Author's Note:

This is a reposting of the original. I just made a few small changes.

The Cloak

There was no time for thought now. All Hermione could do was run for her life, because she knew if she stopped for even a sliver of a moment, she'd be trampled to death by the merciless hooves of the angry centaurs chasing after her.

She couldn't catch her breath. Her lungs felt so empty that she feared they'd explode and bile coated her throat so thickly she felt like she'd swallowed a frog. Her nose ran perpetually and she rarely reminded herself to wipe it on her sleeve anymore. Her skin itched and burned like crazy, but Hermione's muscles burnt no more; they'd gone numb from cold and overuse. But she ran on and on and on with rage and hope and sadness and despair and emotions she couldn't name but that felt more intense than anything she knew. She ran with all her heart and soul, for there was no physical strength left within her to give.

She passed by large, thick trunks of trees. They had horrifying faces, but they all looked the same as she tore through the forest, flying too fast to even see them well. She felt fear, a blind, wild, animal fear, that she was lost.

Suddenly, there came a sharp pain in her foot, like the slicing, biting edge of a knife. Hermione found herself facedown on the ground, panting. But she didn't give up; she couldn't give up! She was a fighter. In desperation, she tried to crawl away, to get out of the way of the fierce and furious herd, to save her own life, but it was fruitless. When she tried to move, pain screamed up her leg.

"Help!" she hollered at the top of her lungs. Her voice was raspy from sprinting through the cold, snowy wood, but it was still plenty loud. She hardly recognized it. "Help! Help! Someone, help! HELP! HELP!" She knew no one was coming. Who would be in the forbidden forest in the middle of the night? She closed her eyes and braced herself for the painful trampling that would put an end to her yet-to-be-really-lived life. Merlin, she prayed silently in desperation, Merlin, please, I'm only fourteen. I'm still young. I want to live. Please let me live. Please send me my guardian angel. Please. She could hear a voice—a deep, slightly husky voice that was shouting a curse over and over, loudly, ruthlessly, furiously. She kept her eyes tightly shut, until it occurred to her that she was not dead.Finally, after what seemed like decades, the voice was still and all the woods were silent. Hermione slowly creaked her eyelids open and gasped at the sight.

About fifteen centaurs lay on the ground—dead, maybe, or stunned. Her ordeal was over. Sensations rolled over her like the cruel hooves of the angry centaurs almost had. Relief, anger, fear, happiness, fury, helplessness, exhaustion. One feeling came after another, changing rapidly; as soon as she felt the full, painful impact of one, it was gone, and another took its place. Each was worse than the last. The forest around her spun in endless, merciless circles. It was all too much for her. Hermione began to sob hysterically.

Then her savior turned. He came to Hermione's side and held her close as she cried into the silvery black fabric that covered his shoulder. All she could hear was his empathetic voice whispering soothing words in her ears. All she could feel werehis strong, comforting arms around her. All she could smell was his surprisingly spicy scent. He smelled of lemons and cloves. It was a strange combination, but Hermione found she rather liked it. It was exciting and exhilarating, yet sweet and comforting.

Finally, when no more tears would come, she sat up, blinking into the face of her savior.

"Malfoy?" she gasped. He only nodded and touched her cheek. Hermione was confused. This was no guardian angel, and especially not her guardian angel.

"You're cold," he said. "How long have you been out here, Hermione?"

"A fair while," she said. He ignored her vague answer and said only,

"You need to get to the castle. Can you walk?" Hermione struggled to her feet, but only collapsed—into Malfoy's waiting arms.

"I didn't think so," he said, smiling grimly, "C'mon, let's go."

"Malfoy? Uh…I can't walk," Hermione reminded him, raising her eyebrows. Not even he could possibly be that stupid. But no sooner were the words out of her mouth than he had scooped her up in his arms and was carrying her through the forbidden forest.

"So, why were you running?" he asked conversationally as they walked along, as if it were the most natural question in the world. Hermione played along.

"Centaurs were chasing me," she said pleasantly, as though it weren't obvious. This was a trick she had learned. She was trying to make him feel like a dumb little kid. It worked.

"I didn't notice," Malfoy said sarcastically, "But why were they chasing you?"

"Well, I think they were sort of angry with me," she said seriously.

"No kidding," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm and irritation, "But why were they so angry with you?"

"No particular reason," Hermione said, examining her arm. She had goose bumps all over. Clearly, she was hiding something and she was still being quite vague. "They just don't like people in their forest."

"Now look here, Hermione," Malfoy said angrily, "I just saved your life and yet for some reason, you still don't trust me. That's absolutely ridiculous! I know we've had our…differences, but please! Just tell me why the bloody hell you were out in the forbidden forest in the middle of the night!"

"Well, if you m-must know," Hermione said quite calmly, though she was beginning to shiver, "I w-was out here to meet a f-friend. Why w-were you out here?"

"You ask too many questions," he said gruffly. Hermione sniggered, and then both teenagers were quiet for a few moments. Hermione wasn't thinking very much; she was mostly just cold. However, she was relatively sure they were lost. Her fears were confirmed when Draco suddenly stopped and set her down near a fallen tree and asked, "Do you know where we are?"

"N-n-no," she shivered miserably. Her quaking was getting steadily worse.

"How long have you been out here?" he asked again, not bothering to mask the concern in his voice at this point.

"A p-p-pretty l-long t-t-time," she stuttered, "And I f-fell in the cr-creek when I was r-running."

"Are you serious!" he exploded. Then he composed himself. "It's snowing. If you got wet, you've got to be freezing." Dread entered Hermione's heart. She was a clever witch. She could read between the lines, and she very clearly understood that Draco thought she was hypothermic—maybe even dying! She couldn't die! She was too young. Her mouth opened, as if she was going to cry out against the grim reaper or something, but then she closed it. She was strong. She could lick this. Besides, Draco had been her archenemy for as long as she could remember; even if he had saved her life, she was still rather wary of him.

"W-where are y-you t-t-taking me, Draco?" Hermione asked.

"Back to the deeper part of the woods," he answered. He had no idea how obvious it was that he was being careful to measuring the amount of concern he allowed to coat his words. Why? Hermione wondered. Then it dawned on her—he didn't want to worry her. He was so sweet. Why had they never gotten along? She looked at him. He smirked. Then again, maybe there were some legitimate reasons for their not getting along after all. "There won't be as much snow on the ground because of the trees, so it should be warmer there," he said. "Tomorrow, when it's lighter, I'll get you home," he promised. Hermione nodded. He's obviously more than a little nervous about what to do, Hermione noted.

Gently, Draco lowered her to the forest floor. Hermione sat on the cold, wet ground, calmly shaking and shivering. She asked no questions. She trusted him. I trust him? Hermione wondered to herself. The concept of trusting Draco, who had called her Mudblood for years, was strange, but somehow, she did, and she was glad.

"Incendio!" Draco cried, and instantly, a small bonfire was before them. And yet Hermione' petite form quivered with such intensity that he removed his cloak and draped it around her shoulders.

"N-n-no," she protested. "Y-you'll g-get c-c-c-cold."

"I'll be okay," he said.

"Th-thank y-you Draco," she whispered. Then, warm at last, weariness overcame her body and blackness crowded her mind, leaving her sound asleep, wrapped up in the silvery black cloak that smelled of lemons and cloves…

Hermione woke up. She was in her own four-poster bed in her dormitory. Disappointment welled up inside her. Had it all been a dream, then?

"Hey, sleepyhead," Parvati said. "Merlin, it's cold! Why on earth is the window open?" She shut it.

"Hurry up, Hermione!" Alicia cut in excitedly, "We'll be late! It's a Hogsmeade weekend, come on!" Hermione tumbled sleepily out of her bed. She landed on an article of clothing. It's probably Paravti's or Lavender's, she thought. Even when a grade was not involved, Hermione was meticulously, almost neurotically neat about her things. As she picked up the strange garment, she began to realize what it was. But how--? Parvati's excited voice interrupted her slow, sleepy thinking.

"Mi, hurry! We'll be late!" she urged, applying her eye shadow.

"What isthat thing?" Lavender asked, gesturing to the cloak in Hermione's hands.

"Oh, nothing," Hermione answered, shoving it under her pillow as she headed off to brush her teeth, "It's just…it's just an old cloak."

But she knew it wasn't just an old cloak. It was a soft, silvery-black cloak smelling faintly of the spicy scent of lemons and cloves…

Author's Note:

There has been some confusion, which I'd like to clear up now. THIS IS A ONE SHOT! NO MORE CHAPTERS TO FOLLOW! So, I don't want to see it on any alert lists or get any PMs asking me to write more. This is it.

Lotsa Love,

The Singer