the magpie // tomione

xi. (M)

"I see her pure, pale aura shine, piercing, sweet

Sharp as death, or sin."

— Marya Zaturenska

Draco raises a pointed chin, his head bobbing in waves of sleep. He blinks away the tiredness from his eyes, nearly falling from his chair at the sight of a figure in the dark.

"Ginny said you'd been spending time 'round here." The unmistakable voice of Ronald Weasley speaks up as red hair and rumpled robes become visible through the dark. "Padma and the other healers say you're here everyday, doing who knows what."

"Weasley." Draco greets, rubbing his temple as a headache blooms between his eyes.

"What are you doing Malfoy?" Ron sneers without missing a beat. "And why are you and Kingsley keeping it a bloody secret?"

"If I told you then it wouldn't be a secret."

Ron draws his wand, pointing it in Draco direction before suddenly reminding himself of the body laying in the hospital bed. He glances down at her, his expression softening.

His words, however, do not lose their menace.

"Why you? You're not an auror, you're not even her friend." His eyes turn back to Draco, angry blue focusing on calm silver. "You just feel guilty, and she made you her little pity project. And this , this bloody thing!"

Ron moves to grab the diary from its place on the bedside table, but in his haste (and potential inebriation) it clatters to the floor. Draco attempts to pick it up but decides at the last moment to let Ron take it. Draco straightens, brushing imaginary lint from his dark suit. He isn't sure why he's being so protective of the diary—of Hermione's words."

Ron flips through it, his frustration increasing with each frantic flick of the page.

"Why's it blank?"

Draco stares, brows furrowed.

It shouldn't be blank. Not Hermione's words, at least. A sense of dread pools in his stomach.

There's a movement in the bed and Ron jumps, reaching again for his wand.

"Who are you?" The girl in the bed asks quietly, as if only waking from a long sleep.

"Bloody hell. It's Ron, Hermione. Ron. " He tries to grab her hands but she brushes him away, looking toward Draco.

"Why did you bring this man here?" Her voice is accusatory, cold, and if Ron hadn't already known it was not Hermione then he surely does now.

"What's going on, Malfoy?" He murmurs, the color drained from his face.

"You should go. I need to speak with her while I can."

It's harsh, perhaps, but Draco isn't any more dismissive than the woman sending suspicious daggers toward the loud redhead. Ron seems ready to protest before quickly nodding. He makes his leave almost as suddenly as he had entered, but certainly with much more fanfare and fuss.

Draco rubs at his temple again.

"That was your friend." He mentions, realizing an explanation is owed but not wanting to squander their time.

"A Weasley?" Marion seems unimpressed and he only laughs. Her nose is scrunched with the same expression he remembers Hermione Granger sending his way over the years. (It doesn't hurt. It doesn't sting.)

Draco takes the diary from where Ron had discarded it, and is not surprised to see a familiar frantic scrawl. He exhales as he takes in the words on the page.