Abyss

Abyss

A furious knocking rattled the whole house. Harry hurried from his room, leaving behind his cleaning as he did so. He heard the students mutter something about the noise, and the others were obviously becoming nervous because of it. He tried his best to reassure them, though he himself did not know who was doing all the incessant, demanding noise. It couldn't be Hermione and Malfoy, but if it weren't them then who could it be? The others who knew the location of the safe house were provided with a key so they could come and go as they please. They won't have to knock. As he stood in front of the door, he took a deep breath, preparing himself, before opening it. The sight that greeted him shocked him out of his calm thoughts. "What the hell happened?" Harry moved towards this person, his hands spread out. "Give her to me!"

Malfoy didn't answer, and refused to hand his burden over. Instead, he walked into the house. His silence infuriated Harry, but he stepped aside quickly to let the other boy pass. The pale Slytherin was carrying a flushed Hermione in his arms, and she appeared to be unconscious. Both of them were soaking wet, dripping water everywhere they went. "Malfoy, what happened to her?" demanded Harry, his eyes glued at Hermione's face. She looked sick, shivering and cold...

"No time for questions," snapped Malfoy. He made a beeline towards the sofa and yelled something incomprehensible but sounding like a stream of curses to the students who occupied it at that time. As they left he carefully deposited Hermione on it, first laying her legs and then lowering her head. Malfoy turned to Harry, his face twisted into a scowl. "Don't just stand there, you ponce! Get her some blankets!"

Harry bristled, but did as he was told. He took huge strides and three steps at once to get to his room faster. He took the blanket off his bed and was back in the living room in record time. Malfoy moved to get the blankets from him, but he refused to hand them over. "I'll do it," he said, holding his burden tighter to his chest.

"No," Malfoy said, pursing his lips. He combed his hands through his hair. "It's no good. She's freezing. We... we've got to get her out of her wet clothes." Sensing that this statement caused uproar in the students, he turned to them. "Get back to your rooms," he said low, but the venom in his voice was very much apparent - and terrifying - that it caused the others to scamper back upstairs. Once all was quiet again, he started towards Hermione, his intention blatant.

Harry saw red. He ran to stand between Hermione and Malfoy, his intention to protect her honor dimming all other thoughts. "There's no way in hell," he started, "that I'm going to allow you to undress her."

The pale boy stared at him, a faint tinge of pink spreading on his face. "I was never volunteering," he gritted out. "But since you've stated your feelings so clearly, then let me say mine: I'm going to kill you first before I allow you to do it."

They raged a silent battle, as they stared at each other, both defiant, stubborn, neither backing down, giving up. Harry lifted his chin, and raised the blanket he held. "Then this would have to do." He knelt beside Hermione, and very gently wrapped the blanket around her. She clutched at it desperately, her teeth chattering and her body shaking. Alarm and concern resounded in his very being. "I told you she was sick!" he said, looking at Malfoy.

That obviously came as a surprise to Malfoy. "No, you didn't," he answered. "You never said anything about her being sick!"

"Then why did you make her come with you?"

Malfoy closed his eyes. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. Potter, you idiot! You're the one who made her come with me, remember?" He looked away, before saying, "Don't think I don't know what you're doing here. You're blaming me for this, aren't you? Well, I won't ever allow you to make me feel guiltier, do you understand? You can't even begin to fathom how hard this is for me already."

"How hard this is for you?" Harry repeated, incredulous. "Everything just has to be about you, doesn't it, Malfoy? You'll probably die once the world stopped revolving around you," he mocked, feeling angrier by the second. "You slimy bastard. You're more concerned how this affects you instead of her."

"And that tells you what, exactly?"

"That you're--"

And then the realization kicked him so hard, the words were stolen right from his mouth. Harry stared at Malfoy, not entirely sure if he was serious or not. But seeing the other boy's frustration, his concern, his anger... "You're...?"

"Can we just stay focused on her?" Malfoy asked, raking his fingers through his hair again. "Please."

Harry blinked, surprised that Malfoy even knew that word. "Right. Right." But of course the revelation changed everything, and at the same time cleared it.

Suddenly, Hermione let out a sound that was a half-word, half-sob, and then calmed down again. Harry pulled the blanket to her chin, noticing that it, too, was wet. "What happened?" he asked in a lower tone, consciously altering the topic. "Where's the food you said you were going to buy?"

"We got caught in the rain," Malfoy answered, looking at Hermione intently. "And that girl suddenly ran out on me. I was lucky I caught her when I did, because it got really difficult to see through the heavy rain." He shrugged his robes off and placed them on the back of the chair. "We didn't even enter the wand shop."

"So you didn't--"

"Potter," he started, "do you really have a point in asking me these questions? Look, I told you she needs to get--oh, damn it. Step aside." Malfoy drew his wand out and pointed it at her.

Harry stood up, looking at the wand and then at the Slytherin. "What are you going to do?"

"Step aside, Potter, or else I'm going to curse you."

"What are you--"

"I'm going to kill her." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I'm going to warm her down, you git. Your blanket obviously is not doing the trick. For the last time, step aside."

"If anything happens to her--"

"I'd be more worried about something happening to you if you don't step aside. Now MOVE!"

Harry reluctantly stepped aside. Malfoy concentrated on Hermione as he flicked his wand. A thin, sliver-like red light appeared on the tip, and it struck her. A few moments later, and she stopped shaking visibly. Her hair, before weighted down by the water to the sides of her face, regained their usual bushiness. Even the blanket became dry. Harry was impressed, despite himself. "What did you do?"

"A simple drying spell," Malfoy replied, tucking his wand to the pocket of his robe. "Flitwick taught it to us in our first year, remember? I can't believe I never thought of doing it first. Must be because you accused me of being a pervert."

Harry ignored the jibe, and instead focused on Hermione. Though she was not shaking anymore, her face was still flushed. He placed a hand over her forehead. "She's warm," he commented. Harry touched her neck, and pulled back immediately, burned by the heat he found. "Very warm."

"A fever?" Malfoy asked, stepping closer to them. "But I... I don't know any..."

"Neither do I." Harry shrugged. "I guess we have to heal her the muggle way, then. Get us some cold water and towels."

"You know this house better than I do. You do it."

Harry was about to retort when Hermione moaned, the sound jolting them both. "Fine," he said, his concern making him agreeable. He fixed Malfoy a very serious look. "You make sure nothing else happens to her. I won't be gone long."

"I won't leave her side," he answered, looking very grave as well.

Harry nodded, before he left.

*

As soon as Potter left, Draco occupied the space he vacated. He placed a tender hand over her forehead, and felt for himself the warmth that was unnatural on her skin. "Stupid girl," he muttered, absolutely hating the restlessness and guilt that enveloped him. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness as well. He never learned, and even bothered to learn, any healing spell, but now he thought he should have, because if he did then she'd be off this couch right now, and maybe they'd be...

She moaned again, and became agitated. A hand wandered out of the confines of the blanket, and he caught it in his, entwining her small fingers with his bigger ones. Now the contrast was very obvious; hers was very warm compared to his very cold hand.

"N-no," she whispered, her head moving from side to side. "D-dr... n-no..."

With his other hand Draco steadied her face. "I won't leave," he told her, feeling every word emerge from his very soul. "I promise." It seemed to calm her down, and for that he was grateful. He kissed her hand, and brushed from her eyes stray strands of hair, and then laid his fingers over her cheek. "I...I um, I..." He couldn't go on. Instead, he crushed her fingers in his, holding them to him very tightly.

She was only feverish, but it felt as though she was already dying.

And that thought scared him.

"Malfoy."

Draco turned, and saw Potter standing near them, with a bowl of cold water and a towel draped over his arm. The moment of gentleness was gone, the façade he wore for so long now back on his face again. "What?"

"Get out."

"I told you I won't leave her side," he repeated, slowly, deliberately. "Which part didn't you understand?"

"Malfoy--"

"Look. You might as well do what you have to do, because I'm not leaving." The Gryffindor frowned. Draco began to think he was going to do something infernally stupid - like try to pry him off with his hands - and prepared himself for the attack. But the attack did not come. Instead, he walked towards them slowly, and stood at the back of the couch. He pulled a chair closer to him, and that was where he placed the basin on. Potter placed the towel in, squeezed it dry, folded it, and then placed it over Granger's forehead.

"Will that work?" he asked, unconvinced that something as mundane and simple would have an effect on her. "Will it heal her?"

"It'll help bring the temperature down," Potter answered. "But what she needs right now is some medicine."

"Where's Madame Pomfrey when you really need her," Draco muttered, absently running a thumb over her skin.

"Actually she's... no, never mind."

"This medicine... you don't have any?"

Potter shook his head. "I gave the last one to Joey. He was sick about two days before you came in."

"Just another reason to wring his neck," Draco said low, wishing he could be alone with that kid. Five minutes, that's all the time he needed to do what was needed to be done. He watched as the other boy took the towel off her forehead, plunged it in the water, squeezed it, folded it, and placed it back. "So this is the way muggles heal their sick?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, they don't have the potions and ointments that wizards do. They only have pills, tablets, syrups, and these usually take longer to work. Muggles have to do their healing the hard way. I remember one time, when I was..."

Draco looked at Potter when he trailed off. "What?" he asked, mildly interested despite himself.

"Nothing. It was just... nothing." He shook his head.

"Fine." Draco shifted his weight, and then finally decided to sit down beside Granger. She looked... peaceful, and disturbed at the same time. Even if she was sick, it comforted him to see her breathing, so unlike the time when she wasn't... when he caught her, she looked like death. She went limp in his arms, not answering when he called, when he shook her, and that... that was...

He never wanted it to happen again.

Potter cleared his throat. "You um..." He trailed off again. "You're... Well that's to say... um..."

"Aren't you too old to have a stuttering problem?"

Potter stood up a bit straighter. "You really like her, don't you." It was a statement, not a question.

And Draco thought that his silence made up for all the answers he could have said.

"Right." Wonder Boy took a deep breath. "Right." He looked at Draco and said, "Maybe you should have a blanket too, you know."

Draco just shrugged. "I'm not sick. She is. And the towel isn't working. Why isn't it working?"

"What part of 'it takes longer to work' didn't you understand? Give it time, Malfoy," Potter answered, walking away. "Give it time."

*

A sharp noise made Draco open his eyes. He lifted his head off the couch, and then realized that sometime during the hours he spent beside Granger he had fallen asleep. He looked at her, and found her to still be sleeping, and the towel that covered her forehead now covered part of her eye as well. He grabbed that towel, folded it as neatly as possible, and placed it back on her head. But then, he thought that the towel needed to be dunked into the cold water first before it was folded. Wasn't that what Potter did? Draco looked at the basin, and reached over to plunge a hand in. It was already tepid; a testament to how long he was asleep.

He looked at her again. Without thinking, he took the towel from her face, bent over, and kissed her forehead. "I'll be back," he said, not knowing if she could hear him or not.

Draco grabbed the basin and headed towards the kitchen. The door was open, and he could see Potter as he stood with his back to the door. He pretty much blocked all that Draco could see of the kitchen. "I need cold water," he declared, striding in. "Granger's--"

Potter turned, and that gave Draco ample opportunity to realize who were there with him.

He could feel his blood boil at the sight of his former professor, who he hadn't seen since the visit at the manor. Draco shoved the basin at Potter, uncaring that he spilled half its content on the other boy. All that he could see was the one who freely talked to Dumbledore, the one who betrayed him and placed his and Hermione's lives in danger. "What are you doing here?" he demanded severely.

Something in Snape's expression flickered as he looked at his former student, and his tensed stance relaxed a bit. "Draco, what--"

But before he could say anything more, he was already pinned against the wall.

"You told them, didn't you?" Draco accused, savagely pressing his hand deeper into Snape's throat, giving him no time to reply. "Because of you, we were almost killed, do you know that? We were almost killed! And you have no right... no right... to be here."

Snape coughed at the pressure, but the cough came out more like a wheeze.

He tried to pry the finger off his throat, but Draco knew his grip was like vise when he wanted it to be. "What are you doing here? You'd--"

"That's enough, Malfoy!" Potter grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him away from Snape. "Let...him...go!" Eventually, he succeeded.

Draco removed himself from Potter's hold, his eyes still fixed on Snape. "Why are you letting him walk in here?" he asked, addressing Dumbledore, Potter, anyone else who might be listening. "Are you all bloody idiots? Don't you know he's a--"

"A Death Eater, yes." Snape straightened his robes, and returned Draco's glare. "They know."

Draco paused. And then, with his emotions very much covered up, he spoke, hatred in his voice, "You're a bloody traitor."

"No," Potter said. "He's a bloody spy."

"Though I am not, technically, your professor anymore, I would appreciate it if you won't refer to me in such a derogatory manner, Potter, Malfoy," Snape said bitingly. He walked towards Draco. "And as for your accusation, I did not tell them anything. Mrs. Parkinson happens to be a very keen woman. She's one of the more... prominent Death Eaters because of her intelligence, a trait not inherited from her by her daughter."

Draco pursed his lips. The fury in him still ran like ice on his veins. "Do you really expect me to believe that?" he scoffed. "Do you really think I'd believe she figured it out for herself, without, oh say a traitor to tip her off?" He spread his arms out. "How can you even believe this man? For all you know, he's just tricking you into believing he works for you, when all the while--"

"He has been doing this for quite some time now, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore finally spoke, calm in his voice. "I can assure you that I know where his loyalties truly lie."

Draco barely paid him any mind, and this did seem to catch Dumbledore's attention.

"I see that a lot of issues need to be clarified," the Headmaster continued, rubbing his beard in a thoughtful manner. "You, Mr. Malfoy, must have a lot of questions to both Severus and I, and--"

"Not to you, I don't," Draco cut in rudely.

"And yet I can aid in answering those questions, Mr. Malfoy. And, perhaps, politeness would be a wonderful trait to demonstrate this time." Dumbledore turned to the three. "Now who would like to start?"