The Great Hall was buzzing with the chatter of students. Forks clinked on plates. It was a Friday morning and the mail had come. At the Gryffindor table, Ron was scowling at his scrambled eggs.

"Ron, mate," Harry said. "I didn't know you hated eggs so much."

Ron looked up.

"What?" he said, "Hate eggs? Of course I don't." He shoveled the entire pile of eggs into his mouth, then resumed glaring at his plate.

"Well, what's wrong?" Hermione asked. She was sitting across from Harry and Ron.

"Oh, nothing," Ron said, "Just a letter from my parents about how my grades aren't 'up to par.' "

In actuality, the letter had said a lot more than that. Mr. Weasley had included a table comparing Ron's marks to those of his brothers. Even Fred and George had received better Potions grades. Just one more reminder that I'm not as good as the rest of my family, Ron thought.

"Well, you've been spending a lot of time practicing Quidditch," Hermione said, breaking into his brooding. "If you really put more time into your homework, you'd get better grades." She took a self-satisfied bite of waffle.

"Thanks for the lecture," Ron said, stabbing some pancakes and plopping them onto his plate. "But I don't have more time for studying. I have a life, you know."

"And I don't?" Hermione asked, eyebrows raised.

"Did I say that?" Ron asked. He filled his mouth with pancake.

"No, but you implied it. You do know what imply means, right? To express indirectly—"

"I know what imply means." Ron interrupted, "But thanks for your input, Miss know-it-all."

"Miss know-it-all? As if I haven't heard that—Harry? Harry!"

Unnoticed by Ron and Hermione, Harry had received a small brown package. As his two friends bickered, he had inspected it, turning the packet over. No message. All of a sudden, Harry had started shivering compulsively. Everything had gone black.

Ron leaned over to look at Harry, who had fallen to the ground. His limbs were jerking uncontrollably. Saliva bubbled around his mouth, and his eyes were rolled up to his head.

"Uh oh," Ron said. "Hermione, get help, quick."

Hermione started to run toward the teacher's table. "Dumbledore!"

At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy looked up from his omelet with amusement.

"Somebody has played a prank on Potter," he said. On either side of him, Crabbe and Goyle grunted.

"I wonder who," Draco continued. "It looks like a nasty one."

Harry was being carried away on a stretcher, with Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall walking beside it.

Draco looked at Crabbe.

"I wonder who, too," Crabbe said, since Draco was clearly expecting a response. But the subject didn't interest him much.

"Has your candy come yet?" he asked.

Once a week, Draco's mother sent him a package full of goodies and the occasional expensive trinket. Though most of the treats were store-bought, there were usually one or two that Narcissa had cooked herself, without even the help of her house elves. Draco always thought that those treats tasted the best, but recently, the packages had only contained store-bought candies. Today, no package had come at all.

"No, not yet," Draco said. Silently, he added, I wonder why.

"If only we'd seen what Harry ate!" Hermione groaned. She and Ron were sitting at a table in the library, surrounded by a mess of books. It was two days after Harry had gone into a seizure at breakfast. He was now in a coma, and nobody knew what was wrong with him. All they knew was that he had received a small package from an anonymous sender, and apparently eaten whatever was inside it, since the package was empty when they found it beside him. Hermione and Ron had been reading all weekend, trying to figure out what might have caused the seizure and coma.

"There's nothing here," Hermione sighed, pushing away a stack of books. "I am so exhausted." She put her head down on the table. Two days of consecutive reading had turned up no clues. She felt her eyes begin to tear up.

"It's all right, Hermione," Ron said. He leaned over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "We'll figure it out."

Hermione's shoulders began to shake. Ron stared in consternation. His attempt at consolation had caused exactly the opposite result of what he had intended.

"Um..." he looked around the library. "Uh, I'll go put this stack of books away." He grabbed a few volumes and stood up quickly. Behind him, he heard Hermione's sobs continue.

Ron walked away, feeling guilty. He knew he shouldn't have left Hermione when she was crying. But he didn't know what to do! As he was shelving 100 poisonous treats, it occurred to him that he should have sat beside Hermione, rubbed her back, and found a tissue to give her. That wouldn't have been too hard, he scolded himself. If she's still crying when I get back, that's exactly what I'll do. He started shoving books into the shelf randomly.

"Tsk, tsk." Madam Pince appeared beside him, shaking her head. "Is that where they go?" She stared at Ron over her spectacles.

"Uh," Ron said.

Hermione heard Ron walk away, and suddenly felt very lonely in addition to being exhausted. Ah well, that's Ron for you, she thought, and dried her tears with her sleeve. Maybe it was better that he had left. She hated when people saw her cry.

Hermione sighed and stared blankly at the table, which was still smothered with books.

"Can't find what you're looking for?"

Draco Malfoy was standing about five feet away, carrying a huge load of books. He looked at her inquiringly.

Hermione shook her head.

"Funny, since you practically live here," Draco continued. "I thought you knew where everything is."

He wasn't smirking. Was it an insult? Hermione was too tired to feel insulted.

Draco shifted his grip on the books and cleared his throat. Hermione looked at him more closely. He looked pale. His eyes were bloodshot.

"Do you happen to know of any good books about curing unknown diseases?" he asked. He almost sounded hopeful.

Hermione shook her head again.

Draco looked at her a moment more, then shrugged. He hitched his stack of books into a more comfortable position and moved away.

When Ron finally escaped from Madam Pince's lecture, Hermione wasn't crying anymore. She was just sitting at the table, looking at nothing. Ron couldn't decide whether he felt relieved or disappointed.

"Come on, Hermione," he said. "Let's keep looking." He gave her an encouraging smile. He looked so concerned, Hermione forced herself to smile faintly in reply.

Draco laughed mirthlessly at himself as he settled his stack of books on an empty table. Asking Granger for help? But he had felt like talking. More specifically, he had felt like talking to someone who was as miserable as himself. Two days ago, after Harry had been carried out of the Great Hall on a stretcher, Draco had received a letter from Mell, his mother's house elf. Narcissa Malfoy was sick. Really sick. So sick that today she had sent him the second-to-last draft of her will for his approval.

She was dying. And even the best doctors the Malfoy fortune could afford were not able to cure her. It was weird, to think of his mother dying. He had tried to imagine life without her, and for some reason, it seemed bleaker, colder.

Draco had spent the entire weekend cooped up in the library, looking for a book that might have a cure. He was starting to get desperate now, though. How can I help her if even the best doctors can't? he asked himself. He ran a hand through his hair. This was useless. Then again, Granger and Weasely were looking for a cure for Potter. If they were willing to do that for a friend, then certainly he would do so for his mother. He picked up a book and began reading.

Four hours later, Draco felt like his eyes were about to go on strike, and he was only halfway through the stack. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair.

"I don't know if this might help—" a voice said tentatively.

Draco opened his eyes. Hermione was holding out a book to him. He didn't move.

"Well, it helped me," Hermione said, and dropped the book onto the table. She turned on her heel and strode away quickly. Of course, I get no thanks, she muttered to herself.

Draco rubbed his eyes and let his chair fall forward. He picked up the book Hermione had left. It was titled Exactly the book you need. He opened to the first page and read the first sentence.

"Is your loved one dying from an unknown disease?"

A/N:

That's it for now. Please review!