The 101 of Working With Your Enemy

Chapter 5

NOVEMBER 1992

Draco had thought that losing the Quidditch match against Gryffindor was the worst thing to happen that day. Seeing his classmate's lifeless body being carried into the infirmary, was not in his cards.

He could live with the disappointment written across his father's face. He even understood it in some twisted way. Lucius Malfoy had invested lots of galleons in the best brooms for the Slytherin Quidditch team. Of course, his father had expected him to win.

When he went down and pain exploded through his body, it had quickly been replaced by sadness and anger. His father didn't bother talking to him after the game. No, he had left before the game was even over.

Draco could've left the infirmary hours ago. For some reason, he didn't. He himself didn't really understand the reason. Maybe it was because he had people taking care of him. He liked that the attention was on him for once.

At home, his father mostly ignored him. He only talked to Draco when he asked him something about school or needed something from him, which was rarely the case. His mother was busy being as perfect as she was. Draco loved her more than anyone, but she didn't have the time for him that he so desperately wanted.

Due to that, young Draco had much time to explore every corner of the manor, read every book from the libraries–even the ones that his father had forbid him from reading–and eavesdrop on some conversations between his father and colleagues of his. He knew things that he shouldn't know, and his father would punish him if he ever found out.

But Draco was good at sneaking around. He was naturally curious, it was in his blood. So when he woke up to voices arguing in a hushed tone in the middle of the night, he didn't complain about the noise but stayed very still and breathed flatly.

"There's been another attack," said a deep voice. It sounded like Dumbledore, Draco thought. The headmaster wasn't around the infirmary often, only when something really bad had happened. And he had said something about an attack. Another attack.

Draco opened his eyes. It took him a few seconds to adjust to the darkness, but then he could make out five figures that were standing around a bed. Madam Pomfrey stood with her back to him and blocked his view of the person that was lying on the bed.

"I think she's been petrified, Madam Pomfrey." That voice definitely belonged to Professor McGonagall. "We found her in the second-floor girls' lavatory. Thank Merlin that we were checking for students outside their common rooms after curfew. Otherwise, a student might have discovered her. No one should have to see this."

Draco grew frustrated. He still couldn't see who had been petrified, and he wondered if it was someone from his grade. Someone he knew.

"We need to inform the other students of the dangers lurking inside these castle's walls. No one is to wander these corridors alone anymore. Madam Pomfrey, I trust you know how to handle this situation. Keep her out of the other students sight. Maybe she can tell us what she saw once she wakes up," Dumbledore spoke.

"Of course. She will be as good as new in a matter of days," replied Madam Pomfrey who leaned closer over the student, inspecting something that was shielded from Draco's sight.

"We are going to have to tell her friends. They will worry sick if she just goes missing," McGonagall said, her voice filled with sorrow. "I am going to fill them in first thing in the morning. For now, there is nothing we can do. Madam Pomfrey will take great care of her."

"Of course I will. Professor Sprout and I will take a look at the Mandrakes she's procuring tomorrow morning. Once they've reached their full size, I will be able to make a potion that will revive her," Madam Pomfrey chimed in. "There is nothing we can do for her right now. We should head to bed so we can gather strength for tomorrow."

They exchanged a few other words, and then the voices grew fainter as the footsteps retreated and left Draco in a blissful silence. He had closed his eyes after Madam Pomfreys last words, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping on his teachers.

Now, he opened them, and his gaze found the small body lying on the bed opposite of his in the blink of an eye. His eyes widened when he recognised who the young girl was. Her face was paler than usual, all color had vanished from her cheeks, and her eyes were wide open, staring up at the ceiling. She looked like she was frozen in time, one hand lifted halfway up, dark waves spread out around her head like a halo.

Draco didn't hesitate when he got up, and when his naked feet hit the cold stone floor, he didn't even feel it. The blonde boy almost tripped over his own feet, his vision not being particularly good in the dark. He had already been worried when he saw the unmoving body of Filch's cat, Mrs Norris, and he didn't even care about that stupid furry thing. Seeing his classmate in one of these beds frightened the young boy.

The closer he got, the clearer he could see the terrified expression on her face. Her hazel eyes were glistening with fear, and he felt his own heart clench in his chest. His father would call him weak. Expressing empathy wasn't something a Malfoy did. Especially not towards a blood traitor.

But seeing Calista's lifeless figure would've made everyone fear for her. Even Draco, and even though he didn't really like her. She made him furious sometimes, especially since she was good in Potions too. He was scared that she would be better than him one day, and that he would disappoint his father once again.

All thoughts of restraint left the boy's mind once he gently reached out for her hand with his own and slid his fingers through hers. Her skin felt icy cold against his own and sent shivers running down his spine. It made him only hold on dearer to the girl.

Draco let himself sink down onto the floor, all while not letting go of the hold he had on her hand. The coldness of the floor didn't compare to the one of her hand. The blonde noticed himself trying to warm her up, bring life back to her.

The boy imagined that if he had been petrified, he wouldn't want to be left alone, motionless, in this bed. He would want someone to stay by his side and take care of him–someone to care about him.

He didn't let go of her hand throughout the night. Even in his sleep, their skin was connected. Only when the rising sun woke him from his slumber, and he heard footsteps approaching did he let go of her hand and placed it carefully back on the bed. His feet carried him hastily back to his own bed, and he slid under the covers just seconds before Madam Pomfrey came in to check on her patients.

A/N:

Let's just imagine that Harry has already regrown his bone and wasn't in the infirmary. Otherwise Draco would've never worked up the courage to do what he did.
Thanks for reading! :)