The next morning, within an hour of Hermione's waking, Homer had another letter to deliver. Draco, in the hospital wing again, opened one bleary eye when Homer landed on his chest.

8am, October 11

Draco,

Where were you all these years, not the spoiled git I've known for so long, but you? You, whose only faults I can see are an overprotective streak and a lack of respect for house-elves. You, who stood up to your own father for a friend in need and for what you thought was right. You, whose letters have become the world to me, a world I never thought Harry, Ron, house-elves, and books would have to share.

Harry and Ron accept our friendship now. I didn't want to tell you this before, but I hadn't exactly been telling them the whole truth about all those letters. I was afraid if they thought we were writing letters on a regular basis, they'd chop off your quill hand and use it as a Bludger while they practiced their Beating skills on your head. It's something they've mentioned trying once or twice.

I hope you get better very soon. I visited you twice last night but you were asleep. I can't wait for you to wake up so I can thank you properly. Let me know if I can get your homework for you.

Love,

Hermione

Homer had known from the moment that Draco opened his eyes that the boy was in a foul mood. He'd shoved Homer off his chest, taken the letter, and read with a frown. His expression had softened somewhat by the end, but he took out a quill and piece of parchment from the bag beside his bed and began to write back. As he wrote, his scowl grew.

Draco tied the letter to Homer's leg and shoved him away, slumping back into the bed as he did so. He seemed sink into a fitful, angry doze almost immediately, so Homer flew out the window and spent the day catching mice. After lessons, he flew through the window of the Gryffindor common room. Hermione had just come in with Harry and Ron at her heels. She looked very happy to see Homer. She plucked him out of the air and sat down in one of the heavily-cushioned chairs. As she pulled off the letter, Homer noticed Harry and Ron slink up to her, wearing expressions half concern, half sneakiness.

"Hermione, let us have a look at that letter," Ron demanded.

"No!" Hermione said. She had just unfolded it, but she clutched it to her chest protectively.

"Ah, come on, Hermione," Harry said. "What have you got to hide?"

"No," Hermione said stubbornly. "It's my letter."

Ron suddenly leapt forward and snatched it away from her. He tore off across the common room, all the way yelling "Hermione, I'm sorry we have to do this, but it's for your own good."

Hermione gave chase, and Harry followed after her. What was Homer supposed to do? Attack Ron? Hermione had always been so protective of her friends that Homer wasn't sure he wanted to risk it. Hermione chased Ron all around the common room, getting quite a few looks from their fellow students, before he stopped. She stopped in front of him, surprised for a moment, and then made to grab for the parchment.

Ron held the letter above his head, well out of Hermione's reach. None of Hermione's jumping or yanking or pleading could get Ron to lower his arm. He angled the parchment so he could read it, but still had the decency not to read aloud, however much the half-filled common room would have loved to know what all the commotion was about. Harry stood beside him, reading as well, and Hermione finally gave up and read with them, turning red with anger and humiliation.

Homer joined the fun too, landing on Hermione's shoulder to read.

10am, October 11

Hermione,

I'm guessing you're sitting in some lesson right now, raptly attentive, with your gravity-defying hand reaching for the ceiling. When you get out for the day, come visit me. Don't bring Potter or Weasley.

I am by no means surprised you hadn't told them about our letters. I'll bet you just brushed me off as S.P.E.W. work, right? Or maybe pointed out the fact that I haven't worn my 'Potter Stinks' badge for quite some time. I forgive you, though, for being ashamed of having a Slytherin for a friend, and a Malfoy, too, since we Malfoys are not proving equal to our illustrious name.

Don't worry about getting my homework; Crabbe and Goyle have their uses after all. Don't forget about coming to thank me properly. My insides were fairly crushed for your sake.

Draco

When they had all read the letter, Ron released it to Hermione, who sat down with a thud in a nearby chair.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," Harry started. "Most of that letter was about us."

Ron raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What's this about thanking him properly, Hermione? And why doesn't he want us to be there?"

"Probably because you're immature, childish brutes." Hermione sniffed angrily, shooting pointed looks at those students around the common room who were still watching the trio.

"Don't give us that, Hermione," Ron said, now somewhat apologetic. "We're only trying to make sure everything is all right."

Hermione folded up the letter and put it in her pocket with snappy finality. "Well, if it's all right with you, I'm going to visit him, like he asked." She stood up and stomped across the common room.

"Are you sure you don't want us to come with you?" Homer heard them say as Hermione exited into the corridor.

She stormed through the hallways, using the walk to calm down her temper and lessen the color in her cheeks. "Honestly, Homer," she said, "those two will never grow up." When they reached the hospital wing, Hermione paused for a moment, taking a deep breath outside the door, and stepped inside.

Draco was sitting up in his bed, and this time, he was most certainly the only one there, besides the mediwitch bustling around in her office. He looked at Hermione, with Homer on her shoulder, and gave her a small smile. "I'm glad you're okay," he told her. Homer could tell, though, by the way his smile disappeared almost immediately, that his mood hadn't improved over the course of the day.

Hermione closed the distance between them and sat down on the chair beside his bed. "But you," she said, looking him over. "Madam Pomfrey said that spell Blaise had hit you with made your insides rupture, causing internal bleeding, and within minutes, flaring up with such an infection that she couldn't fight it without keeping you here to make sure you took–"

"Believe it or not, she told me all that too." Draco studied Hermione's face thoughtfully for a moment. "Hermione, I was…a little distracted back at Blaise's house. Tell me again what happened. Start with what you did after lessons." Homer moved to the end of Draco's bed and perched on the post. He was a little unruffled by the way Draco was talking. He sounded like he was forcing himself to act normally.

Hermione frowned at Draco, looking a little confused. "All right…Harry, Ron, and I went to the common room, and Homer came with your letter. I left and went out to the grounds to read it by myself, and then Blaise came out of the forest and used a portkey to – "

"He just pounced on you out of nowhere, did he?"

Hermione eyed him cautiously. "Well, no. We talked for a few minutes. He said he wrote that letter, but I never got a chance to ask him why – "

"Hermione," Draco said, and Homer fancied his voice as something akin to a Nundu's growl. "Do you remember what I told you about talking with boys from my House?"

Hermione suddenly realized what Draco was driving at. "You're not seriously going to try and pin this whole thing on me!" she said hotly.

He stared at her menacingly. "If you had just been a little more careful, this whole thing wouldn't have happened. You wouldn't have been kidnapped, your friends wouldn't have learned how dangerous it is for you to be close to me, and I wouldn't be in the hospital wing right now, taking potions that make my insides feel like they're filled with Bubotuber puss."

Hermione shook her head at him. "So that's what this is all about? You're all upset because of a belly ache? You know, I remember exactly what you said about Slytherin boys. Don't talk to any of them," she said, glaring at him.

"Stop that," Draco said loudly. "I'm upset because you put yourself in a position where you could have been killed. Do you know whose fault that would have been?"

"Blaise's," Hermione said woodenly.

"No! Hermione, you've got to know that this problem is bigger than a stupid, nosy prat. My father would have killed you. Shit, he probably still wants to kill you, and Hermione," Draco's voice went quiet "that was Blaise."

Hermione stared at him. "What?"

"It was Blaise, that whole time," he said hurriedly. "The Ministry examined him thoroughly, and are still holding him, hoping he'll change, but he stayed Blaise. There was no Polyjuice Potion on him. He lied to you. It was Blaise's body, but my father was using the Imperio, hoping Blaise would get blown apart. He was staging his own death. It would be a lot easier for him to hide without the Ministry's search team to watch out for. So now do you understand why I told you to be careful? My father's still out there, and you're one of his targets."

Hermione slumped down lower into her chair. "No," she said quietly. Her eyes wandered to Homer and she sat up straight again. "Why wasn't it in the Daily Prophet?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, Lucius Malfoy is still on the loose. The Ministry thought they got him but it really turned out to be a sixth year student." Draco shook his head. "Doesn't sound too good, does it? But I bet you and Potter will be in the paper soon, even if it's a limited version of events."

Hermione studied Draco closely. "All right, Draco, you were right. I should have been more careful."

Homer could have laughed; Draco almost looked taken aback by this. "Th-That's right," and then he seemed to recover himself. "No Slytherin boy, but me," he said with a sly grin, "is worth your time."

She rolled her eyes. "And now I suppose you're going to say Harry and Ron aren't worth my time either."

Draco's grin faded. "No. If it weren't for them, we might not have made it."

Homer had never seen Hermione look so happy. "They are worth all their blustering, aren't they? You know, Harry and Ron may not be thrilled that you and I are friends, but this whole time, you've been acting as if associating with you is like cuddling a Blast-Ended Skrewt. You're forgetting the one thing that makes the idea of your being dangerous seem ridiculous," she waited for Draco to bite, smiling at him warmly.

"And what is that?"

"Harry Potter is my best friend! You wouldn't believe the trouble that's brought me. Giant chess sets, battles at the Ministry, Rita Skeeter. Honestly, Draco, getting captured by a boy who happened to be controlled by your dad was nothing. I don't know why you're so worried."

Draco smirked. Homer could just imagine what the boy would be saying if she'd written that in a letter: Cheeky thing, isn't she? Fortunately for Draco, he had the real thing to talk to, not just a nosy owl. "Hermione, do you have any of those S.P.E.W. badges left?" Draco asked.

Hermione stared at him in surprise. "Why, yes. I made more just last month."

Draco kept smirking at her. "Why don't you run and grab a couple and bring them back here?"

Hermione looked at him strangely. "All right," she said tentatively, and left, walking rather quickly.

Draco looked at Homer, sitting at the end of his bed. "Got any chicks you're interested in? Take out a quill," he said smugly.

Homer hooted in confusion.

"Oh, don't give me that. You've known it was coming all along."

Homer suddenly realized what the git meant to do. There was no way that was going to happen, not looking the way he did, anyway. Homer hopped up the bed and onto Draco's chest. The boy was a mess. His hair was everywhere.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked incredulously.

Homer was happy to learn that at least Draco's breath smelled nice. He went to work, jumping up onto that pale head and combing his talons through the soft hair. Draco cringed with each dig of the claws, but relented, strangely enough. That was until Hermione burst through the door again, much sooner than expected.

Draco grabbed Homer off his head and clutched him to his chest, turning pink immediately.

Hermione hardly seemed to notice, however. She crossed the space between them in a few strides, glancing at the round badges in her hands. "All right, I've got two," Hermione said, taking the same seat again.

"How much are they?" Draco asked quickly. He sat up, causing Homer to land on his lap, and reached out to open a drawer beside his bed. He pulled out a heavy money bag.

"Two sickles each," Hermione answered promptly. "And the proceeds will go towards funding our leaflet campaign."

Homer watched Draco pluck four silver coins out of the bag and set it back down on the bedside table. "Well, here you go then." He handed Hermione the money and took a badge from her. He leaned forward and pinned it to the collar of her shirt. "If I'm going to wear one of these things, you had better be, too."

Hermione looked absolutely floored. Draco reached for the other badge but Hermione gave a small start and pulled her hand away. "I'll do it," she said quietly. She leaned forward, and took her time pinning the badge to Draco's hospital pajamas. Homer saw her fingers shaking.

Draco was studying her face, which was flushing slowly.

"Draco," Hermione said unsteadily. "You know you don't have to do this."

"I know," Draco said, "but I was a lost cause as well."

Hermione's breathing hitched.

"And after you came along, I – "

Draco was cut off. Homer was trapped. Dear sweet Merlin, what to do! He was trapped! He had wanted this to happen, but for goodness sake, he did not need to see it! If he tried to escape, would they notice? Trapped! And on Draco's lap, of all the inconvenient, inappropriate places!

7:00am, October 31

Respected Elf Enslaver,

Are you aware that the largest collection of house-elves in Great Britain is currently slaving away in the kitchens beneath you, working for a feast in which they will not partake? When will the prejudice and exploitation end? You have the power to decide. As a Hogwarts student, there are elves making your bed, cooking your meals, and ironing your socks. Why not learn a few handy spells to do these chores yourself and demand that Dumbledore free the elves?

Are you also aware that snogging during our S.P.E.W. meeting was an extremely inefficient use of time?

Happy Halloween,

Your S.P.E.W. representative

7:30am, October 31

Respected Nosy Prat,

You'll be pleased to know that I have never forced any house-elf to iron my socks, not even Dobby.

If you think our S.P.E.W. meeting was an inefficient use of time, wait until I take you to Madam Puddifoot's this afternoon. I assure you, you'll never get so little accomplished.

Yours,

Draco