Heart of Ice

            Hermione Granger yawned and put down her book, looking at her small digital clock with surprise. It was already one in the morning. Muttering to herself about having to get up early the next day, she stood and picked up her cat, Crookshanks, and began speaking to him in a high-pitched voice. "Don't worry, sweety. We'll wake up on time, won't we? Yes we will! Yes we will!"

           All of a sudden, a bright flash came from outside, only to disappear a moment later. It struck Hermione as somewhat peculiar that she didn’t hear the car when it passed, but she easily dismissed it. She was awfully tired, and obviously wasn’t at her most obesrvant.

           "Meroooow!!!!!" Crookshanks wailed. He sounded like a banshee. Startled, Hermione jumped and dropped the cat, who was now mewling like a siren and running back and forth from her to the door like a posessed tennis ball.

           "Crookshanks! What's the matter with you?" she scolded as she went to let the cat out of her room. Instantly, the cat shot out the door and continued its wailing, now running back and forth from Hermione to the front entrance. "Alright, alright!" she sighed, "Just keep quiet, will you? You'll wake my parents! Honestly!" The cat ignored her and continued with its wild behaviour. Sometimes Hermione was certain that the seemingly innocent animal did things like this on purpose, just to annoy her. Hermione wrapped her thin crimson house coat tightly around her pleasantly curved body, and opened the door for the wiley beast. Crookshanks shot out the door like lightning, bolting down the walkway at top speed. Once he was at the sidewalk he stopped, and sat, staring at Hermione. By this point, Hermione was certain the animal had finally lost it.

           "Meroooow!!!!" he cried. Hermione squinted, and realized there was a conspicuous pile of something behind the tabby. This would have been perfectly normal, except...this wasn’t garbage night. Startled, she ran out of the house to see what Crookshanks was trying to show her. What she saw made her gasp.

           "Oh, Merlin! It's a–a person!" She knelt down in a panic and gently pulled back the dark cloak off what she thought must be their head. Hermione let out a small shriek as a mop of platinum locks were revealed, followed by a bloodied, male face. Crookshanks trotted up and nuzzled into the man, purring comfortingly.

           "Sir?" Hermione asked weakly, her hands trembling as she adjusted his cloak. "Sir, if you can hear me, try to make a sound, alright?" She waited anxiouly. Nothing. Getting more and more frightened with every passing second, Hermione grabbed her wand and muttered “Lumos!” to get a better look at the man's face. What the soft glow of her wand revealed startled her more than anything else could have. "MALFOY?!" she gasped incredulously. "Oh, God. Oh my God. Malfoy?" Hermione stood up shakily, then noticed that there was blood on her house coat. Pointing her wand to the ground, she felt like throwing up. Draco Malfoy was in a pool of blood, in a blood soaked cloak, in a blood soaked body. "I have to get Dumbledore..." she whispered, completely forgetting school rivalries, and running into the house. Luckily, her fireplace had been put on the floo network for emergencies.

           She grabbed a handful of powder from a small ceramic jar on the mantle, and threw it into the fireplace, shouting "Dumbledore! Albus Dumbledore!" There was a flash, then her beloved Headmaster's face appeared in her living room. He looked tired, she realized, and his eyes weren't sparkling as they usually did. It was unnerving. Professor Snape was behind him, looking even worse.

           "Miss Granger?" he asked in surprise, studying her face intently.

           "Sir! Please, you have to...to..come, come now!" she said through sobs.

           "What's wrong?" Snape asked, looking very out of character with a panicked expression on his face.

           "It's Malfoy! He's here, and--" Snape and Dumbledore both jumped up.

           "I understand. We will go to Hogsmeade and apparate from there. Will you be alright for about two minutes?" She nodded dumbly. "Thankyou, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, before disappearing. Hermione was left with her thoughts. He is going to die. Draco Malfoy is going to die. He can’t die! He’s always been there. . . Images of Malfoy walking in that annoyingly superior manner of his through the halls of Hogwarts rose unbidden in Hermione’s mind. Malfoy goading on Ron and Harry, unwittingly giving them both the distraction they needed from the threat of Voldemort. Malfoy smirking at her from across the room, as Snape praised him for his potion-making. Not neccesserily the best of memories to the observer, but right now they certainly seemed it. Hermione shook her head and forced herself to think practically. She made a quick trip to the linen closet and ran back outside with a clean blanket, crouching beside Malfoy and Crookshanks, who was comfortably nestled under his chin. Carefully, Hermione began to pull off his blood covered cloak, trying not to gag as more cuts and bruises became visible. Just like your medi-witch course, Hermione. Breathe and focus...

           "What the hell are you doing, Granger?!"

           "Eeek!" Hermione fell backwards, startled. Once her surprise ebbed however...She never thought she'd be so happy to hear that annoying prat's voice. "Malfoy? You're alive! I have to get this cloak off you...it's covered in blood...." Draco's eyes widened. The last thing he needed was Granger poking around his injuries and playing detective.

           "NO!" he snapped. "Just back off Granger. I'll be fine." Hermione narrowed her tear filled eyes.

           "But I have a blanket for you!" Seeing his stubborn face, she sighed wearily. "Look, I know you don't want me to touch you, because I'm not pure enough, but if you don't let me help you--"

           "Bloody hell, Granger, I'm fine! And I don't care about your fucking blood that much. Just...you don't need to see," he muttered.

           "I'm not going to faint for goodness' sake! In case you haven't noticed, there's blood all around you and I'm still conscious! Please, Malfoy," she started to cry, "You could die. Don’t you understand?”

            Draco looked up with shock at his arch-enemy's crying face, wondering why the hell she was crying. Did she pity him? This thought angered him greatly. "So what?! I could die. Big sodding deal! There are worse things, you know. Just leave my bloody cloak where it is," Draco said with as much force as he could muster. He was losing blood fast, and he knew that pretty soon he would be unconscious. He just needed to be sure that when that happened, Granger wouldn't see his arm...

           "Merow!" came a cry from beside Draco's ear, startling him slightly. He lowered his eyes, and saw a large ginger ball of fluff residing beneath his jaw. A cat, he realized with some small amount of pleasure. Draco had always gotten along with cats. They were independent, stealthy, and cunning. He understood cats.

           "Hey there, cat," he whispered, nudging it with his chin. He was rewarded by a deep, steady purr. He chuckled slightly. "See, Granger. The cat isn't worried. You could learn a thing or two from him." He glanced up at his enemy, amused to see the bewilderment written clearly all over her face.

           "He's the one who found you, but...Crookshanks hates everyone!" she whispered, giving Draco a strange look. "Of all the people he could choose to like, he chooses you?" This angered Draco somewhat. Who was she to insult him on his death-bed?

           "Well," he sneered, making sure not to wince at the pain this action caused, "I'm glad to see my state of dying hasn't stopped you from being your usual bitchy self, Mudblood." To his surprise, this started her off crying again. "For Merlin's sake, woman! What is the matter with you?!" Draco was genuinely perplexed at the chocolate-haired girl’s behaviour. Was she still unused to his insults, after six full years of them?

           "You can't die!!" she yelled shakily. "I hate you, Draco Malfoy, and I know you hate me, but you've always been there for us to bicker with! Who would Harry have to really compete with in Quidditch?! And who would give Ron the opportunity to lose his temper?! And who would compete with me for marks?! And, and--" With that, she broke down again. Draco was just about to tell her how stupid she sounded, when there was a bright flash of light, followed by the sound of fast approaching footsteps. Death Eaters.

           "Granger! Granger, get out of here! If they're coming, they'll kill you!" he tried to shout. It only came out as hoarse speaking. She looked up fearfully for a moment, then whipped out her wand, determination flashing in her eyes.

           "If it's whoever did this to you, they'll wish they'd never been born!" she replied. Draco's eyes widened. So she does have some backbone. Foolish, stupid girl!

           "Hermione!" he said exasperatedly, trying to get her attention. She glanced down at him.

           "Great time to be on a first name basis!" she snapped, half from shock. Draco rolled his eyes.

           "If you die too, it's your own fault," he muttered dryly. Draco prepared himself for death, but found he got an odd feeling in his stomach when he thought of Granger having to die too. That didn’t seem...something, he thought to himself confusedly. Then Hermione sighed with relief.

           "Professor Dumbledore! Professor Snape!" she cried. "Quick, he's lost so much blood already..." Draco’s eyes flew up at the mention of Snape’s name. Snape was one of them. Snape was a Death Eater. The irony of the fact that his rescuer was probably going to kill him amused Draco greatly, and he found himself laughing softly. He looked up to see a concerned Dumbledore's eyes, (Why is he concerned about me?), then everything started to spin. He felt his head start to lighten, and his vison began to blur. Turning to Granger, he decided that he owed her for at least trying to help him, and decided that his final parting should be on polite terms.

           "Thanks, Granger," he whispered coarsely, "I like your cat." And for the third time that day....

           There was nothing.