the magpie // tomione

vi. (m)

"Before midnight. After midnight. Again.

Again. Again. And, near dawn, again."

— Ted Hughes

Draco visits her twice a day. Once in the early morning and again late at night. He maintains this routine, staying in contact with the team of healers selected by Minister Shacklebolt. Occasionally he will see Ginny, carrying one of Hermione's favorite books. He avoids Ron, tearfaced and grief stricken, though his visits became few and far between. He gives a solemn nod to Harry, who is under strict orders to focus on his own caseload and to leave this case to a specialized team.

The Mysterious Case of the Sleeping Granger.

She looks peaceful in the morning light, rays of sun dancing across her skin. He can almost imagine her waking with a yawn and a long stretch of her freckled arms. He can almost see those rich brown eyes peering up at him.

Draco startles, the chair clanging behind him as he stands at her side.

"Hermione?" He questions quietly, the desperation thick in his voice.

Like before, he almost immediately understands that this is not Hermione looking up at him in a mixture of confusion and fear. This is the parasite. The changeling. The uninvited guest.

"Marion." Her name falls from his lips dripping in disdain. Her eyes widen and she begins to rise.

"Abraxas?" She calls out again, holding out her hand. He lets her press her palm against his cheek, feeling the eerie warmth of her skin. "No. It's you."

"You remember me," he muses, closing his eyes briefly as she takes her hand away. He watches as she glances around the room. "You're at St. Mungo's."

She nods, bringing the focus of her gaze to the small bedside table.

"This is..."

"Your diary." He completes her thought, taking it from her, as if fearing the consequences of her touch. "When you sleep, where do you go?"

"Where do I go?" She murmurs, staring up at him with a furrowed brow. "What do you mean? I don't..."

"Stay with me, Marion." He pleads, seeing her expression fall. The life fading from her eyes. "You can't go yet."

Draco yells out in frustration as her body slumps back into the bed. It's progress, compared to the last time, but it's still not enough to get any answers.

The last time...

He remembers the entry that seemed to have summoned Marion and flips until he sees faded ink. His hunch proves correct as he scans the familiar handwriting, his fingers brushing across the parchment. Hermione has written again.

He reads the entry over and over, sitting back in his seat with a bewildered laugh.

"Granger, you brilliant witch."

There's an owl on her window sill when she stumbles back to her flat. Hermione tosses off her heels and makes her way to the window slowly. She doesn't recognize it, other than the obvious signs of a pampered and beloved bird. She carefully unties the ribbon around its foot, unraveling a carefully rolled note.

May I come in?

She peers down at the sidewalk, not quite knowing what she expects. What she doesn't expect is to see Alphonse Rosier on the pavement below. He gives her an enthusiastic wave and she wonders how long he's been down there.