Full Circle

Chapter 18 - Descent into Madness

"I just can't believe it," said Hermione out loud to herself as she paced back and forth across her bedroom floor. She had experienced odd segments of dreams before, but never a full fledged vision in the middle of the day! One minute she was knee deep in a Potions essay about the memory affecting properties of Jobbernall feathers, and the next she became an invisible spectator to a series of inconceivable events. The last and most important left Hermione feeling nauseous in a way she hadn't felt in months.

"I must be hallucinating this." She paused for a moment and pressed her hand into the small of her aching back. Being almost eight months along left her sore and uncomfortable at times. Who knew being pregnant was such a difficult task? Hermione thought, sitting back down on her bed, her mind returning to the situation at hand.

Pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill, Hermione quickly jotted notes on the scenarios she had witnessed and how they were possibly connected. A daughter was born to the estranged wife of Tom Riddle, the future Lord Voldemort, and if Professor McGonagall performed the appropriate spell on The Golden Book of Magical Children - the existence of Camilla Riddle would only be known to four individuals: McGonagall herself, Arabella Figg, her husband Artemis, and the now deceased Kate.

What disturbed Hermione the most was watching Mrs. Figg, posing as a social worker, aiding in the adoption of the now orphaned baby to a very loving, yet infertile Muggle couple - Richard and Amelia Evans. The beautiful red haired, green eyed infant made a perfect addition to their small family, which already consisted of their first daughter Petunia who was not quite two and a half years old. They named their newest child Lily after the delicate pink Oriental Lilies that were blooming in Amelia's garden that July.

It is possible that not a day in her life did Lily Evans Potter (or anyone else) know that she and her sister had been adopted - or that the wonderful couple that raised them had been anything but their biological parents. At the age of eleven, when she received her letter to Hogwarts, she had never even heard of Lord Voldemort or Albus Dumbledore, let alone knew she was somehow related to them. And when she sat for a strangely long time under the Sorting Hat, much as her son did twenty-one years later, Lily had no idea this was because the hat sensed something different about this little girl.

Please don't put me in Slytherin! She mentally pleaded when the hat suggested her potential placements. Ruthie Weasley says no good witch or wizard has ever come out of Slytherin. And with her mind firmly made up, the hat decided upon Gryffindor as the house where Lily's heart truly belonged.

Several pages of parchments later, a small pop brought Hermione back to her senses. Dobby appeared in the middle of her bedroom holding a tray that contained her supper: a bowl of beef stew, a large crusty roll, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. He awkwardly placed the meal at her sitting table and turned his large, tennis ball sized eyes toward his friend. "Oh, Dobby, what would I have done without your company these past few months?" Hermione asked.

"Dobby does not know, but Dobby likes to come see you, My-oh-knee." She invited him to sit down across the table from her.

"My-oh-knee is always so nice to Dobby that he made her a special supper tonight. Dobby also brought My-oh-knee a gift." He grinned as he buried his hands inside his apron pocket.

"Dobby, you shouldn't have!" Hermione replied as he handed over a small package.

"Dobby made them from yarn he bought with his wages and Winky helped pick the colors." Hermione held up the tiny blue and green socks. "The socks are for My-oh-knee's baby when it comes."

Hermione held her breath for a moment as she ran her fingers along the soft yarn. Holding the socks in her hands made her isolation in the tower so painfully real. Besides Dobby, the only people who ever came to see her were Ginny, Professor McGonagall to give and collect her assignments and Madame Pomfrey for an occasional check-up. For the majority of her day and night, Hermione was alone with only her books and her thoughts to occupy her time.

But here, right in front of her, was the only gift Hermione had ever received for her unborn child - the life that grew inside her that she so desperately tried to ignore. "Thank you, Dobby. That was very nice of you."

"My-oh-knee will be happy to know that now six elves here at Hogwarts are free. Winky and Dobby work very hard to get the elves to change their minds, but still many of them are ashamed to get paid. But now there are six, all free with My-oh-knee's help." He turned to see Hermione's eyes well with tears.

"Please don't cry, My-oh-knee. It is a good thing! They go on picnics sometimes on their days off. It is a happy time. Do not be sad."

"I am happy, Dobby. It's just..." Hermione swallowed a sob and looked at Dobby sincerely. "I wish I knew where Harry was."

The house-elf stared at Hermione briefly before a thought lit up his face like a light bulb. "My-oh-knee wants to see Harry Potter."

The young witch nodded.

"More than anything?"

"Well, yes Dobby, I suppose I want to see him more than anything else at this moment." Hermione could not understand what was exciting him so much.

"Tonight My-oh-knee will come with Dobby. He will take My-oh-knee to see Harry Potter."

"Wait, Dobby! What are you talking about?" But it was too late. Dobby had already disappeared in a sudden puff.

"He can't be serious," she said out loud as she got up to put the tiny knitted socks into her top dresser drawer, before returning to her supper.

But sure enough, six hours later when Hermione was fitfully trying to fall asleep, Dobby reappeared at the foot of her bed.

"Is My-oh-knee sleeping? She must wake up and follow Dobby if she is to find Harry Potter!" Hermione hesitated because she knew she was not allowed to walk around the halls of Hogwarts. If she were to get caught, Professor McGonagall might send her home, which was the very last place she wanted to be. Her parents were not particularly happy when she informed them that she was pregnant in the first place and only calmed down when she assured them that this situation would not interfere with her school work. To be kicked out of Hogwarts would be the nail in the coffin of this already painful dilemma.

Hermione debated whether Dobby would be able to help her...and even if he could, should she risk it?

Suddenly she was reminded of a haughty, know-it-all little girl strongly scolding two irresponsible young boys after an unexpected run in with a three-headed dog.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could have killed - or worse -expelled!"

Hermione laughed to herself before climbing out of bed and grabbing her fuzzy robe off the back of the door. Tying it loosely around her, she tiptoed out into the hallway to follow Dobby. She could almost hear Ron's voice in the distance "She needs to sort out her priorities!" If her two best friends had taught her nothing else in seven years, Hermione knew that some things in life were worth the risk of expulsion.

Together they snuck through empty corridors, listened for bumps in the night and hiding in shadows, before Hermione and Dobby arrived in a dusty storage room on the third floor. Beginning to doubt her companion, Hermione could not begin to understand how desks with broken legs and waste bins full of torn parchments and chalk pieces were going to lead them to Harry.

But far in the corner, covered in a tattered sheet, was the object that Dobby had been looking for. "Ta-da!" He exclaimed, revealing what a first glance appeared to be an ordinary mirror. Hermione was about to question Dobby's motives until she noticed the words scrolled along the mirror's frame.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi

"I show not your face, but your heart's desire," she read softly as she knelt beside the glass to get a better look at the reflection. Harry had once mentioned the Mirror of Erised to her before, many years ago, but she had frankly doubted that it still existed.

She reached out her hand to run her fingertips along the smooth glass as an image began to appear. Please show me where he is, Hermione pleaded in her mind. I shouldn't have let him leave in the first place. Harry deserves to know the truth.

He sat curled up on a starch sterile bed, his head buried into his hands. The pasty white pajamas he wore matched the sheets on the bed as well as the glowing starkness of the walls. The room he was in was empty, let she could faintly hear the sound of Harry mumbling to himself. Suddenly a woman entered the room, wearing a long white robe and a square pointed hat carrying a tray of distinctly hygienic looking food. Harry's response was to glance up and glare at the newcomer. As the nurse tutted and closed the curtains, it became painfully obvious where Harry was...

"Dobby! I think he's in the hospital!" Hermione whispered; her hand clasped over her mouth.

*********

Draco was quietly sneaking out of the Hogwarts hospital wing, when he unfortunately ran into to a rather hurried looking Professor McGonagall.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy." Her eyes shifted from head to toe, looking him over for a moment as if she was tempted to say more, than thought better of it.

"Afternoon, professor," he replied.

"Is Miss Weasley still in here?" she gestured.

"Er...umm...yes ma'am. I believe so."

"Thank you," Professor McGonagall nodded and Malfoy gave a sigh of relief as she went inside without any further questions. It was bad enough that he had been in that room at all, he certainly didn't want the third degree on top of it.

Malfoy shoved his hands into his robe pockets and was heading downstairs to the Slytherin common room, before he remembered that this was the last place he wanted to be. His living environment had been slowly getting worst since September: starting out with merely isolation once word spread of his parents' separation eventually leading to vocal accusations of being a traitor. At first, he managed to not let it bother him - he was a Malfoy and Malfoys don't need friends. Heck, most of those people (like Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy) weren't worth his time anyway. He repeated these statements over and over to himself in hopes of making them true, but by the time students returned from holiday; the situation was starting to sting even Draco's tough skin.

At the bottom of the main staircase, Malfoy changed his route and walked out the front entrance, deciding to take a walk around the Quidditch pitch instead. The air outside was cool enough for a jacket, yet the air was moist and rain fell from the sky in a faint mist. Draco sighed, but made no attempt to cover his head. Looking down, he noticed his shoes sunk slightly into the muddy ground as he walked. "Bugger!" he muttered to himself.

Sitting down on the bottom row of bleachers surrounding the field, Draco tried to determine where this had all begun. Three weeks had past since the afternoon his father had arrived at Hogwarts to reclaim his wife. Since that day, Lucius remained in his bat-like state, locked away in Snape's office until further notice. His mother had been trying her best to pretend none of this had happened, yet it was obvious that she was somewhat shaken up. And Ginny? She was still in the hospital wing.

He had followed his mother to the medical ward after the attack and stood in the background while Madame Pomfrey made her assessment. Her vitals were strong despite the brief loss of consciousness, two to four weeks of bed rest mandatory, temporary blindness with a high chance that her vision will never completely return to normal. At first the words meant nothing to Draco, until the initial excitement of the situation died down and he found himself sitting beside the patient's bed later that night.

Malfoy stayed, not because he cared, but because he didn't know what else to do. He was certain he didn't want to return to the Slytherin dungeons to hear whatever comments his housemates had to make. He also had no desire to hide out in his mother's chambers like a frightened lamb: the fact that his father (the man he had spent his entire life trying to impress) wanted to disown him from the family had not totally ruined Draco's pride. So he sat there numbly in an uncomfortable wooden chair and stared out into the emptiness of the room.

Draco's body was weary and yet he did not want to sleep. His left hand felt along the tender spots of his neck, finger-shaped bruises forming along his throat. Digging into his pockets, he retrieved a solitary gold galleon and began to mindlessly flip the coin in between his slender fingers, watching the metal pick up glints of light from the candle glowing on the nightstand. Distracted by a short sudden cough from Madame Pomfrey's office, Draco let the coin slip from his hand and fall to floor with a sharp clink. He glanced around the room as if he was surprised by being there, before placing his hand on the bed to reach down and pick up his money.

While pulling himself back up into the chair, he felt a flutter of movement and a small warm hand resting upon his. A raspy voice asked, "Ron, is that you?"

Draco retracted his hand in a reflex of disgust. "Not a chance, Weasley."

The innocent expression on Ginny's face was placed with a pinch look of anger. "Malfoy, what the hell are you doing here?"

It was those eight words that resounded in his head a thousand times, even now. But the redundancy was wasted, because he still did not have an answer to that question.

Before he could even form a lame excuse, Madame Pomfrey scurried over like pull tailed hen. "Mr. Malfoy, if you can not keep your voice down, I will have to ask you to leave."

Draco wanted to protest, but what was the use. Quietly, he gathered his sweater and left the hospital ward. One might even assume that this would cause the young Malfoy to learn his lesson, but that was hardly the case. Every evening he returned with little concrete reasons to support his actions.

At first Draco took advantage of the fact that Ginny could not see. He would sneak in without a noise and sit far enough away that she could not reach out to confirm that he was there. Often times, he wouldn't even acknowledge her presence. He was not there to see her, he'd tell himself. He was there to hide from everybody else.

"I know you there, Malfoy," she said one night a few weeks later. Draco glanced up to see her sightless eyes peering into the darkness. "And I know why you're here."

He replied with silence.

"You feel guilty because while you were trying to save your mother from being attacked by your father, you misdirected his spell at me - an innocent bystander. On top of that you feel mad at yourself for feeling guilty in the first place - why should you care about anything at all? But you do care - at least enough to protect the woman who openly admitted that she's rarely been a mother to you for most of your life. You were compelled to fight back, because you love her. Frankly, it's the most unselfish thing I've ever seen you do."

Again there was no response. "Don't worry," she replied. "I wasn't expecting an apology."

"Well that's good, because Malfoys are never sorry for their actions." Draco didn't know what else to say.

Ginny's hands clenched the bed sheets at her sides. "Then again, according to your father - you're not much of a Malfoy, now are you?"

Instinctively, he wanted to climb out of his chair and get the hell out of this room, spitting out insults at this red-haired girl while he left, but for some reason he could not move. Draco had finally arrived at a point where he drowning in his own apathy.

"Maybe he was right. Maybe I'm not much of a Malfoy. Damned if I know," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Draco noted the look of surprise on Ginny's face as she turned to him. He bet that she had never expected a day in her life that Draco Malfoy would admit something like that to her. In fact, he would have never expected it himself until this very moment.

Ginny squinted at him, as if trying to squeeze his image into focus.

"Can you see anything?" he asked.

"Actually, yes. For awhile there, my vision was improving a little each day, but recently it seems to have settled on this. I can see pictures, but everything is still blurry."

"Madame Pomfrey wanted to wait another week to see if things level out before fixing you up with a pair of glasses."

"Eyeglasses?" Ginny sighed. "Well, I suppose it's better than not being able to see at all."

"Modern magic hasn't yet found a cure for everything," Draco replied. Slowly, he gathered his belongings and headed for the door. "Listen, I have to go study for my Transfiguration midterm. If I have nothing better to do tomorrow, I might stop by again." The words sounded strange even as he spoke them.

Currently the sun was starting to set upon the Quidditch field and the raindrops were falling faster and heavier than before. Nothing made any more sense to Draco now, than when he arrived there an hour before, but at least now he had an excuse to go back inside. No sense standing out in the rain if you don't need to, he thought.

*********

When Professor McGonagall entered the hospital ward, she sat in Draco's normal spot in the chair by Ginny's bed.

"How are you feeling, Miss Weasley?" She inquired.

"Pretty well," she admitted. "Madame Pomfrey feels my vision has leveled out, and is in the process of ordering me corrective glasses. She's having them overnight owled so that I can return to class tomorrow."

"Well, that is splendid new. So good in fact, I'm almost hesitant to inform you of the latest development in the world of Harry Potter."

Ginny practically jumped out of bed at the sound of those words. "Have you found him, professor?"

"Yes, yes. Calm down. Sirius contacted me this morning. It appears while the two were staying with a friend in Glenshire, Harry had a bit of an emotional break down. He had been found sitting in a corner of a bedroom upstairs, rambling on about dreams and whatnot. Sirius was concerned and thought evaluation and treatment at St. Mungo's seemed to be the best option. He also said Harry's stability had been going downhill for awhile."

"But St. Mungo's! Professor McGonagall, you don't think Harry's actually crazy, do you?"

"Now, Miss Weasley, no one ever accused Harry of being diagnosed as insane, but unfortunately a long series of tragic events, such as the ones this young man has experienced, has been known to send a person over the edge. Learning about the former Professor Lupin's death, on top of everything else, might have been the final straw for Harry."

Ginny sighed. "This is ludicrous! Can you imagine what the Daily Prophet will print once word gets out about this tale? The-Boy-Who-Lived is nuttier than ever!"

McGonagall stared at Ginny sternly. "Hush. You're getting yourself worked up unnecessarily. I did not come in here fluff up your feathers, Miss Weasley. I simple wished to keep you informed of the situation and ask if you and your brother would like to accompany me on Saturday morning to visit Harry in the hospital."

"Of course we will," Ginny replied, and at that same moment she made up her mind. No matter what happens, she will tell Harry the truth. This deception had gone on long enough.