Chapter Eighteen

Draco

An eruption of memories emerge from the blackness that I've been trapped in for what seems like years: Hogwarts, my father, Voldemort, Dumbledore, the Dark Mark, Hermione. All of these things come at me as swift as a bout of wind, until I finally open my eyes.

I sit bolt upright, ignoring the shooting pain in my arm. My breathing is fast and uneven. It takes a second to realize that I am sitting in the hospital wing. How long have I been unconcious? My eyes adjust to the sudden light, and I realize no one else is in here. The sunlight coming through the windows tells me that it is daytime, but other than that, I don't know what time or day it is.

Reluctantly, I look down at my arm. It has been wrapped up so I cannot see the wound. I gingerly unwrap it and inspect the injury. It looks much different than when it happened; it is now healed- not as much as I thought it would be, but better than it was. It is light red and swollen, which makes it hard to look at. I pick up the bandage and-

My Dark Mark is gone.

My heart skips a beat when I realize it. I stare in disbelief, running my finger across where it used to reside and grimacing at the touch. Was this intended by the person who did this, or was it just coincidental? Dumbfounded, I check my other arm, and, of course, it isn't there either. My last trace of my old life- besides my reputation- is gone.

"Oh, Draco, dear," I look up to find a frazzled-looking Madam Pomfrey scuttling towards me with a look of delight on her face. "You're awake!"

"Yes," I answer quickly, my mind still racing from the sight of my unmarked arm. It finally slows with one thought: "Where's Hermione?"

She furrows her brows for a moment, thinking, and she says, "Oh, yes. I sent Hermione to retrieve a potion from Professor Bane- not that we need it now. She should be back shortly. In the meantime, I'm going to summon Professor McGonagall. She wants to see you."

"Why does she-" I begin, but she closes the door to her office.

I start wrapping up my arm in the bandage again, taking extra care and trying to remember any bit of the tragedy of that night. Nothing comes to mind- no image, no sound, nothing but the pounding in my left arm.

In a minute, my arm is securely wrapped. Somehow, I feel exhausted. How can you be tired after basically sleeping for days? I lay down, wincing at the piercing pain it brings to the wound. Just as I hit the pillow, the door opens. Sure that it is Professor McGonagall, I quickly close my eyes, acting like I'm still asleep so I don't have to get interrogated. Her footsteps get closer and closer to me, and I hold my breath, trying to be motionless. The sound stops beside my bed, and I can sense her looking at me. She sighs, and it sounds unusually young for her age. I hear the clink of glass on the table beside my bed, and I realize that it isn't the Headmistress: it's Hermione.

"I was sure you'd be awake by now," She whispers, and she bends down and pushes my hair back, kissing my forehead. When I hear her walking away, I stand up as quietly as I can manage and tiptoe towards her. Obviously, she doesn't hear me, for she keeps walking just as she had. I can almost see the disappointment in her gait. Suddenly, I wrap my arms around her from behind, and she gasps.

"Surprise." I breathe in her ear, and she reaches up and strokes the bandage on my arm. Realizing who it is, she whips around to face me, her face showing an equal amount of astonishment and excitement.

"Oh my goodness," She exclaims, breathless, throwing her arms around me, "You were just... I thought that..." Her voice is muffled, and I kiss her forehead.

"I'm here," I smile, "I'm fine."

She pulls back and looks at me, unable to register my sudden appearance, and says, "I thought I had lost you."

"You thought you could get away from me that easily?" I laugh. "It's going to take a lot more than that to drive me away from you." She finally grins, her face bursting into happiness. I grab her hand and we walk towards the door, only to be stopped by Madam Pomfrey.

"I'm sorry, but you cannot leave yet. The Headmistress is on her way to talk to you, Mr. Malfoy."

I groan. "Can't it wait?"

"No, I'm afraid it can't. She should be in here any- Ah, there she is."

Hermione and I look back to see Professor McGonagall marching through the door. Her face is the opposite of the mood between Hermione and me; while ours are excited, hers is solemn. A different mood settles in the room.

"Greetings, Mr. Malfoy. Nice to see you well again," She says, offering me a small, artificial smile. She looks at Hermione for a moment before looking at me again. "Do you think we could speak for a moment, alone?"

"Please, Headmistress," I beg, squeezing Hermione's hand, "let her stay."

"I'm sorry, but this meeting should be dealt with utmost secrecy. You have to leave, Miss Granger."

"If she leaves, I'm not saying a word." I protest in an unwavering voice. For a second, I expect Hermione to argue- she has always been quick to obey orders- but she keeps her mouth shut. I spot a growing smirk on her face.

McGonagall opens her mouth as if she's about to retort, but she apparently decides against it. She motions to a set of chairs in the far corner of the room, and we all venture over to them. Madam Pomfrey seals herself in her office once again.

When we sit down, Hermione scoots her chair closer to mine, and I put my uninjured arm around her. McGonagall clears her throat.

"So, how are you feeling?" She asks as a sort of introduction.

"Oh, spectacular. Unless you count the fact that my arm feels like it's going to fall off." I remark. I didn't want to be here right now, and I was going to make that clear.

She gives me a condescending look and replies, "Remember who you're talking to, Mr. Malfoy," She warns me. When I don't respond, she continues, "What do you remember about that night?"

"Which one? You must know that as I approach nineteen years of age, I have experienced thousands of nights. Please, Headmistress, speak clearer." I wisecrack. An agitated look appears on her face, but I can barely hear Hermione laughing beside me.

"The night where, as you would say, your arm almost fell off." She explains, obviously trying to hang on to the last bit of patience she possesses.

"Oh, yes, that one. So many things," I shrug, "Too bad I don't remember any of them."

She sighs. "Are you sure? You don't remember , anything at all?"

"Indeed," I shrug, "Maybe all of the lost blood took the memories with it."

my mind recites in a voice other than my own. The tone is so chilling that I shudder.

"What? What is it?" McGonagall asks, obviously sensing the uneasiness that suddenly came over me.

When someone wipes your memory, you're not supposed to remember anything, not even them saying the spell. So why is my mind telling me this?

the voice says, and I tremble.

"Draco, what's wrong?" Hermione says in a voice so small it doesn't even sound like her. She puts her hand on my arm and watches me, her eyes unwavering.

The voice resounding in my head is one that I recognize, but I can't seem to match it with a specific person. I can feel both Hermione's and McGonagall's gazes upon me, but that's in the real world, which I'm slowly slipping away from. I abruptly get very dizzy, and I bury my head in my hands to try to make it stop. It doesn't. My body seems to stand up without my consent, and I rush over to the nearest trash can and throw up.

The sound of breaking glass emits from Madam Pomfrey's office. I turn around and slide down the wall, sitting with my knees in front of my chest. My arm throbs, and I feel very weak. Hermione rushes towards me, yelling something, but the sound is muffled.

I get dizzier until I eventually close my eyes, focusing on the sound of my racing heart. I feel someone grabbing my arm, but I don't bother to see who it is.

Distance, distance, distance. Every second puts more of this between me and the world.

My father's face flashes behind my eyelids, and I gasp. Everything goes black again.