Haunted

Draco started to worry about the time dinner rolled around. She had said she was going to help and even mad, Granger wasn’t one to go back on her word. Which meant either she was a lot angrier than he had taken her for, or she was prevented for whatever reason.

He figured she was gone outside but a cursory glance told him she wasn’t on the dock or beneath the willow. So he’d checked around the house, she was probably sulking in her room. But she wasn’t in her room. Or the library. Or the drawing room. Or any other room in the house. Had she maybe gotten lost outside? He’d seen her metal walking stick beside her bed in her empty room…that must have been what had happened. She’d gotten herself turned around. That was all.

He took off outside, gliding around in his chair, his legs dangling uselessly. When he didn’t find her in the garden he sacrificed his pride and called her name. When she didn’t answer he got that sick tingling sensation between his shoulder blades which told him that something was very, very wrong.

The night had cooled considerably as it was want to do when the sun started sinking and a rough breeze chilled him to the bone. The dock. She had to be there, she was always there. He hurried down, cursing the slowness of his chair. As he neared the small lake he saw a dark figure in the water and his heart sank. What the hell was she doing taking a swim? And then he heard it, that strangled plea for help and he knew this was no pleasure dip. She must have fallen in, not able to sense the edge of the dock and gotten lost. How long she’d been in there, Merlin only knew.

“Granger!” he called out, urging the damn chair faster. She flailed helplessly, oblivious to his yells, and went under. Holy shit, this was not happening, Granger was not honestly drowning right in front of his eyes. When he finally got to the edge of the lake, he hesitated briefly, wondering if the chair would float over water as well. He decided it was worth the try as all that was left of Granger was a few ripples in the surface of the lake. He drove his chair forward to where he’d seen her go under and looked around. He couldn’t Summon her and keep the chair lifted at the same time, the one bad thing about the chair. He willed her to the surface, then he could grab her, pull her up, maybe direct her to the edge. But she didn’t come and he was running out of time. He didn’t know how long the average person could hold their breath but he didn’t think it was very long. Deciding there was no other way; he slid off his chair and into the water, barely able to catch a breath before his useless legs dragged him under and into the murky depths. Eyes open, stinging, he scanned the water for her and spotted her hair almost immediately. He let his body drop with the weight of his dead limbs and grabbed her where she floated inches from the floor. She jerked in his grasp and he held her tight, pointing his wand to the muddy bottom and shooting powerful bubbles that shot the two of them to the surface. When they broke, Hermione coughed and hacked violently, expelling large amounts of water. Then she started in on panic mode. She flailed her weak arms and legs as if trying to escape him but he couldn’t hang on to her, his legs dragging him down. He fell under, lost his grasp on her and used the bubbles once more to push him to air. She was sinking again and he reached out for her, dragging her to him while he struggled with his wand arm to keep them above the water.

“Granger, snap out of it!” he yelled, water rushing into his mouth. He spat it out and gripped Granger, yanking her against him. He slapped her hard, sinking as a result and having to use his wand again, and she stopped her useless actions, staring at him unseeing as if confused.

“Granger, I can’t do this alone, I can’t use my legs. My chair, we have to get to my chair, you hear me?”

“I can’t see it!” she cried, tears joining the lake water on her face, as her arms worked to keep them up.

“I’ll be your eyes, you be my legs, got it?”

She nodded. He could still see the vivid fear in her sightless eyes, but she was sane enough to help.

“I’m so tired,” she moaned, struggling to tread water with his added weight, but he couldn't let go lest he sink and kill the both of them.

“We don’t have far to go, I just overshot a bit. Now come on, this way.” He dragged her in the direction of the chair and her weak body pulled them forward, each gripping the other hard. They were each other’s only lifeline, neither could surivive without the strength of the other. He used his powerful arms to help her weak body, directing her and propelling them forward as they fought to keep from sinking back down into the murderous depths.

Finally, he was able to reach out and grasp the edge of the seat which was floating on the water’s surface, having dropped once he left it. He tugged Granger onto it, pushing her onto the small surface and using his arms to pull his own useless legs up, smashing into Granger as there wasn’t much room. He pulled the shaking girl onto his lap and lifted the chair with a flick of his wand, getting them as far away from the water as possible. Granger buried her head in his shoulder, clinging to him like a child to its mother, shaking and sobbing. He held her tight with one arm so she wouldn’t fall and took them all the way to the house, not stopping until he had them safely inside the kitchen.

He didn’t think she could stand, but tried to push her onto a chair instead. Her exhausted body couldn’t even sit upright and he ended up having to pull her back onto his lap before she sank to the floor. He carried her upstairs and when he went to pour her into her bed, she was already passed out. She woke once hitting the sheets and coughed up more water, crying out. He was hard pressed to settle her down and knew this was out of his hands. She’d gone into hysterics. He had no idea what to do for her now. He raced down to the kitchen and gripped a handful of green powder from the mantle, throwing it into the fireplace. He shouted for the only place he knew from his last stay and pushed himself off his chair and into the flames.

“The Burrow!”

When he landed in a heap on the floor the single person in the kitchen looked up, one of the Weasley boys.

“Malfoy! What are you doing here? You’re not to leave headquarters-,”

“Not now…Granger-,” he panted. “Granger-,”

“Hermione? What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”

“Yes, please, I need help-,”

The Weasley was up and running before Draco could finish his sentence. Mrs. Weasley came barreling in, her features drawn with worry.

“Where is she? What happened?”

“She’s back at headquarters. She fell in the lake, I don’t know how long she was in there. I pulled her out but she’s a wreck-,”

“Bill, help Draco, please. I’m going ahead, come right behind me, I’ll need your help,” she demanded before disappearing into the green flames. Bill lifted Draco and held him upright, much to Draco’s chagrin, and they flooed together, something he hadn’t done since he was a toddler. Once back at headquarters Bill helped him into his chair and rushed upstairs. Draco followed and as they neared her room, her scream grew. Before Bill could enter the room, however, Mrs. Weasley rushed out, telling him to get a whole slew of things. He shoved past Draco and took the steps four at a time, flying down the stairs as Hermione continued to cry. Draco glided into the room and watched as Mrs. Weasley tried to calm the hysterical girl. Draco looked at her, really, for the first time. Even in the deepening twilight he could see that her skin was bright red and blistering, wrinkled from its prolonged stay in the water. She couldn’t raise her tired limbs more than a few inches off the mattress. How long had she been out there, struggling, fighting for her life? Guilt assailed him as he thought about it. While he’d been in the relative cool of the house sulking, she’d been out there in her own watery hell. Why had he not tried to look for her earlier? Was he that insensitive?

“Draco, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, dear, I need to get these things off her. You need to go change too, before you catch cold.”

It was then that Draco remembered he was still in wet clothes, dripping all over the floor. He back out of the room, running into Bill on the way out. When the red haired man threw open the door Draco saw that Granger was completely naked, most of her obscured by Mrs. Weasley. Bill was going to see her naked?

But no one seemed perturbed by the fact that she was completely starkers. Draco backed slowly to his own room and peeled the wet clothes off which clung to his skin like too much cheese in a grilled sandwich. He was shaken, inexplicably so. This hadn’t been like when he’d saved the godforsaken Muggleborn the first time, then he’d been so pumped full of adrenaline and fear he hadn’t thought about repercussions or really anything at all. It had just happened. But this time he had worried. What if he hadn’t gotten to her in time? What if she’d taken in so much water that she had passed out and couldn’t help drag the two of them to his chair and safety? What if, what if, what if…

And if she had died, her death would have been on him. He was the only other person here. They were supposed to be looking out for each other; instead they were ignoring each other, spiting each other until Granger was tossing herself in a lake. And if she had died…what were his feelings about it? He shouldn’t be this shook up over her life, what did he care? But the fact was that he did, and that scared him more than any other worry combined. Why was he all of the sudden worried about that bushy haired bint?

Throwing himself onto his bed and magicking on dry clothes, he tried to get Granger’s terrified shrieks out of his head. They had gone, replaced with the quiet murmurs of Bill and Mrs. Weasley, but still his ears rang with them. It was going to drive him mad, but then again so was the thought of her out there for hours, struggling against the watery claws of death…

Tugging himself back onto the chair, cursing his worthless legs for the umpteenth time, he skated through the air to Granger’s bedroom door, listening through the hollow wood. He couldn’t make out words, simply worried voices and Granger’s moans and whimpers of pain. He heart wrenched uncomfortably at the sounds as he thought about her blistered skin, her probably aching muscles. His arms hurt just from that little exertion; he couldn’t imagine what hours of that must be like. Wait, was he actually feeling sorry for Granger?

The door opened suddenly and Draco looked up, embarrassed, into the tall Weasley’s countenance.

“There you are. Go on in and help mum, I need to get a few things,” he said, already starting down the narrow staircase. Draco nudged open the door, the moaning filling his ears with guilt until it was tumbling over, sliding down the sides of his face like the condensation on a cold glass in August.

“Draco, dear, thank goodness. Are you alright? You look a bit peaky,” Mrs. Weasley said, her eyes full of concern as her hands rubbed a thick yellow goo on Granger’s lobster red arm.

“I’m fine,” he said, his eyes trained on Granger. When he’d pulled her out, she’d had nothing but a bra and panties on, her usual swimming attire. Now, a sheet was drawn up over her naked body, hiding it from his view. “Why is she moaning? Is she alright?”

“She’s striking a fever, all that heat, I daresay, it takes a toll. We’ve given her some pain potions but we don’t have any strong ones in the house, Bill’s going out for some now. Could you come help me get this stuff on her? It should cut down on some of the pain, maybe she’ll be able to sleep.”

Her eyes were closed and Draco wondered how much outside information she was taking in. Was she hallucinating? Was the fever bad? He took the jar Mrs. Weasley handed him and drew up along Granger’s other side, looking at her closely for the first time. Her skin was dark red, blisters dotting along her skin. It was hot to the touch, the heat emanating from her body, warring with the still humid air around them. The sight was revolting and Draco re-thought his acceptance to help. Mrs. Weasley seemed to sense his reluctance and just gave him a pitiable look.

“She needs us right now,” was all she said and Draco felt that damned guilt tugging at him again. Knowing it was partially his fault this had happened, he dipped his hand in the sick smelling goo and slathered it against her boiling skin. He was rubbing it between her fingers when Potter flew in, flanked closely by Weasel King.

“What happened?” Potter demanded, striding to the bed, his face wan.

“I believe you should ask Draco, here. It seems he’s responsible for saving her life. Again.”

That woman sure knew how to put a fellow in a tight spot.

“Well?” Ron snapped. “What did you do to her?”

“Shut it, let him speak,” Potter said, taking Draco aback. The Golden Boy stood up for him?

They all turned their eyes on him, even Mrs. Weasley who was now slaving the yellow substance on Granger’s heaving chest. She moaned again.

“Er, I don’t know how it happened but we sort of had a row and she went outside-,”

“You let her go out there alone? What the bleeding hell were you thinking?”

“Ron, shut your gob!” Potter retorted.

“She can’t see, you prick! Anything could have happened!”

“Ron, seriously, shut your mouth before I shut it for you!” Potter yelled, rounding on his gangly friend and grabbing him by the shirt. “How many times does he have to save her life before you get it through your thick head that we’re not sixteen anymore? Get over whatever grudge you have against him and grow up!” Potter pushed the boy from him who gaped stupidly. He ignored Weasley and turned to Draco. “What happened?”

“Erm…she goes out by the dock, she’s been swimming, not far or anything, just hanging onto the dock leg and, I don’t know, just staying there mostly. I was mad so I didn’t think to check on her, she’s never had any problems before it just never really occurred to me…anyways, I didn’t really worry until dinner, she was supposed to help me but she didn’t show. I went to look for her and found her in the water. She must have fallen in or something, gotten lost and couldn’t find the dock. She was pretty far in, facing kind of away from it. Must have gotten turned around. I don’t know how long she was in there before I pulled her out.”

“Is she okay?” Potter asked Mrs. Weasley, looking as if he wanted to touch Granger in some way but was unsure of where since she was now almost completely covered in the goo. Well, everything above the sheet anyways.

“She’ll live. Exhausted, she’ll sleep well tonight which is good since I doubt she’s had much lately. Just a little fever and some sunburns but we’ll fix her right up,” she said cheerily. “Don’t you worry.”

Draco had a feeling Mrs. Wealsey was making her sound better than she was. From the looks to Draco, she could very well have third degree burns, the likes of which he’d been subjected to when he’d snuck out to the shed to see the baby dragon his father was breeding. Apparently, dragons do not appreciate being petted by eight-year-old boys. The burns from his father’s lashings had been nearly as bad as the ones on his arms.

Mrs. Weasley finally shooed them out so she could administer to the rest of the girl. They stood awkwardly in the hall and when Draco turned to leave he felt a hand on his shoulder. Weasley quickly removed it when he turned, his chair too large for the crowded hall.

“Er, thanks for…helping out. Guess I owe you an apology.”

“Accepted,” Draco said, hoping he could get to his bedroom without any more embarrassing scenes, but Potter stalled his efforts again.

“Seriously. I owe you twice now,” he said, gesturing to Granger’s bedroom. “If there’s anything we can do, just let us know. We’re nothing without her.”

Draco nodded. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

He was finally able to find the sanctuary of his bedroom and used the chair to dump himself unceremoniously on the bed. What the fuck had he gotten himself into? This wasn’t him, this wasn’t his life, he didn’t go around saving damsels and accepting the apology’s of blood traitors! Since when was he romping around the headquarters for the exact people he was supposed to be killing, making dinner for Muggleborns and listening to the rules of a werewolf? He was a Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake! He was the epitome of evil incarnate, he was the loyal son of the Dark Lord’s right-hand man! He wanted the world rid of scum and blood-traitors!

Didn’t he?

That was the problem, he didn’t know anymore. What was a blood traitor? Someone who helped Muggle-borns? Or someone who was betraying that of which he was supposed to protect, his own blood? Did they not all have blood? Were Muggle’s veins not coursing with the same life-giving substance as he? Was it not a treachery of all man-kind to go against, really, any of them? Whether Muggle, Pureblood, Half-blood, Muggle-born or Squib, they all had blood. Was it all different? Sure, but wasn’t that the point? How could the world survive with just one type; Purebloods? They would have died out if they hadn’t mixed with Muggles. And wasn’t Granger, a woman with no magical history at all, a woman who didn’t even know their world existed until she was eleven, thwart him when it came to magic? He, a Pureblood with a line they could trace to medieval times. Under Voldemort’s theories, this was impossible. But it was true; the witch could learn anything faster than anyone he’d met, she could recite Standard Book of Spells, Grades 1-7 by heart. She had mastered silent spells before anyone, was the first in their year to successfully Aparate and he had heard-tell by Snape that she had brewed a Polyjuice Potion, a seventh year N.E.W.T level concoction at the age of twelve. Then there was Longbottom, with a line that could be traced as far back as his, which actually co-mingled with his, and he could hardly stand up a cauldron. So what did it matter, really?

Confused, sore, and exhausted, he fell asleep to dreams of drowning in blood.

^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.

XOXO

RynStar15