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I meant this to be a much longer fic, but (a) I'm lazy (read: I have no time) and (b) I liked this and wanted to post it but didn't have time to do the filler (see "a"). I hope you enjoy it!
WARNING: Some HBP spoilers.
Plink...plink...plink...
Hermione looked up in extreme annoyance. She trailed a hand through her hair and let it drop again to the bed. Damn Malfoy! What was it, the third time in as many days that he had left the bathroom sink dripping? He did it just to annoy her, she knew he did. How childish. As Head Boy and Girl, they technically no longer belonged to their respective Houses, yet he still made fun of Gryffindors all the time, and went out of his way to bother her...She groaned and buried her face in her crimson sheets, sending a stack of carefully-organized papers sliding off the bed.
She raised her face from the silken sheets. "MALFOY!"
On cue, the outer door slammed shut. "Honey, I'm home!" called a sing-song voice that she knew far too well. The blond Slytherin poked his handsome, eternally-smug face around the doorway. "How goes the homework, Granger?" he smirked. "Lucky I don't have any..."
"Ha ha, Malfoy." Hermione didn't even bother to sit up, but remained prone on her stomach, feet dangling in the air. "Go turn off the tap. You've left the stupid thing on every day this week. Does it really take so much effort to twist it a little more?"
He put on a mock-hurt expression. "But darling, your expression is so worth it!" he said, grinning evilly.
"Shut UP, you git! Go turn it off!"
Malfoy lounged against the doorway, smirking. "And if I choose not to?"
He was rewarded by a pillow hurtling at his head, then Hermione stormed into the bathroom and wrenched the faucet to "off". "There," she said, running her hand through her hair crossly as she glared at her fellow Head. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?"
Malfoy shrugged and looked down at her. "It's entertainment." He laughed as she shoved him out of her room and slammed the door in his face, and sauntered off to his own—and infinitely more luxurious—room.
Hermione returned to her bed. Stupid git. Her train of thought was ruined, and it was hard enough to write an essay on Wizard Ethics and Their Application in the Wizard-Muggle World without being interrupted by the one boy who shouldn't have been named school Head. She muttered darkly to herself before picking up the quill and wetting the tip again. The ethics of wizards and Muggles may be analyzed in terms of...
Today was not the best of days, she decided. At least it was a weekend, and there was no class. The last week had been terrible—Hermione had forgotten to sign up for an activity, she had lost a major homework assignment and had to redo it, her experiment in Potions had exploded, creating a big burn on her foot that still hadn't faded satisfactorily, she had gotten a much-lower-than-usual mark on her Arithmancy exam, and she had had to perform a speech for a visiting dignitary who turned out to be highly offended by it. Breakfast had been uneventful; she hadn't seen Ron and Harry, which wasn't surprising considering that it was Saturday, and they had probably slept in. Lucky, she thought ruefully, wishing that she had the luxury.
She stared at the hideous essay a moment longer and decided that it wasn't worth it; even Hermione Granger had her limits. Carefully rolling up the scroll, she tucked it into her trunk and locked it—she didn't think Malfoy was above taking it for his own uses.
The outer door slammed. There went Malfoy again. Hermione shook her head. For all he was there, she might as well have her own suite.
The clock chimed on their common room mantelpiece. Lunchtime. She smiled and went to the door, where her scarf was draped over the coat rack. Wrapping it carefully around herself, she picked up her ever-present stack of papers and walked out the door.
The Great Hall was packed. Hermione saw Ron's flaming red hair at the Gryffindor table and pushed her way through the crowd of first- and second-year students who were milling around excitedly discussing that day's Quidditch match, which would be held later in the afternoon. A few older students were entertaining themselves by telling the first-years about their first game.
She sat down next to Ron, across from Harry. "Good morning!" she said brightly.
Ron looked at her blearily. "Oh. It's you."
Hermione frowned. "Well, yes, who else would it be?"
Harry glared at Ron. "Sorry, Hermione, we stayed up quite late last night." He yawned widely. "See?"
"How late, may I ask?"
"Dunno...3 or 4..."
"Ronald Weasley! You did not! Without—"
"Don't lecture us, okay, Hermione?" Ron snapped suddenly.
"—me..." Hermione's voice faltered.
Seeing what she meant, Ron looked taken aback, but in a moment he went on: "Why would you want to do anything else other than study, anyway?"
"What?"
"Well, you never want to see us anymore, Hermione! You spend all your time studying and...I don't know...look!" He pointed peevishly at her stack of papers. "I mean, what else do you possibly do? You can't study all the time!" He looked at her suspiciously. "And what about Malfoy?"
"Ron!" Hermione and Harry both cried at the same time.
"Hey! I can't help it that she's around that stupid git all the time! Maybe she'd rather be friends with him, eh?"
"Ron," said Harry firmly, "that's enough."
Ron looked about to protest, but crossed his arms and glared at Hermione, who was, for once, at a momentary loss for words.
"He hasn't had much sleep," Harry said apologetically. "But he's right, you know. You haven't been spending much time with us, and we've just been wondering..."
"I have so much to do as Head Girl!" Hermione protested.
"We know, but..." Harry shrugged.
"Well, I," said Ron loudly, "don't care if you're Head Girl or not. If you don't want to spend time with us, that's just fine. Who needs you, anyway! You never do anything but study...I guess I can copy Harry's notes just as easily." He turned away, himself feeling hurt, but not before Hermione's face turned ashy white.
"Ron..."
Hermione put her hand over Harry's. "Don't bother, Harry," she said softly, her voice catching. "I guess I'm the answer book, then? Is that why you always want to work with me in class?" Ron's silence answered her question. "I'll go, then. No, Harry—I don't want to be...in the way."
She got up and left, Harry's shocked face the last thing she saw before she turned away and marched out of the Great Hall.
Outside, it was that cold that crystallizes in the air and makes your cheeks red and raw from the wind. Hermione leaned against the wall, taking several deep breaths. Ron was just being stupid, that was it. She knew that he'd come asking her to forgive him in a couple of days... but a couple of days is so long to be without friends...and Harry would go along with Ron, she knew he would...
Some Ravenclaw sixth-years walked by, chatting. One of them glanced at her, and she swore she heard the girl say to her friends, "Oh, it's Hermione."
What? she thought, stunned. This reminded her of the first few days of first year, when someone had made a nasty remark about her study habits and lack of a social life. I'm NOT like that anymore, I'm NOT!
Squaring her shoulders, she walked into the great courtyard that led to the grounds of Hogwarts. This had definitely not been a good week. Very well; she’d make it better. The snow was beautiful; she’d sit and look at that.
Something screeched, and she looked up to see a pure-white messenger owl turning and turning in the snowy sky above her. It landed softly on her shoulder, and handed her a letter from its beak. The envelope was made of odd paper, and she smiled, feeling warm joy spread through her for the first time that day before she even read the word "Durmstrang" carefully stenciled on the flap.
The owl hooted impatiently. She dug through her pockets and handed it a tip and an extra treat, hugging it. It nipped her ear affectionately before taking to the sky once again.
Hermione made her way over to one of the courtyard benches and sat before excitedly staring at her letter. She could not explain why, but every letter from Viktor Krum made her heart start pounding like mad and her face light up. Breathlessly, she ripped the envelope open, yanking out the piece of thick creamy parchment and scanning the first lines.
And her world stopped.
Dear Hermione,
I am writing to tell you of my engagement to Miss Felicity Dawes, a student who will be graduating from Durmstrang this year...
The rest of the letter blurred as Hermione fought to keep herself from choking on the knot in her throat. She did not notice that she had let go of her stack of papers, nor that they were in great danger of flying away. She simply stared at the letter, her shoulders hunched and her head bowed in disbelief. How is this happening?
Numbly, she stood and gathered her papers, clutching them to her chest with the letter on top, and began to make her way toward the castle. Paying no attention to where she was going, she walked right into someone. There was a muffled exclamation and a thud, and her papers went everywhere, scattering across the snow. She fell backward, landing hard, and winced.
"What in the world are you doing, Granger?" came a drawling voice, followed by laughter from all around her. Hermione looked up into the amused faces of Draco Malfoy, who was dusting the snow off his jacket from where she had knocked him over, and his fellow Slytherins. The only ones she recognized were Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, but they all had the same Slytherin look; arrogance and cunning were written all over their unpleasantly adult-looking faces.
Hermione didn't answer him, but began mechanically to pick up her papers. Above her, she heard Malfoy say sardonically, "I knew you were desperate, Granger, but it isn't necessary to throw yourself at me." Pansy gave her high-pitched, annoying laugh and squealed, "Oh, Draco, you're so funny!"
Hermione managed to grab all her papers—not one of the Slytherins bothering to help—and took one step before she slipped on a patch of wet ice, with the same result as before, except that this time she twisted something in her foot. "Bloody—" she cursed, as the Slytherins laughed harder than ever.
She turned and crawled on the ice to retrieve all her papers, her ankle throbbing like mad, as Pansy said cruelly, "You'd better warn your friends about that ice, Mudblood...not that anyone cares if you fall...and wait, what friends? We heard your little talk this morning, Granger. Did Potty and Weasel finally admit it to you? That you're just their answer book?" She laughed shrilly. "You'd better go warn them so they don't hurt themselves running to copy your notes." The Slytherins were laughing so hard that one of them sat down on the ground, unable to stand.
Hermione got slowly to her feet and, not meeting any of their eyes, limped painfully back toward the Great Hall, her foot throbbing with every step.
A few minutes later, the door opened softly and Draco Malfoy stuck his head in. Getting no response from Hermione, he entered her room and approached the bed before sitting on the edge. "You okay?" he asked offhandedly, not even sure why he cared.
Hermione didn't look up. "No."
"I—Pansy—well..." he trailed off. “I’m, uh, sorry I laughed.”
Hermione raised her tear-streaked face. "She was right," she said, and he was shocked at the depth of the pain in her eyes.
"I don't think she was," he said thoughtfully. "I'll say one good thing for your little chums: they're loyal. Stupid, yes; thoughtless, yes; but loyal. And," he said, grinning evilly, a look he was very good at, "since when is Pansy right about anything?"
Hermione had stopped crying and was staring at him, disbelief written all over her face. "Did you just...defend...my friends?"
"What? No!" Draco looked confused, not having realized that he had spoken all of it aloud. "They don't deserve to be defended!"
One eyebrow went up. “Right.”
Draco got off the bed and walked to the door. "I've got schoolwork to do, Granger. See you later." He opened the door and was about to leave when he turned to her and said, "And by the way, for being the class brain, you really aren't, because you just said they were your friends."
"Shut it, Malfoy." He smirked and left.
Damn Slytherin. He was so bloody infuriating with his so-called charm and that smirk...Hermione pounded her fist into the sheets. I did just say that they were my friends, didn't I? She rolled onto her back and lay gazing up at the crimson canopy. But there is one thing that I can't fix...
She got up slowly, Krum's letter in hand, and walked to the fireplace. "Goodbye, Viktor," she whispered before tearing the letter in half and dropping it remorselessly into the flames.
Draco watched her in class, the way she sat on the edge of her seat and watched the professors avidly, brown eyes alight with interest. He realized with a start that she actually cared about this stuff, actually wanted to learn it. He'd always assumed that, being a Mudblood, she'd felt some kind of need to prove herself, something he, a Malfoy, had never felt even though he knew he was very intelligent...
Wait. He understood the Mudblood? Horrified at the thought, Draco looked intently at his book, away from the three "golden Gryffindors". There was no way that would ever happen. She was like another species to him!
Angry with himself for even thinking something positive about Granger, he made it a point to say something insulting the next time she raised her hand. She turned a pretty shade of pink and glared at him. Weasel's fists clenched and he reddened; Potty said something sharp to him and the redhead turned away, shooting a venemous glare at Draco. The Slytherin smirked and went back to his book.
After dinner, Draco turned a corner on the way back to the Head Dorms and ran smack into Granger. "Watch where you're going!" he snarled, but it lacked any real malevolence. He was tired; Pansy had been badgering him about one thing or another. He did not want any further arguing.
She stopped and looked at him curiously. "What's wrong with you?"
"None of your business."
"Fine then," Hermione said coolly. "In future maybe I won't try to think of you as a human being. You don't seem to think of me as one." She hoisted her ever-present pile of books and continued down the corridor.
Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. Trust the Mudblood to actually care about his well-being. Gryffindors. Aloud, he called, "Granger!"
She turned. "What is it, Malfoy?"
"Your ankle better?" He stopped, surprised at himself. What-
Hermione stared at him. "It's fine." He would have sworn she smiled as she turned and kept going.
So she thought of him as a human being, or at least was trying to. He smiled grimly. At least she didn't think of him as a bloody monster anymore. He didn't know why he cared, but to know that someone understood what he had gone through, understood the fear he had felt when Voldemort had ordered him to create a doorway into Hogwarts for the Death Eaters...but Dumbledore had stopped it from happening, and had even offered Draco and his mother protection, which Draco had gladly taken. His father had been furious, but Draco hadn't cared. Let him be punished in Draco's place. God knew he'd done enough damage to his own son. Draco glowered at the floor.
He was almost glad that Granger was already asleep when he reached the Head Tower.
"Oh." She flushed, and moved her hand away from her wand pocket. "Sorry."
He glanced down at the book. "Not homework?"
"No. I’ve nothing else to do; Ron's still being...Never mind." She looked away. "What else do you want?"
He shrugged. “Nothing.” Rain-silver eyes traveled over the book’s pages and her intent face. “You actually like to read that?”
“Don’t you?”
Draco looked around. They weren’t near the other students, and no one would actually suspect him of casually talking to his sworn enemy, or whatever she was...”Yeah.”
Hermione looked up and actually smiled. He found himself smiling back, and for a moment she wasn’t Granger or a Mudblood or any of the other things he’d called her over the years. She was a fellow student who enjoyed something he did.
He suddenly realized what he was doing. Clearing his throat, he pulled a book out of his bag and set it down on the table. “It’s good,” he said curtly, and walked away, Hermione staring after him.
It was when Draco smiled at Hermione and bid her a pleasant rest of the day, making her blush pink with surprise, that Pansy began to think.
“Morning, Pansy.” Draco actually looked happy this morning. Pansy smiled sweetly and took his hand in her own. She was not surprised when he stiffened and pulled away, purposely reaching for a pitcher of cream with both hands.
Draco glanced at the window, where the snow was howling around the ancient stone walls of Hogwarts. It would be a regular blizzard tonight. He glanced at the roaring fire, suddenly appreciating its warmth.
He frowned at the silence from the other room. It wasn't like Granger to be asleep this early; she was usually up studying until around midnight. However, there was no light under her door. He shrugged and turned back to his book; she was probably tired from the day's activities. Still, he felt a sharp sense of disappointment that she hadn't come out to say goodnight...
Who was he kidding, anyway? He knew that she was in love with her precious Krum, her "Viktor", and if not him then Weasel would do. He frowned angrily at the thought of the redheaded Gryffindor. Even Potty didn't get on his nerves as much as he did.
Draco turned and stared moodily into the fire. The stupid git. What did he have that Draco Malfoy didn't? Nothing, that was what. Then why...
You haven't exactly been kind to her, Draco, a little voice said in the back of his mind. Calling her by her first name won't fix everything else you've ever said and done to her. With a sudden burst of anger, Draco threw his pillow across the room, where it landed on the common room couch with a soft thud.
He stood and stared out the window for a few moments, then blew out the common room lamp and went into his green-silver-and-black room without bothering to close the door and flopped on the bed, staring up into the darkness.
He pushed the covers aside and sat up, staring into the darkness around him and feeling the chill air tracing ghostly fingers over his chest. Shivering, he pulled on his pajama shirt and put on a robe, running a hand through unruly silver-blond hair.
The main fire was out, had died hours ago, and only the reddish glow of the coals guided him to his partly-ajar door and out into the common room. Stumbling on the edge of the soft rug, he lit a lamp and restarted the fire, waking up quickly as he nearly burned his fingers on the live coals.
There it was again, an icy breeze that wrapped itself around him and made him shiver uncontrollably. He stood and glanced around the now-bright common room, rain-silver eyes narrowed. If he walked this way, it got stronger...
What in the world?
The frosty air was coming from Granger's room. Draco frowned. She must have left her window open, but that was absolutely mad. It was below freezing outside!
He went to her door and knocked softly. There was no response. Knocked harder. Still no answer. Draco eased the door open and peered inside.
The window was indeed open, and a beam of blue-white moonlight streamed over an empty bed. Empty... Draco jerked back in shock. What the-
He knew she liked to study with the window open, but Hermione had obviously not been in the room all night, for he had been sitting in the common room since after dinner. Draco's first thought was that Hermione was studying. But even one as fervently passionate about grades as she would not be in the library until well after midnight—he glanced at the clock. 1:20 AM.
Another thought struck him, and he clenched his fists. Weasel. That must be it. Gritting his teeth, Draco ran into his room and threw on some of his regular clothes before putting his wand in his pocket and slipping through the portrait.
"Lumos," he muttered. Where was Gryffindor Tower again? He suddenly noticed how very creepy Hogwarts was at night. Potty and Weasel must have been crazy to take all those midnight "adventures" back in first and second year...especially with the Bloody Baron wandering the halls...Draco suddenly wished for an invisibility cloak.
At last he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was snoring loudly.
"Psst," he hissed. She grunted and rolled over, away from him. "You!" he said a little louder.
The Fat Lady shifted in her sleep, and Draco reached out with his wand and prodded the portrait. The Fat Lady fell off her bed, screaming bloody murder. "Help! Someone! It's Black again!" she shrieked, before her gaze fell on Draco, who was frantically trying to shush her.
"Oh, it's you," she said, not a little disgruntled. "What d'you want, then?"
"Let me in," Draco whispered. "And keep it down, will you? I don't want the whole bloody House to wake up."
"Password?"
"Right...oh, bugger." His mind had gone blank. All he could see was Hermione and Weasel. "I'm Head Boy, I don't need passwords."
" Head Tower password, then," the Fat Lady said somewhat peevishly.
He told her the password, and the portrait swung forward to reveal the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Thanking her, Draco stepped through it.
The fire was still burning, but it was little more than smoldering coals now. He paused at the stairway entrance. Which one was Potty's room? Draco walked up the boys' staircase as quietly as possible.
He stopped at the first door, wondering if he should knock. Draco had no qualms about waking up Gryffindors in the middle of the night, but he didn't particularly want McGonagall swooping down on him.
He heard something from a room a few doors down, and smirked. He'd know that voice anywhere. It was Weasel, talking in his sleep. Nothing coherent, but the voice was unmistakable.
Draco strode to the door and walked in.
Weasel and Potty were sound asleep, as were their roommates...what were their names? It didn't matter. Draco strode to Weasel's side and shook him more violently than he meant to.
Ron bolted upright. "What the-" This must be a nightmare. Why was Malfoy standing over him, and why did the Slytherin have such an odd look in his eyes...like relief? Behind the anger, of course. "Where is she, Weasel." It was a statement, not a question.
"What? Who?"
In the next bed, Harry stirred. He opened his eyes and saw a very strange sight. Malfoy was standing beside Ron's bed, holding a Lumos-lit wand and talking to him. "Malfoy?" Harry whispered.
"Is he real?" Ron said to his friend, noticing that he was awake.
"I see him too, so I guess so." Harry shrugged. Draco ignored him. "Where is she?" he demanded again.
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"
"Hermi- Granger."
"How the bloody hell should I know?"
Draco snorted. "You're her best friend; I naturally assumed that you'd know why she hasn't been in her room since dinnertime."
"What? What do you mean?" Harry was wide awake by now.
"You heard me, Potter. I woke up and looked and the bed was empty. The window was open."
"The bed was empty..." Ron stared at him. "You don't mean..."
Draco smiled nastily. Let the Weasel think what he liked. "I mean what I said," he said smoothly.
Harry got out of bed and threw on a robe and slippers; Ron was still in his "it's-one-in-the-morning-and-this-is-absolutely-bleeding-mad" mode. "Where do you think she is?"
"Even the Mudblood isn't crazy enough to be in the library this late, is she?" Draco asked absently.
"No, and don't call her a Mudblood, you git!" Ron glared daggers at his enemy.
Draco actually looked taken aback. "Sorry," he muttered. Ron stared at him again, eyebrows shooting to the roots of his flame-colored hair. Did Malfoy just apologize
Harry broke the tension. "D'you think she could be staying in a friend's room?"
"No, I don't think so; you would have seen her." Draco actually looked concerned, which Harry found hard to believe, but then he also found it hard to believe that this wasn't a dream. Pinching confirmed that it wasn't.
Draco had a sudden, horrible thought. "What if..." He trailed off, eyes wide with horror.
"What?" Harry and Ron demanded, but Draco was already out the door. They ran after him, Ron hastily pulling on a warm robe.
Outside, the wind had stopped howling and the snow had stopped falling. It was a beautiful night, with unbelievably clear air and a million sparkling—no, glittering was a better term—stars suspended in the night sky, where the moon floated majestically.
Draco strode quickly across the courtyard and out onto the white, snow-covered grounds, where snow scudded over the tiny drifts and the lake sparkled in the starlight. His stomach felt like it had a knot in it.
Pansy Parkinson sat down beside him in the Slytherin common room, where he had gathered with his friends before leaving to go to his own tower, and patted his hand. "Good evening, Draco." He glanced at her unusually wide smile, like a cat that had just eaten a particularly juicy bird. "You look happy about something," he remarked casually.
"Yes," she purred, reminding the Head Boy even more of a cat. "I've just taken care of something."
Draco nodded distractedly and smiled before turning back to his conversation with Blaise. "And you think that the match will be..."
The scene kept replaying itself in his head. He remembered that he had walked past Pansy talking to a guardedly enthusiastic Hermione in the halls right after dinner, and from that moment on he hadn't seen her. What if...
He saw what he was looking for, right outside of the Slytherin tower's outside entrance. Footprints in the snow. Oh, God...
Ron and Harry were running to catch up with him. "What is it, Malfoy?" Ron demanded. "Why are we..." His voice trailed off as they all stared at the terrible sight.
Hermione half-sat, half-lay against the wall, her legs pulled halfway to her and her eyes closed. She was partially covered with freshly-fallen snow, and her face was bluish. There was a dark ring around one of her eyes. All around her were footprints, as if she'd tried to first get into the castle, and later keep warm. Ron made a strangled noise in his throat, and Harry whispered something. For a moment, nobody moved, then they all ran toward her.
Draco got there first. Hands shaking, he pulled her scarf away from her neck and felt for her pulse. There was nothing. His world slowed in a nauseating spiral, and all he saw was Hermione's ashy face. Oh God, no. Please no. He looked back to see Ron's face crumple. Shut up, Weasel. You don't love her, you can't, oh God, please...
Something moved under Draco's finger, and he jerked back, eyes wide. Please...
He felt it again. There was a faint pulse, but it was there. She was alive.
Draco closed his eyes and said a silent, fervent prayer of thanks, then stood and gently lifted Hermione into his arms.
"Malfoy..." Harry's voice came behind him. Draco turned and silver eyes met green ones. "She's alive," he said, as flatly as he could.
Ron looked like he was going to faint. Harry grabbed his arm, and the young man steadied himself. "Hurry," Draco said sharply. They didn't need any more urging.
They took her to Madam Pomfrey. The witch shrieked at the sight, and immediately told Draco to put Hermione in the bed closest to the fire. He hastily complied. "Take off her jacket and cover her up, Mr. Malfoy," Madam ordered, practically sprinting over to her medicine cabinet.
It was amazing how calm Draco felt as he pulled off Hermione's jacket and scarf and tucked the covers around her. He even managed to feel a twinge of contempt—not entirely unusual—as he glanced over at Weasel, who was sitting in the next chair with his head in his hands, Harry's hand on his shoulder reassuringly.
Madam stopped what she was doing for just a moment and glanced over at Ron sympathetically. "Harry, dear, give Ron some chocolate. You'll find it in that drawer over there." Then she turned back to her potion-making, muttering to herself.
Draco's odd calm was starting to disappear by the time the witch bustled over, draught in hand. She was taking far too long, he thought angrily, and wondered for a moment why the emotion was so strong.
"Hold her mouth open," Madam Pomfrey ordered. Draco carefully pulled Hermione's mouth open and held it that way as the nurse poured a vile-smelling mixture down the young woman's throat. He watched Hermione's face anxiously, but she didn't react.
Draco felt a hand on his. "You can close her mouth now," Madam Pomfrey said gently, smiling. "She will be fine in the morning." Then she frowned. "Why in the world was she outside?" she demanded, eyeing all three boys suspiciously.
"We don't know," Harry answered truthfully. Draco kept his mouth shut and instead shook his head. Pansy had sure as hell better have a good explanation for this. His fists clenched around his wand
Madam Pomfrey looked concernedly at the two friends. "You should go get some sleep, especially you, Mr. Weasley. You look like you're ill yourself." Ron groaned, face still in his hands. "Did you give him the chocolate, dear?" she asked Harry, who nodded.
"I'm staying," Draco said suddenly. Madam Pomfrey glanced at him, ready to say otherwise, but something in his manner stopped her. "All right, dear, but there are no more beds." She gestured to the next bed, where a first-year who had sprouted some kind of rhino-horn facsimile slept soundly.
"I'll sit in this chair, then."
"We will too," spoke up Harry.
Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "I'm sorry, dear, but only one person is allowed, and Draco is Head Boy."
"But-"
"I don't want any of you to get sick. Look at what you're wearing! Robes and slippers in the snow?"
"Please, Madam Pomfrey?" Ron was now sitting up straight.
She sighed in resignation. "All right, but you two"—she gestured to Ron and Harry—"are taking potions. I don't want two more ill students."
"Agreed."
Draco ignored them all, still watching Hermione's unconscious face.
He glanced over at his two companions. The potion had evidently served as both a healing brew and a sedative, for they were nearly as unconscious as Hermione had been, sprawled in their chairs at the end of the bed. Turning his attention back to Hermione, he reached over and took her hand.
Hermione's eyes opened and she looked at him confusedly. "M-Malfoy?"
"Yes, it's me," he said quietly.
"What..." She turned her head and took in her surroundings. "Why am I here?"
"You almost died, Hermione." Suddenly the reality swept over him, and he clutched her hand. Her arm stiffened; she hadn't noticed that he was holding it before, and now she stared at him. "God, you were outside and we found you and..." Draco Malfoy's permanent smirk was gone, and in its place was something that Hermione could not identify because she had never seen it on his face.
"I..." Hermione put her other hand to her head. Draco reached up and pulled it back down. "Shhh," he said. "Don't talk now. Just sleep." He stood and let go of her hand reluctantly, and began to turn away from her.
"Draco?"
He turned back. "Yeah?"
Hermione looked up at him. "Will you still be here?" She looked small and frail, like a child.
He stood there for a long moment. "Yeah," he finally said.
When she awoke again, Ron and Harry were gone; they had class, after all. Malfoy, however, was still sitting in his chair, asleep. She smiled. His head was lolling sideways and back against the chair, mouth falling open, and his blond hair fell in his eyes.
"Draco," she whispered. She wasn't sure why she wasn't calling him Malfoy, but it just seemed to fit better. He didn't move. Hermione reached out and touched his hand lightly.
He jerked in his chair, and his eyes flew open. They rested on her, and he smiled. Not smirked, but smiled. It was an amazing transformation. "Feeling better?" he asked.
"I'll live."
Draco smirked this time, but the smugness seemed to have magically disappeared. "That's good."
"What did Madam Pomfrey do to you?" Hermione demanded.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you're...you're actually being nice to me for once, and..."
"I can't be nice to you?"
"No, but..." She stared at him. "I thought you hated me," she finished somewhat lamely.
The look he gave her hada sudden flash of hurt, and something else—guilt?
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" Hermione began, but he stood up.
"I'll see you later, Granger," he said smoothly, but the look he gave her was not smooth at all.
Hermione stared after him as he left the room.
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