Chapter Text
Prologue
May 10, 1993
Hogwart’s Castle, Hospital Wing
Granger looked like a porcelain doll. She was frozen and fragile. The mirror that was found in her outstretched hand laid flat on the sterile hospital side table next to her bed.
Whoever - or whatever - got to her had taken her by surprise. The hushed whispers between the professors revealed the growing concern that the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were not safe. Something - a hidden vault of some sort - was opened and deep within this dwelling lay a predator who was once again freed and openly hunting.
He had made a snide comment about the monster getting her next, dropping the M slur too easily. He held very little power over the Gryffindors and especially the Golden Trio, but he used this card often and effectively. He looked at her bothered expression and his guffawing companions with pride, knowing that this jab hit the mark.
Now, seeing her in the state that he wished directly to her face, he felt something rotten turning in his stomach.
He didn’t mean it. He didn’t think she would be the next victim. He thought she had enough cosmic clout to avoid significant harm - she had a destiny to fulfill alongside Potter and Weasel. Draco was meant to be the antithesis of their story - his name, his family, and his House made it so. Someone needed to be the villain, and he played his part well. He didn’t need to be liked (he had enough money and pedigree to not require this), but he didn’t want to be forgotten.
Draco looked around. The others who had the misfortune of being petrified were scattered throughout the hospital wing. Privacy curtains were drawn around almost all of them, but not Granger. She was out in the open, vulnerable to another attack. What if the monster decided to return and ensure the job was complete?
He walked to her side and stared at her petrified, outstretched hand. Her cuticles were clean, nails trimmed and polished with a clear coat. She didn’t blink.
“Wake up, Granger,” he demanded.
He waited. Nothing happened.
She ignored his demand, the little swot.
“Potter will get himself killed if you don’t wake up from this spell. Everyone knows you’re the brains of the operations. He’ll find a way to trip and fall off a cliff, I’m telling you. Then he’ll become a martyr and he’ll be insufferable, even in death. Merlin save us all. Do us all a favor and … wake up.”
Draco carded the hand almost touching Granger’s hand through his hair, trying to distract himself from the intrusive thoughts floating in his brain. The thoughts urged him to touch her hand, to feel exactly how cold petrification made a body, to feel her pulse as a reminder that she was not truly dead, just stuck in between.
He heard a muffle of voices and swishing robes approaching the doors of the hospital wing. He looked around, panicking, in search of a hiding place. He knew he was an untrustworthy young wizard in the professors’ eyes and being found hovering over Granger’s petrified form would look suspect. The rumors of him being the heir of Slytherin were well known. He played into it, but never corrected anyone.
A few beds down from Granger lay the petrified form of Penelope Clearwater, a Sixth Year and a Ravenclaw to boot. She was blonde and pretty enough. She was older than him, but it would be believable, or at least more believable than being found holding Granger’s frozen hand.
He rushed to Penelope’s bedside, sitting down on the chair placed next to it. He weaved his left hand through her right, and ducked his head down and pretended to sleep on the rough cotton sheets. The material scratched the soft, unblemished skin of his cheek.
“Who is that, Minerva?”
Draco’s eyes were closed, but he could tell the Headmaster’s scruffy voice anywhere.
“It appears to be Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall responded to the Headmaster’s question. He could picture her pinched, concerned, and judgmental smile.
“I didn’t know he was pining for Miss Clearwater,” Professor Snape commented. The oily haired wizard was probably scrunching his eyes, trying to detect the lies emanating from Draco’s body with just his sheer will, and possibly a little Legilimency. It didn’t feel like anyone was prodding into his head, but the dark haired wizard was also an exemplary Legilimens.
“We should wake him. Pomona Sprout will be arriving soon, with news. I believe she’s made a discovery, a way to potentially turn all of this around.” There was hope in Professor McGonagall’s voice.
Draco ignored the fluttering in his lower abdomen - his wishes were going to come true. Someone would create an antidote of some sort and Granger would haunt the halls of Hogwarts again with her feral curls, know-it-all attitude, rule-abiding skirt length, and sensible shoes. All would be right with the world.
“We should alert her friends,” Professor Snape suggested. There was a nasality of his last word. Even in the confidence of just the professors, the Potion Master’s disdain for Potter and Weasel was evident and unmatched. Professor Snape was not a likeable wizard by any stretch, but at least he was authentic and honest. He snapped his fingers and a house elf appeared. He gave the elf instructions to gather Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley quickly from the Gryffindor common room.
Draco remained stock still. His hand was becoming clammy, his long, pale fingers weaved through Penelope’s.
The leisurely pace of light footsteps and drag of robes approached him. A foreign hand nudged his shoulder and shook him.
“Visiting hours are over, Mister Malfoy. You may visit Miss Clearwater tomorrow.”
Draco feigned surprise at being woken up suddenly and stared at his Headmaster’s twinkling, all-knowing eyes.
“H-Headmaster. Sorry!” he said in what he hoped was a clipped and embarrassed tone. He pulled his hand from Penelope’s (he would apologize later by owl, maybe, for using her as a prop) and stood up from his seat. The seat fell backwards, clanging on the stone for a final effect. Professor Snape grimaced, while the Headmaster chuckled, and Professor McGonagall scrutinized him.
Draco nodded at the professors before making a beeline for the doors leading out of the Hospital Wing. He passed Potter and Weasel in the hallway. He noticed the bouquet of fresh flowers in Potter’s hand and nearly kicked himself for not remembering to do the same. His Pureblood etiquette instructor would have boxed his ears for forgetting a gift for the ill.
“It’s not like she’s going anywhere soon,” he told himself. “I’ll have another chance.”
He sighed as he made his way to the dungeons. His mates were waiting. He told them he was going to see about a witch (no name was provided) and they whistled when he left the Slytherin common room. Pansy looked particularly miffed at the news, arms crossed in her default bothered stance.
He didn’t take his professors for gossipers, so the “indiscretion” of public affection with the petrified Ravenclaw would hopefully remain under wraps. If anything, the rumor, if released, would boost his social status even further. A second year bagging a sixth year was unheard of, nearly legendary. It was Hogwarts: A History worthy material.
When he said the phrase of the week, the entrance hidden in the unassuming stone archway slid open. He walked nonchalantly into the Slytherin common room, where his friends were planted exactly where he left them.
“So how was she?” Theo asked cheekily. He held a handful of Exploding Snap cards in front of his face and glared at Blaise, his opponent in the wizarding game.
“What do you think? She was mesmerized,” Draco said haughtily. He dusted an imaginary pill off his Hogwarts issued gray sweater.
“You gonna tell us who she is, or will we have to squeeze it out of you?” Blaise added.
“I think I’ve been squeezed enough. I’m heading to the showers and then I’m off to bed. Don’t wait up for me.”
Theo and Blaise howled at the wonderfully placed pun. Pansy looked furious. The chimney’s tame flame exploded into a sizable inferno. It didn’t require three guesses to know whose emotions caused the accidental magic. Draco fled the common room, not in any mood to handle a fire breathing Pansy.
Later, when he was staring at this reflection in the fogged up mirror in the boy’s lavatory, he was reminded of her. Still, quiet, locked in time. She faced the Hogwarts castle monster - and she didn’t die, the resourceful, brainy swot.
He needed to ask a professor or perhaps Madame Pompfrey tomorrow if those in a petrified state maintained their mental faculties, or if everything, including their consciousness, was truly crystallized.
He fell into an easy sleep and dreamed of Granger’s hands at the surface of water. He was submerged in the dark water, possibly the Black Lake, and his arm was stretched out, just barely grazing her fingers.
“Draco.”
He shook awake, sitting upright in bed. The curtains to his bed were opened. Morning light shone through the windows of the dormitory.
“You’re going to miss breakfast if you don’t start getting ready soon, mate.” Theo was shrugging on his gray sweater, already composed for the day. The other Slytherin boys were in various stages of getting dressed.
“Thanks,” Draco said, sliding out of his plush, heavenly bed.
“Whoever she is, this witch… she’s the one who’s got you mesmerized, Draco. I’ve never seen you like this. Be honest - will we ever know who she is?”
Draco smiled cheekily. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Theo. It’s alright - I know that you’re not a gentleman so you wouldn’t know the proper etiquette.”
“There’s not a gentleman between the both of us and you know it. Now hurry up. I don’t want Crabbe and Goyle hoarding all the good food.”
Theo waited for him to finish getting ready and they walked side by side from the dungeons to the Great Hall.
“You know, I heard that the professors figured it out. The ones who are in the Hospital Wing are going to recover after all. But with the monster still loose in the castle, it might not even matter. There might not be enough for everyone to recover,” Theo shared.
Draco observed the gap between Potter and Weasel at the Gryffindor table when he and Theo strolled into the Great Hall, tardy but still quite fashionable. The witch who should be occupying that space between the dolts was in the Hospital Wing, missing yet another day of classes.
He heeded Theo’s warning. He hoped that there would be enough, at least enough to get Granger out of her petrified state. She was needed. The others were just accessories.
“I can see you frantically searching for your witch,” Theo commented between bites of toast and scrambled eggs.
Draco looked at his friend and shook his head.
Draco said, “She’s not here,” and then tucked into his breakfast, hoping to avoid any follow-up questions.
Theo exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Blaise, who caught Draco’s correction.
We’ll talk about this later, Theo mouthed. Blaise nodded.
Draco finished his breakfast in record time. He excused himself from the table and said that he’d forgotten something in the dormitory and needed to grab it before his first class, which they all shared. He needed to talk to Madame Pompfrey - she would know the answer to his question, about whether or not Granger could hear him and would subsequently remember what he said.
Just outside the Great Hall, Fred and George Weasley unfurled an odd map between them. They were in search of new passageways in the castle that would lead to the Hogsmeade village. Their identical brown eyes tracked the footsteps of one slimy Slytherin git, who was making his way to the Hospital Wing.
“Malfoy’s up to something,” Fred said.
“Better tell Harry,” George responded.
“How will we explain this? You think we should tell him about the map?”
“Nah, he’ll have too many questions, Fred. Besides, we still need the map. We’ll just say that Malfoy looked like he was in a hurry to be somewhere and looked positively suspect.”
“Works for me. Let’s go.”