Chapter 57

"How is he doing?" asked Hermione, closing the infirmary door quietly behind her.

"No change so far," whispered Montague, drawing Hermione away from Draco's bed. "It looks like he's still out cold, but Pomfrey says we shouldn't talk around him, because you never know - maybe he can hear us. Mind you, he's hardly moved a muscle during my shift. At least his face has stopped twitching — Pomfrey says that's a good sign."

"Madam Pomfrey, if you don't mind," said the healer, curious as always to see who had entered her infirmary.

"Sorry. Anyways, nothing to report, Madam Pomfrey."

"Off you go then."

Montague gathered up the books and the homework he'd brought with him, his body crying for the sleep it had missed during the boy's shift, which had started at 4:00 a.m. He had just enough time for a shower and breakfast before his first class. Pomfrey held the door open for him.

"How long do we have you with us, Hermione?" asked Pomfrey.

"Not long, just until before the start of the second class. Ron will take over then."

"This is your first shift?"

"Yes."

"Read this carefully." The healer handed Hermione a parchment containing instructions. "If you see anything that's mentioned on the list, get me immediately. And if you see anything — absolutely anything — that makes you even wonder in the slightest whether Draco is taking a turn to the worse, same thing: get me right away."

Hermione took the list. The most important thing was to make sure that Draco was breathing regularly. If he showed any signs that he was emerging from his deep coma, Pomfrey was to be summoned at once. If his extremities appeared to be turning blue, this was another serious sign. The list of things that could go wrong was rather long. She stared down at the unconscious boy, Draco's pallor appearing even whiter than usual, probably because of the pair of very black eyes, the worst set of raccoon eyes she'd ever seen. Hermione despised herself for the anxiety she felt for Draco's life, knowing that her concern was not rooted in love for her fellow man: it was really Ron she was worried about. She'd heard from Hagrid Pomfrey's prognosis: Draco would live, 'probably'. More than that the Healer could not be pressed to say, and until the 'probably' changed to 'certainly', Hogwarts students would continue to take turns on watch at the infirmary. She wondered how Ron would handle having to sit at Draco's bedside and see first hand the damage he had done. That Ron had not intended Draco to suffer the slightest injury when he had pushed him, Hermione had no doubt whatever. But there was also no doubt at all about the consequences of Ron's actions. The other question, left in abeyance and hardly thought of, let alone spoken, was that of Ron's fate. Surely killing a student was ground for expulsion, but perhaps even if Draco survived, Ron could expect severe punishment.

Hermione jumped as the bed tilted to the side without warning, now leaning towards her, Draco kept in place by a railing on the side of the bed. Pomfrey was at Hermione's side in an instant.

"I forget to tell you. When the patient is incapable of movement, we Healers charm the bed to cause it to turn periodically, otherwise the patient will develop bedsores." The Healer turned to go, and then stopped.

"Did you say something, Hermione,"

"No, Madam Pomfrey."

"Must be hearing things," muttered the Healer, retreating to her office.

Hermione pulled out some Ancient Runes homework, a particularly interesting assignment requiring her to translate a 1st century Druid text. She struggled for the better part of an hour, accomplishing nothing. Every now and again she would be interrupted by a sound, but like Pomfrey, it seemed that Hermione was hearing things, for each time she checked on Draco there was no sign of any change. The translation was an extremely difficult one, a task too demanding for her unless she could focus her complete attention on it. Perhaps Advanced Muggle Studies would be easier.

Reaching into her book bag, Hermione pulled out a copy of Sense and Sensibility. Professor Burbage had given Hermione the task of reading this Muggle classic, with a view to rendering it comprehensible to magical folk. Burbage herself could make little sense out of it, despite years of effort, and hoped that the Muggle-born Hermione would be able to puzzle it through. Hermione did her best, but after a few pages, she gave up. The genteel tale of life in a nineteenth-century English village was in stark contrast to her present circumstances, and Hermione could not sympathize at all with Elinor's problems. "Stupid girl," thought Hermione as she closed the book and thrust it back into her bag.

The sound of classroom doors opening echoed through the corridor outside, followed by the thunder of rushing feet: the first class of the day was already over, and soon Ron would arrive to take Hermione's place. After a minute, the door to the infirmary opened, but instead of Ron, Hagrid stepped through. He ducked his head as he entered; prior to acquiring this habit at Hogwarts he had injured himself a number of times.

"Any change?" It was the first time that Hermione had ever heard Hagrid lower his voice discretely.

"None."

Hagrid sighed and looked around for a place to sit. Hermione had stood when Hagrid entered the room, and she offered the professor her chair.

"I wouldn't dare," said Hagrid. "On my last visit I found out that Madam Pomfrey's chairs won't hold forty-eight stone." Hermione drew her wand, and with no apparent effort conjured a replica of one of the chairs Hagrid had made for himself for use in his cabin.

"Thanks, Hermione. I'll tell Minerva you've been paying attention in her classes." Hagrid eased his great bulk into the chair. He looked over Draco's prostrate form, sighed heavily, and lapsed into silence.

The man's heart must be as big as the rest of him, thought Hermione. In third year Draco had done his utmost to get Hagrid removed from his teaching position, yet here was Hagrid, taking time out of his busy day to see the boy who should have been his least favorite student.

"Madam Pomfrey says he is probably going to be fine," whispered Hermione in Hagrid's ear. Even though Hagrid was sitting, Hermione had to stand on tip toe even to come close.

"At least that's some comfort," Hagrid murmured. "But I'll feel better when I see Draco open his eyes."

The infirmary door opened again, this time to admit Ron, Harry at his side. Hagrid turned, and Ron's head fell.

"It was an accident. Dinna be too hard on yourself," Hagrid said, laying a large hand on Ron's shoulder.

Once again Madam Pomfrey stepped out of her office, having heard the infirmary door open and close.

"Harry, Hermione, now that Ron's here, don't stay too long." The Healer was constantly shooing students from the infirmary who had no business being there. Once the Healer went back to her office, it was safe for Draco's visitors to speak once more.

"I'm no Healer," Hagrid said, "but I've seen enough injuries in my time, and I think Draco'll survive this one. The question is whether he'll be badly damaged."

Ron looked up sharply.

"I don' mean to scare you," continued Hagrid. "Jus' the opposite, in fact. I'm pretty sure he'll live. But he did have a brain injury and all that', and who knows what he'll be like once he comes out of it. And Pomfrey says it's his third one, which makes it worse. I wonder when he suffered the other two."

"I think Imogen can take credit for the first one," said Harry. "She gave Draco quite a knock two weeks into the first term. He was pretty mad about it, too. That's why they had a duel."

"And the second injury?" asked Hagrid.

"No idea. Not long ago I would've been glad to take credit for it, but not now. Not seeing him like this," said Harry

"Wouldn't like to see anybody like this. It's true that he lost me Buckbeak, but then he got 'em back for me, so we're quits as far as that goes."