ACA: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“The whole secret of existence is to have no fear. Never fear what will become of you, depend on no one. Only the moment you reject all help are you freed.”
- Buddha

“Bloody hell, Malfoy! Shut up!” Ron cried, his eyes as wide as saucers.

Draco stopped abruptly and fell back into his seat, panting.

“What the hell was that?” Harry asked, gently prying Ginny’s painful hold on his wrist.

Draco simply stared and panted, his grey eyes wide with something akin to fright. They watched him tentatively, Harry’s fingers curled around his wand, but when he didn’t so much as blink, they relaxed just a bit.

“I think he’s had a nightmare,” Harry whispered, knowing all too well how traumatic those moments could be.

Hermione nodded mutely and cautiously called Malfoy’s name, hoping to shake him from his stupor. “Malfoy?”

He gave no indication he heard her, but his breathing went erratic. Afraid the blonde was losing control of his magic, Harry suddenly jumped out of his seat and grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders, shaking him violently.

“Wake up, Malfoy! Up!” he cried.

“Harry, no! Stop-he’s in pain!” Hermione exclaimed for Malfoy had gone chalk white, his eyes screwed shut, and fists balled in obvious agony.

When Harry released him, he crumpled in the seat, whimpering in pain. Ron and Ginny watched from aback, unsure of what to do and uncomfortable with a pitiable Malfoy.

“Malfoy, are you alright?” Hermione asked when he simply lay there, eyes closed.

“What do you think Granger?” he spat, angrily pushing himself up. He gingerly touched his shoulders where Harry had held him and winced, hissing in pain.

“I didn’t hold you that tightly,” Harry said as he stepped back to give him room.

Draco didn’t reply. He was too busy matting down his ruffled hair and dusting his cloak from where it had slithered to the floor.

“What are you doing here anyway?” he irritably asked as he straightened. “Come to spy on me again? Think I’m going to Curciatus you in my sleep?”

Ron rolled his eyes, a bit surprised Malfoy hadn’t whipped out his wand yet. Leave it to Malfoy to be the drama queen, he wryly thought.

“Look, we didn’t come to spy ok? Everywhere else was full so we-“

“Save it, Potter. As if I cared where you stick your nose,” and he stood slowly, holding onto the window for support as dizziness washed over him. It was definitely not a good idea to titter around on a speeding train in his state. Avoiding their puzzled looks, he stumbled forward and pushed open the door.

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked, unable to hide her concern.

“Away from you,” he grumbled and slammed the door in their faces.

**

“Well, that was…different,” Ginny muttered flopping back into the seat.

“Did you see his face?” Ron snickered, “It looked like he’d a seen a ghost!”

“It’s not funny Ron!” Hermione scolded. “He looked like he was in a lot of pain.”

Ron merely shrugged. “Maybe he’s caught a bug or something.”

“Do you think he’s coming back? He left his stuff here,” Harry asked, waving a hand at the trunk in the overhead shelf and his book on the floor.

Hermione, ever the friend of books, bent down and picked up the beaten textbook, smoothing its pages almost lovingly. So what if it belonged to Malfoy? A book was a book.

“Maybe once the train stops,” she replied, settling back into the seat with the book in her lap.

Now that their subject of unease had fled, the four relaxed and began chatting to pass the time by. Hermione glanced at the book from time to time. She’d told herself she wouldn’t touch because it wasn’t her property and she didn’t like prying in other people’s things, but a textbook was hardly something private. Besides, she wanted to see if she couldn’t do a quick review.

Throwing all caution to the wind, she opened the book and stared at the elegant writing that marked the top corner of the inside page.

Property of Draco A. Malfoy

His neat, calligraphic writing took her by surprise. She would have never thought Malfoy was the sort of person who particularly cared about his handwriting. On the other hand, she never thought Malfoy read textbooks in his spare time either. Deciding not to take out her prejudices on an innocent book, she busily turned the pages and lost herself in the symbols and cryptic mysteries that was Ancient Runes.

It wasn’t until she’d read five chapters that a frown creased her brow. The coming chapter was marked with scribbles in red ink and words had been viciously crossed only to be corrected at the top. They were so crammed together and squeezed in that it was hard to make out where one word ended and the other began. On closer inspection, however, she recognized the tiny, elegant scrawl of the book’s owner.

Her eyebrows shot up at the inclination. Draco Malfoy had made corrections to a popularly used school textbook! Immediately she brought the book closer and began going through his thorough notes. After a bit of pondering and deciphering, she was relieved to find that the book wasn’t wrong at all, but what impressed her almost to the point of shock was that Malfoy had transcribed the symbols and pictographs into another form of Runic alphabet. She was sure they had never learned those strange symbols and yet they seemed as though they belonged in the textbook along with the rest. Not for the second time that day, Hermione found herself wondering just how much she didn’t know about their nemesis.

A knock on the compartment door announced the food trolley. Is it that time already? Hermione thought as she closed the book while Ron and Harry jumped towards the cart, fishing out money. She laid the book on Malfoy’s discarded cloak, wondering where he had gone.

“Aren’t you going to get anything ‘Mione?” Ron asked, unwrapping a second chocolate frog while he munched on the first.

“No, I’m not hungry. I’ll just be to the lavatory,” she said and excused herself from the compartment. She made her way further down the corridor where she hoped the Slytherin lavatories were located. She was just nearing a large, lonely window (they had one for view in every House corridor) when she traced an unmistakable figure curled into himself on the floor.

“Malfoy?” she called and he looked up from where he’d rested his head on his drawn knees, a frown painted in greeting.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” he grumbled, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes.

Hermione found his actions rather odd. “If you’re so tired, you’re welcome back in the compartment you know-“

“No, I’m not. The Weasel and Scarhead would much rather jump down my throat.” He sighed wearily and stretched out his long legs, again wincing a little. If he hoped Hermione would overlook his discomfort, he was sorely mistaken. He was dealing with the Golden Trio after all.

“You know, if a person’s in pain they tend to do something about it, not just let it linger on like primitive torture.”

He shot her a pointed glare. “And just whom do you suggest I go to end this primitive torture, Granger? Because Merlin help me, I so do love to put up with pain!”

“I’m only trying to help-“ she scowled and was immediately snapped at.

“Well, don’t. You need to learn not to give help when it’s obviously not needed. Can’t you see Granger? I-don’t-want-you here. Now sod off and leave me alone!”

Hermione didn’t bother replying and left him to his misery as she turned heel and went on her way with a huff. Really, what had she expected? A nice ‘hello’ and cordial conversation? Merlin the day a Slytherin and Gryffindor engage in such civility mark the end of the Wizarding world!

There was no one crowding the Slytherin girl’s cubicle, so Hermione was done and out in minutes. She made her way back and decided at the last moment to satiate her curiosity just a bit. When she got closer, she pressed herself against the corridor wall and tentatively watched the huddled form, careful not to so much as breathe harshly lest it alert him.  Malfoy had stretched out his left arm and was flexing his fingers. At first she thought he was examining his nails, which were shell pink and polished enough, but the slow halting way in which he bent them told her he was testing their rigidity. He suddenly hissed and cradled his hand to his chest, rubbing circles over his knuckles as though bruised.

Hermione frowned, more puzzled than ever. He was in pain. That bit was obvious, but why, Malfoy being who he was, wasn’t he complaining and making an utter fuss over everything? Then again Malfoy, being Malfoy, she concluded, was an enigma.