Dilemmas, Dwarves, & A Diary
Chapter 14: Dilemmas, Dwarves, & A Diary
Draco spent every evening for the next few weeks in the Hospital Wing. He would bring his homework, a quill, ink, and numerous books to keep him company. She was always asleep. He made sure of it. It wouldn’t do to have her asking why he showed up at a Mudblood’s bedside, nor would it be prudent for her to know he was privy to her current state. He showed up at midnight each night, just after Madam Pomfrey finished her rounds, and would settle in on the bed next to Granger’s.
About two weeks in, Draco could tell that the inky black fur had receded quite a bit, and when her eyes would flutter open on occasion, he could see the glowing yellow fading as her chocolate brown returned.
He had come to the conclusion she had to have drank the Polyjuice Potion as well, but he still wasn’t sure why she would’ve chosen cat hair since the potion specifically stated it was for human transformations only. Professor Snape had been notified immediately once Madam Pomfrey had figured out what had happened. Draco was helping the Potions Master brew multiple doses of the antidote. It was a tedious potion to make and it had to be monitored every hour.
Luckily for Draco, due to the demands of his extracurricular project, he was exempt from the copious amounts of Potions homework Snape had been assigning. He was sure the professor was doing it just to spite Potter and Weasley for stealing from his personal stores of potion ingredients. Unfortunately Snape couldn’t prove it was them, so the rest of the class was punished as well—except for Draco, thankfully.
Draco pulled out his nearly finished History of Magic essay along with his book. It was just missing one thing, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it— something to do with the Gargoyle Strike of 19…14? No, that’s not right. 19…11? That sounds right, oh well I doubt Binns reads these through anyways—prolly takes a nap on them…
The blonde Slytherin leaned over the side table that sat between Granger and himself. She had neatly stacked her essays and books back up on the table before falling asleep. Now if only she paid attention to the level of ink she smudged on her hands on a regular basis. He filtered through her papers, finding the same essay he was working on. I just need to confirm the year, clearly I’m not copying or cheating! I’ve already almost finished! He paused for a moment. Why am I saying this to myself? Clearly I know I’m not cheating. This stream of consciousness is stupid and I’m done with it!
Getting frustrated with himself, he lost his place in her essay. He returned to skimming the nearly scrawled essay until about halfway through he spotted a few small spelling and grammatical errors. I really shouldn’t but… Draco took out his hawthorn wand and tapped the paper in a few places, fixing the mistakes.
“Why am I helping her get a better grade than me?” Draco grumbled to himself, out loud—mostly for fear of slipping into another obnoxious stream of consciousness that he didn’t care to delve into.
“Ha! It WAS 1911!” Draco exclaimed just a tad too loudly. The girl in the bed next to him started to stir and her eyes fluttered open—looking right at him. Draco froze. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was holding her homework and his at the same time. Surely she wouldn’t believe him if he said he wasn’t cheating. Why should she? He looks clearly guilty. Shit.
Granger smiled sleepily, “hello, Draco.”
“Uhh—“ before he could respond, she had lazily shut her eyes again and mumbled a “that’s nice” under her breath before softly snoring again.
Phew that was too close. Draco grabbed his things and shoved her essay back where he had found it. But before he slipped away, he spotted something glinting gold peeking out from under the girl’s pillow. Being unabashedly curious, he snatched the card from under her head in one swift movement.
“To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award.”
Draco scoffed, wanting to light the bloody thing on fire with a quick Incendio , but thought better of it. If her obviously prized possession disappeared the same night she “dreamt” Draco Malfoy was next to her bedside, she’d be livid and he would be the easy target of her rage whether she could prove it or not. Before he could act brashly, the boy shoved the card angrily back under her pillow, swinging his bag over his shoulder.
That was the last night Draco went to the Hospital Wing to visit her .
…
Eventually, Granger made her way back into the classrooms, much to the relief of the rest of the school and Draco’s vexation. To them it meant she hadn’t been petrified by the monster, but to him it meant she could be at any moment—or worse. His nightmares became more frequent and his subconscious had turned from fits of falling or drowning and toward the horror of finding her petrified or dead as a great snake tail slithered out of sight.
Draco’s usually pristine appearance began to slack, his eyes grew purple shadows beneath them and his cheeks grew gaunt. He didn’t eat much on account of being so tired, and he just couldn’t catch up—afraid to drift off and see her. She was always staring at him with glassy unseeing eyes, curls strewn about haphazardly, her arm outstretched toward him in a silent plea for help. But he couldn’t help, at least, not in those nightmares. As soon as he got close enough to reach out and touch her, the hallway between them became an infinite expanse—her frozen body just a blip at the other end. Just thinking about the dreams made him shiver and curl inwards on himself.
Blaise and Theo could see their friend withering away before them, but had no helpful solutions to offer. They both took turns helping Draco monitor Granger’s whereabouts, hoping it would help him feel more at ease. Finally, on a mid-February morning, Draco appeared to be in higher spirits than he had been the whole of the last month. They found him in the Great Hall sipping his coffee and scribbling on a bit of parchment—a plate full of crumbs sat in front of him.
“Whatcha workin on, mate? I thought you finished all the essays for the rest of the year?” Theo joked cheerily as he sat down across from the blonde Slytherin.
“Nothing,” Draco said quietly, leaning over the parchment even more so to block his friend's view of his writing.
“I’ll take that, thank you!” Blaise snuck up behind Draco and quickly whipped the paper out from under Draco’s arms.
“Granger, happy Valentine's Day. I’m glad you’re out of the infirmary. Watch your back.” Blaise read the note aloud to Theo.
“Blimey, I reckon she’ll be back to thinking you actually are the Heir if you send her that! That’s total rubbish, you sound like you’re gonna kill her, mate,” Theo chuckled, grabbing the parchment from Blaise to look it over himself.
“Is that supposed to be a Valentine?” Pansy slid down the bench toward the boys. The Great Hall was still pretty empty so she could hear every word they had said. “It’s not a very good one. I agree with Theo, you’ll just scare the Mudblood off,” she said matter-of-factly. “Try something more poetic.”
“I’m not poetic. I’m not even nice,” Draco retorted.
“You don’t have to be all mushy, just don’t be rude,” Blaise shrugged, taking his spot next to Pansy as she raised a warning brow at him.
“Gimme that!” Draco snatched the parchment back out of Theo’s hands and tapped it with his wand, effectively erasing the entire note he had written.
“Use her first name,” Pansy prompted.
“Yeah, and compare something you like about her to something nice,” Theo threw out.
“Hermione, your hair is as bushy as a cat’s tail—“ he said sarcastically. Actually that’s pretty funny, but I doubt she’d think so
Pansy rolled her eyes, sliding the parchment in front of her and grabbing the quill from his fingers.
“ Hermione, the freckles on your nose are like perfect flecks of cinnamon, and your eyes are molten honey—“
Draco grabbed the note back and scowled at his friends. “I can’t bloody well send something like that!” He tapped it with his wand and the parchment lit itself on fire. He stormed out of the hall and down the corridor as the ashes collected on the table behind him. He turned the corner toward the staircases when he quite literally ran into the object of his frustration. Luckily she was alone, and they both fell to the floor in a heap of books and papers.
The boy quickly got to his knees and began collecting both her things and his into neat little piles, while she stared at him in shock. Once he had shoved his things back into his bag, he picked hers up and got to his feet, extending his hand to her. Granger reluctantly stuck out her own hand, accepting the gesture, her jaw gaping at the exchange.
“Sorry, my bad,” he muttered and hurried off toward the dungeons, leaving her to stare at his retreating form.
Did I just APOLOGIZE to Hermione Granger?! There’s no way I’m sending her any kind of love note now. Pansy’s an idiot.
…
The morning of February fourteenth, Draco woke early and went straight to the Owlery. If he was lucky, she would get the note in her dormitory before the flood of Valentines went out at breakfast. He approached Aquila slowly. She would likely be angry with him for not sending her out lately, but truth be told, as Christmas was over, he hadn’t been corresponding with his parents as much. He re-read the note one last time before attaching it to her leg.
Hermione,
I really hope this helps you.
Stay safe,
D.L.M
He stared at the parchment for a long moment, then took out his wand and tapped the page one last time, erasing his initials. She would never trust something he sent her. He folded the note and tied it to the large eagle owl’s leg and she nipped him in the shoulder as she took off, scattering her speckled gray feathers around him.
Draco tried not to think anymore about his little note, and he moseyed down to the Great Hall for breakfast. He was disgusted with what he found. The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling, covering the precious plates of bacon and sausage.
Looking up at the Head Table, he could take one guess as to who the culprit responsible for this flamboyant show was. Lockhart was wearing matching pink robes and stood up to wave his arms frantically calling for silence. Professor Snape looked like he was about to Avada the man standing next to him.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouted. “And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all — and it doesn’t end here!”
Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.
“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beamed Lockhart. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!”
Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands, to hide his burning cheeks, scarlet from embarrassment. Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison, and Draco wouldn’t blame him.
Draco glanced over in her direction, ignoring the rest of the Gryffindors chattering away. He watched to see if she had registered what he had sent her. Did she figure it out yet? No, she’s clearly enamored with Lockhart today, what a little chit.
He huffed in annoyance and slowly shredded his bacon to bits. Blaise had taken the seat across from him and just casually sipped his tea, waiting for Draco to explain.
“I sent the note,” Draco ground out through clenched teeth.
“Ah, so which rendition did you go with?” Blaise asked lightly.
“I didn’t send a bloody Valentine if that’s what you’re asking!” Draco snapped at his friend, immediately regretting his tone, but Blaise didn’t seem to take any offense. “Sorry, I sent her the copy of the page from Theo’s book—the one of basilisks,” he amended.
Blaise nodded thoughtfully, “if anyone from Gryffindor could put it together, it would be her. She’ll figure it out. You’ve done all you can do, now.”
Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, and the weight he had been carrying eased slightly. “What if she doesn’t figure it out in time? What if she’s next?”
“You can’t control that, mate. You’ve given her the answer as blatantly as you can. It’s up to her to fill in the blanks.”
“Yeah, I guess…” Draco sighed again grimly and started to grab another piece of bacon to shred, but Blaise pulled the platter away from him and shoved the plate of toast into his reach instead.
Eventually, Draco gave up on reducing his breakfast to crumbs, and he walked to his classes in a daze, following Theo with his arm around Daphne, and Blaise holding hands with Pansy as she flounced through the halls. He wasn’t totally alone, however, as Greg and Vince were also alone on this wretched holiday—for now at least. Unfortunately, each passing dwarf and Millie’s anxious glances threatened to steal away one of his companions.
All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, and Draco. He didn’t expect to receive one by any means, but he did expect to at least learn something today. Honestly, why come to class at all?
The Slytherins were heading from Transfiguration to Defense Against the Dark Arts for their last class of the day, when Draco spotted a stout, grouchy dwarf approaching Potter. Oh this’ll be good, I gotta see this! He tugged on Vince’s robes and led him toward the gathering crowd around his rival.
Draco pushed through the throng of students, where a chaotic scene was unfolding before him. A rumpled Potter stood, disheveled with his ripped bag half hanging from his shoulder and half dragging on the floor. Parchment and quills littered the small area, with books flung around them. The grimy dwarf and all of Potter’s belongings were splattered in scarlet ink, and the Gryffindor boy’s face was turning a shade of cherry red.
“What’s going on here?” Draco said, bursting the silence. Potter started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before the Slytherins could hear his musical valentine.
“What’s all this commotion?” said another familiar voice as the Weasley Prefect arrived.
Losing his head, Potter tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor.
“Right,” he said, sitting on Potter’s ankles. “Here is your singing valentine:
His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,
His hair is as dark as a blackboard,
I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord
Draco couldn’t help it, he laughed. I knew this was going to be good! The blonde’s laughter quickly turned into a guffaw as Pansy and Theo repeated the lines of the Valentine over and over again. The roar of the crowd’s laughter only increased as the Prefect attempted to disperse the crowd before him. As Draco leaned over clutching his side which was in stitches, he spotted the Diary. Voldemort’s diary.
No one’s watching. I could grab it and take it back to Father. We could end this whole thing and Granger would be safe and…
No sooner had Draco grabbed the Diary, and turned to show Theo and Blaise, the Prefect had called all attention to him.
“Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now,” he said, shooing some of the younger students away. “And you, Malfoy —”
Potter, glanced over and looked horrified.
“Give that back,” said the raven-haired boy quietly.
“Wonder what Potter’s written in this?” Draco said, trying to cover up his actions. A hush fell over the onlookers. Ginny was staring from the diary to Potter, looking terrified.
“Hand it over, Malfoy,” said Prefect Weasley sternly.
“When I’ve had a look,” Draco taunted, waving the diary at Potter.
The older Weasley said, “As a school prefect —” but Potter had already lost his temper. He pulled out his wand and shouted, “ Expelliarmus! ” and just as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Draco found the diary shooting out of his hand into the air. The Weasel, grinning broadly, caught it.
“Harry!” said the Prefect loudly. “No magic in the corridors. I’ll have to report this, you know!”
Potter didn’t seem to care, and Draco looked murderous. No matter. As Ginny passed him to enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully after her, “I don’t think Potter liked your valentine much!” to which another fit of laughter from the Slytherins roared. The Weaselette, equally embarrassed, ran off to her next class, covering her face with her hands.
The Weasel snarled and pulled his wand out. Draco simply grinned devilishly at the ginger—daring him to aim another hex or jinx with that patches-up broken wand. Potter grabbed his sidekick just in time and hauled him off in the other direction. Too bad, I would’ve loved to see that again.
Their D.A.D.A class was nowhere near as interesting, but a dwarf did come in to hand a bouquet of white and magenta orchids and soft blush camellias to Pansy. Her cheeks pinked to match the blooms as she sweetly blew a kiss across the room to Blaise.
Once their class was finished, Draco raced to his room to write to his father about the newest owner of the Diary. Either he would be furious at the unfortunate turn of events, or ecstatic at the fortuitous findings. He wasn’t sure how the news would be taken—it could be bad that Potter was in immediate danger since Dumbledore was seemingly no help in the situation. On the other hand, it could be the perfect trigger for Saint Potter to accidentally defeat the Dark Lord yet again, as was seeming to become a habit.
He sealed the envelope and hoped for the best, taking it to Aquila for a swift delivery.