Creature of the Night

Two weeks later, Hermione awoke in the hospital wing. Strong pains shot up her arms every time she moved her hands. A range of thoughts ran cycled through her mind, but she settled on the one that screamed for help.

And so she did.

Madam Pomfrey came running, her starched white wimple askew.

“Miss Granger!” she scolded as she caught her breath. “Merlin’s beard, child, what is the problem?”

“I can’t move my hands without this extreme pain. And I don’t mean some little Quidditch injury. This is like somebody slicing through all my muscles,” Hermione explained in a quavering voice.

The nurse paled at the description but went about examining the student’s hands. She looked at them from all conceivable angles and pressed on every millimeter of skin. Hermione winced occasionally, choking back tears when she hit a painful spot.

“Well, I think I know what’s causing your troubles. I’ve seen you sleep at night, Miss Granger, clutching those sheets like they were the only thing keeping you alive,” Madam Pomfrey clucked as she stood back. “We’ll try giving you some Dreamless Sleep before you go to sleep at night and see if that doesn’t help,” she added upon seeing the absolutely horrified look on Hermione’s face.

Hermione nodded absently and Madam Pomfrey left to take care of a wailing first-year three beds down.

“I wish that kid would shut up already,” a familiar voice drawled from the bed next to Hermione’s.

The curtain divider sprung open and one Slytherin boy jumped onto her bed.

“Draco?” the Gryffindor asked incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

“Quidditch injury,” he remarked slyly, pointing to the sling around his right arm. Hermione blushed slightly, something that instantly caused her inner ‘Mione to start shouting at her.

What are you doing! Hello! Malfoy! Bad person!, the voice shouted loudly, nearly blocking out what Draco was saying to her.

“I’m supposed to tell you that Potty wants to talk to you as soon as possible. He’s rather in love with you, you know,” Draco continued as he stretched languidly across her bed. Hermione’s blush deepened.

“Harry’s not in love with me,” she said quietly, keeping her eyes down. “He’s dating Ginny.”

Draco scoffed. “He only did that because you weren’t giving him the time of day.”

The boy stretched again before strolling back to his own bed. He left the curtains pulled back so they could continue their conversation, but Hermione feigned sleep. Draco’s words were buzzing around her head, and a memory came unbidden to the surface.

When Harry had asked Hermione to the Graduation Ball, she’d said she needed time to think it over. His face had fallen and it looked as though he’d lost all reason for happiness in his life. Was this because he was in love with her?

For hours, Hermione pondered Draco’s revelation. She said nothing when Madam Pomfrey came with a glass of Dreamless Sleep, nor did she say anything when Draco started whispering her name. As far as she was concerned, the only thing that mattered was whether or not Harry was in love with her.

The next morning came too quickly for Hermione. It seemed that the only time she stopped thinking about Harry was when she was sleeping. Now she was awake again, and it would probably be prudent to ask for more Dreamless Sleep.

“Morning, ‘Mione,” Harry quietly called from the foot of her bed. Hermione sat up and smiled.

“Morning, Harry,” she replied cheerfully, but Harry’s face remained in a slightly-dismal frown.

“I have something important to tell you. I’ve been recruited by the Order to help fight Voldemort. I can finally start doing something instead of hiding behind Dumbledore and Hogwarts!” Harry explained energetically.

“Oh,” was all Hermione could muster.

“I thought you would be happy for me. You know how important this is to me. He killed my parents and countless other people. He’s the whole reason why I’m The Boy Who Lived. For the last two years, he’s dominated my every thought!” Harry nearly shouted.

“I am happy for you,” Hermione told him carefully. “I really am. I’m just…afraid. I don’t want to get an owl from the Order telling me that you’ve been killed. It’s one of my worst fears.” And without another word, Hermione broke out into frenzied sobs.

Harry rushed forward, taking her into his arms and rocking her gently. Hermione clutched at him wildly, ignoring the pain shooting up her arms from her already painful fingers. Slowly, her cries subsided, but Harry get holding on, kept rocking her.

“Harry,” she whispered, pleading. Harry leaned down and captured her lips in a soft, romantic kiss. Romance was quickly tossed aside as they realized how much they wanted this, needed this. Hands explored and clothes were hastily pushed aside. Within a few hectic minutes, the whole act was done and over with. Harry lay beside Hermione, still holding her, occasionally kissing her hair.

Madam Pomfrey said nothing as she did her routine bed checks. Apparently the whole staff knew of Harry’s recruitment. Even Draco remained uncharacteristically silent until Harry left.

The Boy Who Lived gave Hermione another passionate kiss as he slid off the bed and stood.

“I’m leaving in two days. Madam Pomfrey says that its unlikely you’ll be out of the Hospital Wing by then, but I’ll come visit you whenever I can. I promise,” he told her, tears slipping down his own cheeks.

“Does this mean you’re done with Ginny?” Hermione asked in falsely lighthearted voice. They both laughed nervously, their chuckles quickly turning into tears they choked back.

Harry left after another long kiss good-bye, keeping his eyes on Hermione for as long as he could. Hermione laid in her bed, curled up, trying to keep from crying, when she heard another male speak.

“It’s okay to cry,” Draco told her softly. “I won’t tell anybody that the great Granger cries in her sleep if you won’t tell anybody about me being nice to a Mudblood.”

Hermione winced at the derogatory name, but she agreed. Moments later, quiet sobs could be heard from Hermione’s bed that mingled with the much softer sobs coming from the bed next to hers.

<><><><><>

It was another week before Madam Pomfrey deemed Hermione well enough to be released from her care. McGonagall escorted her student through the winding hallways until they reached the portrait.

“The new password is Nox Fleo. It’s a Latin phrase that roughly means crying at night, or a night to cry. We chose it after Harry’s departure. It’ll do us all some good to you have back in the Tower, I think,” McGonagall said quietly, avoiding Hermione’s eyes.

To Hermione’s surprise, the Gryffindor Common Room was deserted, although the clock above the mantle said it was only 8 pm. McGonagall saw Hermione’s confused look and paused to explain as they headed up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories.

“Ever since Harry left, we’ve been in a very somber mood. Even the usual troublemakers have slacked off. Harry made a very big decision by choosing to join the Order instead of continuing his education.”

“It’s kind of like the Vietnam War, isn’t it?” Hermione remarked. McGonagall nodded.

“You have a lot to catch up on. Dumbledore will want to see you tomorrow,” the professor continued as they reached the 7th years’ room. “Good night, Hermione.”

“Good night, Professor,” Hermione replied, stepping into the dorm. Immediately, she was enveloped in darkness and a female voice whispered into her ear.

“Hello again, ‘Mione.”