Chapter 2 : Helping the Enemy...
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Here's the second chapter of the story! Enjoy!!
When Hermione woke up, she heard screams. Her first instinct was to seize her wand, but she noticed a note underneath it.
I’m sorry I had to leave. Time did not permit me to stay. But I know this night is going to be an odd one: you have just heard Draco’s nightmares taunting him. This is why the building is quite empty. People think a ghost haunts the place. Now, please do exactly as I say:
Go over now to the flat next door, and pound on the door until it opens it. You will see that he’s scratched himself all over. He’s lost a lot of blood, and he’s on the verge of passing out. If you don’t go, no one will find him until he bleeds to death. Take him to St. Mungo’s and stay with him until he is fine once again. When you leave, don’t tell the Healer what your name is. Just tell him you’re Draco’s new neighbor. He will pay you a visit soon after that. You will save him on numerous occasions from now on. Now go!
Make sure you save this. You’ll need it for the next one.
Hermione threw on a robe before dashing out the door. The screams intensified. Hermione did not like blood. The war had corrupted her, and she’d been exposed to death on a new level. It had only intensified her dislike of blood. So with a touch of anxiety, Hermione pounded on Malfoy’s door. What seemed like hours were only a few minutes. The door creaked open slowly. Cautiously, she entered the room, searching for a ferret. No one was in the living room. Just as she was about to give up, the screams occurred again. She followed the noise, despite the goose bumps on her arm warning her against the entire ordeal. The master bedroom was empty…except for the crimson that spilled towards the bathroom.
Rushing into the bathroom, Hermione found a familiar face screaming in agony. He was in the bathtub, shirt long gone. Raw, open scars sent blood flowing down his chest. His wrists were cut up too, and his hair was an opaque pink rather than the normal translucent platinum. For some odd reason, her heart plunged.
“Malfoy!” she screamed.
His screaming continued. Then he slumped over.
“Merlin!” Hermione swore. She sent a Patronus to St. Mungo’s and Healers arrived within seconds. They Flooed him off (apparating, they said, was too tricky in situations such as these) and Hermione siphoned the blood off Malfoy’s room as best as she could without gagging. There was a picture overturned on his dresser: she was a beautiful woman. Her hair was as dark as a raven’s wing, and her eyes were almost purple. She was tall, curvaceous, and alluring. In short, she was everything that Hermione was not. This made Hermione curious: who was the woman? And why was her picture overturned, but still on his dresser?
The picture still in mind, Hermione apparated to St. Mungo’s.
The room was crowded. Children bawled, adults bawled, and portraits shouted at one another. This was the waiting room. An overwhelmed woman sat at the front desk, currently being harassed by some arse.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you are not permitted to enter the maternity ward until further clearance.”
“Clearance be damned! My wife is in labor. I missed the first, and I won’t miss the second!”
“Please, sir, it’s regulation…”
The man stepped menacingly towards the poor, cowering nurse.
“Excuse me,” Hermione interrupted tartly. “I believe this nice employee asked you to stop. Are you aware that you are currently breaking the law by threatening a ministry-hired official?”
“She’s not part of the Ministry,” he replied, not even facing Hermione.
“Actually, employees hired to man the front desk and employees hired to clean are hired by the ministry. Even Healers are hired by the ministry, once they pass their Healer’s exam. This is because St. Mungo’s is a Ministry-funded hospital. So I suggest you stop harassing this nice lady.”
“Aren’t you a know-it-all?” the man spat bitterly before turning around.
His face grew as red as his hair.
Her face grew ashen gray.
“Why am I not surprised?” Hermione muttered.
“What are you doing here? We thought you were dead!”
“I’m here because I need to see someone in intensive care.” This statement was directed at the nurse, rather than Ron Weasley.
“Name?” the nurse asked gratefully.
Ron grew purple. Almost as purple as that witch’s eyes…
“You’re here to see Malfoy?! Are you sleeping with him?!”
Heads turned. Babies stopped wailing. Their parents stopped wailing. Portraits stopped arguing.
“No, I am not Ronald. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Floor 7, room 102,” the nurse replied graciously.
“Thank you,” Hermione smiled. Just as she was about to leave, she spoke again- to everyone.
“Do you want to know why this man missed his wife’s first labor? Because he was with me, on our third year anniversary date, planning our wedding, while some girl he’d been boffing was in labor. Lovely to see you, Ronald.” With that, Hermione flounced towards the elevator in time to see Ron explode with anger.
Once on floor seven, she grew more sober. Whilst she disliked Malfoy, she didn’t want him dead. The last she’d seen him, he could’ve been dead.
What if I didn’t get there in time, she thought with a start.
The door to room 102 was open. Healers were bustling in and out.
“Can I help you, miss?” one of them asked as he was about to enter.
“I’m here to see Mr. Malfoy. I found him, you see, in this condition.”
He nodded, showing her in.
Malfoy was lying unconscious on a hospital bed. IVs and potions were hooked up to him, while Healers waved their wands over him and stuffed him with nasty smelling herbs.
“Is he going to be alright?” Hermione asked softly.
“I’m almost positive that we will have him stabilized by the morning,” a Healer replied as she cast a spell to weave back some muscle tissue that had been torn.
“Can he hear me?” she wondered tentatively.
“9/10 chances, no. He is unconscious, but there is a slight probability that he will remember a few things,” another Healer responded.
“Malfoy? Malfoy, can you hear me? I want to tell you to stop being so hard on yourself. The war left wounds on everyone, and it takes one incident to catalyze something like this. So don’t you ever let that one incident happen again, understood? And I’m sorry, Draco. I’m sorry about that girl, with the violet eyes.”
Draco’s hand twitched.
“Merlin’s beard, he moved!! Did you see that?! He moved!” Hermione practically shouted.
“Please keep your voice down, Miss. I doubt he’s able to move. You must be seeing things.”
Outraged, Hermione retorted, “Do you know who I am? I do not just see things. I know what I saw, and I’m telling you that Draco Malfoy moved his hand.”
He twitched again.
“There! I told you so,” Hermione cried triumphantly.
“Thanks, Malfoy,” she added as a whisper.
“By Dumbledore, I think he did move,” a Healer announced. “I am all astonishment.”
“Why don’t you be all moving to heal him instead of being all astonished,” Hermione muttered.
The Healer gave her a nasty glare.
Hermione returned an even nastier one. The Healer hopped away like nobody’s business.
“You’ll be out of here soon, Malfoy,” Hermione whispered, grasping Draco’s hand.
That one reaction that catalyzes everything…those had been the words Hermione told Malfoy. And yet, she’d catalyzed something too. By saying his surname, rather than her normal greeting for the ferret, she had caused a reaction. She caused Draco Malfoy to rouse himself from unconsciousness. Suddenly she felt a bond to Draco. Clearly he’d suffered from some heartbreak like she had. If only she could know who the mysterious femme fatale (fatal woman)was…
She must have fallen asleep in that small, uncomfortable hospital chair, for when she awoke, the sun was streaming through windows to her face. She checked the bedside clock; it read nine in the morning. She would’ve sat in a sleepy stupor longer had Draco Malfoy not groaned and yawned.
With the speed of a cheetah, Hermione Granger sprinted out of the hospital room.
“Miss? Miss!” a Healer called after her.
“Mr. Malfoy has woken up. He would like to know who, erm, rescued him,” the Healer asked uncomfortably.
“What were his words?”
“He asked ‘who had come to ruin it all’ before composing himself and asking who was to thank for saving him.”
“Tell him this: tell him that his new neighbor heard those infernal shrieks of his and could not sleep. Tell him she rescued him from a lapse of lunacy,” Hermione snapped.
Draco Malfoy yawned. His head hurt worse than any hangover he’d experienced (and he had experienced quite a few, more recently than usual). Where was he? Suddenly he knew.
He was supposed to be dead! He was supposed to be with his mother! Instead he was in some stupid hospital bed, alive and well.
“Ah, Mister Malfoy, I am glad to see you awake,” a random portrait smiled. “I’ll fetch your Healers.”
Good. Fetch away. I shall have questions for them…such as why I am even in a hospital instead of a marked grave! Draco thought crossly.
“Mr. Malfoy! All’s well?”
“No, all is not well,” he snapped back. “Why I am I here?”
“You were severely injured, Mr. Malfoy. You could have died had a young lady not brought you in here.”
“What?! Who is she? Who dare come to ruin it all?”
“No, pardon me,” with a deep breath, Draco spoke again. “Pray, tell me who I’m to thank for saving my life?”
“I do not know her name, she only just left.”
Draco stared at the Healer, as if to say, “Well go after her, you fool.”
Minutes passed before the Healer returned.
“She would not say her name. She, uh, left you a message as well.”
“What? Go on with it, then!”
“She said to tell you that ‘his new neighbor heard those infernal shrieks of his and could not sleep. Tell him she rescued him from a lapse of lunacy’. These are her direct words, sir.”
“Well then, I must apologize for my ‘infernal shrieks’. When do I get to go home?”
“You should be well by this afternoon, but you shall be under strict regulation. It’s the hospital’s policy,” the Healer shrugged indifferently.
“Not at all.”
Draco spent the entire day twiddling his thumbs and scowling at any person who entered his temporary domain. Finally, he was given the “all-clear”. With a start, he sprinted towards the lift.
“Please slow down, Mr. Malfoy,” the Healer called faintly.
“What rubbish,” he muttered as soon as he was in the confines of the lift. He’d almost made it out of St. Mungo’s, drama free, when he ran into someone else.
“In Merlin’s name!” Draco cursed.
He turned around. The person he’d bumped into was none other than Weasley.
“Hello, Weasel,” Draco laughed.
“Don’t talk to me, Ferret. You’re nothing but death eater scum, despite what ‘Mione says,” Ron spat.
“Now, now, Weasel. Play nicely.”
“Shove off.” In Ron’s hands were purple balloons.
“Congratulations. A baby girl, I suppose?”
“Her name is Iris.”
“A fitting name for the daughter of Britain’s Rose,” Draco scoffed, imagining the frizzy haired bookworm undergoing labor only to see the spawn of Weasel.
“You’re insane, Malfoy. Isn’t that the ward you were in? The insanity one?” Ron asked innocently.
“Actually, I was in the same ward as your wife…in the same room…in the same bed,” he winked suggestively.
Ron turned purple.
“If I hear you’ve been near her, I swear I’ll…”
“What, turn purple?”
Instead of pounding Draco, like he assumed, Ron started talking to himself. Draco only caught bits and pieces.
“Don’t know what she sees in him…why would he even want to go near her…I don’t want her anymore…I want her again…Merlin, she looked amazing…”
“I’m sure she does look lovely after hours of painful labor, Weasel, but save the goo-goo eyes for later.”
“Your wife. I’m sure she looks amazing after pushing Weasel Jr out, but I’d rather not have to think of her right now.”
“I wasn’t talking about my wife. Bloody hell, I don’t want to talk about her for at least another week. Bloody drama queen, that woman.”
“No, she’d never want me…”
“I don’t understand why anyone would want you,” Draco smirked.
“Why am I even telling you all of this?! Go away, Ferret.”
“My pleasure. Give the bookworm my best.”
“Why don’t you? It seems like you talk to her more these days than I do…” Ron muttered as he stalked down the corridor of the maternity ward menacingly.
Perhaps I’m not the only one destined for the loony bin, Draco wondered. But would I really want Weasel as my roommate? Plus, I’ve heard Granger’s smokin’ hot now. What does he have to complain about?
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