Disclaimer: Still none of it is mine…
**
Hermione groggily opened her eyes. Trying to lift her head from the floor, she winced as a dart of pain shot through her skull. Deciding not to move for the time being (or forever, whispered her battered cranium) she opened her eyes wider to look around. She couldn't really see anything clearly and for a moment she panicked that she'd lost her vision entirely. A tentatively deep breath sent cloying smoke to the back of her throat and she coughed. The retch caused her to lift her head and bands of tight pain across her forehead rebuked her. Reassured that smoke not blindness impeded her sight, Hermione sighed once slowly, trying to breathe as little as possible.
What on earth had happened? She remembered bizarre details; she'd chosen to wear tights that morning instead of socks, she'd had mushrooms and toast for breakfast. The thought of food sent another convulsive spasm through her system and she rolled onto her side feeling as though she was going to be sick.
Harry lay motionless in front of her, his eyes closed and a heavy trickle of blood coming from the side of his mouth. Harry. Of course. They'd come up here early that morning to start work for the term - OWLS were getting close. Harry hadn't wanted to come, she remembered, and warm tears touched the back of her eyes. Blinking them back, she took a steadying breath before whispering "Harry". The sound that came out was hoarse and broken. Hermione tried to swallow, but her throat was full of dry dust. Sweet Merlin, why wouldn't he answer?
"HARRY" she whispered again, desperation forcing the sound louder.
In response to the ragged noise, he seemed to twitch slightly.
Hermione tried to move closer to him, so that she could check his pulse, wake him somehow. She rolled awkwardly onto her stomach, her gown getting twisted beneath her and impeding her progress. Even this gentle movement sent a cloud of dust into he air. Hermione coughed again, feeling her head seem to swell with pain. Rough splinters and rubble tore at her arms and bruised her hands as she tried to crawl forwards. Biting on her lip so hard she could taste blood she focused only on Harry, only on getting to him, being with him. The rest could wait.
**
Draco was fuming. Not only had the little Weasel brought the whole library down on top of them, he'd managed to get stuck in a tiny place with her as well. The noises had stopped, though a large piece of bookcase blocked their way out from under the table. The ginger idiot was out cold and he was feeling a little light-headed himself. Scooting forward a little, he tentatively pushed at the barrier in front of him.
It tottered briefly and then fell forwards. Draco cautiously poked his head out from under the table. It was worse than he had feared. It seemed as though beams from the roof had collapsed under the pressure of her spell as well. She'd literally collapsed the walls around them. Draco crawled out into a small space, not large enough for him to stand, blocked in every direction by smouldering timber, piles of books and shattered bookcases. The space was dark, illuminated only faintly by chinks of flickering light.
"Marvellous" muttered Draco.
He reached inside his gown, remarkably still in one piece save for a single nasty tear, for his wand. Nothing. He groped again desperately. This wasn't happening. His wand was missing. He supposed that in his desperate dive for cover, dragging that little fool with him, he'd managed to dislodge it.
Now he was faced with a choice. Would he rather sit here in the dark, or wake the Weasel to get her wand. Despite strong compulsion drawing him towards the first option, Draco decided that magic was really their best hope of assessing the situation.
Resigned, he reversed his path, smacking the back of his head sharply on the roof of the desk. Swearing softly he poked the girl in her hip with his finger. She didn't move.
"Weasel" he called. "Wake up."
Still she didn't move and with the flutterings of mild panic, he pulled her over towards him. Her head lolled limply into his lap and he saw, horrified, a deep cut along the side of her head. Terror started to course through him. Draco had never been confronted with the evidence of pain before. He pushed people and they bruised, sometimes he suspected they bled, but he was always far away from the results. He'd made people cry but never anything like this. Uneasy guilt started to gnaw at him even as he wondered whether she was alive. Blood was congealing in a sticky mess and when he placed tentative fingers to her pulse, they were dripping with her blood.
He couldn't find a pulse. He knew roughly where it should be, but he hadn't really got the faintest idea what he was doing. Smoky panic tore through him at the unaccustomed responsibility of his position. What was he meant to do, alone without his wand or his father's guidance.
Gently he slapped her cheek. "Weasel."
"Weasel" Again, louder.
"Ginny" he said desperately and to his relief, her eyelids fluttered.
**
Ginny slowly opened her eyes. Pain and tears made her vision hazy. She could piece together odd sensations. Her head was throbbing across the right side but was pillowed on something soft. Something sharp was digging into her ankle.
Blinking slowly she looked up into the eyes of Draco Malfoy. Immediately the context to her situation rushed back and, revulsed, she jerked herself away from him.
Thrashing desperately she knocked her still-bleeding head against something hard and couldn't hold in a cry of agony. Hurt and alone, the adrenaline was starting to make her dizzy.
"What did you do?" she sobbed openly, clawing a hand to her head.
"I saved your life you little bitch" he retorted. "Stay still or you'll pass out again. Have you got your wand?"
Too dazed to do anything but comply, Ginny felt inside her robes but found nothing.
"It was…was, with my b-b-books" she cried quietly.
"Well your b-b-books aren't here Weasel, and now we're totally screwed" said Malfoy bitterly.
Ginny pulled her knees up to her chest and sobbed desperately into the folds of her gown. Her head felt as though it had been torn open. She didn't have her wand or her brothers and she was stuck with Malfoy, who'd been so despicable to her before the accident.
"Stop crying Weasel" he said impatiently.
"Shut UP Malfoy" she raged, raising her head and glaring at him. "Proud of yourself are you? Glad to finish what Daddy started three years ago? Happy to see me cry?"
"I AM NOT MY FATHER" shouted Malfoy so loud that her ears hurt.
"No" she cried softly "You're even worse".
**
Hermione grasped Harry's shoulder and shook it desperately. Scalding tears were cascading down her cheeks and she was finding it hard to breathe.
"Harry, please wake up" she sobbed. "I need to you to wake up."
Her sobs were getting more high pitched, more hysterical. A black fog of irrationality was descending over her usually clear brain.
"Wake up…wake up…wake up!" she raged, shaking his shoulders.
She collapsed over his chest, her body heaving with sobs, tears soaking his gown. She couldn't do this without him. She didn't want to do anything without him. She loved him. With a fresh shudder of raw grief, Hermione acknowledged this simple truth. She loved him.
Her sobs slowed, nothing but Harry in her thoughts, and weak and crazy with pain, she whispered "I love you" and then slumped, unconscious, over him.
**
Draco felt the familiar wash of red hot anger pulse through him. It felt good. It energized him. It made him feel alive and in control. This feeling only lasted for a moment. All the anger seemed to flush out of him with his yell. Bewildered, he shook his head slightly. What was happening? This wasn't the way it worked. She insulted him, he insulted her…that was the pattern. Why couldn't he spit out a retort?
Something inside him was dampening down his rage. Part, he acknowledged uneasily, was the fact that she was as white as a sheet, white with pain instead of fear. More than this, Draco was…he was hurt. Somehow she'd managed to cut him deeply. "You're just another Malfoy" she'd implied. She'd compared him to his father. Heedless of her curious stare, he looked blankly back at her. What was wrong with him? It was all he'd ever wanted! He was going to be just like his father, a Deatheater, a servant to Lord Voldemort. He would have power and respect.
Curse the sickening little Weasel. She had made clear to him, in one shaky moment, that while he had fear neither he, nor his father, had respect. She'd whispered the words he's wanted to hear, but they'd left him empty. Small words had torn down his lofty dreams and stomped on his future. Was this the goal of his life? All he'd been looking for? This beaten little witch had refused to bow to him. Even now.
Images of his father flooded his brain. His father yelling at his cowering mother. His father kicking their house-elf down the stairs. His father slapping him and telling him he was a disgrace to the Malfoy name. His father, the bully. Then, other images that he'd imagined from descriptions. His father on bent knee before Lord Voldemort. His father helping to kill Cedric. His father, the coward.
Wildly, he looked about him. Panic was rising up in him again. He needed to get out. The walls were closing in on him. His lungs started to close up and desperately he took small shallow gasps. He gulped down dusty air and choked. Coughing and spluttering he turned to face the wall, one palm splayed against its solidity. He wished he could just lie down and die…
**
Ginny watched Malfoy with a certain detached confusion. What, in the name of Merlin, was going on in his over-oiled little head. Why wasn't he screaming back at her? More importantly…how were they going to get themselves out of this mess?!
**
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