Save Yourself

Disclaimer: The plot and idiocy belong to me, but the characters and the world belong to J.K.R. I make no claims on them, and I have no intention of publishing an encyclopedia for the masses, so there's really no need to sue me.

Thanks go to the magical and marvelous Southern Witch 69 for rocking my socks off... and of course for the beta read.

Over the next week, Draco made an art form of ignoring Hermione Granger. He would lie in bed until he heard the shower turn off in the morning, then wait exactly three and a half minutes before going in himself. He would then spend about fifteen minutes in the shower, three minutes drying his body and hair, roughly ten seconds performing an Antiperspirant Charm, three minutes shaving, and two more minutes brushing his teeth. He knew that by the time he spent these twenty-three minutes in the bathroom and dressed himself for the day, Granger would be leaving their common room herself. So, at roughly 7:42 every morning, he would press his ear to his bedroom door and listen to make sure the coast was clear.

When he arrived at breakfast, he was sure to make a point of not looking at the Gryffindor table or anywhere else Granger might be. He was lucky that they didn't have as many classes together as they could have, but even so, the ones they did have together were unbearable...or at least they would have been if Draco had cared. But he didn't...care. Not even a little bit. He didn't even notice that Granger never spared him a glance. Really.

Dinner, of course, was more of the same. On one occasion...it happened to be on Friday, not that Draco paid attention to things like that...he happened to be watching, glancing, at the doors to the Great Hall when Granger walked in with her friends. He certainly didn't stare at her for any longer than was necessary. He most definitely did not glare at Potter when he put his arm around Granger's shoulders...because he didn't even notice it... because he wasn't even looking. He was... eating. Right, he was eating.

And in the evenings, after dinner, he was forced to spend several hours in their shared common room, tolerating her presence. Well, he forced himself...after all, why should he let the harpy drive him into his own room just to do homework? It certainly didn't bother him that she didn't appear to realize he existed, let alone that he was breathing the same air she was. That was what he had wanted after all...for her stay out of his way. So really, there was no problem. Everything was perfect. He couldn't have been happier...at least with the Granger situation.

The nights were a different story. He'd been having dreams, bad breams, since his father's death, and it was only getting worse. Summer had been different this time around. Having his father gone was not something new...after all, he'd been in prison the summer before. Truthfully, the fact Lucius was dead didn't change anything much; gone was gone. No, it wasn't really his father's absence that made him feel everything had changed, though it did contribute. It was his mother... Well, his mother had been... off lately. Distant. Most of the time, she seemed... empty, like she was alone everywhere, even in a crowded room. And then, even stranger than that, there were a few times that she had seemed on the verge of a breakdown. He could recall several instances where the emptiness in her eyes had been replaced by a desperate sort of... something. He had seen her eyes glass over with tears that she hadn't cried, even though she hadn't ever looked him in the eye. That was the most unsettling thing to him...that she'd never looked at him.

A bastard his father may have been, but he was still her husband, so he understood that his father's death had to be hard for her, especially how it had happened, but somehow this felt... wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, that something awful was going to happen. And his sleep suffered for it.

He tried to put out of his mind that fact that his mother had hardly spoken to him all summer, that he'd never been more alone... It didn't matter. He wasn't alone now, here at school, was he?

* * *

Hermione left the Great Hall feeling content for the first time since she'd been back to school. It had been a long week, but things were finally settling into a pattern that she was comfortable with. Her classes were interesting, she was busy with her workload, her friends were great, and her relationship with Ron was slowly returning to something like it had been before the disaster that had been their kiss. Malfoy had, surprisingly, been staying out of her way, so really, she had nothing to complain about.

She smiled as she turned a corner and entered the corridor her rooms were connected to. As she made the final few steps, she planned the rest of her evening in her mind. Do Arithmancy homework, organize Charms notes, start on Transfigurations flow charts...

In an instant, she felt her leg explode in pain. She cried out and stumbled forward, looking down at her body and unable to find the source of her agony. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she looked around wildly, but saw nothing. She shut her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth, and it was then that she realized she'd heard voices, whispers, right before the pain and... the sound of footsteps, yes. The sound of a door slamming echoed off the stone walls, and she strained through the pain to try to hear more, but the voices had gone now. She couldn't hear any noises, at least not over the harsh sounds of her own breathing. If she could just get to her room, she could sit down... and, and think, and... but her brain wasn't functioning like it should. All she could think of was the pain.

But then, oh, yes, there it was...the portrait.

"Miss Granger, are you all right?" said the stuffy old wizard guarding her door. She cried out the password desperately. She needed to get somewhere... to her room... bathroom... to look at her leg. Why was it hurting so much?

She stumbled through the door-sized portrait hole and started towards the... bathroom; yes, that was a good idea. She was vaguely aware of Malfoy sitting in his chair, but she didn't spare him a thought until she tripped on the carpet and found herself in his arms. How he'd gotten from his chair to her so quickly, she didn't know, but her head was spinning, and the pain was strangling her, and the last thing she wanted was Malfoy near her.

"Don't touch me!" she choked as she jerked away from him and stumbled towards the bathroom. If she could just get there, yes... She slammed the door behind her, and the counter felt like ice against her arms as she rested on it. Removing her robe was a struggle, but she managed it slowly. When it finally lay in a puddle of black fabric on the floor, she looked down at her thigh and saw a hole in her skirt. The hole seemed to be in about the same place as the stabbing sensation, so she figured she'd probably found the source of her pain. It hurt so much worse just looking at it, and why was there a hole in her skirt? She watched in a sort of frozen fascination as blood seeped through the fabric and ran down her leg. She reached down to touch it and cried out as her fingertips brushed the opening.

She didn't notice the door burst open, but she was aware of Malfoy coming towards her, and hadn't she told him to leave her alone? But she didn't have it in her to stop him...the pain was too great.

He knelt down on the cold marble in front of her and yanked her skirt up, tearing the fabric away from her leg, taking sticky layers of drying blood with it. She tried to tell him to get the hell out, but her voice came out as a sob. And then she looked down and saw her blood pouring out of her bare leg, and she couldn't...she felt... dizzy. He might have been talking to her, and she might have said... something. Her vision was going dark...

* * *

Draco had been sitting in his chair in front of the fire, doing his homework, not wondering where Granger was, when he'd realized that he hadn't actually done any work for about half an hour now. He blinked his eyes and noticed that the flames he'd been staring into were seared into his vision in bright, wavy shapes. He leaned his head back and sighed. It was just so hard to focus...he didn't even know why he couldn't. He glanced around the room for something to occupy his thoughts, and his eyes fell on Granger's book. Dune. She'd said she loved it. She'd said he could never understand. She was wrong, wasn't she?

Over the summer, when he hadn't been able to take the oppressing silence of the Manor any longer, he'd Apparated away to the nearest town...a Muggle town. The first few times he'd gone, he'd merely observed. Each time a Muggle had looked at him, he'd been shocked enough to look away and Apparate home as quickly as possible. It wasn't so much the fact that they were Muggles that had startled him so; it was just that... he'd been taught his whole life that because Muggles weren't wizards, they weren't really... human. But the first time a Muggle had looked at him and smiled, it had been...well, he wasn't entirely sure that Muggles didn't have mud instead of blood running through their veins, but from the outside, they did look human. They looked just like everyone else. It had shaken him to the core the first time he'd realized he couldn't tell the difference between a Muggle man and a wizard just by looking at his face.

Granger was so sure he would never understand. Maybe she was right; there were certain things that he was unsure about, but there were also certain things that he knew. He knew that Muggles and Mudbloods were beneath him. He knew that he was stronger, better, more powerful than they were...that he'd been born that way and that it was his birthright. He knew that Muggles were primitive, that they were dangerous to everything in his world. He knew that the influence of Muggles and Mudbloods was slowly diluting and cheapening the oldest and purest of bloodlines and traditions. He knew that they were different.

Until this past summer, he'd always been sure that the differences between Muggles and wizards would be so obvious that anyone would be able to see them just by looking. But he'd seen a Muggle...many, in fact...and now, he wasn't so sure. Still, he reminded himself, just because the differences weren't as obvious as he'd always thought, it didn't mean the differences didn't exist. He just had to look harder. As he glanced again at Granger's book, he had to admit to himself that he was curious. Would he be able to tell the difference between a Muggle and wizard author by reading their books?

He had just given in to the temptation to find out when the portrait swung open and Granger stumbled in.

He noticed immediately that something was off. His first thought was that she was about to tell him off for reaching for her book, but the thought was gone as quickly as it had come. Something was wrong; he could see it in her face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and as she began to move forward, he noticed that she was limping. He was on his feet before he knew he'd moved, and when she tripped and began to fall forward, he was right there to catch her.

He tried to get a good look at her to figure out what was wrong, but he didn't get very far. "Granger..."

"Don't touch me!" she said in a strained voice, as though speaking hurt her. She pushed past him, and it was then that Draco saw her hands. They were covered in blood.

"What the...?"

She was clutching her thigh as she stumbled and fell against the bathroom door.

"Fucking h...Granger! What's wrong with you?" He tried again to help her, but she shook him off and staggered into the bathroom, closing the door behind her before he could get another word in.

Draco stood in horror, not knowing what he was supposed to do. There'd been so much blood, and he could hear her whimpering and gasping in there. He reached for the door, hesitated, then reached again, but... He dropped his hand to his side and began to pace, scowling. Should he go for help? She was really hurt, and what if...but he couldn't just leave her there bleeding...

"Ahhhh!" Her scream was loud even through the door.

That did it. He flung the door open and saw her sagging against the counter. His eyes went straight to her leg. On her right upper thigh, there seemed to be a hole. Her leg, and now the bathroom floor, was covered in blood. Draco felt the color drain out of his face.

He rushed over and knelt on the floor in front of her.

"What the hell happened?"

"D-don't know..." she cried. "H-hurts..."

Draco felt sick again, although it had nothing to do with the blood covering her leg. He didn't have a problem with blood.

Hermione was sobbing now, her whole body shaking.

Draco reached forward and lifted her up onto the counter. She winced hard when he touched her, and he didn't know if it was from disgust that he was putting his hands on her or pain from her leg.

He tried to lift up her skirt to get a better look at the wound, but the fabric was stuck to her. He pulled it away from her skin and cringed as she sobbed, but she didn't stop him. She seemed out of it, and that worried him in a way he couldn't analyze at the moment. There was too much blood, and he couldn't see anything else. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at her leg. Again, she didn't stop him. He siphoned off as much as he could, and when he was more or less finished, he could clearly see a small hole in her leg where something had penetrated it.

Good Merlin, he thought. That's a bullet wound. It had to be. He couldn't think of any spell that would localize a wound, a hole, like that. He'd had weaponry lessons from his father since childhood. Of course the weapons of a Muggle could never stand against the mind and the wand of a wizard, Draco, his father had said, but it is always wise to know one's enemy.

"Granger, did you see who fired at you? Did..."

But she didn't hear him. At that moment, she lost consciousness and began to fall off the counter.

Draco caught her and picked her up with a grunt. She was heavier than she looked. He had to get her to the hospital wing quickly. He briefly thought about setting her down and using his wand to levitate her, but he knew that there was no time for that. He carried her as fast as he could to the hospital wing and pounded on the door. Within moments, Madam Pomfrey opened the door. She looked at Hermione in Draco's arms and gasped.

"Bring her in," she said sharply. "Quickly."

Draco obeyed. He carried her in and set her down lightly on the nearest bed, breathing harshly.

"She's lost a lot of blood..." he said wearily.

"I can see that!" snapped the school nurse. "What happened to her?"

"I don't know," Draco said, sighing. "I think she's been shot."

"What?"

"Shot," he said, "with a gun. You know, a..."

"I know what a gun is, Mr Malfoy," she snapped. "I was asking...never mind! Just go get her Head of House!"

Draco didn't move. He just stared at Hermione's limp body and felt even more color drain from his face. "Is she going to be o..."

"Now!" Pomfrey barked.

Draco left the room quickly and headed straight for the teacher's lounge. It wasn't yet late enough for anyone to have gone to bed. If he was lucky, McGonagall would be there and he wouldn't have to search for her rooms. Before he knew it, he was pounding on the door of the lounge.

It opened quickly, and Draco saw Severus Snape staring down at him with a startled expression. "Draco?"

"Where's McGonagall?" he demanded through a pant, ignoring propriety.

"I'm here, Mr Malfoy," she said, walking to the door. "What's the problem?"

"It's Herm...er, Granger. She's hurt." He was out of breath, but the urgency in his voice was quite apparent.

"Where is she?" said McGonagall sharply.

"Hospital wing."

Draco didn't wait for her. He'd done what he'd needed to do, and he wasn't going to stick around. He walked as quickly as he could back to his room and closed the door behind him. He sunk onto his bed and closed his eyes.

This is unreal.

* * *

"Miss Granger?" said a calm voice from far away. "Miss Granger..." the voice said again, this time closer.

Her eyes flickered open, and she saw Professor Dumbledore looking gently into her eyes. She blinked and looked back at him, her vision a bit blurry.

"What?" she croaked. "Where..."

"Do you remember what happened to you, Hermione?" asked McGonagall from beside her.

What? What happened to me...

And then she remembered.

She made a jerking movement as she tried to sit up. "My leg!" It didn't hurt anymore, but she wanted to get a better look at it. She didn't get very far before she realized that she was obstructed by too many blankets. She made a frustrated noise, and Dumbledore said, "Don't worry, Miss Granger. Your leg is fine. The bullet came out easily, and our wonderful Madam Pomfrey repaired the damage. You're quite as good as new."

Hermione exhaled in relief, and then her eyes widened as she realized what he'd said. "Bullet?" she squeaked. Someone had shot her? In Hogwarts?

"Yes," he said simply. "Hermione, do you remember what happened? Did you see where the shot came from?"

"I... no, I..."

"Take a deep breath, my dear. Try to think it through. Retrace your steps from the last thing you remember."

She did as he'd instructed, took a few deep breaths and tried to calm herself down. She remembered classes... and dinner, and then... "I was... walking back from dinner, I think. I was almost at my room...in the corridor outside. I was just... thinking, and then my leg..." She winced as she remembered the exploding pain. She shuddered. "I can't remember what happened or where it came from. It just..." She looked at the Headmaster helplessly, hoping he would understand, but not knowing what else to say.

Dumbledore nodded and smiled encouragingly at her. She tried to remember what had happened after than, and it was... fuzzy at best. She remembered stumbling into her room and seeing her leg, and then everything was blank. "But wait!" she said urgently. "I think I passed out. How did I get here?"

"Ah," said Dumbledore with a smile. "Mr Malfoy carried you here."

Hermione felt as if she'd been slapped. "Malfoy... carried me? He... what?"

"I haven't spoken with him yet, but from what I understand, he carried you here and then alerted Professor McGonagall to the situation."

Hermione's eyes were wide.

"He... Why?"

"I suppose you'd have to ask him that," said Dumbledore kindly.

Hermione closed her mouth and stared fixedly at a point directly in front of her. He could have let me die... Why didn't he?

A few moments later, Dumbledore's gentle voice interrupted her thoughts. "Hermione, I want you to go back to your room and get some sleep. You'll be safe there. I want to speak to you in the morning...and Mr. Malfoy, too. Please let him know, and come to my office together before your breakfast."

Hermione nodded distractedly, her thoughts still on Malfoy as she struggled as hard as she could to recall what had happened.

"I also want you to try, if you are able, to remember whatever you can about what happened to you."

Hermione nodded. She was trying.

"Minerva, will you escort Miss Granger back to her room?"

"Of course," McGonagall said softly. Hermione could hear a worried tone in her voice, and she frowned. "Come with me, Miss Granger."

Hermione obeyed silently. She followed her teacher out the door and walked behind her, not really noticing what was going on around her. A glance at her wristwatch told her it was midnight. There were so many thoughts and feelings storming through her mind. She felt completely overwhelmed, confused.

Someone had just attacked her. Why would someone do that? Why would someone use a gun to do that... in Hogwarts? Why would someone have a gun in Hogwarts? And there was more to think about.

Malfoy had... saved her life. Selfish, awful, annoying Malfoy, who hated her as much as she hated him, had saved her life. She could have died, bled to death. Maybe not. She couldn't say for sure what would have happened, but it was possible. Things were a little less fuzzy now, and she remembered telling him not to touch her. Malfoy, of course, had ignored her and had done what he wanted anyway, but what if he hadn't? She didn't want to think about it.

And she really, really wished she didn't feel as guilty as she did. Maybe guilty was the wrong word... Conflicted...that sounded right. She was in his debt. That thought made her feel very uncomfortable.

"Well, here we are."

Hermione snapped to attention to find McGonagall smiling tiredly at her. She returned the smile as best she could and said good night to her teacher, thanking her for her help.

She entered her common room and looked around nervously. A part of her was relieved that Malfoy wasn't in the room, but a part of her wanted to scream at him for helping her. She knew that was crazy, but she hated how confused she felt. Someone she hated so much had no business making her question that hate. And yet if he hadn't helped her...

She paced the room quietly for quite some time, thinking furiously. She let her thoughts and feelings take her where they would. She did her best to sort it all out, organizing herself in the only way she knew how, until she finally felt some clarity. After a while, she decided to go to bed.

But first, there was something she had to do...

* * *

A nine-year-old Draco Malfoy was eating dinner with his mother in the lavishly furnished dining room of his ancestral mansion when his father came in. Draco knew instantly what had was about to happen...this wasn't the first time after all. He felt fear well up inside him and looked at his mother. She continued to eat as though she'd noticed nothing.

"Your father wants to see you."

* * *

Draco woke up in his room, still hearing his father's voice telling him that what he was doing was making him strong. He could feel the sting of his father's hand on his face.

The room was dark. He could see small outlines and shapes on his wall from the light of the moon coming through his window. He tried to slow his breathing as he wiped several tears from his face, disgusted with himself.

He still didn't understand how his mother had been able to stand staying with his father for so long, but before he could consider it further, there was a soft knock at his door.

It had to be Granger...unless it was someone else there to tell him Granger had bled to death. He got out of bed and walked to the door. He opened it enough to see who the intruder was and leaned against the doorframe. It was Granger. She was alive and looked perfectly well. Well, as well as she ever did, which wasn't saying much. He smiled smugly at that thought.

"What do you want, Granger?"

She cleared her throat and spoke, and he noticed she wasn't looking him in the eye.

"Professor Dumbledore wants to see us both in his office before breakfast tomorrow," she said in a quiet, expressionless voice.

"Why?" he asked coldly. She should at least have the decency to look him in the eye after what he'd done for her. Did she even remember?

"I don't know," she said, still staring at a point near his neck.

There was a long pause before Draco said, "Fine."

She nodded, and he turned his back on her, attempting to close the door. The bitch had woken him up to tell him that? She could have just told him in the morn...

"Thank you, Draco," she said quietly.

Draco froze, and he whirled around a moment later just in time to see Hermione's bedroom door close behind her.

SB's Notes: Well, here we are at the end of another chapter. There are no excuses for the lateness. I pretty much just suck. On thing though: I realize that we now know from DH that the Malfoy family probably wasn't nearly as abusive as I've made them out to be here. A bit screwed up, perhaps, but not abusive. I'm going to use the age-old excuse that I wrote most of this story before DH came out. It happens to be true, but mostly the point is that for the purposes of this story, I need Draco's childhood to have been a disaster.

Cheers and Happy Holidays until next time!