ACA: Chapter 11, 12

Chapter 11

“The dew of compassion is a tear.”

~ Lord Byron (Romantic Poet)

He was crying openly, coughing between sobs. He looked so small on that large bed as he sat with knees drawn to his chest, his face buried in his arms.

Hermione took a tentative step closer and laid a warm hand on his shaking back. His head popped up and he stared at her with red rimmed eyes. Trails of tears marred his pale cheeks and his chapped lips were bleeding slightly where he must have worried them.

“Drink, Draco,” Hermione said, calmly holding a glass of water to his lips as though it were the most natural thing in the world for her to do.

Speechless, Draco only parted his lips and allowed the cool water to trickle down his parched throat. The water seemed to have revived him some because as soon as he’d drained the glass, he turned away, an embarrassed blush rising to his cheeks.

“What do you want Granger?” he croaked in a voice too tired to carry any malice.

But Hermione didn’t know what to say. How could she tell him how much it hurt her to see him like this? The once proud boy sobbing like a lost child…It wrung her heart. Her hand was still on his back, yet he seemed not to mind-or if he did, he pretended not to notice-and she suddenly knew what she wanted to do.

Leaning over him, she pulled him firmly to her, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and pressing his head to her chest. She heard him gasp, but he didn’t struggle or push her away. She felt him tense taunt as a string about to snap and his warm breath ghosting over her arm came in uneven pants. She knew he was struggling to keep his composure.

“It’s alright to cry, Draco,” Hermione whispered. “I won’t tell.”

His breath hitched again, but this time, she felt the wet sting of salty tears on her arms as he let himself go. He shook like a leaf and Hermione couldn’t help sliding down next to him so that his face hid in the hollow of her neck, her arms still wrapped around him.

His fingers clutched her sleeve, knuckles white. Hermione ran her free hand up and down his back, tracing his curved spine through the thin shirt. Pompfrey had let him change, knowing how much he hated the gowns.

Small mercies, Hermione thought as she thought about what was in store for him.

She didn’t know much about the syndrome itself, but from what Dumbledore related to her, she knew his body was only going to get weaker. Ten years…Hermione couldn’t even begin to guess what if felt like to have a timer stuck to your heart.

She knew what it was like to live in fear of not seeing tomorrow of course. The war had taught that to all those involved and in this manner she could relate to him, but…this was a war his own body had waged on him. Was there any way to win against yourself?

For how long she held him as he cried softly, Hermione didn’t know, but pale streaks of fading sunlight were falling though the curtained window by the time he stilled. Exhausted, he had fallen asleep in her arms.

Cautiously, she leaned over him, peering at his salt-stained face against her neck. His long fingers were still tightly curled around her sleeves and he was leaning heavily into her. Hermione loathed to wake him-she knew he needed to find peace in his dreams at least.

As slowly and carefully as she could, she scooted further onto the bed and fell against the propped up pillows, holding Draco’s limp form in her arms. He stirred only to bury his face further in the warmth of her neck, his arm curving around her waist and pulling her close.

Hermione tried not to blush at his sudden affection. She couldn’t think about those things-about how smooth and firm he was, or how silky his blonde hair shone. She couldn’t think about how warm and utterly real he was, curled up against her like that.

No. Draco needed her to be a friend and nothing more right now. By nightfall-or whenever he woke, she knew the walls would come back up again. But for now, she supposed, she could allow this intimacy.

Running her hands up and down his back in soothing strokes, she rested her chin on top of his ruffled head and breathing in the citrusy smell of his shampoo, closed her eyes with a soft sigh.

**

Something was nagging at him. He moaned and tried to push it away by closing his tired mind, but the constant presence didn’t disappear. His right arm was throbbing from the elbow down. As he came to, the pain became more real and more persistent.

His eyes fluttered open and for a while, he laid perfectly still, relishing in the warmth of the arms that held him. He stared at the exposed, golden skin, feeling the strands of brown hair that fell across his face tickle his nose as he breathed.

There was a weight pressing on his head that made it difficult for him to look up, but look up he did. Eyes wide, he gaped incredulously at the last person he had expected to help him. She was fast asleep, her mouth slightly open. Her arms were wrapped loosely about his back and he realized with a start that he had slept holding her to him.

He remembered her coming in and giving him water. Draco’s eyes drifted down her slender form, to her long legs that were tangled with his. He should be angry-she had seen him at his weakest after all-but Draco felt a sudden surge of warmth instead. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly didn’t want to extract himself from her warmth.

He traced her soft, peaceful features with his eyes, marveling at how young she looked in her sleep-like a school girl.  An unconscious smile tugged at his lips, but before it could reach his eyes, she stirred and her sudden weight on his arm made him flinch. Wincing, he slowly pulled his arm from around her waist, cradling it to his chest.

He crawled to his knees, making the bed dip, and his movements jostled Hermione awake. Draco sucked in his breath when he saw her slowly open her eyes. They met his and for a moment, both simply stared-a thousand thoughts reeling through their heads

Hermione blushed when she realized just how close they were and how he had felt pressing against her. Draco admired the rosy color rising on her cheeks before he found his own pale face growing hot.

He turned away and cleared his throat as she straightened, folding her legs and smoothing her rumpled top.

“Thanks for…that,” he mumbled, unsure what to call this strange intimacy between them.

Hermione smiled at his bent head. So even Malfoy can be awkward!

“You’re welcome. Are you feeling better?” she asked, wondering what it was she should call him now. She doubted he remembered her referring to him by his first name.

“Hmm…” He massaged his throbbing arm with his other hand, kneading the knotted muscles slowly. “Did Dumbledore talk to you?”

She nodded. “He asked me to help you and I-“

“You don’t have to,” he cut in, unable to hide the bitter disappointment in his voice.

“And I want to,” she finished, smiling at him when he at last looked at her, grey eyes wide. “I don’t mind,” she continued, holding his gaze steadily. “You can ask me for help anytime and we can split up the Head duties more so you don’t have to juggle too much. If you can’t come to class sometimes, I’ll let you borrow my notes since we’re pretty much taking the same classes anyways. Will that be ok?”

He blinked, mouth hanging open comically. “You are Hermione Granger, aren’t you?” he whispered and she laughed.

“And you’re Draco Malfoy-I’m as real as you are,” she chuckled, but stopped when his smile slowly faded.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” he sighed. “Did he tell you everything?”

And Hermione guessed he referred to her meeting with Dumbledore. “Only the name of the syndrome and that it’s progressive.”

“But do you know what that means?” he pressed.

She nodded. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not going to stop me from helping you.”

He laughed harshly. “It’s not going to make any difference, is it? What’s the point of even being here if it’s not going to be of any use to me?” he frowned. “Maybe I should just drop out and save whatever time I’ve got left on what I want to do.”

“And what is it you want to do?” she quietly asked, tracing the pain beneath his crumbling façade.

He shrugged. “I don’t know…but not this. I never wanted this.”

Her eyes softened and she reached out tentatively, brushing his arm with her fingertips. She wanted to say something to erase his uncertainty, but didn’t know how to comfort him with words alone. How do you comfort someone who knows when he’s about to die?

She searched around the room as though for help and spotted the books. “When are you going to read those?”

Draco, who was again massaging his arm, frowned. “I don’t really want to read them,” he darkly replied.

“But don’t you want to know?” she quietly asked.

“Know what, Granger? How I’m going to die?” he cried, “Whatever’s going to happen will happen whether I read those god damn books or not. I don’t see any point in peeking into my pathetic future early, thanks.”

“Well, don’t you think it’ll be good to be prepared?” she pressed. “And maybe, if you read enough, you’ll learn ways that will help you-that will help you…cope,” she lamely finished, shirking her eyes in sudden guilt.

Who was she to advise him? It was his life and his choice. He was the one dying, not her. What did she know about his insecurities?

Draco sighed and dropped his arms. “You’re right, I suppose,” he slowly replied, surprising her by his frankness. “I should read them, but…”

“You can’t bring yourself to?” she guessed, sensing the fear behind his words.

He nodded and eyed the stack of books suspiciously.

“Well you don’t have to read them all at once,” she put forth. “Just start whenever you feel comfortable and read maybe only the sections that interest you first. I’m sure you must be curious.”

He eyed her then, his brows knitted and eyes hard. Hermione squirmed under his intense gaze, but refused to look away.

At last he remarked, “You talk about my condition as thought it were some kind of a medical novelty. Do you find my disease so interesting? Is that why you’re helping me-because you want to learn first-hand how a wizard ends up crippled by his own magic? Think you’ll come up with some ingenious idea and save poor Draco’s life, is that it?”

“NO!” she cried, startling them both with the power of her voice.

 “No,” she softly replied, “I don’t want to help you because of that. I am curious about the disease, but Draco you can’t possibly think I’m doing this half-heartedly-“

“Then why do you care?” he cried, “What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing!” she cried back, exasperated.

“Well that’s not very convincing, is it?” he sneered. “I make your life hell from the first minute and then you suddenly forget all that animosity enough to embrace me? Even Gryffindors have limits! There must be something more-“

“There isn’t!” She wished he would step out of Slytherin politics. “I only want to help you-“

“Why? If this is some pity case, then I don’t want it!”

“It’s not! I only…”

His eyes narrowed. “Only what?”

Hermione closed her eyes briefly before fixing him with her brown orbs again. “I only want to help because I care,” she replied, “I don’t-I don’t want anything like that to happen to you, Draco. It’s awful and unfair and I can’t even begin to imagine or understand how hard it must be for you. But that’s why I want to help! No one should have to carry this kind of burden alone and, if you really aren’t going to tell anyone else, let me help you. Let me share this burden with you.”

Draco stood speechless, confusion plainly etched in his sharp features. “Granger,” he breathed, shaking his head and turning away.

“What?” she asked, suddenly worried she’d said too much.

 Here it comes, she thought, steeling herself for the barrage of rejection. Hermione held her breath.

“You are the craziest witch I’ve ever met,” he replied. “And for that, I suppose I am thankful.”

And when he turned to face her, he was smiling. For a second, she wanted to pinch herself to make sure this wasn’t a dream. When had Draco Malfoy ever smiled at her like that?

But then he held his hand out and whispered, “Thank you,” when she took it.
 

Chapter 12

Some Notes: I’ve made up a few words in this chapter as well that I think I should clarify. In my world: M.M.D stands for Magical Medical Doctorate; IN.D. stands for Incurable Diseases; and M.P. stands for Masters in Magical Psychology.

“Courage is as often the outcome of despair as of hope; in the one case we have nothing to lose, in the other everything to gain.” 

~Diane de Poitiers

Draco returned to the dormitory the next morning, a small bag full of pain potion vials in hand. Pompfrey had generously given them to him, saying,

“Professor Snape and I will try to come up with better alternatives, but these will have to do for now I’m afraid.”

Draco could care less. He had taken them eagerly. Side effects or not, they were his lifeline from now. Granger greeted him when he came in through the portrait hole.

It was a Sunday morning. Their classes would resume tomorrow, but Draco had been in the hospital for four whole days and knew he had to catch up.

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, pointing to the bag in his hand.

“Pain potions,” he replied as he dropped on the couch. “She told me to come back for as many as I need.”

“That’s good,” she nodded and turned back to the open textbook in her lap.

He watched her for a moment more before clearing his throat and asking, “What are you-um studying?”

“Oh this?” she flipped to the front cover and held the book out to him. “It’s just for a bit of light reading.”

“An Erudite Guide to the Erroneous Plants of the Wizarding World,” he read aloud, his eyebrows rising in mock surprise. “Why the sudden fascination?”

She shrugged as she took the heavy book back. “It’s not a fascination-just plain curiosity,” she lied and if he saw through her white lie, he didn’t press her.

“So? Find anything interesting?” he asked instead, leaning back into the cushions and running a hand through his messy locks. He hadn’t had time to be very particular about his looks in the hospital.

“Well, it’s all interesting really,” she replied, smoothening a page and looking up at him happily. “Did you know there are over five hundred magical herbs and fungi whose properties have yet to be discovered? Imagine the possibilities!”

He smiled despite himself at her childishness. “Are you going to sit in here all day with your nose buried in that book?”

She frowned as though challenging him to dissuade her. “What more is there to do? Harry and Ron are busy with the upcoming Quidditch match and I don’t really fancy anyone else’s company at the moment.”

He gave her a funny look, somewhere a cross between amused and incredulous, before sighing and turning to look out the large window next to the hearth. It was drizzling steadily outside, a slight fog coating the horizon in its velvet blanket.

“It’s a nice day. I’m due for a walk,” he murmured, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes.

And Hermione, torn between the pull of the book and the lure of those impossibly convincing eyes, hesitated only a moment before slamming the book shut.

**

They took the long way around the Great Hall towards the open grounds. Hermione was bundled up in a thick brown coat, a warm hat, and a long scarf. She was pulling on brown, woolen gloves as they descended the stairs.

“Let’s head to the lake,” Draco said from ahead. He only wore a green sweater and walked with hands in his pant pockets to keep them warm.

“Aren’t you cold?” Hermione asked as she caught up. They fell in step easily.

“Hm? No, I like the cold,” he replied, blowing softly in the air and admiring his vapory breath.

There were hardly any students out. In the distance, Hermione could trace the specks zooming around in the sky above the stadium. Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw was this Friday-the first game of the season.

“The grass is all wet,” Draco groaned, bringing her back from her thoughts.

“Oh? Yeah, I guess it is. We can sit on those rocks,” she said, leading him to some protruding boulders. They were uncomfortable, but both managed to balance themselves on the uneven surface.

Draco leaned back on his arms with a sigh, his longs legs stretched before him. Hermione blew on her gloved hands and rubbed them together to keep warm.

“Does the lake look different to you?” he asked after minutes of silence.

Hermione scanned the frosty horizon. “It’s gotten gloomier I suppose. But then, isn’t it always?”

Draco shrugged. “It wasn’t always this dark. Mother told me it used to teem with merpeople and dryads and what not.”

“But I thought there were still some merpeople. Didn’t they stage a Triwizard task?”

“Only because Dumbledore asked them to. They don’t live in the lake anymore. When the dementors came to Hogwarts, they left the grounds, feeling threatened, and have refused to come back since. Say they can still trace the dark magic.”

“Oh.” She wondered aloud how he knew so much about them.

“We used to have some back at the Manor,” he replied.

“You have a lake at the Manor?” she gaped.

“Not in the general vicinity, but further on the grounds, yes. Father…he used to like fishing.”

Hermione couldn’t imagine Lucious Malfoy doing anything as muggle as fishing.

“We used to go almost every weekend when I was little. We always had parties over the weekend so sometimes he liked to take the yatch and go ride with a friend or two, me in tow.” He chuckled suddenly. “I remember, when I was four, I fell in the lake off the back of the boat. They were so absorbed in their own little game that they didn’t notice till a merman plopped me back on deck. That was the first time Father ever saw them in the lake.”

“You mean he didn’t even know they lived there?” she asked.

He shook his head. “The Manor is so old…Sometimes, I even get lost, and there are passages and secret doors and whatnot that like to wander.”

“Just like at Hogwarts,” she breathed, amazed, then asked more quietly, “Is that why he chose the Manor? Because it’s very magical?”

Draco shrugged. “I suppose…Father wasn’t too happy, but then the Manor has a mind of its own and like generations of Malfoys, it welcomed the Dark Lord.”

They were silent for a time. Hermione became lost in admiring the dew that clung to Draco’s hair-it looked so soft. She wanted to reach out and smooth the ruffled ends, but made a fist and stuffed her hands in her pockets to ward off temptation.

Draco for his part was staring unseeingly at the water, his eyes lost and distant. He appeared deep in thought, so she gave him space. After a time, he spoke.

“I can’t believe we’re sitting here like this without hexing each other.”

She peeked at him cautiously and saw that he was smiling thinly at her.

“What happened Granger?”

Hermione smiled back, glad that he didn’t find her company awkward, and replied, “I guess-I guess we grew up!”

**

It was high afternoon by the time they sauntered back.

“Aren’t you coming for lunch?” she asked as she removed her scarf and gloves.

“No, you go ahead. I’m going to take a nap,” and he yawned to emphasize the point.

With a “Sweet dreams!” Hermione left him to join Harry and Ron at the table. Tired from practice and ravenous, they grumbled about the load of unfinished homework as they attacked their food, hardly noticing the happy glow that emanated off Hermione.

Hermione was glad for this respite. She was too preoccupied with her quiet conversation by the lake. He was so different then what either of them had ever thought. Perhaps it was because he was still reeling from the shock, but Hermione had a feeling that they had never known the real Malfoy-that the real Malfoy had always hid behind a bully façade.

Here was a side of him she had never seen. Vaguely, she wondered how he was like at home, or among close friends, or with his parents-with his parent. She remembered the nostalgia in his voice when he spoke of his father. Perhaps to the world, Lucious had put up an evil front-or perhaps the man truly was evil-but to his son, he must have been something more.

Knowing him now, Hermione found it hard to imagine that Draco would blindly follow a heartless man unless he had something more in him. She tried to picture Lucious as a carefree, lovable father, perhaps finishing on a sailing yatch, and failed miserably. No matter how much she sympathized with his son, Lucious would remain nothing but a evil bastard in her mind. They had suffered enough on his whims.

But Draco deserves a chance, she thought, and he would get one.

**

Harry and Ron wanted to run down to Hagrid’s to chat and see what he was up to, but Hermione managed to bring up an excuse and managed to get away. She didn’t know why she was avoiding their company-well, she wasn’t really. She just wanted to see Draco.

It was only as she stepped into the common room that she recalled he was taking a nap. She sighed and sank into the cushions. It was as she was wondering what to do that she spotted a stack of books on the window ledge.

She had never seen them before and they didn’t look like assigned textbooks. Curious, she approached them and peeked at the front cover of the first book: Unexplained Maladies and Afflictions…

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline when she realized these were the books the doctor had left Draco to read, but he didn’t seem to want to read anytime soon. She understood-and yet at the same time, her curiosity peaked.

Tweaking her ears to alert her to the sound of his light footsteps, Hermione snatched the books and flopped on the couch. One by one, she glanced at the other covers: The Sinberger Sickness by Dr. Flora Abonce, M.M.D; Into the Abyss: A Compilation of Known Facts About Unknown Maladies by Dr. Clive Tiggles, M.M.D; Living on Deadlines: When Magic Fails by Antonette Wise, M.P.; and A Constant Ache: The Sinberger Solution by Dr. D, IN.D. Specialist.

There was a note stuck to the last cover in an untidy scrawl:

Draco,

Let me know if you’re interested.

Dr. Heinshaw

She blinked, trying to imagine what odds these books hid in their numerous depths. With a deep breath, she pulled Into the Abyss from the stack and, flipping to the Contents, found “Sinberger’s Syndrome” on page 500. Her eyes flew over the introduction before scanning the facts and figures.

Sinberger’s Syndrome: A rare magical immunodeficiency that affects 1 in a million wizards and witches. Up to date, there have only been forty documented cases, of which there are no survivors.

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, before taking a deep breath and plunging on.

Sinberger’s Syndrome affects witches more than wizards as their magical cores are emotionally unstable between the years of thirty and fifty-five. However, although these are the primary years between which the known cases fall, there have been two recorded cases of a witch and a wizard who were diagnosed prior to the age of thirty. In the case of the witch, the disease progression took a path in an unpredictable way, but she outlived the life expectancy by two whole years.

Her primary doctor concludes it is due to the concoction she consumed for her remaining five years: a potion now banned from the apothecaries for containing excess amounts of salicyl acid that is known to diminish cognitive and neurological functions. Attempts to lift the ban have been overruled.

Hermione skimmed the following history and flipped the page to read the list of symptoms:

Sinberger’s Syndrome in individuals may display all or some of the following symptoms:

-          excessive fatigue

-          inability to concentrate

-          blurry vision

-          frequent headaches

-          loss of appetite

-          sudden weight loss

-          difficulty with coordination

-          a constant, nagging ache in the joints and prominent muscles

The last seems to be the most common and misdiagnosed symptom as the pain is associated directly with the magical core in the spinal column and can be mistaken for any number of immunodeficient diseases.

Next followed a relatively summarized prognosis:

-          a weakening of muscles

-          increased frequency of attacks (depends on the individual)

-          loss of certain neurological functions (motor or sensory-again, depends on the individual)

-          decreased sexual drive in wizards and inability to achieve orgasm in witches

-          weakening of the respiratory, digestive, and circulatory systems

-          poor circulation may result in:

o   bruising

o   anemia

o   shortness of breath

o   dizziness

Death due to Sinberger’s Syndrome is most often the result of respiratory failure. In some cases, hemorrhages, seizures, and excessive internal bleeding have also been recorded.

Hermione snapped the book shut. She couldn’t read anymore-it was much too horrible! Squeezing her eyes shut, she bit her lips to keep from crying out as a myriad of emotions overwhelmed her.

“It’s that bad, huh?”

She jumped at the sudden voice and opened her eyes to see Draco standing before her, his eyes watching her steadily and revealing no emotion as he caught his reflection in the tears that mirrored her chocolate brown eyes.

“D-Draco! What are you-I-I was just-“ and she hastily piled the books back on the coffee table, blushing at her intrusion and utterly lost for words.

He let her distract herself as she carried the books back to where she found them before turning to face him, guilt rewritten all over her features.

“Draco, I’m sor-“

“There’s no need to apologize,” he cut in. “If you’re going to help me, you need to know.”

As do you, she thought as he reached for the book she had closed and opened it to the page she had been on. Hermione stood by, watching him tentatively as he read the horror on those pages. His face remained passive, even disinterested, but his eyes gave him away.

She saw the shock and fear resurface and suddenly wanted to snatch the book from his hands. At length, he closed the book with trembling hands and closed his eyes. She saw his throat working up and down, battling the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. She wanted to tell him that it was ok to let them go in front of her, but knew his fragile pride couldn’t accept another humiliating show after yesterday’s.

“Draco,” she whispered and he opened his eyes, but didn’t face her.

“I knew it would be bad,” he slowly replied, his voice sounding distant, “But I didn’t think…”

He suddenly sighed and gave her a thin smile which shocked her to no end.

“How long before they ship me to Mungo’s, you think?” he joked and Hermione only gaped.

She had expected him to throw a tantrum, scream, yell, maybe even lash out at her, but not this-not this joke and certainly not a smile! Not for the first time, Hermione found herself wondering just what in the world Draco Malfoy was.