Chapter Nineteen

Hermione

Arcturo Dogton arrives within ten minutes and urges us to leave the room. Madam Pomfrey, McGonagall, and I stand just outside of the doors of the Hospital Wing. The two beside me are talking- whether to me or to each other, I don't know- about Draco. His sudden relapse has scared all of us.

"I cannot fathom the reason as to why he would decline once again," Madam Pomfrey sighs, flipping through the pages of a medicinal book.

"Nor can I," McGonagall concurs, staring down the corridor, "Do you know anything, Miss Granger?"

I can hear that she asked me something, but it doesn't register in my mind. Therefore, I just continue glaring at the floor, almost like I think that if I glare hard enough, my problems will vanish. It doesn't work, of course. I suddenly become very aware of their eyes on me.

"No, ma'am," I mumble, shaking my head. I feel deflated. For just a few moments, I was truly happy: Draco was awake, and he was okay. But now he's slipped from my grasp once again, and nobody knows what to do about it.

"If things continue as they are now," McGonagall says, "he will have to go home."

I jerk my head up to look at her. "He doesn't have a to go to." I retort.

"Surely he has somewhere to go. Doesn't he have an apartment?" Madam Pomfrey pipes in.

"Yes, but sending him there wouldn't solve anything."

"And how do you conclude that, Miss Granger?" McGonagall inquires, crossing her arms.

"Sending him home would be just the same as sending him to die," I explain bravely, "He doesn't have anyone to take care of him. He doesn't a family anymore. Just give it a week, and he'd be gone- for good, this time." Neither Madam Pomfrey or McGonagall say anything. I maintain eye contact, trying to seem confident. Draco will not be sent home if I have anything to do with it.

In the next few minutes, Arcturo emerges from the doorway quite a few times, offering trivial updates on Draco's health. He tells us of almost everything he does and how Draco reacted to it. He gave him a potion, his breathing slowed; he covered him in a blanket, his shivering stopped. After we have been standing outside for almost an hour, he appears again and motions for us to come inside.

"He's awake." He claims as we walk towards the far side of the room where Draco is.

"He doesn't look like it." I argue, crossing my arms. Arcturo gives me a pointed look before continuing.

"He's conscious, rather. He's just asleep now."

Draco just lays there, his chest slowly rising and falling. Color has returned to his face. Despite the good news, I am reluctant to feel hopeful. I remind myself that this has happened before, and look where I am now.

"What happened to him?" McGonagall asks the question I cannot seem to get out. The Healer scratches his head.

"I must know some background information before I decide," He declares, "How did he act before he passed out?" McGonagall is about to speak, but I beat her to it.

"He was fine, completely fine. McGon- The Headmistress began to ask him a few questions, and it looked like the harder he thought, the more distant he got. He threw up, sat down in that corner," I point to the wall on the opposite side of the room, "and passed out."

Arcturo thinks for a moment, twirling the end of his beard. He looks at all of us in turn, and after a minute passes, he finally speaks.

"Aha!" He exclaims in a true elderly wizard fashion, "I know just what's going on."

We all stare at him, waiting for an answer, but he just closely examines his fingernails. McGonagall clears her throat and he looks up as if he had forgotten we were here. Are all exceedingly old wizards this spacey?

"He's showing all of the symptoms of a failed spell. In this case, I would say an Obliviation spell is at fault," He says intelligently, as we all wait for further explanation, "Failed charms are usually the result of wand difficulties, such as a broken wand or the use of one that doesn't belong to the wizard who cast the spell."

"Why do you think someone would do that? Use another's wand, I mean?"

"My best guess is that they didn't want to leave a trace that lead back to them. You said he acted like he didn't remember-"

"Miss Granger!" McGonagall exclaims, turning sharply to look at me. "Your parents were Obliviated, correct?"

"Headmistress, I don't believe that this is the time for-"

"Correct?" She repeats, more insistently.

"Yes."

"And you recovered their memory?" She inquires. Finally, I realize what she means.

"I'm sorry, but- with all due respect- I cannot do it. The process is hard, and it takes a long time... What if he doesn't want-" I explain, motioning pointlessly with my hands. Arcturo looks intrigued.

"You mean to say that you restored memory to your aforementioned Obliviated parents?"

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, my goodness! A seventh year accomplishing what someone like myself couldn't even dare to dream! St. Mungo's would love to have you work there, you brilliant-"

"Now is not a time for recruiting, Arcturo. Miss Granger," She adds, turning to me, "please, say that you will at least try to restore his memory."

"It would require so much time..."

"You can't say you would mind spending 'so much time' in close quarters with Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall smarts, and my cheeks burn. Arcturo chokes on a drink that he has mysteriously acquired.

As I walk over to where Draco lays, I can feel all three pairs of eyes on me. I sit down beside Draco and place my hand gently on the side of his face. His skin is warm, and I can feel the soft stream of his breath.

Just then, the doors open, and Harry and Ron nonchalantly walk in, deep in conversation. Neither of them seem to realize that they're interrupting something. McGonagall clears her throat, but it doesn't affect them. Ron throws his head back in obnoxious laughter at something Harry said. Finally, they notice what they've disrupted, and they become awkwardly silent. Harry nudges Ron, indicating that he should say something.

"Good morning," Ron stammers.

"Ron," I call to him, trying to stifle a laugh, "it's eight o'clock at night." Harry turns around, obviously laughing at Ron's idiocy.

"What do you need, Mr. Weasley?" McGonagall asks, and Ron points to me, nods his head, and walks over.

In the meantime, Arcturo has called Harry over to him. I watch as he gazes in awe at The Boy Who Lived while Harry smiles politely. Arcturo, just as anyone else does when they first meet Harry, points to the scar on his forehead. Harry shakes his head no, and I know that the Healer had asked if it hurt anymore.

"Hey," Ron greets as he approaches.

"Good morning," I laugh, and he blushes as he sits down in front of me.

"Don't talk about it," He demands, but I can tell he's trying not to crack-up. "So, who's the old guy?" He motions toward Arcturo.

"A healer from St. Mungo's for... you know."