No Longer Helpless

Chapter Five
Stunt Riders

Ron and Harry spent many hours pouring over books in the library. It had been their reasoning that the faster they found what was wrong with Hermione the sooner they could fix it, or have Madame Pomfrey fix it. Not to mention that at this point they felt rather guilty over disobeying Dumbledore, so when the older wizard had asked them if they would do some research they readily accepted.

Sighing dejectedly, Ron ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he had picked up since they had first begun reading four hours ago. “I’m tired Harry,” he whined.

Harry sighed also. “I know how you feel. This isn’t how I pictured my summer break being spent.” He paused becoming more solemn. “I don’t imagine Hermione planned to spend hers this way either.”

Harry set the book he’d been searching through down and leaned back in the chair. Closing his eyes, he rested a moment, more than exhausted. Their seventh year was far from starting and he was already sick to death of books and research. Much of his ill will was created from his lack of finding the answers that he had been spending so much time looking for.

It wasn’t right. If Hermione had been the one doing this she would have found exactly what they needed after ten minutes.

That was the trouble when it was one of their own that was in need of rescuing, the other two were gimped. Together they were unbeatable, separated they were lost.

Checking his watch Harry decided they should call it quits. At the rate they had been trying to go, all the words were meshing together. As much as they wanted to find their answer and resolve this situation, they didn’t want to be rash and overlook something.

Flipping the book he’d set down shut, Harry called an end to their fruitless search. “We should head out. The meeting is in an hour and I want to see Hermione before we go. Besides, I’m sure Dumbledore will have the answer already, I think this is just our punishment for sneaking here.”

Ron stood up glad to be done with the library and looking forward to visiting their slightly-out-of-character-but-only-for-the-moment friend. Then a thought occurred to him. He turned to Harry, looked slightly horrified. “What if she’s, you know, still all over the ferret?”

Harry cringed in remembrance. “No, she can’t be. He wouldn’t have the patience to put up with her anyway.” If being around Hermione agitated Malfoy as much as being around the ferret agitated Harry, then Malfoy wouldn’t be able to put up with her hanging all over him for more than he had already.

“I don’t know about that, he didn’t seem too upset before,” Ron huffed, still angry beyond reason over the way they’d found Malfoy holding Hermione and not shoving her touch off. It didn’t matter that Malfoy had done exactly what either of them would have. What mattered was it was Malfoy who had been there when she woke up and Malfoy who was able to be near her. Ferret-boy would pay dearly, this he had sworn.

Harry thought back and had to disagree with Ron on that one, but didn’t say anything, lest he upset the redhead even more. Finished with searching through the endless volumes describing and sometimes even depicting all too detailed magical maladies, they left, not even bothering to put away the books strewn about over various tables. After all, they weren’t completely calling an end to the search, and without Madame Pince there to yell at them, they could do as they pleased.

**

Sighing, Draco made to sit back up. He’d been lying down for three hours now, Hermione contently holding onto him as she slept. He didn’t know how she could be sleeping now. From what Moody had just told him, she’d been asleep for the better part of two days already.

Of course there was something just underneath the surface that no one told him about, like the reasons for why she’d been here in the Hospital Wing unconscious, or why she was acting so strangely. All he knew was that he was suffering for it. Not only had he been forced, for there is no other possible way he would have allowed Granger to touch him no matter how easy she might be on the eyes, to stay with her this long, but now he had orders to humor the insufferable chit.

Having straightened up, Hermione stirred, reaching out to take hold of his shirt. “Granger!” he barked.

She quickly retracted her hand, eyes immediately taking on the look of a hurt and lost kitten. Growling, Draco amended his outburst, “Don’t look at me like that.” The next few words were forced and said in a sigh, “I didn’t mean to yell.”

Her gaze was uneasy and still wary, and yet there was something pleading about it.

“Moody was just in here.” He waited for a sign of recognition at the old auror’s name. When none came his suspicions were confirmed. She didn’t know who he was or anyone around her for that matter, possibly including herself.

He thought for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Assessing the severity of her condition might help. “Can you speak?” he asked, unable to keep the cold tone from his voice. Of course she could, he’d heard her before. But, it was only a few words and compared to her usual ability to spout off streams of facts and quotes from books, she might as well have been mute. Even if this wasn’t the same Granger as before, it was still Granger.

She nodded slightly, wide-eyed and timid.

“Then do so,” he commanded.

Her plump lips parted slightly, he could see the glint of her teeth just beyond. It was more than unnerving at how pleased he was by watching this. The action was not followed through. It appeared that in her haste to listen to him, she had begun to speak, but not thought of anything to say. Widening her mouth slightly, she shut it again and gently bit her bottom lip, looking at him imploringly.

Staring for a moment, his mind became slightly dazed before snapping back. “Do you know your name?” He decided this was as good a place to start.

Still not speaking, though apparently she could, she shook her head. Abruptly she stopped, her eyes lit up like a child with candy. “Granger!” she barked in a tone eerily like his own.

His eyes widened. She was mimicking him, quite well too. Pressing his lips together he tried to stop himself but failed miserably. After a short struggle, he burst out laughing. That was the funniest display he’d ever seen from anyone, and the fact that it was coming from Granger only made it better.

Wiping tears from his silver eyes he coughed and recomposed himself. It didn’t last long however, once he caught sight of a bewildered Hermione another fit over took him. Gods, it felt good to laugh like that, something he didn’t do too often. Not just him though, no one really had much to laugh about during these dark times.

One last smile played across his lips before turning into a smirk. ‘I suppose this isn’t Granger after all,’ he concluded, slightly relieved. If it had been her then everything that had happened would have been wrong on so many levels.

Now he was content to try and look past her one link to the bookworm-high-horsed-muggleborn from before, which was her appearance. ‘Although,’ he mused, ‘Granger never looked quite so sexy before.’ Perhaps there was even less of a link than that.

Still keeping his Malfoy composure, he attempted to set some things straight. “No, that is not your name. Your name is Hermione Granger.”

She nodded. “Herminegranger,” she tried to repeat, but missed poorly.

Smiling, he shook his head. “No. Hermione Granger.” It wasn’t that she couldn’t form the sounds, since she was capable of speech, as she had proved. She just didn’t understand the concept of a two-part name. It would be simpler to stick to one part. He’d only be using one part anyway, so why bother teaching her when she’d be back to normal sometime that night, hopefully. “Granger,” he changed it.

“Granger,” she obediently repeated.

“Good,” he curtly congratulated with a nod, and he even went so far as to pat her head. This proved a mistake however as she seemed prone to overly exaggerated actions in all moods. If she was frightened she clung to him for safety, if she was scolded she cried, if she was commended she jumped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Merlin,” he grumbled to himself as he tried to pry her arms off him yet again.

Giving up, since she would probably just attack him again as soon as he could get her off, he settled by letting her have her way. “Do you know who Moody is?”

“No,” came her voice, muffled against his stomach.

“Well, he was the man who was just here…” He remembered she’d been sleeping during that. “He wants me to go down to the Quidditch pitch. Okay?”

She didn’t reply, but squeezed his waist.

“I’m going now.” He really did have to leave. Enough of his time had been wasted already. “Granger, let go of me.” Truly, he had appeased the girl longer than he should have. There were no excuses for Moody, and as it was he’d be serving harsh make up terms. Prolonging things only made to dig his hole deeper.

Running a hand through his blonde hair he took a deep breath and let it out.

Slowly, Hermione let go of him and sat back, legs folded beneath her on the bed. Casting her eyes down, she seemed to be giving him reluctant permission to go. He rolled his eyes at her display. Just because she wasn’t trying to guilt trip him on purpose didn’t mean she wasn’t doing just that.

Standing up, Draco turned and strode confidently towards the large doorway. His heart seemed to weigh heavier with each step. By the time he’d made it the door, reaching to turn the handle, he couldn’t help but cast a wary glance back. What he saw made him cringe. She was still sitting, slouched now, unmoving, and head bowed with unmistakable tears dropping down. ‘Oh for the love of-’ he thought before shouting, “Granger!” Hermione’s head shot up startled. “Get over here!” he conceded. She’d won, the stupid girl.

In a flash she was off the bed and dashing over to him. By the time she’d jumped into his arms again, his cheeks were sufficiently a tinge darker than the rest of his face. If Malfoys ever blushed this would be it.

In the time she’d taken running over, he’d realized she needed a different set of clothes. The Hospital gowns were far too short and revealing for his liking. It was bad enough trying to beat down certain thoughts without having the added issue of dress thrown into the mixture. Checking his watch he cursed.

“I don’t suppose you have an extra set of clothes handy do you?” he asked, slightly hopeful.

A headshake supplied his answer.

“If you come with me, you have to behave.”

Seeming to know what behaving meant in his book, she let go of him right away and stood smiling.

“And you have to keep up. We don’t have much time and I need to stop for more suitable attire.” Having received a nod of understanding Draco set off at a jog.

**

Having made their way to the Hospital Wing, Harry and Ron walked through the doors with many different versions of what might be going on playing through their heads.

Neither of the two had been expecting an empty room. Well, it wasn’t totally empty. The reliable medi-witch Harry had come to know from his frequent visits to the infirmary was bustling about the just inside the storeroom, humming a soft tune.

“Madame Pomfrey,” Harry called out, seeing her through the open storeroom door. “Where is Hermione?”

The nurse turned, smiling at both boys, glad to see them with out injury when ever possible. “I don’t know Harry. I suppose she left with Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, but he directed any anger away from the nurse, knowing she wasn’t at fault. He cleared his throat. “Hermione,” He made of point of exaggerating her name, just in case the witch had forgotten who Hermione was exactly, “left with Malfoy?”

It couldn’t just have been him who saw the insanity in the situation, surly not. Did Madame Pomfrey find no wrong in what had transgressed earlier, or that their girl, who was an enemy to ferret face, had left with him?

“Where did they go?” Ron asked, hardly able to keep from using his wand and interrogating the kind woman for every detail on what happened after they left.

Madame Pomfrey’s brows furrowed at their odd behavior. Mr. Weasley appeared to be feverish, looking slightly flushed, and Harry was looking anywhere but in her eyes. Teenage boys were some of the strangest lot she’d ever had to deal with. Perhaps with the exception of Mr. Malfoy, she’d seen all sorts of adolescent oddities from each student.

Mr. Malfoy however seemed to have skipped that part of his life all together. Indeed, he’d been a child of eleven when he first arrived at this school, but next she knew he had the eyes of an aged and seasoned man, who’d seen too much for his own good.

Madame Pomfrey had always danced to the beat of her own drum, as Harry was aware during moments like this. If someone was sick, she disregarded all things unnecessary, focusing solely on healing the patient. If she found a thought that peaked her interest, she’d stop in the middle of a conversation, furrow her brows and chew things over silently in her own little world, oblivious to others. That was exactly what she was doing now, and neither boy seemed to appreciate being ignored when they were in a rush.

Just when Harry was about to say something, the nurse seemed to stir from her reverie.

“I would assume Mr. Malfoy is where he usually is at this time of day.” It was an open-ended statement as she was trying to impress some sense into the two boys’ heads. She’d never liked the house rivalries and could hardly stand for the blatant and extreme animosity between Slytherin and Gryffindor, or rather Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter. Even now during such times they found enemies in each other, when neither seemed to realize that there was a mutual enemy in Voldemort.

Mr. Potter knew nothing about young Mr. Malfoy. But, alike, Mr. Malfoy knew nothing about Mr. Potter. Things would be changing though, and soon.

If the attack on Miss Granger was any indication, then the Order of the Phoenix would be banding together and organizing more fully, revealing certain discrepancies, which had been previously unmentioned to any of the younger additions to the Order.

“I would venture a guess,” she continued pointedly staring Harry down sternly, “that Draco is on the pitch training.”

Both Harry and Ron’s eyebrows shot up. Then Ron grinned and said more to Harry than Madame Pomfrey, “So, the ferret thinks a summer of training will make him a better Seeker than you.” He snorted at the mere idea. “Good luck.”

They stopped grinning when Madame Pomfrey’s look changed from her usually casual warm one to an icy glare. Neither could remember being glared at by any staff member other than Snape.

“Ignorance is bliss I’m told. If you two have nothing further to do here, I suggest you make better use of your time. Mr. Malfoy would never be caught idly standing about, doing nothing.” In a huff she turned and stalked back into the storeroom, leaving Harry and Ron staring after her.

She had just praised the ferret and insulted them. ‘Was she even allowed to do that?’ they wondered vaguely. Wait, forget being allowed, why would she want to? What had they said that suddenly made them fall out of favor with the medi-witch?

Entirely confused, they looked to each other for some sort of answer. Finding none, they did the only thing they could think of, they left.

“What had her knickers in a twist?” Ron asked, exasperated that their fuming had been stomped out by the sudden coldness they’d received from Madame Pomfrey.

“I don’t know. She got all defensive about Malfoy for no reason,” Harry replied, most unhappy with the turn of events taking place the past day. First Hermione was attacked, then Dumbledore was disappointed in them, and Malfoy was involved which never sat well with him, and now this.

Harry sighed as they rushed down the front steps, Hagrid’s hut coming into view. A smile played across his face. It didn’t have to be a whole summer’s wait for Harry to be happy at seeing that old hut again. But that was not their destination. They were headed for the Quidditch pitch, determined to find Hermione before they had to depart for the meeting at headquarters.

They had walked only a short distance more when the giant lollipop goal posts were in clear view. The flags at the top of the stands were billowing in high winds. In fact, it was a rather windy day on ground level as well, Harry noted feeling his robes flutter.

There was movement just above the horizon. He could see it better now that he was focusing on it. His Seeker eyes easily followed the silhouettes against the pink-red sky. There was a little joy in seeing the flyers. He’d always had the best of times playing during dusk with the Weasleys, so to see this felt nostalgic.

The two dark figures zoomed back and forth, up and down, in and out. They were pulling rather dangerous stunts. Harry’s eyes widened as he saw flashes of red, then blue, then green light fly precariously close to the front figure. It seemed as though the second person was trailing, or mimicking the movements of the first.

Without warning, at least that’s what it seemed like to Harry, a silver bolt struck the fore flyer’s broom, or perhaps even the person. It must have been the broom, for the next moment the person reacted in a manner that shocked both boys into a dead halt. Only someone who was completely unharmed could maneuver in such a way.

They stared transfixed, as the person on the ruined broom no sooner began to fall than turn about and seem to gesture with their hand at the other person. The second person shot out to the first. In no time, both flyers were situated on one broom and riding no slower or sluggish for it. In fact, the new situation proved more tactful as one person flew and the other deflected each spell sent their way.

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

No sooner had Harry agreed than the two of them set of at a dash to meet to two stunt flyers. It never even crossed their minds that Malfoy could have logically been one of them. Not even Harry was could hope to pull such a move off without killing himself the first few tries, and Malfoy was years behind Harry. Beside that, both of them were overly excited to get down to the scene of all the action to think clearly.

When they finally burst onto the grass of the pitch, slightly dimmed from no direct sunlight, they were met with the sight of a third party. The two flyers were circling the pitch one last time as they slowly descended to the ground. Harry recognized the third member right away, Moody. Auror extraordinaire, the man was out of retirement for the sole purpose of aiding the light side in the war.

Regardless of the fact that Moody had never actually been their professor in their fourth year, everyone still addressed him as such.

“Professor!” Harry chorused as he and Ron came to a stop in front of him. “What’s going on?” he asked, only slightly out of breath.

“Over time, that’s what,” Grumbled Moody, a little annoyed at being interrupted, but also giving exception for the boy-who-lived. Now that he thought about it, there was an unscheduled meeting tonight anyway, so they’d have to continue another time. “Okay you two!” he shouted at the two flyers, who hovered nearby. “We’ll call it a night, we have to get going!”

At his orders the two on the broom descended right beside Moody. Harry raised an eyebrow at the odd positioning they were in. Though they’d flown like one person, they appeared almost comical now.

They were both donned in slate grey robes, hoods over their heads. The one on the rear, most likely the one who had latched on during a short fall, was significantly larger than the other. Seeing the size of the one in the front made him wonder if the smaller person’s weight would have made any difference, which would answer why there didn’t seem a sluggish reaction from the broom.

The robes worn by the one in front were far too large and hung baggy and folding all over. The hood came down over their nose, though it was hard to see any face as it was buried against the chest of the other. The one in the back, a man from his size, which was equal to Harry’s, faced front like any normal rider. But, the other smaller person, who could have been the younger of the Creevey brothers, faced backwards, holding not the broom but the other person. It was the oddest arrangement either Harry or Ron had ever seen.

Standing up and dismounting, the man had his back to Harry and Ron, while shielding the other out of better sight. There seemed a sudden reluctance in the tall one now that he was off the broom. They noticed how even on the ground the small one in large robes remained glued to the other. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood up as his subconscious started shouting what this scene closely resembled.

“Moody,” came a gruff voice, that almost reminded them of Malfoy’s, but that was impossible since neither of these two flyers could possibly be the ferret. “You’d best restrain those two, or I won’t dare show face!”

“Nonsense,” Moody snapped. “Hurry up and come along, we’ll be late if we delay any longer. And, you might do something about the timid cat,” he said, directing some sort of annoyance at the smaller one.

They must have missed something from earlier.

An audible sigh reached their ears. Then, as if deciding the least amount of pain would be wrought from pulling the bandage quickly, the tall one pulled down his hood, revealing his unmistakable blonde hair.

Harry and Ron watch in disbelief as the silver blonde Slytherin placed his hands a top the other’s head and pet it slightly. “Granger,” he said forcefully, but with no malicious sneer or contempt. “Be good,” he spoke as though he was lecturing a new pet on when to behave.

The small, still hidden flyer let go and stood back. Hood still covering much of her face, shoulder seams hanging near the elbows, sleeves draped nearer to the ground than to the wrist, and mismatched belt tied around a slender waist, she just stood.

“For Merlin’s sake, couldn’t you have dressed the kitten in something else?” growled Moody.

Malfoy turned on the man who was at least an inch shorter, though Moody could have taken him in a heartbeat, and he glared. “This was the best there was, trust me. Would you rather she wore that hospital gown?”

Moody snorted, turning to Malfoy, oblivious to the incredulous stares and gaping mouths of Harry and Ron. “Humph,” the old auror sounded in discontent. “Gown or no. It’s what’s under that robe I’m complaining about. She looks ridiculous and it’s not the least bit maneuverable enough for an auror.”

Harry and Ron had definitely missed something.

Moody seemed to have lost interest in the petty argument, so he turned and began limping toward the exit of the pitch.

Malfoy turned towards Harry and Ron, who weren’t angry at Malfoy right now since they were too busy trying to get their minds to accept that it had been ferret boy up there flying like that.

“Hex me, and Moody will have something to do about it,” the blonde sneered at them, secretly wanting nothing but civil terms of not killing each other. He took a couple steps following Moody when he stopped abruptly, raised a hand and said, “Lower the hood and come along.”

The other flyer, who had remained rooted in their ridiculous attire, lifted hands up to the hood and tried to grasp it through the material covering their hands.

While his attention was on the masked rider, Harry could have sworn he saw a smile play on Malfoy’s lips for a brief second, out of the corner of his eye.

“Come here,” Draco motioned to the other.

In a movement too sudden for one wearing such long clothing Granger stumbled forward in a mad dash as she always did to reach him. Not two steps in, she trip. She would have fallen too, had he not been swift enough to rush forth and grab her. Not even caring that she’d fallen, she wrapped her arms about him and hugged him close.

Reaching down he gathered up much of the hem and bunched it until the folds were raised to reveal her feet. “Stand up,” he commanded.

She made to let go and stood on her own.

“Hold on to the extra material when you walk,” he continued in his ordering.

Again she listened. Then he reached up and pushed the hood back before turning and muttering for her to follow.

Almost skipping along she hastened to keep up with his long legs.

Dumbfounded, Harry and Ron watched. Ron had felt a bit faint when the hood had been lowered on the other flyer. Revealing their very own Hermione. Even though Malfoy had called her Granger, it was something neither would have believed unless they had seen it.

Madame Pomfrey had said those two might be together and she had said they might be out on the pitch. But, she had not mentioned anything about the two of them being all master and slave like, in some sickly twisted relationship and acting the part of two stunt flyers.

Ron reached over to Harry and pinched him. “Ow!” Harry yelped. “What they hell was that for?”

“Nope, not dreamin’,” Ron mumbled to himself, still in a dazed and slightly faint state. He followed numbly after the other three, since he was working on autopilot and knew he had a meeting to get to.

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