Hermione Granger woke up in her own Head Girl Dormitory with a splitting headache. She padded out to the Heads Common Room, still in her pajamas, planning on making herself some tea before classes started. She could have easily conjured herself some, but making tea the Muggle way was something Hermione enjoyed. She found it soothing. As she headed into the kitchen, she was shocked to see Professor Dumbledore sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. He seemed to be talking to himself, mentioning again and again that the marshmallows were tasty and that he hoped he would get either a 'red balloon' or a 'pot of golden treasure,' next before he spotted her.

"Ah, Ms. Granger, good to see you, good to see you. My sources have informed me that you are ill today. We must make sure that a snigglewiffle hasn't worked its way into the water."

He spotted the confused look on the face before him.

"A snigglewiffle, haven't you heard of them?" His eyes twinkled. "I, myself, was blissfully unaware of the situation until Ms. Lovegood so kindly informed me yesterday evening. Thank heavens. Now, you seem to be contagious, so you will not be attending classes today." Hermione began to protest, but Dumbledore cut her off. "No, Ms. Granger, I must insist. My mind has been made up. In addition, I must request that you spend today in the Hospital Wing. As irksome as it may seem to you, it will insure that Madam Pomfrey can take care of you as she sees fit. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a box of Lucky Charms in my office calling my name. Good day to you. I do hope you feel well soon, but until then—I'm sure you'll have an interesting day."

The shadow of a wink, and he strode away.

As soon as Dumbledore was gone, Hermione began to walk back into her dormitory. She gathered several of her books and then began to walk out of the Heads portrait hole. That's when she realized that she was in her pajamas. Another ten minutes, and she was really ready to spend what she was sure was going to be a splendid day of coughing, sniffing, worrying about what she was missing in classes, and having lovely chats with Madam Pomfrey about the proper way to dress a wound.

The gray-haired witch was waiting for her in the Hospital Wing.

"What took you so long?" She didn't wait for a reply. "I was informed of your illness an hour ago."

"Well, I-" Hermione's voice was cut off by another.

"Oh, well, this is just lovely. No, really, I couldn't be more thrilled," drawled a low, sarcastic, congested voice.

"Malfoy? Oh, really. My day couldn't get any worse."

Madam Pomfrey looked rather amused.

"Unfortunately, I have a feeling that it can. And it will. The two of you are stuck together for the rest of the day; I need to tend to some Jibgytha roots that Karina Figg needs by the end of the week. If either of you needs me, call upon one of the house elves, they will alert me. Enjoy your afternoon."

And then there were two. Hermione stood in the middle of the bed-lined room for a minute.

"You look nauseous. You should really lay down."

"Oh, Draco, I didn't know you cared." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Okay, face it Granger. I know we're both in situations we b really /b don't want to be in right now, but if we aren't civil to each other, it's going to be a much more painful day than," ACHOO! "it has to be. So, what do you say? Truce? Just for today?"

"Fine, whatever." She cursed under her breath. "I didn't even get to make my tea."

Malfoy looked as though he was about to say something scathing, but instead said, "I actually think there's some in that cupboard over there."

She strode to the corner and saw that he was right.

"Would you like some?" Hermione was determined to be mature.

"Are you kidding? It's sweltering in here."

"What are you—Oh. You must have a fever."

And, instinctively, acting on the natural impulse that she had to take care of people, she pressed her hand gently to his forehead, and then his cheeks. Malfoy's eyes closed and he sighed quietly. Less than a second later, he flinched and pulled away.

"Rule number one. Don't touch me, you filthy little Mudblood."

Hermione glared at him. "Rule number two, you Slytherin slime, appreciate when people are trying to be nice to you. And, by the way, I'm not sure calling me a 'filthy little Mudblood' is any way to start of that truce of yours." She rolled her eyes, then shivered and sneezed. "Yeah, you have a fever."

Malfoy seemed apologetic, but he didn't say he was sorry. He muttered instead, "I used to get those a lot when I was a kid. My mother would make me iced tea to cool me down and make my throat feel better."

"I can make myself some hot tea and you some ice tea. Do you want some?" She regretted the words the second they were out of her mouth. She was sure Malfoy would mock her and accuse her of succumbing to his "Slytherin Sex-God Charm." Like that would ever happen. As far as Hermione was concerned, Malfoy was number one on her hit list.

But, surprisingly, Malfoy just smiled appreciatively and said, "Yeah, I would. Thanks."

Hermione tinkered in the corner for a few minutes and came back to the bed where Malfoy was lying with two cups of tea—one as hot as fire, one as cold as ice. Malfoy held his glass up against his forehead, his right cheek, his left, his neck, and then he took a sip. He smiled gratefully. These were the first times in her life that Hermione had seen Draco's smile. She had seen his smirk, sure, but never the real smile that he fought to keep hidden. He set his cup down on the oak table next to him. Hermione sat down on a bed across the room from him, but then thought better of it and moved to the one next to his. She was shocked when he started to peel his sweater off. She urged herself to look away.

I Now. Look away b now. /b Hermione Granger, you look away from that boy b right NOW. /b /I

But she couldn't. Once he finished wrestling with his sweater, she saw that he had an emerald green T-shirt on underneath. For a split second, she felt vaguely disappointed that she didn't get to see his bare chest.

I No, no, wait. Ew. Malfoy. Focus. Ew. You're sick, that's why you think he's good looking. Your judgment is all out of whack. /I She shivered again. He tossed his sweater on the floor as she wrapped the bed's blanket around her.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment until Malfoy said, "Hey, let's play a game!"

Hermione's reply was scornful. "Oh, yeah, I was just thinking about how much fun it would be to hop up on a broomstick and play a little Quidditch. Or, hey, let's get out the Twister!" Every word was soaked in cynicism.

Malfoy was just as sarcastic. "Hey, Hermione, let's try and be a b little /b more immature here, shall we?" His voice became curious. "And what's a Twister?"

Hermione didn't register at his use of her first name. She just understood that he was calling her immature, and he was right.

"It's a Muggle game, never mind." She sighed. "Well, I guess if I have to spend another six hours with you, why don't we see what crazy idea you have in mind?"

"It's this game my Durmstrang friend, Marepci, taught me. It's a talking game, so we can play while we're sick without killing ourselves. Although if you continue to act like a first-year, I might regret not having you do a couple hundred push-ups." He saw Hermione's glare and glared right back, but it quickly turned into yet another smile. "What, you get to be childish, but I have to act my age the entire time? Not fair. Anyway, I get to ask you any question you want, and you have to answer honestly. Then you get to ask me, and I have to answer honestly. We each get two questions we get to skip, and after that if there's one we don't want to answer, we have to answer one of the ones we skipped earlier."

"Okay," ACHOO! "Let's play. HEY, I wasn't sneezing before. You got me more sick!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Deepest apologies. It's those shnogglywanngelers that Dumbledore was talking about."

They both started laughing.

"He mentioned them to you, too?"

"Yeah, I was woken up this morning by Dumbledore playing the backpipes. Off his rocker, that one is."

Hermione secretly agreed. Dumbledore b was /b a bit crazy. "Brilliant, though."

Malfoy inclined his head as though he agreed, and then volunteered to ask the first question of the game.

"Let's start off with easy questions. Do you have any siblings?"

"No. Mum gave birth when I was eight, but my baby brother, Lucas Matthew, died a few hours after he was born. I only got to see him once. I feel like I always have to be the best at everything because I'm living for both of us. I have to do all the things he never got to do."

Malfoy looked sympathetic and understanding at the same time. "It's sad, when you don't even get to know them before they're taken from you."

Hermione looked at him quizzically, wondering how he knew.

"My sister. Killed by Voldemort on my parent's orders when I was only a few months old."