Mind Games.

Silvovitz

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership over Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. I am merely borrowing the characters to do my own bidding, such as fall in love or fall off a cliff.

Author’s Note:Enjoy! Okay, Draco seems OOC here, and I guess he is…I tried to make him seem mad, frustrated, and upset all at the same time in the beginning, which apparently didn’t work out so well. I think I might be almost done with this; maybe two or three chapters will draw this one to a close.

Chapter Eight – Draco

Okay, where was she?

Needless to say, I felt like an idiot for telling Hermione to leave. I don’t even know why I said it… we’d already established somewhat of a connection in only a few hours, and then I had to slip back into the old me. Hermione had the right to ask a few questions, considering we’d spent six years at each other’s throats, and now this sudden change... I guess I was just being defensive. And stupid.

I walked out of my room, through the kitchen, and out of our apartment. I figured my mother was still upstairs selling various items, and Rita…well, Rita was hard to keep track of.

Right now, I had to concentrate on Hermione. What was I thinking, asking her to leave? And goddamnit, why the hell did I even care? Where was my cool? Even since coming to this godforsaken Muggle pile of rubbish, I’d been changing attitudes and associating with Hermione, one of my sworn arch enemies since I was eleven. The thing was, I didn’t even see her as a Gryffindor, a Mudblood, an anything—except a person, which was something.

I shook my head, as if trying to shake off this feeling of uncertainty. I hated feeling uncertain.

I hurried down to the lobby, not bothering to take the elevator (I still wasn’t entirely sure how that damn thing worked, anyway). I made it in less than fifty-four seconds (not that I was counting), but Hermione wasn’t anywhere to be seen. She must have gone outside. Shit. It would take ages to find her.

“Looking for someone?” droned the doorman. I looked up.

“Um…” I began, eyeing his scrawny frame and acne-ridden face. Even at wizarding rest stops, they didn’t hire people who looked this…unkempt. I began to long for the world I had known for so long, one where stature and power were respected, not feared. I looked the doorman in the eye. “Yes…have you seen a girl with curly brown hair? Medium height?”

Silence. The doorman’s faced dawned with recognition. “Oh,” he replied with disdain. “Her. She looked pretty mad when she left. Wouldn’t even answer my greeting.”

“Yeah…” I didn’t bother to mention that she was angry because of me, most likely. “Did you see which way she went?”

“I might have,” the doorman said slyly. “Who wants to know?”

“Just tell me where she went, alright?” Jesus, this guy was annoying.

“Eh.” He throws a nonchalant glance over his shoulder. “For a price.”

Goddamnit…this guy was smarter than he looked. I reached into my wallet and pulled out a few bills my mother had given me earlier. I had no idea how much I had given him, but his eyes widened as he snatched the bills away. Guess I gave him enough.

“She went that way,” he informed me, pointing while counting the bills with his other hand.

“Yeah, thanks,” I grumbled. I pushed past him and walked in the direction of his pointing finger. I was half-tempted to clear up his face on my way out. No self-respecting male with face problems should put himself on display at any doorway at any given time.

My wand was burning in my pocket, and I wanted to use it to find Hermione. I doubted that would be a wise move. I looked around, trying to find some sign of her.

I looked to my left and saw some kids playing with a plastic disc. Alright.

I looked to my right and saw a brown-haired girl well across the street. Hermione. I grinned inwardly, glad that I actually found her. I guess the doorman knew what he was talking about. I started to jog toward her.

BAM.

Out of nowhere, a kid on a contraption brushed against her, sending her off her feet. She hit the ground palms first, her cheek scratching against the pavement. I watched in horror. The kid on the bike had fallen off too. My feet couldn’t stay put any longer as I sprinted toward her.

I didn’t speak a word until I reached her: “Hermione.”

I knelt beside her; she lay there on the road, her eyes half-closed. She was still conscious. There was a long scratch on her cheek and her palms were badly bloodied. I checked for more damage on her arms and legs, but there were none except the ones her bastard father had given her. In rage, I turned to the kid, how had gotten up and was holding on to his strange-looking vehicle, swaying slightly.

“Hey,” I barked. The kid looked around fourteen, with black hair and grey, piercing eyes. His face was round, and his height was minimum. He looked back at me. “You see what the hell you just did?”

He looked down at Hermione. No reaction. My fists curled.

“How old are you, kid?” I asked with obvious hostility. “Ten?” The boy looked back at me and didn’t answer. His body swayed to the side; he almost fell, but he caught himself just in time. That’s when I realized. “Are you drunk?”

“I’m sixteen,” the boy answered.

“You’re sixteen,” I repeated. “What the hell is that thing anyway?”

“A bike?”

“What the fuck are you doing, cruising around the streets on your pathetic little bike with alcohol in your veins? Look at this girl! You could have killed her, you dimwitted prick—”

“She’ll be alright,” the boy told me, as if he didn’t even care.

“She’s on the fucking ground, look at her…” I push back a few stray locks of her hair. She groans as she opens her eyes, looking at me with a confused expression. He had hurt her, and he was going to pay.

“She’ll be alright,” he repeated, holding his head with one hand and his bike with the other. He looked so disgusting at the moment, with his drunken teenage body and his ridiculous “bike”…

The next thing I knew, I was on top of him, beating his face with my right hand. Then both my fists went sailing into his face and upper body, my legs pinning him down. My wand was still in my back pocket, but I decided to spare the Ministry some extra work. Besides, I had to admit: Muggle combat was rather entertaining. I kept punching him, reveling in his groans of agony. “You idiot,” I yelled, “This will teach you not to (slam) mess with (uppercut) Hermione!” I punched him in the nose again for good measure, and then leaped off him. By then a group of onlookers had gathered, surprisingly silent about my incident with the drunk kid. I ignored them and picked Hermione up in my arms. She was surprisingly light.

“Draco,” she protested, “I’m fine. It was just a bike accident.”

“Shut up,” I suggested. “I’ll get you fixed up.”

“Take her to the emergency room,” cackled an elderly lady from the crowd of people. “You can’t take care of all those wounds yourself, sonny boy.” I rolled my eyes and started to walk back to the apartments, but a man stopped me.

“She’s right, you know.” He took off his sunglasses and handed me a card. “I’m Ed. Taxi driver. I saw what happened, and if you need me to I’d be happy to give you a ride in my car.”

“No, really, there’s no need, I—”

“Don’t worry, son,” he grinned, cuffing me on the shoulder. I struggled to not drop Hermione. “We’ll get you where you need to be.” He shoved me and Hermione into his—what was it? Car?—and hopped in himself.

“Fasten your seatbelts,” he laughed. I didn’t bother to ask him what he meant. The Malfoy family had never used Muggle cars for transportation.

“Jeez, Draco,” muttered Hermione, sitting up and sliding to the other side of the car. “You didn’t have to make a scene.”

“Sorry,” I drawled sarcastically. “Next time, I’ll just leave you in the middle of the street.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She fiddled with her thumbs, looking everywhere except at me.

“Hermione,” I began, “I apologize for asking you to leave my apartment.”

“Yes, well, I apologize for making assumptions.”

I nodded and allowed a small grin to creep into my face. Hermione looked at me and smiled back.

“We’re here,” said the man driving the car. “Feel better, doll. Take care, kid.”

I ushered Hermione out of the car and towards the emergency room. We entered the waiting room, which is completely white, and looked at all the patients being wheeled around in wheelchairs and on stretchers.

Hermione, who was standing on her own two feet, said, “I feel like I shouldn’t be here.”

I shrugged. The two of us sat down until Hermione went to see one of the doctors.

The doctor wore a white beard and a smile and he told Hermione to sit down.

“Bicycling accident, hm?” he asked, shaking his head with a small smile. “No broken bones, are there?” Hermione shook her head. The doctor inspected her cuts and bruises, then checked for any ones he might have missed. In all his searching, he happened to lift up her shirt, exposing her back. My blood froze from what I saw.

Her back was covered with scars. They looked like she had been whipped—chances were it was her father. My breathing grew heavier as my anger grew deeper. The things I would do to him when we got back…

“Son?” the doctor said, turning to me. “Are you her boyfriend?”

“Huh?” What? “No…” I looked at Hermione, who was alarmed at the fact that her scars had been discovered.

The doctor’s look was stern and cold. “Would you mind explaining these?” He pointed to the marks on her back. I looked at Hermione again, who shook her head furiously and mouthed the same word over and over again: No.

I shook my own head and the doctor and attempted to fake the perfect combination of bewilderment and horror. “Sir, I honestly don’t know.”

He stared at me for a few long seconds, then nodded. “Alright. Miss, I believe I know what’s going on. If I ever see you back here, don’t think I won’t call authority.”

I grabbed Hermione’s arm and dragged her out of his office. “What a wuss,” I remarked. “Any other doctor would have immediately called children’s protection.”

“Well, I’m glad,” said Hermione defensively. “I don’t want him getting my dad in trouble.”

I stopped in my tracks and nodded my agreement. I was the same way; my father wasn’t a great one, but I still respected him.

“Draco?” I looked at her and realized I had stopped walking. I quickly caught up to her.

"Not many people get hit by drunk bicyclists, hm?" I mused.

"Guess not." She smiled at me, and I felt as if we were back on the same page.

“Let’s go back to the apartment?”

“Nah,” she said, smiling at me. “I want to get ice cream.”