Heart of Ice

             "Draco? Is it really you? You are so handsome. When did you change your hair?" Draco squinted in an attempt to see who was speaking to him in such a complimentary fashion. Glancing around, he saw that he was in a...space, for lack of a better word. A dark, murky space.

           "Who are you?" he asked suspiciously, unconsciously brushing a few strands of hair from his face. The woman began to come closer, and as thin rays of light fell upon her Draco blinked in surprise. "Mother?" he asked weakly. Draco felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest.

           "Oh, my son. Please, can I have just one embrace? I...I know I was a horrible mother, but please...grant me this." Draco approached her warily, then threw his arms around her, burying his face in a cascade of soft hair. This shocked them both, as he would never have shown her such affection under normal circumstances.

           "You've not gone mad," he whispered. He felt her stiffen.

           "Oh, yes I have," she replied in a haunted tone. "In the real world, I am quite mad."

           "The real world? Then what is this?" he asked, stepping back.

           "A dream, Draco." She paused for a moment and simply stared at him, clucking her tongue. "You've changed since I've left," she stated sadly. Draco frowned at her tone.

           "How is that bad?" he snapped defensively.

           "Draco, I have no time to speak with you as your mother," she replied, avoiding the question. "This is an act of desperation. I came to help you. Did you know I am a Seer?"

           "I figured it out, yes."

           "Did you know you are one also?"

           Her query was met with silence.

           Narcissa grinned ruefully. "I guess not, then?"

           "Clearly," Draco muttered. "Mother, no offense, but if I were a Seer don't you think I'd have noticed by now? It certainly would have saved me a lot of trouble lately." She shook her head.

           "Please allow me to explain. I know how you thirst for knowledge and understanding. So much like your ancestors..." Suddenly she paused as if listening to something. "Draco, I must hurry. Voldemort is going to kill me tonight," she stated with cool indifference. She might as well have been chatting about the weather.

           "How do you-? Right. You're a Seer. Why kill you now?" he asked, cloaking the dread that suddenly overcame him with a mask of indifference.

           "He has sleep wards placed on me so I can not reach people," she answered casually. "I broke through them for you, but he sensed it. It is no longer safe for him to keep me alive.

           "Now, listen to me, Draco. Listen closely," she began, in a tone that reminded Draco of Granger. "Rowena Ravenclaw was the witch to discover that through a combination of spells and potions, she could give one the ability catch to glimpses of the past, present, and future. One could even travel through dreams. It was a long and dangerous process, and she was only able to achieve it twice successfully: to herself, and to her brother Rodger. The gift of being a Seer was passed through the generations, but only to one child at a time. It could only exist in one person in each line at a time. Do you understand?" Her narrative was rushed, and her urgency unnerved Draco somewhat.

           "You mean, Rowena passed her Gift to one of her children when she died." His mother nodded. "And one of Rodger's children had the Gift as well?"

           "Yes. And it continued that way throughout history. Now, I came here to transfer my Gift to you."

           "But you aren't dead yet!"

           "It doesn't matter. I'm choosing to pass it on, and I will no longer be a Seer." Draco nodded, his mind still trying to grasp that he was speaking to his mad mother, who would be dead by morning.

           "We're descended from Ravenclaw, then?" he asked, a smug grin creeping over his aristocratic freatures. "Which one?"

           "Rowena, of course! Draco..." she paused, once again giving Draco the impression that she was listening to something only she could hear. "Draco, they're here! Listen, since I'm about to be killed I don't need to transfer my Gift to you. In a moment, you will wake with immense pain in your head. Go to Madam Pomfrey...Merlin knows she has helped me before."

           "Yes, Mother." Narcissa took Draco's chin in her hands.

           "Draco...promise me you won't lose hope? Try to be happy, and Draco...promise me you'll never serve Voldemort."

           "Me? Serve that scum?! Give me some credit, Mother!" Draco snarled indignantly. Then his expression and tone softened. "Mother, you... is there nothing you can do to defend yourself?"

           A pained expression crossed her features as Narcissa began to respond, but all that came out of her mouth was a thick river of blood. She cringed, pain evident in her eyes, and fell to the ground, a strained gurgling sound escaping her. Draco tried to run to her, but the space was rippling...he was leaving...

                                                               * * *

On the other side of the castle, Albus Dumbledore woke with a start.

* * *

           "AAAAAaaaaaaah! Fucking, bloody hell!" Draco screamed as he awoke to what felt like knives slashing his mind to pieces. He sat up, bringing his knees to his chin, and grabbed his head with all his strength, trying to make the pain go away. As he came to his senses, he reminded himself of his mantra to show no weakness. He stifled his next scream by biting his lower lip. It wasn't long before he tasted the sickly sweet tang of his own blood.

           "Malfoy? Draco...Merlin, are you alright?" Hermione came bounding out of her room at top speed. Seeing him curled up and clutching his skull silently, Hemione began to panic. "Draco, your mouth is bleeding! You're in pain...! Merlin, think Hermione, think!" she pleaded with herself. Desperate, she ran into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a damp cloth. "Draco, I know you hate me, but you can hex me for this in the morning, I promise. For now..." Hermione nervously climbed up beside him and pressed the cloth to his forehead. Normally Draco would have thrown a fit, but he was in too much pain to do much of anything as Hermione tried desperately to comfort him. Draco groaned in agony as another onslaught of pain ripped through his head. "Shhhhh! It's alright....I'm going to go get Madam Pomfrey, alright?"

           "Already here, Miss Granger!" said Madam Pomfrey as she flew to Draco's side. Hermione stared at her in surprise.

           "How did you-?"

           "No time for that, Miss Granger," replied Dumbledore as he sat down beside her. Hermione nodded and turned back to Draco while Madam Pomfrey swirled her wand around his head. A soft red glow began to pulse around him, then was gone. Madam Pomfrey shook her head, and Hermione wasn't sure if it was a look of wonder or just shock that passed over her.

           "Albus, you're right, as always." Madam Pomfrey pointed her wand at Draco again and whispered, "Slumberios."

           "It is as I feared, then. She is dead." Hermione's brow creased with worry.

           "I'm sorry professor," she began as Draco drifted into a deep slumber, "but who is dead?" Dumbledore regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then seemed to come to a conclusion.

           "Poppy? May I leave you with Mister Malfoy for a moment?"

           "Of course, Albus." Dumbledore stood up and gestured for Hermione to do the same.

           "Come to my office, Miss Granger." Hermione followed him to the fireplace where he was now waiting. He handed her a fistful of floo-powder, which she took gratefully, and stepped into the fireplace saying,

           "Headmaster's Office!"

           Minutes later, they were sitting at Dumbledore's desk, each with a mug of hot cocoa.

           "Miss Granger, would you mind telling me how you found Draco tonight?" Hermione nodded, and took a steadying breath.

           "I woke up to him screaming...so I ran out of my room, and found him just as you did, on the couch. He must have fallen asleep like that, after our...argument..." Hermione trailed off, looking ashamed of herself.

           "I see. Miss Granger, I am well aware that Draco is not the easiest person to get along with. However, due to recent events, I must ask that you treat him with..." he searched for the correct word, "understanding. Not that he will make it easy, of course," he added, as he took a sip from his mug. Hermione did the same, and as the chocolate worked its magic on her nerves, her curiosity took over.

           "Sir...I was wondering if you could tell me what's wrong with him."

           "Nothing is wrong with him, Miss Granger."

           "Sir?" Dumbledore's eyes begn to twinkle mischievously.

           "I suggest if you want answers that you ask Mister Malfoy." Hermione did her best not to scowl.

           "But sir, surely you realize he would rather die than tell me anything!"

           "That depends largely on your people skills, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said slyly.

           "Since when have people skills gotten anyone anywhere when it comes to Draco Malfoy?" she asked exasperatedly. Hermione knew that unless he deemed you 'worthy', no amount of civility would make Malfoy give you the time of day. It was one of the reasons she hated him. Dumbledore ignored the rhetorical question.

           "One thing you should probably know is that the woman who died, and in a way caused his condition tonight, is Narcissa Malfoy." Hermione felt sick.

           "Oh, Merlin. His mother."

           "Yes, I am afraid so. However, do not expect Draco to react to this." This time, Hermione did scowl.

           "How can you not react to your mother's death?!" she shrieked with disgust.

           "Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy is from a different world than you or I. It is not our place to judge." Hermione remained unconvinced. If her mother died, she'd be a wreck for months. How could anyone simply not react?

           They sat in silence for a moment, each with their own thoughts, when Hermione remembered her quest to find out what happened in the summer.

           "Sir? Will you tell me anything about what happened to Draco this summer? When Crookshanks and I found him?" Dumbledore said nothing for a bit, and Hermione began to wonder if he'd heard her. Finally he said,

           "I imagine that is what your disagreement was about this evening?" Hermione nodded guiltily, wondering not for the first time how he could possibly be as insightful as he was. "In that case, I cannot in good conscience tell you. Besides, I believe it is time for us to head back."

           In the common room, Hermione helped Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore levitate Draco into the Hospital Wing. Once he was settled into a bed, Hermione turned to Dumbledore, who was standing at the foot of it. "Professor Dumbledore, how long will he have to be in here?" she asked.

           "He will be in here for at least three days if I have anything to do about it," Madam Pomfrey said sternly, as if daring either of her companions to disagree. Neither of them did.

           "What kind of treatments will he have to undergo?" Hermione asked innocently, studiously avoiding Dumbledore's amused gaze. Madam Pomfrey, pleased that somebody was showing interest in her work, answered,

           "Not much dear. Some sleeping draughts and spells at night, of course, along with the pain killers. The rest is Albus' territory, really." Hermione furrowed her brow.

           "Why is that?" she pried.

           "Ahem," Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly. Madam Pomfrey took the hint, and narrowed her eyes at the young Gryffindor girl.

           "That's enough questions for tonight. Now, out you get! Mister Malfoy is doing just fine, and while I understand your concern," she said with a wink that made Hermione flush, "there's really nothing you can do here."

           Embarassed for no logical reason she could come up with, Hermione took one last look at the sleeping form of Draco Malfoy. There was no evidence on his face of tears; his skin was flawless and beautiful as ever; but there was tension around his eyes that suggested pain, even in his sleep. Hermione felt a strange contraction and warmth in her chest, accompanied by the sudden urge to brush a strand of his silky hair off of his forehead.

           Inwardly shaking herself out of the strange trance, Hermione once again cursed her motherly nature, and left the infirmary.

                                                                 * * *