasy. Ever since he had spoken her name on top of the Astronomy Tower, he couldn't seem to stop turning the sound of it over in his head like a record on repeat.
Hermione… Hermione…
Each time he awoke he could distinctly remember chanting her name again and again as she touched him with her soft hands. He would have to bite down into his lip to stop from crying it out loud as he spilled helplessly into his fist moments later.
During the day, however, Draco was clinging onto her friendship as much as he dared. He lived for the quiet moments they spent together in the library. And their peaceful walks around the lake. Even though they had let their emotions loose on top of the Astronomy Tower, they had both mutually returned to a much more civilised friendship ever since. They spoke of food and teachers and books and travel. But never about the war. That topic was strictly off-limits once more.
It was nice. They didn't get all deep and personal suddenly after that one conversation. It was light and easy. It amazed Draco just how easy it was to be her friend. So many students over the years had always gossiped about her being a cold fish, a swot who only cared about her precious marks. But that wasn't right at all. It was true she wasn't frivolous or chatty. Instead, she was serious and mature, but also steady. Warm. Her compassion left him breathless sometimes. And they often found occasions to smile or laugh together. Which was amazing really, considering the darkness in both their recent pasts. She just made everything… brighter somehow.
How could people call her boring? He wondered. She was the most fascinating person he knew.
...
...
Draco was fiddling with his cutlery one night, sitting at his usual corner spot on the Eighth-Year table. It was almost the end of the meal and Hermione had yet to make an appearance. Which was odd. He knew she'd been hungry earlier, she'd told him quite clearly that she was looking forward to a zucchini casserole the kitchen had been serving all that week. So where was she? After Charms class that evening the group had decided to head down for an early dinner. Most of the Eighth Years took Charms so it was a large number. Hermione had excused herself to use the bathroom but had never shown up. The other students didn't seem overly bothered by her continued absence. Either that or they hadn't really noticed, since she tended to keep to herself for the most part.
As Draco finished his plate of food, he figured it was pointless sitting there just fretting about it. He was too restless to wait, so he shot to his feet and made his way swiftly from the hall. Nobody questioned him. They didn't even acknowledge him.
He wound his way up towards the Third Floor, sticking his head into the library first to check if she'd gotten distracted as she sometimes did and had lost track of time. But the place was nearly empty. Then he hurried towards the Eighth-Year corridor where their chambers were located. Moving straight over to her room, he paused in front of the door and swallowed nervously. Was it somehow inappropriate to just come here and knock on her door? He was certain that it was a normal thing for friends to do, right? The other Eighth Years did it, visiting each other at all hours of the day and night. Maybe his overactive imagination was trying not to picture her inner sanctum, see her private world, her bed…
Pushing down his irrational anxiety, Draco knocked sharply three times. He shuffled his feet impatiently when silence greeted him. He waited another ten seconds and then knocked again.
Tap tap tap.
She was probably not there, he figured. He was about to spin around and head towards the next location where he might find her when the door suddenly creaked open just a sliver and he was met with the sight of Hermione's brown eyes, peering through the gap.
"Draco?" she murmured, her eyes a bit bleary as she stared at him with a confused, almost dazed, expression.
"Oh-" he stammered for a moment, his stomach sinking as he wondered if maybe he'd interrupted an evening nap. Merlin knew she needed it. Feeling a bit foolish, he spoke quickly, "I'm sorry if I woke you. I just got worried when you didn't come to dinner-"
"You…uh…you were worried?"
Draco blinked in surprise. Her voice was quite slurred and as she inched the door open a little further, he noticed other things too. Like the unnatural pink flush on her normally pale cheeks. And the slight sheen of sweat dotting her forehead.
"What the bloody hell happened to you, Granger?" he asked tightly, his chest filling with concern as she leaned against the doorjamb for support.
"Wha sa time?" she mumbled, her eyelids drooping a bit.
"Seven thirty."
"Oh."
When she didn't say anything further, Draco's anxiety grew, and he shuffled forwards a step to get closer to her.
"Granger? Are you alright?"
She frowned in response, as if trying to work this out herself. When she just continued to look puzzled and didn't answer his question, Draco licked his lips and leaned towards her.
"Gr…uh…Hermione?"
When she didn't respond again, he reached out hesitantly, fingers trembling. Draco slowly placed the back of his hand against her forehead to feel her temperature. She was burning up. He moved to touch her cheek as well, noting uneasily how hot she felt under his skin. Hermione closed her eyes, humming in contentment and leaned closer into his hand.
"Your hand…s'cold…feels mm…nice…"
Draco swallowed and left his hand resting against her, moving it occasionally and making her sigh happily each time he did. He daringly brushed a couple of damp curls off her temples, tucking them behind her ears.
"You're sick," he told her gently, "I need to get you to the Hospital Wing."
"That's probably…hmmm'a good idea…" she slurred again, stumbling forwards and pulling the door shut behind her with a loud snap. Then she staggered a bit, and he only just managed to catch her waist before she fell flat on her face.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" he growled, trying to prop her upright again and trying not to focus on the feel of her slender waist against him.
"Going to see… Md'm Pomfrey..."
"Not like this you're not," he told her firmly, steadying her as much as he could.
"You don't have t'-" she began in a weak voice, no doubt about to say something foolish when he interrupted her.
"It's only fair," he told her in a tone that brooked no argument, "after all, you half carried my sorry ass up here when I was blind drunk, remember? It's my turn."
Hermione started to chuckle, but it turned into a pained groan, and she ended up slumping against him as he wrapped his arm properly around her and encouraged her to put her weight on him. It was difficult and more than a little clumsy because he was so much taller than her.
He could feel her shivering as they started to make their way down a small back staircase hidden behind a tapestry that ran directly to the Hospital Wing. It was an awkward journey and he'd never thought the castle was so big and inconvenient as he did right then. But slowly they made progress.
About a hundred metres or so away from the Hospital Wing, Hermione tugged on him to stop.
"Wait… just wait… I need…"
She scrunched her eyes closed, hissing and drawing her arms close to her body as she trembled. Her previously flushed face turned pale, and she looked like she might vomit.
"Don't stop, Hermione," he told her gently, "we're almost there. We're so close."
She nodded but her eyes were still closed and as he leaned in closer, he could hear her whimpering like a lost puppy. He wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want to leave her side to go to Madame Pomfrey and get help. She was clearly not able to support her own weight right now. He also didn't want to sweep her up into his arms bridal style and carry her the rest of the way. It would be too… too intimate. She'd probably freak out.
Thankfully his prayers were answered as he saw a familiar figure emerge from the corridor that led towards the Hospital Wing. Longbottom hadn't been at dinner either, he remembered, though the other students had mentioned something about him needing to strap up a cut from a venomous plant he'd been working with that day.
Draco had honestly never been happier to see the Gryffindor boy. He sighed in relief and waved his free hand.
"Longbottom!"
The brown-haired boy looked up in shock at the scene in front of him. Hermione was half-collapsed, being supported by him and looking as sick as a dog. She had yet to open her eyes and didn't even acknowledge the new onlooker. The boy rushed over. He had a few fingers bandaged up but seemed to be in good health otherwise.
"What happened?" he asked with a worried expression. Draco grimaced.
"I don't know. She's burning up. I went to find her when she didn't come to dinner, and she was just in her room like this."
"You're going to the Hospital Wing, I take it?"
"Yes. We made it all the way down here, but she's just frozen up and won't go any further."
"Right," Longbottom nodded and quickly jumped into action. He moved to Hermione's other side and wrapped his arm around her back just above Draco's, hoisting her into a better position.
"Together?" he asked, and Draco nodded his assent as they began to move. Now they were supporting her whole body and moving in unison. It was the strangest feeling, like an awkward three-legged race, but somehow it worked a lot faster than before. Within moments they'd reached the Hospital Wing where Madame Pomfrey was thankfully near the entrance and saw them immediately.
"Oh goodness," she gasped upon seeing them, though he couldn't help noticing the way her eyes darted warily towards him in particular. He just clenched his jaw and ignored the look. "Bring her over here, quickly."
The two boys helped to move her over towards a bed where Hermione gratefully lay down with a whimper. Her eyes were still closed, and the shaking was starting to worsen.
"Can you hear me, Hermione?" the Medi-witch asked in a low, comforting voice that was both kindly but also professional. The young woman on the bed nodded and opened her eyes a little to stare up at them with an agonised expression.
"What number tonight, dear?"
Hermione contemplated the question for a moment before seizing up a bit and gasping,
"Nine."
"Nine? Oh, you poor thing-"
Madame Pomfrey spun around swiftly and drew her wand. With a burst of silvery light, she summoned her Patronus. It was a nightingale, which perched on the end of the bed waiting patiently for its message.
"Minerva, I need you in the Hospital Wing urgently please. It's Hermione."
Once the bird had disappeared in a wispy flurry of feathers, the Medi-witch turned back around to look at them.
"Thank you, boys, you may return to your rooms now."
Draco stared at her in disbelief.
"But… wait… is she…what is-"
"You've been very helpful, Mr Malfoy, Mr Longbottom. But now Miss Granger requires some peace and some privacy. Goodnight to you both."
Draco's jaw clenched and he contemplated arguing, insisting that he stay and learn what was wrong with his friend. But Longbottom glanced at him nervously and shook his head.
"Come on, let's go," he muttered. And when that didn't work, he coaxed the blond by taking his sleeve and tugging him gently towards the door. Draco allowed himself to be drawn away. His head swivelled back, and his eyes sought out Hermione one last time, but the curtains were already being swiftly closed around her petite form.
He meekly followed the other wizard out into the hallway. As if to deter him from going back, the big double doors of the Hospital Wing suddenly closed with a reverberating bang that echoed down the corridor. Draco swallowed and shook his head, dragging both hands through his hair in frustration.
"Er…Malfoy?"
He turned to face his companion, resisting the urge to sneer at him and instead waited with forced politeness for whatever recriminations he was about the receive.
You shouldn't hang around her anymore, she deserves better, it's no wonder she's sick after spending so much time with you.
All the terrible things he was expecting drifted away at the sight of the other boy's amiable expression and soft, blue eyes.
"That was pretty decent of you."
Draco gaped at him for a moment, not sure what he was hearing.
"What?" he asked a bit belligerently after a moment. Longbottom chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder firmly.
"It was nice, alright? You were worried about her. You brought her down here to get help. It was a decent thing to do."
Draco scowled at the wizard, suspecting his motives. But when nothing else appeared he scoffed.
"Of course I helped her. I'm not a total monster, despite what everyone thinks."
Longbottom shrugged, looking at him a bit curiously.
"I never thought that. I mean, don't get me wrong, you used to scare the pants off me when we were younger. But I just meant you're a good friend. She needs that."
"She's got plenty of friends," he grumbled bitterly, not sure where the other boy was going with this.
"Yes and no. She's more like a responsible big sister to me and Harry and Ron and the rest. She needs some proper friends of her own."
Malfoy continued to glare at him with suspicion. Surely there was a trap here or some hidden message. Everyone else was entirely disapproving of their tentative friendship.
"I don't need your approval," he finally said in a brittle voice, his tone still harsh and distrustful.
"I know. But you have it anyway."
Draco frowned at the floor for a moment, shuffling his feet awkwardly.
"Alright," he finally acknowledged with a sullen sort of resignation. But honestly, if it got any more sentimental than this, he was going to hex the other wizard. Longbottom seemed to pick up on his hesitancy, because he just chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder again.
"Come on, it's getting late."
The two walked quietly side-by-side back up to the Third-Floor corridor. Their rooms were fairly close together, but they still received a couple of odd looks from the Eighth Years who were now returning from the library and their various evening activities. As they reached Longbottom's room first, the brown-haired boy turned to him with a warm smile and a wave. There was absolutely no artifice in the expression, though Draco was still a bit on edge and didn't fully trust it.
"Well goodnight, Malfoy! I'm sure Mione will be fine in a day or so. She's a tough one."
Draco just nodded stiffly, not sure what to say in response, as the other boy slipped through a doorway with a painting of an exotic plant on the front. Then he was alone once again. Shaking his head in bemusement and sighing, Draco continued down the hallway towards his chamber.
He lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering vaguely whether he should make an attempt to study or do his homework. But his thoughts were restless and lingered on the witch now lying in the Hospital Wing. What was wrong with her? Had she been sick before? Pomfrey certainly seemed to know what was going on, as she'd acted quickly and with surety.
There was no way to know, however, and lying here fretting about it wasn't going to help her. Still, it wasn't like he could stop himself worrying. Giving up on the idea of working, Draco just remained where he was on his bed, counting the cracks in the four-poster bed frame and restlessly allowing the evening to pass him by.
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Oh no. We do love sulky pining Draco though. Let's give him plenty to angst about. Please leave a review or comment!