HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 47: Finding the Petrified Hermione

One morning in March, Draco's eyes flew open.

Those usually calm and indifferent grey eyes held a hint of panic in their depths.

He had slept poorly. His Occlumency barriers occasionally failed during sleep, allowing fragmented, terrifying memories to flood his dreams, screaming shrilly until they jolted him awake.

Draco sighed wearily. Composing himself against the four-poster bed's headboard, he drew his wand from beneath his pillow and cast Occlumency on himself again.

That was better. He could now focus on something other than his nightmares. The sound of the lake's gentle currents lapping against the window gradually calmed him. He turned to stare blankly through the glass and watched shimmering fish chase each other in the murky depths—a lively, cheerful scene.

Draco's schedule today wasn't particularly demanding. Ever since he'd defeated Ravenclaw with a "Premium Backspin," a jubilant Marcus had finally relaxed his demands on the team. Quidditch training was less grueling now, leaving Draco with more free time.

It would be better to stay busy. That way he wouldn't overthink things. The idle hours left him restless and unsettled. After waking, he found it impossible to fall back asleep.

So, with a strange sense of unease gnawing at him, the boy ran his fingers through his platinum blonde hair, pulled on his robes, and walked through the dark, cold common room. He wandered down the empty underground corridor and climbed the stairs with lazy steps.

He wanted to take advantage of the quiet early morning—when few people were about—to slip into the library and research Salazar Slytherin.

Honestly, the library's closing hours meant nothing to him, especially when you'd mastered the Disillusionment Charm.

What he hadn't expected was to discover the source of his unease in the corridor outside the library. Hermione Granger stood frozen at the corner near the entrance, clutching the hand mirror he'd given her.

She looked startled.

That once rosy, vibrant face had turned stiff and greyish-white, completely devoid of life.

His heart stopped as he watched a scene from his nightmares manifest before him.

"Damn it!" Draco strode forward, bringing his face close to hers to confirm she was merely petrified—nothing worse. Finally, nose to nose, he released a breath, his eyes swimming with complex emotions. "I told you not to wander alone. Why didn't you listen?"

Silence answered him.

Only his voice echoed forlornly in the corridor, and the quiet was unbearable. She could no longer offer witty retorts or earnestly lecture him about the statistical improbability of a Muggle-born Hogwarts student encountering a basilisk.

He circled her rigid form, his expression grim. Rubbing his temples, he resignedly pulled out the small vial of Mandrake Restorative Draught he'd carried for nine months and administered it to the reckless girl.

Thank Merlin, the potion worked immediately. Her ashen complexion gradually regained its rosy hue, and her body softened from its petrified state.

She lost her balance and wobbled—falling directly into the boy's arms.

"Careful!" He instinctively reached out and caught her, preventing her from crumpling to the floor.

She nestled against him like a soft, frightened cat. She had become herself again—her bushy hair regaining its brown luster—finally making his heart beat once more, though it remained clenched tight.

Hermione stared blankly at the gentle grey eyes above her. He gazed at her intently, his face twisted with anguish. He looked panicked and distressed in a way she'd never seen before—so vulnerable.

Her lips trembled. She wanted to say "thank you," but the words wouldn't come. The terrible petrification and overwhelming shock threatened to shatter her completely.

"Put your hand on my shoulder," Draco said softly, swallowing the bitterness rising in his throat. But she simply looked at him with tear-filled eyes, her body trembling. Clearly, she couldn't manage it—she was as fragile as a rose frozen mid-bloom.

So he guided her arm around his neck and supported her shoulder with his hand, half-dragging, half-carrying her to a nearby bench. "Are you all right?" he asked, unable to immediately remove his hand from her shoulder.

The terrifying experience had stripped her of all strength. Without support, she would have collapsed. As Draco held her upright, his chest ached.

How long had she been standing there like that?

Merlin, she was just a child. She shouldn't have to endure something so horrible.

Hermione clung to the front of the boy's robes, her body still trembling. She was a terrified rabbit caught in a violent storm, taking shelter in the only safe place she could find.

Draco had found her. He'd found her when she was terrified and desperate, when she thought she was going to die. That single thought consumed her mind, triggering something like imprinting.

She wanted him to hold her, to warm her with his body heat. Otherwise, she would surely freeze to death on the spot or dissolve into frightened tears.

She knew she should be stronger. A proper girl shouldn't be so close to a boy, no matter how handsome. But she was terrified—he had saved her, and only by leaning on him could she feel any sense of safety.

"It was so frightening," she mumbled through trembling lips, her voice catching on a sob as she clutched his robes tighter. "It was really so frightening."

Draco tilted his head to look at her. Her bewildered, vulnerable expression made his breath catch. He'd rarely seen her like this.

She should be carefree and bright, passionate and spirited, serious and earnest—anything but this.

Her pitiful state devastated him. He awkwardly wrapped his arm around her, rubbing his hands up and down her cold shoulders, trying to warm them. He whispered soothingly, "It's all right. You're safe now. You're alive. Nothing can hurt you anymore."

She continued shivering, staring at him with wet brown eyes that resembled a winter forest in cold rain.

Draco couldn't bear that look. It reminded him of Bellatrix's torture—when Hermione had lain helpless on the floor of Malfoy Manor, staring at him with that same heartbreaking gaze.

By Merlin, he had to do something to stop the rain in that forest. He retrieved a chocolate from his pocket, unwrapped it, and gently coaxed, "Open your mouth. Eat this."

Like a lost fawn, she parted her lips hesitantly, accepting his offering with apprehensive, cautious movements. She seemed to trust him for now, chewing the chocolate uncertainly, though the fear never left her eyes. She remained tense, as if she might bolt at any moment or faint from terror.

"Good girl. That's it. This is the finest chocolate from Honeydukes—my last piece. You're doing so well. Don't be afraid. You're safe now." He drew on every scrap of patience remaining in his soul, suppressing the violent emotions raging in his heart.

He spoke carefully, maintaining a gentle smile, terrified of frightening her further.

His unusually tender tone sparked a strange sense of grievance in Hermione's chest. He was so unlike himself—gentler than any other boy at Hogwarts in that moment.

In this state, she found herself willing to trust him completely. His voice was deeply persuasive. Tears pooled in her eyes as she ate small bites of chocolate from his hand, obedient in a way entirely unlike her usual self.

Shortly after, something remarkable happened. Warmth flooded through her body. She gradually regained vitality, no longer feeling stiff, numb, or bone-chillingly cold.

When she came back to herself, she'd unknowingly finished the entire chocolate bar.

Draco watched her swallow the last piece and smiled with satisfaction. At least she could eat.

"Feeling better?" he asked, searching her eyes for lingering distress.

"Much better," Hermione said drowsily, weariness evident in her expression. She felt weak and still wanted to lean against him.

"I think you need to visit the hospital wing for a proper examination. I'm no expert in treating petrification—Madam Pomfrey is far more experienced with magical healing," Draco told her, concern creasing his brow.

"I'm fine now," Hermione said softly, her eyes glazed. She didn't want to move or have him let go.

"You still have energy to argue with me, so you can't be in terrible shape." Draco smiled slightly, speaking gently rather than mockingly. "Though you'd be more convincing if your legs weren't trembling."

Hermione fell silent, her heart beginning to pound.

"I don't want to be alone. I—" she choked out, gripping his robes tightly.

"I'll go with you. I won't leave you alone," Draco coaxed until she hesitantly released him.

"Come on, I'll carry you." He crouched before her, presenting his back. "It's been light out for a while. People will be heading to the library soon. Unless you want an audience, we should hurry."

Hermione felt weak still. She managed to lean onto the boy's back, her arms numb as she slowly wrapped them around his neck. He gripped her legs firmly, his warm hands helping restore feeling to them.

He was warm. Whether his earlier embrace or now his back, neck, and hands—everything radiated warmth. The kind every petrified person desperately needed. She held him tighter.

The twelve-year-old boy's back was still thin, but he walked steadily. She sighed, rested her head on his shoulder, studied his platinum blonde hair, and breathed in the faint, clean scent from his neck. The lingering anxiety in her heart gradually gave way to security and comfort.

She nuzzled his shoulder and realized she'd finally stopped trembling and crying.

At the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey expressed her displeasure with Draco's decision to administer the Mandrake Restorative Draught.

"That was reckless! I expected better judgment from a student like you." She fixed Draco with a stern look. "You're only a second-year. You shouldn't possess the skill to brew such a complex potion! Do you understand the consequences if the draught had been improperly prepared? Mr. Malfoy, could you truly take responsibility for Miss Granger's wellbeing?"

"Of course I could!" Draco shot back. "How much worse could it have been? She was petrified! Besides, she's perfectly fine now."

Madam Pomfrey regarded Draco as though he were some reckless boy who'd poisoned an innocent girl. She ignored the arrogant student and busied herself drawing the curtains around Hermione's bed to begin a thorough examination.

The rustle of fabric. Madam Pomfrey's gentle, probing questions. Hermione's weak responses.

"Mr. Malfoy, you're fortunate." After examining Hermione, Madam Pomfrey looked considerably relieved. She peered around the curtain with an approving expression. "Her petrification has been completely reversed. Naturally, after suffering such severe dark magic trauma, she'll experience dizziness and weakness, but she'll recover with proper rest. I'll fetch some hot cocoa to help restore her strength."

"He gave me chocolate," Hermione said from behind the curtains.

Madam Pomfrey glanced at Draco with mild surprise, then said approvingly, "Excellent instincts. You should consider a career as a Healer. Also, did you brew that Mandrake Restorative Draught yourself? Impressive. I must commend Severus—clearly a talented teacher produces talented students."

Draco gave Madam Pomfrey an awkward smile and nodded.

Professor Snape had no idea Draco was brewing potions independently. If he had known, the Potions Master—who desperately needed competent assistance—would have delivered a stern lecture before eagerly recruiting him as an assistant.

"Do you have any more of the restorative draught? Several other students remain petrified," Madam Pomfrey asked after a pause.

"I'm sorry. Due to ingredient scarcity and brewing complications, I only had one vial," Draco said regretfully.

Madam Pomfrey showed no disappointment. Such potions were extraordinarily rare and valuable. She said matter-of-factly, "And you used your only vial to save Miss Granger. That speaks well of you."

Her gaze lingered meaningfully on the boy and girl separated by bed curtains before she winked at Draco. "You have ten minutes to visit. Then I must send you on your way. Miss Granger needs a Dreamless Sleep Potion and proper rest."

Draco nodded and watched her depart.

"Has Madam Pomfrey misunderstood something?" Hermione gently pulled back the curtain. She'd changed into a hospital gown and sat barefoot on the bed. Without her bulky robes, she appeared even smaller and more delicate—heartbreakingly fragile.

"Get under the covers. Don't sit there barefoot," Draco said, frowning.

Why was she so disobedient and reckless?

With a stern expression, he lifted the blanket, gesturing for her to climb inside, then tucked her in firmly.

"You're making such a fuss," she said, blushing and somewhat indignant.

"Much better," he declared with satisfaction, completely ignoring her protest.

"Draco, I'm feeling much better now. Everything you did helped tremendously." Hermione struggled to free her hands from the tightly wrapped blankets and said urgently, "Listen, before you go, I must tell you what I saw in the mirror. You were right from the beginning—it really was a basilisk. I saw a serpent's body and those unnaturally large yellow eyes."

This information was crucial, Draco thought. Finally, direct evidence that the basilisk existed beyond mere rumor.

Did this mean the basilisk's fangs were within reach?

"And I think I've discovered who's behind this. It was Ginny Weasley," Hermione said, her voice suddenly anxious.

"Ron's sister? Are you certain?" Draco was utterly baffled.

Wasn't she a victim in his previous timeline? How could she be commanding the basilisk?

"Listen, Draco, I've suspected this for a while. Everyone knows Ginny idolizes Harry. When Justin Finch-Fletchley suspected Harry was the Heir of Slytherin and gossip spread, Ginny became furious," Hermione explained.

"What about the others?" he asked.

"Colin Creevey is Ginny's Charms partner, so she definitely knew he was Muggle-born. He constantly follows Harry around, which genuinely bothers Harry, and Ginny might think he's harassing him. Nearly Headless Nick invited Harry to the Deathday Party, which made Harry appear suspicious—she might have resented that," Hermione said thoughtfully. "As for Mr. Filch, although Ginny's never been punished by him, her brothers—Fred and George—are frequently punished, so she must harbor resentment. She learned from them that Filch is a Squib."

"That makes sense. They'd certainly know Filch was a Squib," Draco acknowledged.

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "I asked George yesterday whether they'd told Ginny about Filch being a Squib, and he admitted it. He said he didn't want Ginny to fear Filch's chains unnecessarily."

"Then why were you attacked today?"

"I suspect Ginny noticed my investigation," Hermione said miserably. "I spoke with her yesterday and mentioned I had some theories. I told her I'd share them once I'd worked everything out."

"Those words might comfort the innocent, but to whoever opened the Chamber, they'd sound like a threat," Draco said calmly.

"I was only half-convinced at the time," Hermione said, her face bitter. "I truly couldn't believe it was her. She doesn't seem like a blood purist at all—she's always been friendly to me."

"Perhaps her mind has been corrupted by something in that diary, or perhaps these aren't her true intentions." Cautiously, Draco asked, "Are you absolutely certain it was her? Do you have conclusive proof?"

"Of course! Besides the basilisk, I saw someone in the hand mirror. She wore Gryffindor robes and had long red hair. Girls matching that description are rare in Gryffindor. It's definitely her. She was with the basilisk. Perhaps she's the one who took the diary." Hermione frowned, trying to compose herself, speaking calmly but urgently. "We must tell Harry and Ron immediately and investigate everything. We have to stop Ginny before she does anything more dangerous."

"Of course. I'll go," Draco said, though uncertainty colored his voice.

This situation was spiraling in an unbelievable direction.

The Chamber of Secrets—Slytherin's Chamber—opened by Ron's sister? She was merely a Gryffindor first-year. How could she possibly have obtained the diary?

Actually, that was entirely possible.

Draco's expression went blank as he suddenly recalled a scene from Flourish and Blotts before term started: while his father and Mr. Weasley had argued, Ron's sister had stood nearby clutching a pile of secondhand books.

Perhaps that was when his father had done something underhanded.

Did he resent Mr. Weasley, who frequently conducted surprise inspections of Dark artifacts at Malfoy Manor, so he'd planted a Dark object in the Weasleys' possessions to cause trouble? That sounded exactly like Lucius's style.

In summary: Father, you've truly made your son's life impossible.

"Miss Granger, drink this. I've added a sleeping draught to the hot cocoa." Madam Pomfrey interrupted their conversation and Draco's thoughts. She entered from outside and handed Hermione a steaming cup. "You mustn't dwell on anything right now. You need rest, dear."

Hermione whispered her thanks, accepted the cup, and sipped slowly, watching Draco with worried, anxious eyes.

Draco had already formulated his plan: today was the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match. Harry would definitely attend, and Ron likely would too.

He forced a smile, opened the ward door, mouthed "Don't worry" to Hermione, and ran toward the Quidditch pitch without looking back.