Jack of Spades: Chapter 2, Part Two: Stacking the Deck
I'm totally feeding my inner angst-monster with this one!
JACK OF SPADES:
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: MA - just to be safe!
Setting: AU: Hogwarts fell with Dumbledore at the end of Seventh Year, Harry, Hermione, Ron and the rest of the Order went into hiding, it's war and it's been going on for three years.
Summary: AU, Harry faced Voldemort but Death Eaters rallied. Hermione, Draco, Harry, Ron, and the Order scramble to wage a war they don't know how to fight. The Wizarding world and Hermione's sanity hang by a heartstring. Draco/Hermione/Harry, Draco/Hermione
The Retreat: http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~fjl1935/St-Pierre-es-Champs/St-Pierre-es-Champs.html
Chapter 2, Part 2Word spread of the unexpected arrival.
“Did you hear?”
Ginny sat on the main staircase and looked to her right as Susan Bones plopped herself down next to her.
“Hear, what?”
“Malfoy - he’s here!”
Of course she knew. “Yeah - my dad, McGonagall, and Neville are with him now. Have been most of the day.”
Susan deflated a bit. She wasn’t a gossiper, but Malfoy - of all people - was here, and that was big news.
“What I want to know is how he got here.” Susan wondered.
Ginny had thought about that detail. There was only one answer. “Hermione must’ve made it happen.”
Susan’s face was easy to read: how? Why?
Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “Dunno. She’ll have to tell us when she wakes up.”
Susan frowned. “She’s still out-of-it, I take it.”
Ginny nodded, her own sadness and worry easy to pick up on. “Harry, too.”
“Those two - always together. In sickness and in health.”
Susan’s parody wasn’t lost to her. She pretended it was. “They’ve always looked out for each other.”
“How’s Ron doing?”
Nice way to change the subject without really changing the subject, Susan.
“He hasn’t left their side. Dad’s tried. So’s Mum.” She cocked her head in Ron’s general direction, seated between two cots in The Chapel. “Left long enough to shower; scarfed down some food and he was back at it. Stubborn, that one is.”
“Missed you yesterday at dinner.” Susan said softly.
Ginny figured out why Susan toned down her boisterousness. Who knows what to say when a family has to sneak away to bury a loved one.
“The Prewitt family mausoleum seemed the safest place, all things considered.”
As predicted, Susan didn’t say anything one way or another. So, she changed the subject, again, without really changing the subject.
“Any idea what’s wrong with them?”
“Harry and Hermione?” Ginny relayed what she over heard Pomfrey tell McGonagall at breakfast. “Harry’s just in shock. There was a lot of Dark magic flung at him, his magical out-put drained him considerably; his mind and body need a chance to recover. As for Hermione… They still don’t know. But she’s alive. That’s something.”
Ginny didn’t add that Pomfrey told McGonagall that Hermione was dying.
Susan wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “What do you think’ll happen to Malfoy?”
“Dunno. But last time I saw him, he looked mighty confident.”
“Doesn’t he always?”
“Fecking blighter, that one is.”
Ginny didn’t race to fill the lull in their conversation.
“Well, at least he won’t be the only Slytherin here.” Susan glanced towards the open door. A tall, dark haired chap was striding across the lawn.
“True.”
The expedition to Malfoy Manor resulted with a handful of Slytherins, among them Theo Nott and Tracy Davis, added to the Order’s roster.
“Wonder if he’s seen them yet.”
“As far as I know, Malfoy’s gonna be sequestered. Up until now, I don’t think he’s had much of a chance to do anything.” Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “Expect that they know he’s here, though.”
“Don’t see how they couldn’t.”
:
:
Astral version of Kings Cross was the same as it was last there with Dumbledore. A bit ethereal, but still every bit as real as the metaphor it represented.
“Nice metaphor, don’t you think?”
Hermione!
Harry picked up his pace as he made his way to her. He threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly. Her grip on his ribs, her chin against his chest and her stomach pressed flush to his, was most welcomed.
“What are you doing here?”
“Honestly, Harry? I don’t know.”
He loosened his hold enough so that he could look down at her. She pulled away enough so that she could look up at him.
They both knew they were lying.
With ease, they separated but didn’t let go of each other’s hand. Together they made their way to a bench and sat down.
Around them, people commuted to work, met loved ones, sipped coffee, went about their lives. Some boarded out-bound trains, others boarded in-bound trains, some wandered to the exits. The only thing everyone had in common was that they each had a destination.
Hermione nudged him, a wry smile firmly in place. “Have I said ‘nice metaphor’, yet?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, but I’d go ahead and say it a third time if I were you.”
His smile didn’t last long.
There was a reason why they both were here.
“Are you here for me or am I here for you, Harry?”
Always the curious one, his Hermione.
He thought about her question, nonetheless. He searched his thoughts, his feelings.
It felt different, being here, with her, than it did last time when he was here with Dumbledore.
It was a moment before he figured out ‘what’ was different.
“I reckon I’m here for you.”
“Oh.” She didn’t seem surprised. Rather, more introspective than anything else.
They were both quiet for a moment.
He gave her hand a squeeze and then drew their entwined fingers to his chest. He pressed against his heart. His heart was cradled in his eyes, which were fixed on hers.
“Are you going to stay or go?”
Glassiness polished her eyes. She looked down at their hands, like she was debating what to tell him.
“I don’t know, Harry. Something’s definitely wrong. I can feel it.” Trepidation pulled at the corners of her mouth and caused her chin to tremble oh-so-slightly. “I’m not sure if I’m going to be given a choice.”
He nodded. He understood that sensation, of feeling one’s body dying. He also understood the temptation in front of her. He willed her to know that he understood.
“If you’re here, Hermione, then there’s an option. That much, I do know.”
He watched as she processed that.
“What about you?”
He thought about it for a moment. Hopefulness brightened the edges of his face.
“Going back. Definitely going back. With everything that’s happened, I can’t imagine anything could be worse than what we’ve lived through already.” He leaned towards her a bit, so that he could whisper into her ear. “Besides, can’t be in two places at once.”
She looked at him, puzzled.
“If I’m there,“ his euphemism for ‘the other side’, “then I can’t be here,“ meaning a mortal life, “with you… And everyone else.”
He let go of her hand. He eased up on the intensity of his emotions. He’d told her the truth. And, because he truly understood, he knew this was a decision he had no right to influence beyond what he’d already done.
“Thanks, Harry.”
He could tell she meant it, on various different levels.
“Love you, Hermione.”
“Love you too, Harry.”
Trains docked and left on pre-determined schedules. The flow of people ebbed only to surge one more. More coffee cups got tipped into bins. And still, they sat, hands matched. Time didn’t matter, but it passed.
Until it was time to go. For him, anyway.
“Are we going to remember this?”
“I don’t think so, Hermione. Can’t tell you why, but that’s the impression I got. I think that you only remember that you’ve been here if you happen to be here again.”
He stood and walked away. His hand was snagged by hers within a couple of steps. He turned to look at her, where their fingers joined, at her face.
“Are you going to be okay, Harry?”
It was a moment before he answered her. He wanted to make sure he told her the truth.
“Yeah - I think I am.”
Her frown told him she didn’t quite believe him.
“Not right away, maybe. And maybe never completely, Hermione. But yeah - I’ll be ‘okay’, whatever that definition holds for me.”
She nodded. She understood.
He needed to get going. He’d done what he’d been sent here to do: to do for her what Dumbledore had done for him.
He made it to the ‘in-bound’ platform with only a handful of looks over his shoulder.
She had retaken her seat on that bench, her focus on him and the choices in front of her.
The door to the train opened and closed once he crossed the threshold. He swayed slightly as the train began to ease out of the station.
He considered it a ‘good thing’ that she was still there when his compartment vanished into the tube.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
They didn’t like it. ‘They’ being the Powers That Be within the Order. No one did. Everyone he passed over the past three days either glared at him or quickly averted their gaze, lest he infect them with his Malfoy-ness.
Not that he was allowed to walk around ‘unescorted’. For his own protection, of course.
Weasley Senior, Longbottom and McGonagall were the only ones who knew why he was there. Even then, they only knew the bare minimum. But even they had to concede that his intentions could, and would, only benefit the Order.
The tall chap walking along side him, some ‘Puff he couldn’t remember the name of, was his escort-du-jour.
“Oi! Malfoy! Hold up!”
Two blond heads turned in the direction of the hail. They paused as the person trotted up to them.
“Cor, Justin - isn’t that ever going to get old?“ The gripe was steeped in good-naturedness.
Fecking ‘Puff.
Draco mentally grumbled. It’d been happening for days. Disconcerting was an understatement, to say the least, when one is locked in a room and one hears one’s name being called out at all different times of the day.
“Not in this lifetime, Summerby.”
Ah, that’s his name. Played Seeker, if I remember. Beat his arse every time.
“Pomfrey wants you.”
“Right now?” Summberby cocked his head at Draco.
Justin flicked his gaze at Draco and looked back at his friend. “’Fraid so.”
Summerby’s concern seemed genuine, but he also seemed frustrated by the simple request.
“Don’t know what I can tell her beyond what I’ve already said.”
“Yeah, well, seeing as how Potter’s finally…”
Potter? That’s interesting.
“Cognizant?” Summerby, after another quick glance at his ‘charge’, supplied a carefully chosen term.
“Yeah.”
Draco watched as Summerby shuttled his weight between his shoulders and his hips.
Make a decision already!
Guess he said that out loud.
“Alright. I’ll take him with me.” Summerby would have rather dropped him down a mine shaft. “Do him some good to see his ‘handiwork’.”
Great… He mentally, and physically, rolled his eyes. So I’m to be blamed for everyone who got hurt five days ago. Brilliant. Feck-fecking brilliant.
“Come on, Malfoy Two. Off to The Chapel with us.” Summerby motioned for him to follow.
“But what about the invitations?” He sneered because he could. “Not that I had my heart set on a summer wedding, mind you. But as long as you and I are together…”
“Shove it and shut it, prat.”
:
:
Some things he signed on for, when he accepted the indoctrination into the Order. A lot shite that had come his way since then wasn’t. Being blamed for every injury since the dawn of time wasn’t either.
Weaving down hallways and skirting some of the more trafficked areas, it wasn’t long before they entered The Chapel.
From what Draco had gleaned, it was the only section of any area of the Retreat where magic could be performed. And, since those who were injured, or would be come injured in the future, would need magical medical aid, it made sense that The Chapel was the new hospital.
Pomfrey met them and, together, they made their way to an area screened for privacy.
He heard them before he saw them.
Coming around the partition, Draco looked around.
A single bed was occupied. Granger.
On one side of her sat Weaslebee, hands tangled and resting on top of his knees.
Potter, definitely peaked but other wise sound, was reading aloud from some book.
Both looked up when Pomfrey and her ‘entourage’ entered.
Weaslebee shot her an accusatory glare. “What’s he doing here?”
Potter, dressed in a knitted jumper and pajama bottoms, immediately bristled. Draco’d be willing to bet that Potter didn’t even know he’d shifted his chair closer to the bed. He kept his mouth shut.
Pomfrey didn’t spare any words for Weaslebee.
“Summerby, thank you for coming.”
“Glad to.” He tucked his hands into his pockets as he waited for Pomfrey to start
“Tell me again.”
Potter and Weaslebee looked at the ‘Puff. They’d obviously heard whatever it was that Summerby was going to say, but they paid attention anyway.
Draco was bored. Granted this was the first time he’d been ‘allowed’ in The Chapel, but a hospital ward was a hospital ward and, given the fact that he was now a hunted man, along with the rest of them, it was going to be a matter of time until he christened one of these cots.
He looked over at Granger.
She didn’t look good. Her clothes were the same ones he last saw on her. The skin around her cheeks and fingers looked pinched. A tube extended from a pouch that hung from a standee and seemed to be burrowed into the top of her right hand. In her left hand, he could see the polished wood of a wand.
“… She called me ‘Malfoy’ and then passed out.”
Summerby had apparently finished whatever it was he was saying. Not that he listened to it. No. That wasn’t entirely true.
“So that’s why everyone calls you, me.” Draco drawled. The part where Granger dubbed him ‘Malfoy’ appealed to his dark sense of humor.
“Did she say if she’d been hit with a spell?” Pomfrey pressed.
Summerby shook his head. “It’s like I told you before. She didn’t say anything, really. One minute I’m walking, the next minute, she materialized next to me. She didn’t look steady, I reached for her, she called me, ‘Malfoy’, and then passed out. I managed not to drop her. Then, I brought her to you. End of story.”
Well, that was helpful, Draco silently snarked. I should send a thank-you note for the distraction, though. Should be delivered sometime after I fetch Mother.
That explained why the Gruesome Threesome didn’t sit in on his ‘debriefing’.
He looked at her again. Something niggled something in the back of his mind. He studied her more intently.
“This is not good. Not good at all.” Pomfrey, normally unflappable, crossed her arms across her chest and sighed in apparent defeat.
Weaslebee abruptly stood. He raked a hand though his hair. “But we don’t match. You tested us. All of us. None of us match.”
Pomfrey glanced at her patient. “Coupled with the lingering effects of an un-treated Cruciatus Curse-“
Judging by the looks on her friends’ faces, she didn’t tell them that the events that took place on the floor of the Malfoy drawing room dogged her.
“- physical exhaustion, she expended too much magic in too short at time.” Pomfrey walked to the foot of Granger’s bed, clearly stumped. “A transfusion of magic, along with some restorative potions, would re-set her innate healing capabilities. But something’s stopping the transfer, blocking it from happening.”
That ‘something’ had a name. “What’s that?”
“What’s ‘what’, Malfoy?” Potter asked warily.
“That.” Draco pointed at the wand that Granger was strangling.
“It’s a wand, Malfoy. A w-a-n-d. You know, it’s a long, pointed-“
“Clever, Weaslebee. Did you think of that all by yourself or did Granger leave it for you to read should she ever be unable to-“
Summerby stepped up before the ginger oaf hurdled Granger’s bed.
“I know what it is.” Draco pointed at the wand again. “But it’s not hers.”
“How do you know?” Potter asked, interest piqued.
“I’d know that wand anywhere. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it, Pott-head.”
“Stop patronizing everyone, Malfoy. If you’ve got something to say, then just say it.”
“Potter - that’s my aunt’s wand.”
Pomfrey’s hand found her throat. Realization set in within a minute. “That’s Bellatrix Black’s wand!”
“Lestrange, technically.” Draco corrected, feeling the need to say something snarky.
“What does that have to do with anything!”
“Keep your pants on, Weaslebee. No need to burst our eardrums because you can’t put two and two together to get four.”
He didn’t like the way Pomfrey was suddenly focused on him. Especially since he knew where this was going.
“Your mother is Narcissa Black.”
Draco really didn’t like the prickly feeling that crept up his arms. “Malfoy, technically.”
Pomfrey pointed a finger at Summerby. “Go fetch McGonagall - now! Tell her to come here immediately. I don’t care what she’s doing. Just get her here. She’s going to want to be here when Miss Granger wakes up.”
The way the ‘Puff scrambled out of The Chapel was almost comical.
“You know how to help Hermione?” Potter was all ears. His hand drifted down to the girl’s shoulder.
Pomfrey’s hand wrapped around Draco’s upper arm. She chased Potter out his chair and sat Draco down at her side.
“The wand chooses the wizard, gentlemen, for many reasons. There’s a connection that’s made, between wand and wizard - witch - that only grows with time. Not that a wand can become sentient, but it’s not entirely without the ability to absorb a bit of its wielder.” Her eyes drifted shut as struggled to convey the concept.
Draco simplified things. “Granger and Aunt Bella are as diametrically opposite as they come. The wand is attuned to Bella. It has a bit of her in it, just as a bit of the wand was in her. Hence their connection. Except now, Granger has it. And, somehow, the wand knows that Granger is the enemy, and even though the wand responded to whatever commands she gave it, the wand, via my oh-so-lovely-and-deranged aunt, is attacking Granger the only way it knows how: magically.”
Pomfrey nodded.
She should. I’m right.
“And, because the wand is now bonded with Miss Granger, and Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black is a blood-relation-“
A blur of evergreen robes bustled into their area and interrupted her.
“Poppy - I’m here.” McGonagall was slightly out of breath. Her concern was clear. “What’s going on? What’s this have to do with Miss Granger?”
“I’m about to be drained in order to save your precious Gryffindor princess.” Draco groused snidely.
Not that he was opposed to helping. He just didn’t like not being given a choice about the matter. Not that he was going to do it out of the goodness of his heart. Helping Granger would go a long way in helping others accept him.
Not to mention the side-effects that would come with such an exchange.
Draco felt all eyes turn to him, as Pomfrey pointed in his direction. “Mister Malfoy is the match we’ve been searching for.”
“Thank Merlin!” McGonagall exclaimed.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Potter didn’t like it. “Are we sure about this?”
“Yeah - there’s gotta be another way. There’s no way Hermione would ever let him near her.”
Draco rolled his eyes at the ginger’s blathering. “Do you need us to explain it again, Potter? Would flash-cards help?”
Weasley didn’t warrant an acknowledgement.
McGonagall looked to Pomfrey. “Do you have everything you need, Poppy?”
“Yes, I do.”
Draco pushed his hair off his forehead. Nothing for it now.
He eased Bella’s wand free of Granger’s grip. He clasped her hand firmly, and waited for the Mediwitch.
The wand movements the nurse made were fluid and confident.
The tug on his magic occurred immediately. But it stopped at where their hands joined.
He looked to Pomfrey and ignored Pott-head and Weaslebee. “She’s fighting me.”
“She can probably sense your git-ness and doesn’t want to be contaminated.”
McGonagall silenced the ginger with a glare. “That’s enough, Mister Weasley.” To Draco, she spoke more respectively. “Can you reach her?”
“Through Legilimency? Probably. But I don’t have a wand.” He slid his gaze to Potter. “He had it last and I’d very much like to have it back.”
“Potter - do you have his wand?” McGonagall asked. “This is important. We’re talking about Miss Granger’s life, not some childhood feud.”
Potter looked contrite and exasperated at the same time. “You think I don’t know that?! If I had it, I’d give it to him. But I don’t. I lost it sometime during the fight.”
“Too bad.”
He really was attached to his hawthorn and dragon heart-string wand.
“Mister Malfoy, can you do it wandlessly?” McGonagall pressed, a thread a hope carried.
He grimaced. “It’ll take a bit of what I’d have to give, but maybe.”
“Please, try.”
That came from Madam Pomfrey.
He focused.
It didn’t take much to shut out McGonagall’s expectant stare. Or Pomfrey’s concern for both her patients. He shut out Weaslebee’s exaggerated huffing. Potter was a bit more of a challenge. He could feel the Gryffindor’s magic radiate out, protective - and a more than a mite possessive - of the girl in the bed.
“Potter - put a lid on it.”
He could feel Potter’s hackles rise. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Defensive much, Potter?” He opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on Pomfrey and McGonagall. “Get them out of here. It’ll be hard enough to reach past her barriers, but these two - especially that one,“ he eyed Potter specifically, “are insulating her further. If you have any hope of this working, get them out of here!”
Potter and Weasley protested. But it was McGonagall’s blunt statement that they, yes, them, were going to be responsible for killing Granger if they stayed.
The professor hustled them away, and, stayed with them.
It was just him, the Mediwitch, and Granger.
He pressed his palm to hers.
Pomfrey reset the transfer spell.
He closed his eyes.
He focused.
He whispered the incantation.
A rush of images and emotions washed over him.
:
:
She stayed on that bench at Kings Cross.
She watched the people.
She watched the trains.
The sight of the out-bound trains grew more appealing.
“Granger.”
Her head twisted towards whoever it was who said her name.
It was the last person she ever expected to see.
“Malfoy?”
He approached her carefully, clearly unsure of how she’d react to him. He stopped several feet away from her.
“I need to come closer.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”
“I can’t help you from here.”
That’s was an odd thing to hear.
“Who says I want your help?”
He seemed to expect her to say that.
“You don’t. Not yet. But your friends do.”
This was clearly the oddest conversation she’d ever had.
“Can I come closer?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
He all but growled.
“I don’t know why you’re so aggravated. I didn’t ask you to come here.”
He zeroed in on her. Whatever it was that he was thinking, it wasn’t what he decided on saying.
He glanced around at where they were. He looked like he almost approved. “Nice metaphor.”
“Isn’t it, though.”
He carded a hand through his hair. He pursed his lips, and seemed to make up his mind about something.
“Granger - you’re dying. That’s why you’re here.”
She sat up straighter. That part she’d figured out for herself.
“But what you haven’t figured out is that you don’t have to die.”
She shot him a wary look weighted with skepticism.
“Look, Granger, I don’t have a lot of time. The longer I spend having to convince you that I’m here to help you, the less likely you’ll wake up.”
She considered his words, but didn’t know if she could believe him or not.
“I can’t do what I have to do unless I can touch you.”
“You know that I don’t trust you.” She stated baldly. “You know why.”
He blew out a breath. “I know, Granger.” He put his hands on his hips. “I have a proposition for you.”
“I can’t imagine how I’d be receptive to anything you have to say.”
“Which is why I’m proposing not so ‘say’ anything at all.”
That didn’t make any sense.
“It’ll make sense in a minute, Granger.” He took another step towards her. “I’ll let you inside my head, so that you can see that I don’t mean you any harm.”
Doubt grappled with her curiosity.
He took another three steps before he had to stop.
“Think about it, Granger.”
Her curiosity pushed back her doubt by another degree.
He took another couple of steps. He was an arm’s length away.
Curiosity won, but it was a narrow victory.
She shifted on the bench, motioning to him at the empty place beside her.
He sat down.
She could see him clearly. He didn’t look quite right.
“Why do you look so strained, Malfoy?”
He cut his gaze to her. His silvery eyes brooked his frustration and resolve to do whatever it was he professed he had to do.
“Because you’re so bloody stubborn!” He pinched his nose and inhaled slowly. Just as slowly, he breathed out. “Look, Granger, we don’t - I don’t - have a lot of time left.”
She felt her apprehension rise. Malfoy looked like it was a struggle to continue to sit next to her. “What’s the matter Malfoy - my dirty blood too much for you?”
“Don’t get snippy, Granger.” He snapped at her.
Then, he forced himself to relax.
“Granger - every time you get defensive, or worse, go on the offensive, it forces me to back away from you because you’re pushing me away! It’s basic psychology. The more you fight me, the less I can help you because in order to do what I have to do, I have to touch you - mentally, magically, and physically.”
She turned to face him. “What’s wrong with me?”
“My aunt wants you - and everyone like you - dead.”
“At least you didn’t hold back.” Hermione felt her hand drift down to the scar that trailed the length of the inside of her left arm. “Bellatrix made sure I’d never forget who and what I am.”
Malfoy peeled back his own sleeve. He exposed his left forearm. The Dark Mark, its vividness faded but still there, contrasted with his pale skin.
He reached for her. Gently, more gently then she ever thought he was capable, slid her sleeve back.
The word ‘mudblood’ was spelled out in silver scarring.
She stared at their two tattoos. Her defensives crumbled that much more.
“Granger…” Malfoy’s drawl sounded more… intimate.
She felt so many things…
She pressed her lips into a thin line, contemplating what she most needed to know. “Is it going to hurt?”
He answered honestly. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before, so I don’t know what to expect. But I do know that you have to be ready to do this.”
She thought about that for a moment. “This is going to affect us, even afterwards - isn’t it?”
“Again, Granger - I don’t know. I expect so. But I can’t say for certain.”
She nodded, processing his assertions. “Harry said I wouldn’t remember any of this.”
Malfoy took her reveal in stride. Almost like he wasn’t surprised that Harry had come to her but couldn’t do what he could do.
“Maybe we won’t. Maybe we will.”
“Does your offer still stand?”
“To look inside my mind?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, it does.”
She wasn’t expecting him to say that. But then again, if he rescinded his initial offer, she knew she’d feel disappointed.
She picked up his left hand with her left hand. It took her a moment to figure out how to do it, but she twisted and rotated their wrists so that his Mark hovered over her scar.
“More metaphors, Granger?” His voice was thick, like she was forcing him to face something he wasn’t ready to face.
A flash of inside flare. “Somehow, I think you recognize the metaphor as much as I do.”
The moment that stretched between them seemed… significant.
“Ready, Granger?” He breathing sounded labored.
She nodded.
He pressed their forearms together.
She screamed. She tried to pull her arm away.
“Don’t… Granger… too soon. Hold on…”
He twisted her around, her back to his chest, forearms mashed together, and held their connection tight.
“Hold on, Granger! I’m going to open my mind, give you place to go!”
The pain coalesced… every magical component she possessed felt like it was being squeezed onto the head of pin.
Then, it burst outward. Pain speared her body.
:
:
At her first scream, Harry paled.
The only time when she stopped screaming was when she took a breath, so that she could scream some more.
Harry, Ron, and McGonagall ran back to her bed.
Malfoy had her pressed against him, their left arms locked from elbow to wrist. Hermione writhed weakly. A potent golden glow enveloped them.
“Poppy!” McGonagall shouted fearfully over Hermione’s keening.
“Hermione!” Harry hollered. It was Pomfrey’s grip on his arm that kept him from tearing Malfoy off of her.
Ron was being held in place by McGonagall.
“Don’t, Minerva! Keep them back!” Pomfrey ordered.
“Tell me this is normal!” McGonagall was frantic for reassurance.
“It’s not. But Miss Granger was so far gone…”
Pomfrey offered some explanation for the harrowing scene taking place.
Harry wrenched himself free of Pomfrey. Three strides had him fisting Malfoy’s collar. With strength he seldom used, he tore the Slytherin off of Hermione and threw him to the ground.
Connection broken, Hermione stopped her terrible screaming. She slumped forward but didn’t faint. She hovered on the edge of unconciousness.
He gathered her up in his arms. Ron slid onto the bed, cradling her other side. Harry crooned soothing words to her, as Ron did the same. He eyed Malfoy contemptuously. “What the hell did you do to her!”
Pomfrey had stooped to help Malfoy into a chair that McGonagall put to rights. He half-listened to the Mediwitch call out for someone - anyone - to bring her a restorative potion, a Dreamless Sleep draught and two glasses.
“Answer him!” Ron hissed, not wanting to shout in Hermione’s ear.
Malfoy’s eyes cracked open. He was still panting. A smug smirk creased his face as he recovered his composure.
“Something you couldn’t, Potter.”
The arsehole practically gloated. Harry felt his magic flow to the very surface of his skin.
“If you’ve hurt her…”
“I saved her.” Malfoy cut Ron off before he could say any more of his threat. “That’s a fact that you and Potter are going to have to live with.”
JACK OF SPADES:
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: MA - just to be safe!
Setting: AU: Hogwarts fell with Dumbledore at the end of Seventh Year, Harry, Hermione, Ron and the rest of the Order went into hiding, it's war and it's been going on for three years.
Summary: AU, Harry faced Voldemort but Death Eaters rallied. Hermione, Draco, Harry, Ron, and the Order scramble to wage a war they don't know how to fight. The Wizarding world and Hermione's sanity hang by a heartstring. Draco/Hermione/Harry, Draco/Hermione
The Retreat: http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~fjl1935/St-Pierre-es-Champs/St-Pierre-es-Champs.html
Chapter 2, Part 2Word spread of the unexpected arrival.
“Did you hear?”
Ginny sat on the main staircase and looked to her right as Susan Bones plopped herself down next to her.
“Hear, what?”
“Malfoy - he’s here!”
Of course she knew. “Yeah - my dad, McGonagall, and Neville are with him now. Have been most of the day.”
Susan deflated a bit. She wasn’t a gossiper, but Malfoy - of all people - was here, and that was big news.
“What I want to know is how he got here.” Susan wondered.
Ginny had thought about that detail. There was only one answer. “Hermione must’ve made it happen.”
Susan’s face was easy to read: how? Why?
Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “Dunno. She’ll have to tell us when she wakes up.”
Susan frowned. “She’s still out-of-it, I take it.”
Ginny nodded, her own sadness and worry easy to pick up on. “Harry, too.”
“Those two - always together. In sickness and in health.”
Susan’s parody wasn’t lost to her. She pretended it was. “They’ve always looked out for each other.”
“How’s Ron doing?”
Nice way to change the subject without really changing the subject, Susan.
“He hasn’t left their side. Dad’s tried. So’s Mum.” She cocked her head in Ron’s general direction, seated between two cots in The Chapel. “Left long enough to shower; scarfed down some food and he was back at it. Stubborn, that one is.”
“Missed you yesterday at dinner.” Susan said softly.
Ginny figured out why Susan toned down her boisterousness. Who knows what to say when a family has to sneak away to bury a loved one.
“The Prewitt family mausoleum seemed the safest place, all things considered.”
As predicted, Susan didn’t say anything one way or another. So, she changed the subject, again, without really changing the subject.
“Any idea what’s wrong with them?”
“Harry and Hermione?” Ginny relayed what she over heard Pomfrey tell McGonagall at breakfast. “Harry’s just in shock. There was a lot of Dark magic flung at him, his magical out-put drained him considerably; his mind and body need a chance to recover. As for Hermione… They still don’t know. But she’s alive. That’s something.”
Ginny didn’t add that Pomfrey told McGonagall that Hermione was dying.
Susan wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “What do you think’ll happen to Malfoy?”
“Dunno. But last time I saw him, he looked mighty confident.”
“Doesn’t he always?”
“Fecking blighter, that one is.”
Ginny didn’t race to fill the lull in their conversation.
“Well, at least he won’t be the only Slytherin here.” Susan glanced towards the open door. A tall, dark haired chap was striding across the lawn.
“True.”
The expedition to Malfoy Manor resulted with a handful of Slytherins, among them Theo Nott and Tracy Davis, added to the Order’s roster.
“Wonder if he’s seen them yet.”
“As far as I know, Malfoy’s gonna be sequestered. Up until now, I don’t think he’s had much of a chance to do anything.” Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “Expect that they know he’s here, though.”
“Don’t see how they couldn’t.”
:
:
Astral version of Kings Cross was the same as it was last there with Dumbledore. A bit ethereal, but still every bit as real as the metaphor it represented.
“Nice metaphor, don’t you think?”
Hermione!
Harry picked up his pace as he made his way to her. He threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly. Her grip on his ribs, her chin against his chest and her stomach pressed flush to his, was most welcomed.
“What are you doing here?”
“Honestly, Harry? I don’t know.”
He loosened his hold enough so that he could look down at her. She pulled away enough so that she could look up at him.
They both knew they were lying.
With ease, they separated but didn’t let go of each other’s hand. Together they made their way to a bench and sat down.
Around them, people commuted to work, met loved ones, sipped coffee, went about their lives. Some boarded out-bound trains, others boarded in-bound trains, some wandered to the exits. The only thing everyone had in common was that they each had a destination.
Hermione nudged him, a wry smile firmly in place. “Have I said ‘nice metaphor’, yet?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, but I’d go ahead and say it a third time if I were you.”
His smile didn’t last long.
There was a reason why they both were here.
“Are you here for me or am I here for you, Harry?”
Always the curious one, his Hermione.
He thought about her question, nonetheless. He searched his thoughts, his feelings.
It felt different, being here, with her, than it did last time when he was here with Dumbledore.
It was a moment before he figured out ‘what’ was different.
“I reckon I’m here for you.”
“Oh.” She didn’t seem surprised. Rather, more introspective than anything else.
They were both quiet for a moment.
He gave her hand a squeeze and then drew their entwined fingers to his chest. He pressed against his heart. His heart was cradled in his eyes, which were fixed on hers.
“Are you going to stay or go?”
Glassiness polished her eyes. She looked down at their hands, like she was debating what to tell him.
“I don’t know, Harry. Something’s definitely wrong. I can feel it.” Trepidation pulled at the corners of her mouth and caused her chin to tremble oh-so-slightly. “I’m not sure if I’m going to be given a choice.”
He nodded. He understood that sensation, of feeling one’s body dying. He also understood the temptation in front of her. He willed her to know that he understood.
“If you’re here, Hermione, then there’s an option. That much, I do know.”
He watched as she processed that.
“What about you?”
He thought about it for a moment. Hopefulness brightened the edges of his face.
“Going back. Definitely going back. With everything that’s happened, I can’t imagine anything could be worse than what we’ve lived through already.” He leaned towards her a bit, so that he could whisper into her ear. “Besides, can’t be in two places at once.”
She looked at him, puzzled.
“If I’m there,“ his euphemism for ‘the other side’, “then I can’t be here,“ meaning a mortal life, “with you… And everyone else.”
He let go of her hand. He eased up on the intensity of his emotions. He’d told her the truth. And, because he truly understood, he knew this was a decision he had no right to influence beyond what he’d already done.
“Thanks, Harry.”
He could tell she meant it, on various different levels.
“Love you, Hermione.”
“Love you too, Harry.”
Trains docked and left on pre-determined schedules. The flow of people ebbed only to surge one more. More coffee cups got tipped into bins. And still, they sat, hands matched. Time didn’t matter, but it passed.
Until it was time to go. For him, anyway.
“Are we going to remember this?”
“I don’t think so, Hermione. Can’t tell you why, but that’s the impression I got. I think that you only remember that you’ve been here if you happen to be here again.”
He stood and walked away. His hand was snagged by hers within a couple of steps. He turned to look at her, where their fingers joined, at her face.
“Are you going to be okay, Harry?”
It was a moment before he answered her. He wanted to make sure he told her the truth.
“Yeah - I think I am.”
Her frown told him she didn’t quite believe him.
“Not right away, maybe. And maybe never completely, Hermione. But yeah - I’ll be ‘okay’, whatever that definition holds for me.”
She nodded. She understood.
He needed to get going. He’d done what he’d been sent here to do: to do for her what Dumbledore had done for him.
He made it to the ‘in-bound’ platform with only a handful of looks over his shoulder.
She had retaken her seat on that bench, her focus on him and the choices in front of her.
The door to the train opened and closed once he crossed the threshold. He swayed slightly as the train began to ease out of the station.
He considered it a ‘good thing’ that she was still there when his compartment vanished into the tube.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
They didn’t like it. ‘They’ being the Powers That Be within the Order. No one did. Everyone he passed over the past three days either glared at him or quickly averted their gaze, lest he infect them with his Malfoy-ness.
Not that he was allowed to walk around ‘unescorted’. For his own protection, of course.
Weasley Senior, Longbottom and McGonagall were the only ones who knew why he was there. Even then, they only knew the bare minimum. But even they had to concede that his intentions could, and would, only benefit the Order.
The tall chap walking along side him, some ‘Puff he couldn’t remember the name of, was his escort-du-jour.
“Oi! Malfoy! Hold up!”
Two blond heads turned in the direction of the hail. They paused as the person trotted up to them.
“Cor, Justin - isn’t that ever going to get old?“ The gripe was steeped in good-naturedness.
Fecking ‘Puff.
Draco mentally grumbled. It’d been happening for days. Disconcerting was an understatement, to say the least, when one is locked in a room and one hears one’s name being called out at all different times of the day.
“Not in this lifetime, Summerby.”
Ah, that’s his name. Played Seeker, if I remember. Beat his arse every time.
“Pomfrey wants you.”
“Right now?” Summberby cocked his head at Draco.
Justin flicked his gaze at Draco and looked back at his friend. “’Fraid so.”
Summerby’s concern seemed genuine, but he also seemed frustrated by the simple request.
“Don’t know what I can tell her beyond what I’ve already said.”
“Yeah, well, seeing as how Potter’s finally…”
Potter? That’s interesting.
“Cognizant?” Summerby, after another quick glance at his ‘charge’, supplied a carefully chosen term.
“Yeah.”
Draco watched as Summerby shuttled his weight between his shoulders and his hips.
Make a decision already!
Guess he said that out loud.
“Alright. I’ll take him with me.” Summerby would have rather dropped him down a mine shaft. “Do him some good to see his ‘handiwork’.”
Great… He mentally, and physically, rolled his eyes. So I’m to be blamed for everyone who got hurt five days ago. Brilliant. Feck-fecking brilliant.
“Come on, Malfoy Two. Off to The Chapel with us.” Summerby motioned for him to follow.
“But what about the invitations?” He sneered because he could. “Not that I had my heart set on a summer wedding, mind you. But as long as you and I are together…”
“Shove it and shut it, prat.”
:
:
Some things he signed on for, when he accepted the indoctrination into the Order. A lot shite that had come his way since then wasn’t. Being blamed for every injury since the dawn of time wasn’t either.
Weaving down hallways and skirting some of the more trafficked areas, it wasn’t long before they entered The Chapel.
From what Draco had gleaned, it was the only section of any area of the Retreat where magic could be performed. And, since those who were injured, or would be come injured in the future, would need magical medical aid, it made sense that The Chapel was the new hospital.
Pomfrey met them and, together, they made their way to an area screened for privacy.
He heard them before he saw them.
Coming around the partition, Draco looked around.
A single bed was occupied. Granger.
On one side of her sat Weaslebee, hands tangled and resting on top of his knees.
Potter, definitely peaked but other wise sound, was reading aloud from some book.
Both looked up when Pomfrey and her ‘entourage’ entered.
Weaslebee shot her an accusatory glare. “What’s he doing here?”
Potter, dressed in a knitted jumper and pajama bottoms, immediately bristled. Draco’d be willing to bet that Potter didn’t even know he’d shifted his chair closer to the bed. He kept his mouth shut.
Pomfrey didn’t spare any words for Weaslebee.
“Summerby, thank you for coming.”
“Glad to.” He tucked his hands into his pockets as he waited for Pomfrey to start
“Tell me again.”
Potter and Weaslebee looked at the ‘Puff. They’d obviously heard whatever it was that Summerby was going to say, but they paid attention anyway.
Draco was bored. Granted this was the first time he’d been ‘allowed’ in The Chapel, but a hospital ward was a hospital ward and, given the fact that he was now a hunted man, along with the rest of them, it was going to be a matter of time until he christened one of these cots.
He looked over at Granger.
She didn’t look good. Her clothes were the same ones he last saw on her. The skin around her cheeks and fingers looked pinched. A tube extended from a pouch that hung from a standee and seemed to be burrowed into the top of her right hand. In her left hand, he could see the polished wood of a wand.
“… She called me ‘Malfoy’ and then passed out.”
Summerby had apparently finished whatever it was he was saying. Not that he listened to it. No. That wasn’t entirely true.
“So that’s why everyone calls you, me.” Draco drawled. The part where Granger dubbed him ‘Malfoy’ appealed to his dark sense of humor.
“Did she say if she’d been hit with a spell?” Pomfrey pressed.
Summerby shook his head. “It’s like I told you before. She didn’t say anything, really. One minute I’m walking, the next minute, she materialized next to me. She didn’t look steady, I reached for her, she called me, ‘Malfoy’, and then passed out. I managed not to drop her. Then, I brought her to you. End of story.”
Well, that was helpful, Draco silently snarked. I should send a thank-you note for the distraction, though. Should be delivered sometime after I fetch Mother.
That explained why the Gruesome Threesome didn’t sit in on his ‘debriefing’.
He looked at her again. Something niggled something in the back of his mind. He studied her more intently.
“This is not good. Not good at all.” Pomfrey, normally unflappable, crossed her arms across her chest and sighed in apparent defeat.
Weaslebee abruptly stood. He raked a hand though his hair. “But we don’t match. You tested us. All of us. None of us match.”
Pomfrey glanced at her patient. “Coupled with the lingering effects of an un-treated Cruciatus Curse-“
Judging by the looks on her friends’ faces, she didn’t tell them that the events that took place on the floor of the Malfoy drawing room dogged her.
“- physical exhaustion, she expended too much magic in too short at time.” Pomfrey walked to the foot of Granger’s bed, clearly stumped. “A transfusion of magic, along with some restorative potions, would re-set her innate healing capabilities. But something’s stopping the transfer, blocking it from happening.”
That ‘something’ had a name. “What’s that?”
“What’s ‘what’, Malfoy?” Potter asked warily.
“That.” Draco pointed at the wand that Granger was strangling.
“It’s a wand, Malfoy. A w-a-n-d. You know, it’s a long, pointed-“
“Clever, Weaslebee. Did you think of that all by yourself or did Granger leave it for you to read should she ever be unable to-“
Summerby stepped up before the ginger oaf hurdled Granger’s bed.
“I know what it is.” Draco pointed at the wand again. “But it’s not hers.”
“How do you know?” Potter asked, interest piqued.
“I’d know that wand anywhere. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it, Pott-head.”
“Stop patronizing everyone, Malfoy. If you’ve got something to say, then just say it.”
“Potter - that’s my aunt’s wand.”
Pomfrey’s hand found her throat. Realization set in within a minute. “That’s Bellatrix Black’s wand!”
“Lestrange, technically.” Draco corrected, feeling the need to say something snarky.
“What does that have to do with anything!”
“Keep your pants on, Weaslebee. No need to burst our eardrums because you can’t put two and two together to get four.”
He didn’t like the way Pomfrey was suddenly focused on him. Especially since he knew where this was going.
“Your mother is Narcissa Black.”
Draco really didn’t like the prickly feeling that crept up his arms. “Malfoy, technically.”
Pomfrey pointed a finger at Summerby. “Go fetch McGonagall - now! Tell her to come here immediately. I don’t care what she’s doing. Just get her here. She’s going to want to be here when Miss Granger wakes up.”
The way the ‘Puff scrambled out of The Chapel was almost comical.
“You know how to help Hermione?” Potter was all ears. His hand drifted down to the girl’s shoulder.
Pomfrey’s hand wrapped around Draco’s upper arm. She chased Potter out his chair and sat Draco down at her side.
“The wand chooses the wizard, gentlemen, for many reasons. There’s a connection that’s made, between wand and wizard - witch - that only grows with time. Not that a wand can become sentient, but it’s not entirely without the ability to absorb a bit of its wielder.” Her eyes drifted shut as struggled to convey the concept.
Draco simplified things. “Granger and Aunt Bella are as diametrically opposite as they come. The wand is attuned to Bella. It has a bit of her in it, just as a bit of the wand was in her. Hence their connection. Except now, Granger has it. And, somehow, the wand knows that Granger is the enemy, and even though the wand responded to whatever commands she gave it, the wand, via my oh-so-lovely-and-deranged aunt, is attacking Granger the only way it knows how: magically.”
Pomfrey nodded.
She should. I’m right.
“And, because the wand is now bonded with Miss Granger, and Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black is a blood-relation-“
A blur of evergreen robes bustled into their area and interrupted her.
“Poppy - I’m here.” McGonagall was slightly out of breath. Her concern was clear. “What’s going on? What’s this have to do with Miss Granger?”
“I’m about to be drained in order to save your precious Gryffindor princess.” Draco groused snidely.
Not that he was opposed to helping. He just didn’t like not being given a choice about the matter. Not that he was going to do it out of the goodness of his heart. Helping Granger would go a long way in helping others accept him.
Not to mention the side-effects that would come with such an exchange.
Draco felt all eyes turn to him, as Pomfrey pointed in his direction. “Mister Malfoy is the match we’ve been searching for.”
“Thank Merlin!” McGonagall exclaimed.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Potter didn’t like it. “Are we sure about this?”
“Yeah - there’s gotta be another way. There’s no way Hermione would ever let him near her.”
Draco rolled his eyes at the ginger’s blathering. “Do you need us to explain it again, Potter? Would flash-cards help?”
Weasley didn’t warrant an acknowledgement.
McGonagall looked to Pomfrey. “Do you have everything you need, Poppy?”
“Yes, I do.”
Draco pushed his hair off his forehead. Nothing for it now.
He eased Bella’s wand free of Granger’s grip. He clasped her hand firmly, and waited for the Mediwitch.
The wand movements the nurse made were fluid and confident.
The tug on his magic occurred immediately. But it stopped at where their hands joined.
He looked to Pomfrey and ignored Pott-head and Weaslebee. “She’s fighting me.”
“She can probably sense your git-ness and doesn’t want to be contaminated.”
McGonagall silenced the ginger with a glare. “That’s enough, Mister Weasley.” To Draco, she spoke more respectively. “Can you reach her?”
“Through Legilimency? Probably. But I don’t have a wand.” He slid his gaze to Potter. “He had it last and I’d very much like to have it back.”
“Potter - do you have his wand?” McGonagall asked. “This is important. We’re talking about Miss Granger’s life, not some childhood feud.”
Potter looked contrite and exasperated at the same time. “You think I don’t know that?! If I had it, I’d give it to him. But I don’t. I lost it sometime during the fight.”
“Too bad.”
He really was attached to his hawthorn and dragon heart-string wand.
“Mister Malfoy, can you do it wandlessly?” McGonagall pressed, a thread a hope carried.
He grimaced. “It’ll take a bit of what I’d have to give, but maybe.”
“Please, try.”
That came from Madam Pomfrey.
He focused.
It didn’t take much to shut out McGonagall’s expectant stare. Or Pomfrey’s concern for both her patients. He shut out Weaslebee’s exaggerated huffing. Potter was a bit more of a challenge. He could feel the Gryffindor’s magic radiate out, protective - and a more than a mite possessive - of the girl in the bed.
“Potter - put a lid on it.”
He could feel Potter’s hackles rise. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Defensive much, Potter?” He opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on Pomfrey and McGonagall. “Get them out of here. It’ll be hard enough to reach past her barriers, but these two - especially that one,“ he eyed Potter specifically, “are insulating her further. If you have any hope of this working, get them out of here!”
Potter and Weasley protested. But it was McGonagall’s blunt statement that they, yes, them, were going to be responsible for killing Granger if they stayed.
The professor hustled them away, and, stayed with them.
It was just him, the Mediwitch, and Granger.
He pressed his palm to hers.
Pomfrey reset the transfer spell.
He closed his eyes.
He focused.
He whispered the incantation.
A rush of images and emotions washed over him.
:
:
She stayed on that bench at Kings Cross.
She watched the people.
She watched the trains.
The sight of the out-bound trains grew more appealing.
“Granger.”
Her head twisted towards whoever it was who said her name.
It was the last person she ever expected to see.
“Malfoy?”
He approached her carefully, clearly unsure of how she’d react to him. He stopped several feet away from her.
“I need to come closer.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”
“I can’t help you from here.”
That’s was an odd thing to hear.
“Who says I want your help?”
He seemed to expect her to say that.
“You don’t. Not yet. But your friends do.”
This was clearly the oddest conversation she’d ever had.
“Can I come closer?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
He all but growled.
“I don’t know why you’re so aggravated. I didn’t ask you to come here.”
He zeroed in on her. Whatever it was that he was thinking, it wasn’t what he decided on saying.
He glanced around at where they were. He looked like he almost approved. “Nice metaphor.”
“Isn’t it, though.”
He carded a hand through his hair. He pursed his lips, and seemed to make up his mind about something.
“Granger - you’re dying. That’s why you’re here.”
She sat up straighter. That part she’d figured out for herself.
“But what you haven’t figured out is that you don’t have to die.”
She shot him a wary look weighted with skepticism.
“Look, Granger, I don’t have a lot of time. The longer I spend having to convince you that I’m here to help you, the less likely you’ll wake up.”
She considered his words, but didn’t know if she could believe him or not.
“I can’t do what I have to do unless I can touch you.”
“You know that I don’t trust you.” She stated baldly. “You know why.”
He blew out a breath. “I know, Granger.” He put his hands on his hips. “I have a proposition for you.”
“I can’t imagine how I’d be receptive to anything you have to say.”
“Which is why I’m proposing not so ‘say’ anything at all.”
That didn’t make any sense.
“It’ll make sense in a minute, Granger.” He took another step towards her. “I’ll let you inside my head, so that you can see that I don’t mean you any harm.”
Doubt grappled with her curiosity.
He took another three steps before he had to stop.
“Think about it, Granger.”
Her curiosity pushed back her doubt by another degree.
He took another couple of steps. He was an arm’s length away.
Curiosity won, but it was a narrow victory.
She shifted on the bench, motioning to him at the empty place beside her.
He sat down.
She could see him clearly. He didn’t look quite right.
“Why do you look so strained, Malfoy?”
He cut his gaze to her. His silvery eyes brooked his frustration and resolve to do whatever it was he professed he had to do.
“Because you’re so bloody stubborn!” He pinched his nose and inhaled slowly. Just as slowly, he breathed out. “Look, Granger, we don’t - I don’t - have a lot of time left.”
She felt her apprehension rise. Malfoy looked like it was a struggle to continue to sit next to her. “What’s the matter Malfoy - my dirty blood too much for you?”
“Don’t get snippy, Granger.” He snapped at her.
Then, he forced himself to relax.
“Granger - every time you get defensive, or worse, go on the offensive, it forces me to back away from you because you’re pushing me away! It’s basic psychology. The more you fight me, the less I can help you because in order to do what I have to do, I have to touch you - mentally, magically, and physically.”
She turned to face him. “What’s wrong with me?”
“My aunt wants you - and everyone like you - dead.”
“At least you didn’t hold back.” Hermione felt her hand drift down to the scar that trailed the length of the inside of her left arm. “Bellatrix made sure I’d never forget who and what I am.”
Malfoy peeled back his own sleeve. He exposed his left forearm. The Dark Mark, its vividness faded but still there, contrasted with his pale skin.
He reached for her. Gently, more gently then she ever thought he was capable, slid her sleeve back.
The word ‘mudblood’ was spelled out in silver scarring.
She stared at their two tattoos. Her defensives crumbled that much more.
“Granger…” Malfoy’s drawl sounded more… intimate.
She felt so many things…
She pressed her lips into a thin line, contemplating what she most needed to know. “Is it going to hurt?”
He answered honestly. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before, so I don’t know what to expect. But I do know that you have to be ready to do this.”
She thought about that for a moment. “This is going to affect us, even afterwards - isn’t it?”
“Again, Granger - I don’t know. I expect so. But I can’t say for certain.”
She nodded, processing his assertions. “Harry said I wouldn’t remember any of this.”
Malfoy took her reveal in stride. Almost like he wasn’t surprised that Harry had come to her but couldn’t do what he could do.
“Maybe we won’t. Maybe we will.”
“Does your offer still stand?”
“To look inside my mind?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, it does.”
She wasn’t expecting him to say that. But then again, if he rescinded his initial offer, she knew she’d feel disappointed.
She picked up his left hand with her left hand. It took her a moment to figure out how to do it, but she twisted and rotated their wrists so that his Mark hovered over her scar.
“More metaphors, Granger?” His voice was thick, like she was forcing him to face something he wasn’t ready to face.
A flash of inside flare. “Somehow, I think you recognize the metaphor as much as I do.”
The moment that stretched between them seemed… significant.
“Ready, Granger?” He breathing sounded labored.
She nodded.
He pressed their forearms together.
She screamed. She tried to pull her arm away.
“Don’t… Granger… too soon. Hold on…”
He twisted her around, her back to his chest, forearms mashed together, and held their connection tight.
“Hold on, Granger! I’m going to open my mind, give you place to go!”
The pain coalesced… every magical component she possessed felt like it was being squeezed onto the head of pin.
Then, it burst outward. Pain speared her body.
:
:
At her first scream, Harry paled.
The only time when she stopped screaming was when she took a breath, so that she could scream some more.
Harry, Ron, and McGonagall ran back to her bed.
Malfoy had her pressed against him, their left arms locked from elbow to wrist. Hermione writhed weakly. A potent golden glow enveloped them.
“Poppy!” McGonagall shouted fearfully over Hermione’s keening.
“Hermione!” Harry hollered. It was Pomfrey’s grip on his arm that kept him from tearing Malfoy off of her.
Ron was being held in place by McGonagall.
“Don’t, Minerva! Keep them back!” Pomfrey ordered.
“Tell me this is normal!” McGonagall was frantic for reassurance.
“It’s not. But Miss Granger was so far gone…”
Pomfrey offered some explanation for the harrowing scene taking place.
Harry wrenched himself free of Pomfrey. Three strides had him fisting Malfoy’s collar. With strength he seldom used, he tore the Slytherin off of Hermione and threw him to the ground.
Connection broken, Hermione stopped her terrible screaming. She slumped forward but didn’t faint. She hovered on the edge of unconciousness.
He gathered her up in his arms. Ron slid onto the bed, cradling her other side. Harry crooned soothing words to her, as Ron did the same. He eyed Malfoy contemptuously. “What the hell did you do to her!”
Pomfrey had stooped to help Malfoy into a chair that McGonagall put to rights. He half-listened to the Mediwitch call out for someone - anyone - to bring her a restorative potion, a Dreamless Sleep draught and two glasses.
“Answer him!” Ron hissed, not wanting to shout in Hermione’s ear.
Malfoy’s eyes cracked open. He was still panting. A smug smirk creased his face as he recovered his composure.
“Something you couldn’t, Potter.”
The arsehole practically gloated. Harry felt his magic flow to the very surface of his skin.
“If you’ve hurt her…”
“I saved her.” Malfoy cut Ron off before he could say any more of his threat. “That’s a fact that you and Potter are going to have to live with.”