Chapter Sixteen

Hermione

As I walk into the Gryffindor common room, I see Harry sitting on the couch, staring into the flames of the fireplace. He looks exhausted, as if he didn't sleep. I surely didn't. The portrait closes behind me, making an audible noise. Harry jumps out of his seat and turns around to look at me. I run into his open arms.

"Oh, Harry." I cry, and he rubs my back comfortingly. When we let go, he leads me over to the couch, and I sit down beside him.

"So, what happened, Hermione?" Harry asks. Even though I yelled at him last night, he's not angry with me.

What happen? There is so much to say, but I feel like there is nothing at all; I feel empty, as if everything inside of me has been taken out, leaving just a hollow shell behind. I can't even cry anymore.

"I went to... to f-find him, and I did, and... he was in the Room of Requirement... bleeding awfully," Harry looks at me with a look of great concern in his eyes, expecting me to say more. The words are difficult to say. They come out rough and abrupt, with many sniffles in-between. "I carried him to the hospital wing, and she- Madam Pomfrey, that is- said that magic couldn't cure it. And, well..." I can't seem to say the last words.

"Yes?"

"There's a good chance that he-"

"Oh," Harry sighs. His face takes up a solemn, sympathetic look. "I'm so sorry." For a while, neither of us say anything, but it's not completely silent; I seem to be able to hear my thoughts, and Harry taps his foot slowly.

"And then I had a dream that he died," I suddenly admit. "I felt so helpless, sitting there beside his bed and just having to watch him suffer, trapped in his nightmares... It felt so , Harry."

"I know the feeling." Harry says, placing his arm around me as I lay my head on his shoulder.

Harry does understand me. I can't even imagine how he deals with all of the loss he's experienced when I can barely handle this situation, in which I haven't lost anyone yet. One thing I'll never forget is the sound of Harry's scream when he watched his godfather, Sirius Black, die. It radiated throughout the Hall of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. It was the most painful, heart-wrenching sound I've ever heard; it plays over in my head now. Harry has been through things no one should have to endure.

"I know you do." He doesn't respond. We just gaze into the fire until Harry finally speaks.

"Are you going to visit him?" He asks without looking at me.

"Yeah." I answer, my heart aching at the thought of it.

"Do you want me to come?"

"N-no, I think I can handle it. Thank you for everything, Harry. I heard you invite him to that Quidditch game at the party."

"It's nothing, Hermione. He really is a nice guy. I should have believed you in the first place." Just then, somebody comes tumbling down the stairs.

"Good morning!" The person shouts, and I recognize the voice: it's Ron. I suddenly clench the potion in my pocket.

"Morning, Ron," Harry greets, and I take my head off of his shoulder, trying my best to look strong. Ron looks into my eyes.

"Hello," He says directly to me, his face expressionless. I don't say anything; I can't myself say anything. I rise off of the couch and stand up in front of Harry.

"I-I'm going to go, you know... visit." I stutter, and I turn around and walk out of the common room and into the corridor.

If I had stayed any longer, I am sure that I would have revealed the vial of Veritaserum, therefore ruining my plan. Harry wouldn't approve, so I couldn't even tell him. But I've got to do it; I have to know if Ron's jealousy goes so far as to have a death wish for Draco.

I wish we could all be friends again- Harry, Ron, and I. With Ron acting like this, it's near impossible. But the Golden Trio is perpetual. No matter what happens, we will always be known by that name.

Lost in my thoughts, I bump into someone. When I look up, I realize that it's Ambrosia West, the girl I was friends with just a few weeks ago.

"Hello, Ambrosia," I say, a bit reluctantly.

"Hi, Hermione," She responds, pursing her lips, "Haven't spoken to you in a while. How are... things?" By things, I know that she means Draco and I.

"They're good, I guess," I lie to an extreme extent. "For you?"

"Great," She smiles, looking down the corridor at an emerging figure. "What are you doing all dressed up?" For a second, I'm confused, until I look down and see that I'm still wearing my dress from the party last night, covered in blood.

"Oh, I-I accidentally fell asleep in this," I tell her, shuffling my feet, "from the party, you know. I'm about to-"

"Ambrosia!" A person behind us calls, and when I turn around, I see that it's John Browning, her boyfriend. She skips over to him.

"I'll see you later, Hermione!" She yells back to me as they retreat down the corridor. I give them a measly wave and turn around, heading towards the hospital wing.

A few minutes later, I reach it. Before I open the door, I take a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for what I could see. The doors open, revealing the huge infirmary. Madam Pomfrey doesn't seem to be in here. I walk towards the other end of the room. Draco is lying in the bed in the corner, just where he was last night. Is he asleep, or is he still unconscious? The wound has been wrapped tightly in a bandage. As I get closer to him, I notice that his chest is steadily rising and falling. He's alive. I rush over to him and sit down beside him.

"Hey, Draco," I greet, although I'm aware that he probably will not answer. He doesn't. "I miss you," I say, and I lean down and kiss him. It eases some of my grief, even though I know that he doesn't realize it. For a few seconds, I just look at him. Some of the color has returned to his face. The bandage is not dyed red, so the wound must have stopped bleeding. He looks healthier, despite the fact that it hasn't even been a full day since his injury. A door slams shut behind me, and Madam Pomfrey is coming towards us.

"Hello, Miss Granger," She greets, barely stopping to look at me. She's busy, as always. I've barely ever seen her sit down.

"Hi," I answer, not looking at her either. My eyes demand to stay on Draco.

"Here to check on the status of Mr. Malfoy, I presume?" She asks, and I nod my head. "He's had a rough night. Coughing, sputtering, bleeding, the whole lot. Constant attention! But, with the help of a Healer from St. Mungo's-"

"Arcturo Dogton." I cut in, and she finally slows down enough to look at me curiously.

"Yes, him. Anyway, he and I managed to get him in a stable condition," She sighs, "Such work, though. Of course, it was worth it. Poor Mr. Malfoy has had quite a hard year..."

"Yes, he has," I agree, "But, y-you said he's stable, right? He's going to live?" A spark of hope ignites in me.

"Indeed." She confirms. I smile and cup Draco's face in my hands.

"You're going to be alright," I tell him, and I wish just a flicker of recognition, of would register on his face, but it doesn't. He can't hear me. "How long do you think he'll be unconcious?" I ask Madam Pomfrey.

"Oh, I don't really know, a few more days. He needs the rest." And with that, she scurries into her office and shuts the door.

The promise of something far away, of Draco's awakening, is great, but it's hard to be so happy when he's still laying in front of me, not hearing or seeing, not realizing anyone is here at all. It's almost torture, like we're trapped on separate sides of a glass wall, and I want him to be on my side, so I can talk to him, interact.