Bear Me Safely Over

Bear Me Safely Over

Chapter Four: Waking Up Alone

As Hermione followed Harry up the stairs, she said, "All things considered, Ron didn't take that too badly."

"No, it could have been worse," Harry agreed, "He could have actually turned Draco into a hedgehog instead of just threatening to."

"The night is still young," she muttered tiredly.

***

"Draco?" Ginny whispered, peering nervously into the dark doorway. She jumped when she saw a pair of gray eyes staring unblinkingly at her. "I think you just took ten years off my life," she said, a bit breathlessly.

"Well, if it isn't the littlest Weasley. Just ten, huh?"

"Well, if isn't the most obnoxious Malfoy," Ginny snapped back. "Yes, just ten. You must be losing your touch."

"Does anyone in this house knock?"

"Excuse me?" Ginny spluttered, confused for a moment at the abrupt change of topic.

Draco sighed dramatically, "Never mind," He shook his head, "What are you doing in my room?"

Ginny bristled. "For your information, this is Charlie's room. And," she added more gently, "you don't have to call me 'Weasley.' You can call me Ginny, the same as everyone else."

"Well, Weasley, what are you doing in your brother's room?" Draco drawled insolently.

"Coming to see you, you great prat," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm honored you care."

"Don't flatter yourself. Snape sent me to check on you."

"And here I thought you said that you came to see me."

Even though she couldn't see his expression in the darkness, Ginny had the sneaking suspicion that he was leering at her. When she began imagining Draco making suggestive hand motions to accompany his barbs, she decided that she'd had enough. She murmured a "Lumos, " and the room lit up, revealing the figure on the bed sitting up, unconcerned, stretching like a cat.

Ginny sat on the bed next to Draco, and silently pulled up the edge of his robes to check his ankles. She grimaced at the mess, and muttered a few quick cleaning and healing spells.

She suppressed the urge to shiver. With Draco's eyes sharply following her every movement, she felt like prey being stalked. In the strained silence, Ginny almost wished for the irritating banter that they had shared before.

When she was done, she sat back to survey her work. Draco's ankles and feet looked much better and would continue to improve as the swelling went down. They were now covered with a roadmap of shiny new scar tissue, cruel testament to his service to Voldemort.

She sighed. "Look, Draco, I don't know what your deal is, and I don't pretend to; it's really none of my business. If Hermione and Harry say that you're safe, then you're safe." Ginny looked sternly at Draco, "But they're two of the most compassionate people I know and they like to see the best in people. Don't take advantage of their kindness."

She paused, surveying Draco thoughtfully. "But no... you wouldn't would you?" At Draco's continued silence, Ginny's eyes softened. "I remember seeing you and Harry together seventh year. I think- I think I was jealous. I had been trailing behind him for six years, hoping for a crumb of attention, praying to be his friend, and then you, Harry's enemy, suddenly turn nice and you're accepted right into the fold. I had just assumed the same as everyone else that your friendship was some kind of farce, a joke designed to humiliate Harry, and that one day you would turn on him.

"But sometimes, I would watch you, and I would see the way you looked at Harry. You were dazzled by him. You had been sucked in by Harry, as everyone is eventually, and you wanted him to look at you and acknowledge you as a friend. When you disappeared, and everyone thought that you betrayed him, I knew. You wouldn't have ever left him- not of your own doing."

She held up a hand to cut him off as he opened his mouth to protest, "No, don't tell me; I'm not the one you owe an explanation to."

"Then who would that be, Weasley?"

Ginny looked at him steadily. "Harry, of course."

***

In their room, Hermione yawned as she brushed out her hair in front of the mirror in the adjoining bathroom. "Harry, what do we do?"

"Do?"

"What do we do with Draco?" she asked impatiently. Harry was being dense on purpose, and he wasn't fooling her. Harry was like a possum: If something were threatening it, the possum would play dead. Harry, in turn, liked to play stupid.

Great, she thought. My husband is a possum, and I'm a threat that wants to eat him.

Though she couldn't see him, Hermione could feel his shrug. She could hear his muffled reply as he changed shirts. "Whatever Dumbledore wants us to do, I guess."

Hermione put down her hairbrush and walked to the bedroom door. She leaned on the doorjamb and crossed her arms. "Harry, I have a bad feeling about this. There's something he's not telling us."

Harry's face was unreadable. "Dumbledore wouldn't lie to us."

"Of course he wouldn't," she tried in a placating tone, "I'm not trying to suggest that he suddenly became Voldemort's bosom buddy. But there is something that he knows that he's not telling us."

"Dumbledore may not be telling us everything, but I'm sure he has a good reason. Everyone lies to me, Hermione. They lie, they hide information, then they betray me. I can't trust anyone except for Dumbledore. He was with me through everything. He protected me from Voldemort for eleven years. He was with me through Cedric's death, and..."

And though he didn't say it, Sirius' name hung in the air like something foul and stale that they both were aware of, but neither willing to acknowledge. Hermione bit her lip. Sirius' presence effectively ended the conversation. She felt like hitting Harry. She wanted to beg and scream and plead. Most of all, she wanted to ask why he couldn't trust her. But she didn't ask because she was afraid of what his answer might be.

***

"Mr. Weasley, if you keep pacing in that manner, you will wear a hole in the carpet." Snape sneered as he looked around as if to say, "not that this carpet isn't already threadbare."

Ron ground his teeth. "What's taking Ginny so long?"

"I'm sure that Ms. Weasley will be done shortly."

"Well, I'm tired of waiting!" Ron said as he stomped his feet, then immediately felt stupid for throwing a tantrum in front of his old professor, which hacked him right off, because he hated feeling stupid.

Snape finally lost his patience, as he thew down the book he had been trying to read, and yelled, "Weasley, sit down!"

Ron sat down before even realizing he had done so. Apparently neither war nor Auror training were enough to erase years of abject humiliation and horrible detentions at the hands of Snape. Ron scowled. This was Malfoy's fault. He wasn't sure how, but when he found out, he was going to pound the slimy git.

Ron felt a smile break out on his face as he thought of all the things he could do to Malfoy. All of the things to pay him back for seven years of misery. Ron was distantly aware that he probably looked like he belonged in St. Mungo's, smiling at the air and snickering quietly, but he didn't particulalry care.

Snape stood us as Ginny entered the room, distracting Ron from tantalizing visions of feeding Malfoy piece by piece to the giant squid at Hogwarts

"How is he?" Snape asked with a concern that surprised Ron. Ginny didn't seem to notice.

"He should be fine for now. I'm done with the basic healing and cleansing spells. Those should be enough to hold him until tomorrow." Ginny yawned. "I was too tired to try anything more sophistocated. I better get to bed for a few hours, then I'll finish."

Snape nodded stiffly. "I thank you for your assistance, Ms. Weasley."

Ginny shrugged. "I would have done it for anybody." Snape bowed slightly, then turned to the fireplace and flooed back to Hogwarts.

"I'm surprised he isn't running off to V-Voldemort to tell him that his little pet is all right." On the whole, Ron's little speech, delivered with a picture perfect sneer, would have been flawless had he not stuttered on Voldemort's name.

"You know as well as I that Snape isn't a Death Eater anymore." Despite her sharp words, Ginny's warm brown eyes were understanding. She knew how much it took Ron to say Voldemort's name aloud.

Ron's shoulders slumped. "I know. I just don't understand why we're suddenly evil guy central."

"Evil guy central?"

"Yeah, there used to be a time when evil was just evil, and it stayed that way, you know, black and white. These days it's all just ..."

"It's all just gray?" Ginny suggested.

"Yeah, that's it."

***

Hermione took a few deep, calming breaths, shivering in the dark. She had dreamt that she was swimming in an ocean. Though the moon was out, it didn't illuminate the water at all, leaving the depths dark and murky. The inky blackness surrounded her and she couldn't tell in which direction she was swimming, and no matter how hard she swam, she couldn't see even a hint of the shore. She was trying to find someone and she knew that someone was trying to find her, yet they weren't the same people. She was lost.

A current pulled her under and she was choking on icy, black water. In the quiet moment before her heart stopped beating, she had the sudden realization that she hadn't found any answers and the effort to look had cost her life.

She closed her eyes in defeat and all was dark.

Hermione had awaken shuddering, thinking about the dream. Something about it was more than a nightmare- it was important somehow, and she struggled to hold onto it despite the desperate urge to push it from her memory.

Hermione blindly reached out for Harry, seeking his comforting warmth, but all she encountered was empty air and cool linen.

***

Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose with his finger. Ahead, he could see the faint glow of a lit wand as he plodded towards the kitchen. He considered turning back. He really didn't feel like talking to anyone right now, but something made him continue walking towards the kitchen.

As Harry stepped into the kitchen, he realized that whoever was sitting there had been waiting for him.

"Hello, Harry."

"Draco."

"I think it's time we talked."

"About what?"

"The bloody weather. What do you think?" Draco asked, exasperated.

Seeing Harry's injured expression, Draco realized that this wasn't going to be easy for either of them. As he searched for the words, he couldn't think of anything to say that would make this somehow easier, less cruel. He decided that blunt honesty was best.

"Harry I-"

At his words, Harry's entire body tensed, as if waiting for a blow. Not for the first time that evening, Draco wondered if he was doing the right thing. Harry's face was pale and drawn with tiredness. He was hunched over, already tired from anticipated defeat. But Harry was strong, Draco thought, stronger than people tended to give him credit for. He had lived through worse; he would live through this.

"Harry, I went there. On my own, I mean," Draco confessed.

Harry didn't say anything for a long moment. Watching Harry's face was like watching contents under pressure. Draco knew that they were going to explode; it was just a matter of when and where. The anticipation was almost worse than the explosion.

But Harry didn't explode in a violent manner like he should have; instead, he shattered quietly.

With a small sound in the back of his throat, Harry reeled backwards, like he had been punched in the face, hitting the wall hard, and sliding to the floor. He seemed to collapse in on himself, as if his continued belief in Draco's innocence had sustained him all these years.

When Harry dropped his gaze to the floor, Draco felt a moment of selfish relief that he didn't have to look at Harry's broken face anymore.

***

Hermione stared out the window, watching the moon paint the surrounding forest with silver.

Everything was so peaceful tonight.

Hermione had a normal, if not a downright boring childhood. Being the child of two dentists, she was best described by those that knew her as studious and practical minded. But despite the wishes of her parents, she had a bit of the dreamer in her, which she tried to ruthlessly quash.

Perhaps she had a little talent in divination, or maybe her subconscious was just trying to prepare her. But when she received her letter from Hogwarts, she wasn't surprised, merely relieved. Most people, her parents included, just thought Hermione was a little off, an odd child. And she was. When most girls were just starting to think about boys, Hermione didn't bother. She knew that she had a bigger destiny; she knew there was something more for her.

When she saw the scrawny boy on the train, she was aware of his importance, after all, she had read Hogwarts: A History and the equally thrilling The History of the Modern Wizarding World, but wasn't terribly impressed. He didn't look like much, sitting there with a smudgy boy named Ronald Weasley, pushing his taped glasses up with his finger, and squirming under her cool scrutiny. But later, when they began to talk, and the three of them started building the foundations of their friendship, Hermione felt it- the faint tugging, strings binding them together. Her life revolved around this boy. And She had only known him for a few hours.

She wanted to be close to Harry, wanted it in a way that she couldn't explain. And she didn't understand why she couldn't have the same relationship with him that she had with Ron. She never had to seek Ron out. They just seemed to gradually drift into an easy and steadfast friendship. Harry, on the other hand, was kind and sweet, but untouchable. He could only let people get so close, and then he would slam a door on them, often hurting them in the process.

Sometime during the third year, Hermione began to understand why. And this was what she thought: Harry didn't belong to any one person. He couldn't. For some reason, Harry attracted people in hate and love, as if by magnets. Hadn't he had attracted her and Ron, and in a roundabout way, Draco? He was bound by duties to the world that she could never begin to wrap even her formidable mind around. He belonged to everyone and no one at the same time. So what did that leave her? Not much, she could admit without bitterness.

Sometimes, she thought that it was hopeless, that they would always be entrenched in war, would always looking over their shoulders. Oh, she knew her dreams were childish, fantasies really, echoes of a happier life that she would never have. But sometimes in war, dreams were all that sustained a person

Tonight the moon was full and beautiful. Tonight, she could secretly believe that anything was possible.

***

Ginny sat up in bed, momentarily disoriented. She had been having a dream, but it was foggy now, and no matter how hard she tried to recall her dream, it kept sliding away from her, like dispersing wisps of smoke.

But when she was about to give up, she had a sharp moment of clarity, and she saw a flash of green and the sound of cruel laughter echoing through the recesses of her mind, until it too, disappeared from her consciousness.

***

Ron smiled in his sleep. He was having a bloody good dream.

He was sitting in front of the lake at Hogwarts, still debating whether to chop Draco into little bits before feeding him to the giant squid, or just throw the git in there completely whole. He decided to just dump Malfoy in the lake and be done with it. His grin widened as the squid rose up and started chomping Malfoy like a giant drumstick.

He felt a brief pang that could have been sympathy, but then dismissed it as indigestion. Served him right for eating Mexican right before going to bed.

A prickling sensation at the back of his neck alerted him to someone else's presence. He tried to feign nonchalance by shoving his hands into his pockets and whistling off-key. It didn't work; whoever was there started slightly. As he turned, he saw a brief flash of light, then nothing more.

Ron knew instinctively that he was alone again.

He scratched his head. Maybe he should have picked a better song.

***

Lucius Malfoy sat back in his chair, trying to quell his frayed nerves. That last one had been a close call.

He called a house elf and ordered a meal to be brought to him and a bath drawn. He would eat, bathe, and then get some much-needed sleep. After all, he had a busy day ahead of him. Lord Voldemort would want a full update, and as at anytime when dealing with the Dark Lord, he had to have his wits about him.

But for once, everything was going to plan and moving pretty smoothly to boot. The Dark Lord wouldn't be displeased. With that final thought, Lucius walked over to his massive marble fireplace, the focus of the entire Malfoy library. He fished around his shirt for the small gold key that hung around his neck. He used the key to open a small glass case sitting on the mantle. Carefully, he set the wand in the case and locked it, dropping his key back into his shirt.

Things were looking up. All Lucius had to do was make sure they followed the plan.

"Draco," He said to the empty room, " I'll be seeing you soon."

***

To Be Continued...

***