Year Seven:Blindsided

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or places they belong to the wonderful J. K. Rowling: It is her world I just play in it.


Chapter 17- Visions


Pansy sat bolt upright in the unfamiliar bed she looked around the equally unfamiliar room and wondered what had happened the night before. She cast a glance at the floor and saw a Gryffindor robe lying in a heap next to the bed. She tried not to jump as the lump buried in the covers beside her shifted in his sleep. ‘Draco,’ she thought, ‘it must have worked!’ She stood and crossed the room as quickly and quietly as she could manage, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw her own face staring back at her in the mirror. How long had she been asleep? How long ago had the potion worn off?


“I have to get out of here,” she whispered in a voice that was barely audible. She flew through the common room of the Head-boy and girl’s suite and disappeared into the depths of Hogwarts Castle.


Hermione awoke at first light and slipped from her bed stretching as she hit the floor. Crookshanks opened an all-knowing amber eye and began to purr loudly in the direction of his mistress. She scratched the silly rumpled faced cat between the ears until she could resist the call of nature no longer.


Draco was awakened by the sound of a door closing with more care than was necessary. ‘That Hermione,’ Draco thought, ‘always so concerned with my well-being. How on earth did I get so lucky? Merlin knows I don’t deserve her.’ He rolled back over to await her return and the morning cuddling he’d come to love so much.


Snape woke with caution; he was now alone in the large unfamiliar bed. This was perchance the very situation that would furnish him an opportunity to escape without being caught. He threw the blankets from his pallid and lanky body, as he had returned to his own form. He removed himself from the suite with all the ease of a certain British Secret Agent of cold war era fame, who shall remain nameless. It seemed that everything had gone off without a hitch. Even that intolerable dolt, Pansy had played her part to perfection.


Draco was more than pleased when Hermione returned from the bathroom and burrowed back into her bed to snuggle up to him. “Merry Christmas, Dragon.”


“Merry Christmas, Duckling.”


“You know, I think I actually like that one. Where did you get it from?”


“Well,” he said, his brilliant blue eyes flashing licentiously, “last night I had the distinct notion that you would taste fabulous smothered in Orange Sauce.” He tried his best to hold a straight face; he was about to fail at it miserably. Hermione’s smile cracked into hysterical laughter. She was truly irresistible. “We should get ready to eat, Duckling. I’ll meet you back here after lunch? I know that you want to be with your friends for a bit.”


She gave Draco a strange look that he only belatedly realized was gratitude. “I love you.” She kissed him on the cheek and was gone before he could stretch sufficiently.


Hermione entered the Great Hall and was very pleased to see that her closest friends were all sitting together in a tight knit knot laughing. This was how she preferred to see them, and from a distance it actually seemed that the lot of them were living in a more simple time, a time before romantic feelings got in the way of close friendships. It was nice to think of them as one cohesive unit again, well once she was added to the bunch that is.


She strode up to the Gryffindor table and was positively beaming at the warm welcome she received. She kissed everyone, even Ron, on the head and sat down to enjoy the festivities. It was truly magical, the power of the Holiday Season. Hermione sighed; it was not likely that this group would ever be together again, at least not for any joyous occasions. She tried to fight the tears that it seemed would spring from her eyes at any moment. For the first time this year it really hit her that this was truly the end of something special, and that the memories she’d made these seven long years would be held close to her heart for the rest of her days.


This line of thinking almost always led to thoughts about the uncertain future. It did not seem likely that the Second Great Wizarding War was likely to resolve its self before she and her friends were finished with their schooling. Especially when she knew in her heart, of not in her head as well, that Harry had a major role to play in that war, for better or for worse. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, this was not the sort of thing that she wanted to think about during Christmas.


An instant before she opened her eyes she was accosted by a…memory? No, this hadn’t happened, at least not yet. A vision, one she would later hope with much desperation was not to come true:


She was tied to an ancient chair; the knots that bound her were so tight that she knew that she’d long ago lost the feeling in her hands and feet. “Insolent bitch,” she was slapped with such force that she could not open her left eye, “how dare you defile my son’s bed and his good name! You have ruined him! No decent woman would have a Pureblood tarnished by a vile mudblood!”


“No decent man would chose social standing over the happiness of his son. And any woman who is more interested in duty than love has no place in the modern world.” She spat contemptuously at the feet of Lucius Malfoy.


He smacked her again, harder this time and blood gushed from her nose, now obviously broken. “I will have to teach you not to speak out of turn to your betters you repulsive creature.” Lucius raised his wand and with a look of sheer malice cried, “Crucio!”


It was the sound of her own scream that pulled Hermione back to reality. She was sitting at the table in the Great Hall sweating and shaking form head to toe, and for some inexplicable reason her nose was bleeding. Every eye in the Hall was fixed on her and she felt the need to bolt, to run from this place and into the Muggle world and never return. She fought her instincts and remained in her seat. An oily voice from behind her said, “Regardless of your own personal feelings on the matter, Miss Granger the Christmas Feast will commence promptly at half six.”


Snape had done his best to seemingly convert all of his feelings of concern into contempt for this interaction with Hermione, lest he give the game away. He saw the fear in her eyes and walked back to the staff table desperate to think of some way in which he could help her. The fear in Hermione’s eyes paled in comparison to the rage contained in Snape’s glance that broke over Draco with the crushing force of a tidal wave. The young man shivered, Snape taking this type of attitude toward him struck him as odd and more than a little bit frightening.


After the meal, Hermione excused herself politely from the table and told the group that she’d meet them in Gryffindor Tower in a half an hour with presents for all of them. She walked at a measured pace to the suite she shared with Draco. Somehow he’d understood the necessity to break with the plan not to see her until after lunch.


“What happened?” Draco was clearly bracing for the worst thing that he could think of. He was struck unawares by the explanation that came tumbling out of Hermione’s mouth.


“I had a, well, I guess that you could call it a vision.” She was still very shaken by whatever she’d seen; Draco was clearly worried about her, he leaned closer to her to listen. “I was tied up in a chair in a big old mansion. Everything around me was black and green and there was this horrible panting on the wall that kept snickering at me when…the painting doesn’t matter. My hands were bound so tightly that I couldn’t feel them and-and your father was standing over me and hitting me, every time harder than the last.”


“He was saying that I’d ruined you and that no decent woman would have you because I’d tainted you. I told him exactly what I thought about him and his backward ideas. Then he hit me again and I-I felt him break my nose. Then he raised his wand and he…”


“The Curciatus Curse. That bastard, I’d like to…” He broke off in mid thought, it seemed that in the retelling Hermione’s nose had begun to bleed again as it had when she’d had the vision. She was trembling and her face had gone completely pale. When she stood it seemed that she was going to collapse on the spot, he sprang into action and caught the young witch just as her knees gave way.


He lay her down on the couch near the fireplace and began to pace angrily. It would be just like Lucius to do something so low, so despicable for no other reason than to spite his son. He tried to assume that it was nothing, but their collective paranoia. “Are you sure that it wasn’t just some kind of hallucination or a horrible dream or something?”


“I’m sure,” her voice was reduced to a whisper and it seemed that she was unable to gain her balance enough to sit up. “I just wish I knew what it all meant. Is it something that will happen or is it something that I can prevent from happening?”


“You know that this is something that I never thought that I, of all people, at this school would say, but maybe you should tell Dumbledore. He would know exactly what kind of vision it was. I hate to say it, but you described the sitting room in my father’s mansion perfectly and it was just the kind of thing he’d do for fun. Please don’t take my word for it.”


Hermione had somehow managed to regain her strength and she thanked Draco for his help and his suggestion that she should see Dumbledore. She asked Draco to help her I gathering the presents she purchased for her friends. He stacked them neatly just inside the door of their common room, and handed her an enchanted bag which would hold all of them and make them weightless for the trip to the Gryffindor common room. Of course this had a dual purpose, as she could also use it to return to the suite with the presents that her friends had given her. He kissed her on the cheek and told her to inform him as soon as possible if she had any more disturbing visions.


The gift exchange went without any incidents related to the visions. It would not be fair to say that it went without incident; Ron intentionally spilled his butterbeer all over Ginny and Harry. He claimed that it was not intentional, but the look of anger smoldering in those golden eyes told another story. As usual only Ginny and Hermione caught the slightly crazed glint in Ron’s eye. Harry was, as always, oblivious to the emotions of others when not directly confronted with them.


Somehow Hermione had managed to smooth the situation over without further incidents or bloodshed. Everyone was quite pleased with the gifts they’d received. Ron was positively awestruck by the new Wizard Chess set that Hermione had bought for him. She’d even offered to christen the board with a guaranteed win for him and all he had to do was play her first. Brilliant was a fair assessment of Hermione’s magical abilities, but try as she might she was an abominable chess player. As a matter of fact, the only thing that anyone ever beat her at was chess.


The morning passed in a delightful mix of games and stories of their years at Hogwarts. When Harry began to tell the tale of how he’d defeated the Voldemort-possessed Professor Quirrell at the end of his first year. Ginny was particularly interested in this one, as it had occurred a year before she began her magical education at Hogwarts.


Soon it was time for lunch, Hermione excused herself in order to give herself enough time to stow her booty and get to the Great Hall in time for lunch. She placed all of her gifts in the enchanted bag that Draco had given her. She lifted it without any trouble and was returning to the hallways of the castle in no time at all.


She was about to round the final corner in the maze of corridors that led to the Great Hall when she was hit with a continuation of the disturbing vision from earlier that morning:


“Have you had enough you foul little slut?” Lucius looked, if possible, angrier than before. “I take it that since you won’t respond that you haven’t had enough. I’d be more than happy to give you some more instruction on the proper way to behave in the company of Purebloods.” Again he raised his wand, but this time she was spared the wrath of Lucius by the hand of his son.


“Expelliarmus!” shouted the blond wizard as he entered the room to find his father torturing his love. The wand flew from Lucius’ hand and the power behind Draco’s words was enough to knock him off of his feet and caused the elder Malfoy to whack his head hard on the edge of an ancient table.


“We have to get out of here now, Hermione. Can you walk?” He untied her with all the haste that his hands would allow and saw that her hands were pale and cold to the touch.


“I’m going to put you on my back if you start to slip off let me know.” He hoisted her onto his back and draped her arms over his broad shoulders. She was in agony; the rush of blood returning to her hands and feet seemed to set them afire. She was determined not to think of that right now, she had to hold on. She slumped her weight into his back and looked down at the scar on the back of her left hand. She gotten that scar only a few months earlier, when she’d fallen in a corridor on the way to lunch on Christmas Day.


She opened her eyes to find a crowd of people surrounding her in the hallway. She pulled her hand from underneath her; she’d fallen onto it. She hoped, against her knowledge, that there was no cut there that could confirm these visions. A large jagged wound lay gaping on her left hand, she swallowed the bile she felt rise in her mouth.