Sins of the Father

Disclaimer: All characters presented in the fic are the property of J.K. Rowling. I just like to play with them on occasion

Author's Note: Written for elementaldeity for the dmhgficexchange on livejournal.

Special Thanks: Terri, Inell, Zephyr and especially nakhash_mekashefah for the wonderful feed back especially in the eleventh hour.

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Chapter Two
Awakenings

Once
the battle had ended, and everyone had been transported back to
Hogwarts, Hermione, along with Ron, set to keep vigil beside Harry’s
bed. One or the other had sat with him around the clock the first week,
refusing to leave him alone. Professor McGonagall decided to be
tolerant of their devotion to the young hero, knowing that it would be
pointless to argue with them. Her only contingency was that they keep
up with their assignments.


To no one’s surprise, after one
week, Ron was behind and, under duress, agreed to return to his
classes. Hermione however, remained by Harry’s side around the clock.
Completing her revisions and essays in the hospital ward, only breaking
for a few hours after dinner to brew any necessary potions, return or
check out reference materials, and meet with the prefects.


Ron
was worried about her; he didn’t know when she took the time to rest;
her eyes always looking glazed over yet wide open. He didn’t know that
Hermione could not sleep. Her dreams had been haunted for a while and
she had begun taking the occasional wakefulness potion following her
parents’ deaths. But now, after being present at the raid of the Death
Eaters’ camp, seeing the horrors first hand that they had committed,
even against their own, she refused to close her eyes whenever
possible, not willing to submit again to the dreams. The echo of
Harry’s screams, they were all too much to bear, and so she didn’t.


The
nights that she spent alone in the hospital wing, she sat next to
Harry’s bed weeping. He had not woken and Severus’s attempts to reach
him through Legilimency were not promising. For once, she was at a loss
for what to do. She hadn’t been able to save her parents, and she had
known what needed to be done then, how could she help her best friend.
And so she wept, crying aloud, asking the gods why they only saw fit to
take what was good from this world.


“In all these years, of all those I’ve tried to protect, I’ve only been able to save Malfoy,” she spat in frustration.


Continuing
in her questioning of the fates, Hermione didn’t hear the other boy’s
breath catch, or his breathing increase. In fact, she hadn’t noticed
him at all for weeks, her only concern for Harry.


“He’s awake, dearie?”


Hermione’s
breath caught at the sound of Madam Pomfrey’s voice and she moved the
back of her hand to wipe away her tears, looking over to Harry
anxiously, ‘Had he awoken and she been too engrossed in her own sorrow to notice?’ Turning to look, Hermione was disappointed to see that his chest continued to rise and fall slowly.


As Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room past Harry’s bed, Hermione felt as if someone had stepped on her chest. ‘Of course he would be the one to heal,’

she thought, resentment coursing through her veins. Turning back to
Harry, Hermione knelt beside the bed, laying her head next to his as
shesperspered, “I’m sorry Harry. You are my best friend. I should have
been with you instead of comforting him.”


Kissing his temple
lightly, she allowed the silent tears to fall freely as she watched her
best friend. She had begged to stay by his side, but alas, her two best
friends would not hear of her being in the center of danger. They
masked their chivalry with the argument that it would do no good for
everyone to face Voldemort. Hermione had finally acquiesced when
Professor Snape rationalized that she was the only one present, aside
from Dumbledore and himself, to tend to any injuries. Though his voice
was condescending, Hermione knew that he was correct.


And
so, as her friends charged off into battle, Hermione followed behind,
checking as each room was cleared, her task to take care of any fallen
Order members or prisoners that might be found. Draco had been blessed
by fate. All other prisoners within the Death Eater camp had been
killed in the crossfire of curses thrown in the siege. The only reason
his liad bad been spared was because he had been left untended.


Hermione
was shaken from her thoughts as she looked up through tear-stricken
eyes at the kindly old witch who had placed a hand on her shoulder.


“I
know that you care for your friend, but there is nothing that we can do
for him at this time. Albus has insisted that I allow you to stay here
until he says otherwise, but I must insist that you make yourself
useful. Stewing in your grief will do nothing to help anyone.”


Taken
aback by the stern words of Madam Pomfrey, the Head Girl rose to her
feet, wiping her tears from her face and placing her hands on her hips
defensively.


“Useful? Useful?” she questioned. “I
would give anything to help him. How dare you suggest that I am doing
nothing? I am doing the only thing I know to do for him and that is to
stay at his side,” she sobbed angrily, the resentment at feeling
helpless having a living, breathing target for her rage.


Madam
Pomfrey turned, ignoring Hermione’s outburst as she strode out of the
hospital wing, returning only when the young witch did not follow of
her own volition. Sighing, Hermione placed a last kiss on her friend’s
forehead before following the nurse into her office.


“I will
excuse you that outburst because I know how deeply you have come to
care for Harry over the past years. Please realize that if it happens
again, I will be forced to override the Headmaster’s decision. The
patients in this ward need a peaceful environment in which to recover
from their maladies.”


Hermione’s eyes shone as she looked up
at Madam Pomfrey apologetically. She opened her mouth to present her
apology, but the words could not overcome the lump in her throat.


“Shhh,
my dear, I know that you did not intend to cause problems. But this is
precisely why I must insist that you begin to help me treat the other
patients. Hermione, Harry has done a tremendous thing for us all. But
his fate is now out of our hands. He knows that you are here with him,
but he would not desire to see you wasting away at his side.”


Madam
Pomfrey smiled as she noted the slight bow of Hermione’s head. “Very
good,” she smiled as she pulled the young witch into an embrace. “I
would like for you to tend to the young Malfoy. His physical ailments
are severe but quite treatable. I am concerned however as to his mental
state. I think that you will be surprised to find that he is not the
same young man that was taken from us months ago.”


She had
wanted to argue. She could feel her stomach retch at the thought of
once again aiding the son of her parents’ killer, but she did not have
the energy left to argue. And so, Hermione begrudgingly accepted the
charge given to her and set out to figure out what was troubling Draco
Malfoy.


***


It had been two weeks since Hermione
had begun tending to Draco Malfoy. She reluctantly acknowledged Madam
Pomfrey’s assessment that he had changed during his two months in
captivity. He had always had a quiet nature about him when not lashing
out at others or putting on a show of his status for his housemates.
But the quiet that he now demonstrated was different. His eyes were
haunted and, though he had not flinched from her touch since she
discovered him during the final battle, she could still sense the fear
about him.


After the first couple of days of tending to
Draco, she discovered why Pomfrey had been so insistent that she care
for him. As it turned out, hers was the only touch that he would accept
and she often had to administer potions and charms to him under the
observation of the Matron.


The anger she felt toward him
slowly ebbed as she found it being replacedpitypity. Although she had
observed first-hand the wounds that had been inflicted upon the young
wizard, she could not imagine what atrocities he had undergone to break
his spirit so.


“All right, Malfoy, I don’t know what they
did to you, but it’s time that we snap you out of this,” she began one
evening, after returning from meeting with the Head of Slytherin House.
He had been speaking with Madam Pomfrey ever since his prized student’s
return to the castle, trying to ascertain what was wrong with him,
before she had finally conceded that she didn’t know what was troubling
Draco.


Mumbling about the Matron’s incompetence, Professor
Snape had stormed into the hospital wing, despite her protests, to
check on Draco’s condition himself. As he neared the bed, his typically
stony face fell when the blond-haired wizard recoiled at his approach.
Hermione had leaned in close, whispering softly to Draco, placing her
hand on his arm to reassure him of her presence before looking up at
Professor Snape and inclining her head, inviting him to remove himself
from the hospital wing.


Draco never cried out or hollered.
He hadn’t uttered a word, in fact, since their return to Hogwarts, but
his distress was evident. His body curled into itself on the farthest
side of the bed from the offending observer and his eyes clenched shut.
After about fifteen minutes, once Hermione observed that his breathing
had regulated itself and his body had relaxed enough for her to coax
him to stretch back out in the bed, she rose and headed to Madam
Pomfrey’s office.


“What was the meaning of that,” she asked,
turning angrily to the Potions Ma who who was seated, his face devoid
of the sneer that she had come to expect since her first year.


When
her question went unanswered, she turned to Madam Pomfrey, “I thought
that we had both agreed that if I were to try and assist you with
Malfoy, he would be left to my care unless there was a potion or other
treatment that required your supervision. You and I both know that he
has not responded to anyone favorably since his return to Hogwarts.”


Hermione
looked at the Matron with understanding as she caught the look she gavo Pro Professor Snape who sat dumb-founded. Of course he would not have
accepted her warnings or protests when it came to seeing the favored
Slytherin.


“Professor Snape, I can assure you that I did
not choose to be the only one that Draco could tolerate in his
presence. But as I am, I think it would be best if you arrange to speak
with me before deciding to impose yourself upon us.”


As the
young witch addressed him, his head snapped up, and the icy veneer
returned ts fas face. “And just what would lead you to believe that
Draco Malfoy desires your presence any more than he does mine?”


Her
anger rose as she turned to face her Professor. “I don’t know why he
desires my presence or even that he does. What I do know is that he
wouldn’t eat until I fed him; that he would not sleep soundly, until I
sat with him; and that he will likely hurt himself fleeing from anyone
else who dares approach him. I did not ask to tend to Malfoy, but as I
have agreed, I will not allow anyone to interfere in a manner that will
be detrimental to his recovery.”


Madam Pomfrey pursed her
lips as she observed the staring match that followed, her colleague
glaring down upon the young witch who refused to look away. She had
never seen anyone, colleague nor student, confront Professor Snape in
that manner and had no idea of what to expect.


“Very well,”
the Potions Master relented. “Given your history, I do not imagine that
you would choose to spend day and night with Draco if there were
another alternative. As his Head of House, however, I must insist that
you meet with me on a regular basis to keep me abreast of his progress.”


Hermione
nodded, her body relaxing as the stand-off came to an end. “I think
that would be an excellent idea; I would be very interested in
discussing possible alternative treatments to try and break through
whatever mental barrier he has put up. Although he does not appear to
feel threatened by my presence, I cannot seem to pull him out of
himself either.”


Professor Snape had actually provided some
very useful insight. She had attempted to reach Draco by discussing the
things they held in common; the goings- on of the castle, the latest
troubles that she had addressed with the prefects; she had even
attempted to bring him out of it by recounting Ron’s latest tales of
Potions class. Neville was failing miserably without her there to aid
him, apparently. It was truly amazing that he had even made it into
N.E.W.T.-level potions. And Ron, well he seemed to be spending most of
his evenings with Professor Snape.


But Snape had suggested a
different approach. Whatever reason Draco appeared to be comforted by
her presence did not negate the years of animosity that they had
shared. He had supposed that as she was the first to discover him, and
Draco knew her to be good and honest, his subconscious, as a matter of
survival, had decided that she was safe. The problem was that they were
now trying to reach his conscious self and perhaps she should not
sugar-coat her dealings with him.


“All right, Malfoy, I’m
quite tired of taking up your slack. I’ve had to deal with every issue
from a prefect since you disappeared, and let me assure you, your
housemates are only slightly more pleasant to deal with than yourself.”


Even as the words left her mouth, Hermione wished she could
take them back. She was tired of performing the duty of both Head Boy
and Head Girl but he had had little to do with his kidnapping.


She
sighed and rose from her seat. While Professor Snape’s suggested
methods might work for Slytherin House, she was decidedly a Gryffindor
and didn’t wish to sink to their level. Looking at the time, Hermione
decided that now was as good a time as any to go and sit with Harry.
Although the majority of her day was now spent tending to Draco, she
still made sure she spent at least a couple of hours at Harry’s
bedside.


When Madam Pomfrey peeked her head into the
hospital wing to indicate that she had been called down to the dungeons
to tend to a student, Hermione assured her that she would notify her if
anyone showed up. Sighing as the Matron left, Hermione cast a charm on
Harry’s cot, causing it to double in size, and laid down next to him.


This
was the only way she had come to sleep over the past couple of weeks;
always sneaking out of her designated cot to lay next to her best
friend. So it was of little surprise that Hermione dozed off as she
whispered, to Harry, promises of the new life that awaited them all if
he would just come back.


Her dreams, as she lay with Harry,
were always pleasant. They were always unselfish thoughts of visiting
him and Ron next year at their shared flat after they graduated; Harry
smiling and truly happy for the first time since she’d known him, free
from his obligation to humanity as well as from the family that he had
been forced to live with. The dreams brought her such joy, to see the
three of them enjoying life from under the dark cloud of Voldemort,
that she always awoke reluctantly, responding only because she knew the
charm she had set up in the hallway leading to the hospital wing was
warning her that someone was approaching. As accommodating as the
Headmaster had been, she did not think even he would allow for his
students to share a bed so openly.


As she opened her eyes
and rose, returning the bed to its original state, Hermione reached for
her wand to end the charm that caused a low hum in the room. Although
it was not loud enough to worry anyone outside of the ward, it was
certainly noticeable and she did not wish for anyone to go seeking out
the source of the sound. As she grasped her wand, her head fell to the
side and she strained her ears. Oddly enough, the charm had not gone
off but yet she had awoken.


She checked the time and not
even twenty minutes had passed; it certainly was not long enough for
her to have woken on her own. She walked out towards Madam Pomfrey’s
office to see if perhaps some other disturbance had roused her from her
sleep, but there was no one near the hospital ward.


Convinced
that perhaps her nerves simply would not allow her to rest properly,
she walked back into the hospital wing. As she walked over to grab the
study notes that Padma had provided her from Arithmancy, she let out a
squeak as the light shone off of his eyes. Draco Malfoy was staring at
her. His face still held the blank stare she had become familiar with,
but behind his eyes there was something else.


Walking over,
she sat on the side of his bed. “Malfoy,” she questioned tentatively.
He didn’t respond, but she decided to continue, somewhat hopeful that
the emptiness from his eyes had been replaced by something, though she
wasn’t quite sure what. “I was just about to begin my Arithmancy
assignment. Professor Vector has been covering how emotion and intent
can alter the efficacy of magic spells…” her voice trailed off as the
silver eyes clouded over and once again returned to gaze at the ceiling
overhead.


Hermione carried on her duties throughout the next
week, continuing to administer Draco’s treatment throughout the day as
well as spend time working on her assignments. Much of her reading she
would do aloud, hoping that her voice would stimulate the same shadow
of existence she had caught in his eye after waking last week. But,
much to her dismay, he showed no response, staring blankly at the
ceiling above.


By the sixth week since Harry and Draco had
been brought back to the Hogwarts hospital wing, Hermione was
thoroughly frustrated with the task that had been presented to her.


“Surely
the great know-it-all, Hermione Granger, has managed to find what is
wrong with the boy,” the Potions Master had sneered at her at their
last meeting, not concealing his frustration that he was unable to tend
to his student; yet, the one who could, had not made any progress.
“Undoubtedly, you are neglecting his condition in favor of fawning over
the half-dead body of Mr. Potter.”


Unable to contain her
rage, Hermione stood to excuse herself from his presence. As she opened
the door to return to the sanctity of the warded off hospital wing, she
thought better of it and turned to address Professor Snape.


“Undoubtedly,
you are incorrect in your accusation, however, I can’t help but wonder
whether or not my time would be better spent tending to Harry. After
all, your precious Malfoy is conscious; for all I know, he could be
unwilling to lower himself to address a Mudblood, and too damn stupid
to talk to anyone else. Harry, on the other hand, actually needs to
know that someone is here for him.”


Having heard quite
enough from the Head of Slytherin House, and having nothing more to
say, she slammed the door before going to sit with Harry.


Not
bothering to pull up a r, Hr, Hermione drew her wand and enlarged the
bed slightly so that she could sit next to him without causing a
disturbance.


“Harry,” she whispered softly, bending over
to kiss his cheek. “You have to come back to us. Ron, Ginny, all of
Gryffindor, we miss you.”


Letting her head fall to his
chest, Hermione allowed herself to weep, blocking out the nagging voice
in her head that reminded her that her duties were to watch over Malfoy.


Hermione
had curled her feet up beneath her and fallen asleep on Harry’s chest
like that. She startled as her eyes opened to find the room barely lit
by the setting sun from outside the hospital wing’s windows and drew
her wand to light the candles in the room. Sighing as she felt the urge
to check on Draco, Hermione turned to look at the boy, nearly screaming
as his silver eyes danced with the light of the sconces as he looked at
her.


“Draco Malfoy, I know you’re in there. Are you enjoying
being spoiled too much? You like the idea of a filthy Mudblood tending
to your needs, I’m sure,” she spat out, frustrated to no end that he
would not respond.


Yawning, Draco smirked. “I would hardly
call being read the lecture notes from Professor Binn’s History of
Magic class an indulgence, Granger.”


Fighting to command her
jaw to close, Hermione sat down on Harry’s still enlarged bed. “So the
great Draco Malfoy has decided to grace us with his presence has he?”
The self satisfied look that Hermione had set on her face faded as
Draco’s eyes seemed to dull. “Oh no Malfoy, not again, your Head of
House has been absolutely dreadful and I will not allow you to slip
back to wherever you have been for the past six weeks before you speak
with him.”


Draco looked up at her, his face definitely
animated, but this time it was with fear. His eyes showed the same
reaction that his body had each time someone other than herself had
tried to approach him. Hermione had seen that whatever he had suffered
had been bad, but she couldn’t imagine just what they could have done
to this once intense yet harsh young man, to leave him broken to the
point of begging to be left for dead and flinching at the slightest
indication of another human presence. ’Except mine,’ she reminded herself silently.


“It’s
okay Malfoy. Madam Pomfrey has made it clear that no one will be
permitted to see you until you are ready.” Draco calmed at that,
although the fit that Professor Snape threw the following day more than
made up for the boy’s short tantrum.


“How dare you? He is of my own House. It is my obligation to ensure that the boy is all right.”


The
Matron did not back down one inch. “Be that as it may, Severus, ALL of
the students of this school are under my charge and I will not have you
interfering in my treatment unless the Headmaster himself orders it.
And I will have you know, that Albus has given his full support that
Hermione, here, supervise his treatment ALONE except in extreme cases.”


Hermione
continued on, as Madam Pomfrey indicated that she should. Draco’s
physical wounds had long since healed; it was his mental and emotional
state that was disconcerting. He had not shown any semblance of the
snide and arrogant youth that he once was since Hermione had alluded to
his eventual meeting with Professor Snape. Surprisingly, she found that
Draco Malfoy, wit his his cutting remarks and sly commentary, was worse
than every hateful remark he had ever given.