Chapter Three:

Year 2004. August 16th.

The Healer checked Granger's eyes again with a penlight. Draco had never seen such deep brown eyes before. Hers were carefully detailed—the formation of her irises were designed for such emphasis.

Thirty minutes had gone by since she woke up. Draco read in her eyes the confusion, the underlying questions of recent events, but before she could've asked, Draco had already called for the Healer. Then in a while later, Harry Potter arrived immediately as soon as he received Draco's message regarding Granger's progress. Draco was rather surprised at Potter's eagerness; but he could not blame anyone for everyone wanted—needed—her to wake up.

The Healers, along with Potter and Draco, were worried when Granger did not wake up sooner than they expected. Three days have gone, and Draco had mostly been with her. The Healers feared that she might fall into comatose as a result of her head injury. But the Healers were surprised, and thankful, to see Granger wake up.

The sooner she wakes up, the faster that they can solve the case, Draco thought quietly.

The Healer flicked the light on each of her eyes before checking her pulse again. Granger seemed to have gone past confusion. Draco waited for her to begin asking but she remained in silence. The Healer stepped farther than Granger and gestured as he began to write on a clipboard, "I will ask you several preliminary questions to establish that your brain functions well?" Granger nodded, and the Healer continued, "Will you please tell me your name?"

"Hermione Jean Granger," the woman on the bed answered.

"When is your birthday?"

"September 19, 1979."

"Who are your parents?"

"Janet and Richard Granger. They live in Melbourne, Australia," Hermione said. Draco could not help but notice a slight twitch in Granger's face when she mentioned her parents' names. He took a glance at Potter who has his full attention on his friend.

"Good," the Healer said. "It seems that there are no symptoms of any brain damage. Do you feel lightheaded? Or migraine, perhaps?"

Granger only shook her head. She rested her back on the pillows piled behind her. Then Draco heard her say, "I feel a bit whoozy though. Not lightheaded, rather sleepy."

The Healer smiled while taking notes, "That's good, Ms. Granger. I'm glad that you're recognizing how you feel. The sleepiness is most likely an effect of the multiple potions that we gave you… It'd be best if you rest. I'll be back in an hour." The Healer turned to the two gentlemen standing near at the end of Granger's bed, nodded, before he left.

Potter started to step toward her. Draco, however, remained at his post. He did not want to terrify Granger by his presence and unexpected involvement in the case. She looked as though she might be confused as to what Draco Malfoy was doing in her room, Draco noticed. Draco divided his attention between the world outside the window and the situation at hand. He did not want to stare at Granger. Not that she wasn't pleasing to look at; he just didn't feel comfortable. This was the witch he bullied after all; that was not simply going to fade.

Draco knew, and he strongly hoped that Granger does too, that they do not have a connection. They were not friends; not even acquaintances. Indeed he had been invited to her engagement to Ron Weasley out of courtesy, and they have both been attending a number of gatherings held by the Ministry before, but never did they ever share a moment to talk to each other. If Draco could stay in on the other end of any room he shared with her, he would. Their work-related interaction was passed down between their secretaries, and that was as far as Draco wished it remained. However, that wish seemed lost so far in space now.

Granger shifted in her bed as if to make space for Potter to sit. But he did not. Instead, Potter reached for her hand and clasped it in between his. Draco did not know what to make of this. He'd rather not watch. Draco turned to the outside world. He watched the fickle raindrop sliding across the window glass as dark clouds filled in the wide afternoon sky.

"How are you feeling, Hermione?" Potter asked. Draco turned back at that question, only to begin watching them again.

"Sore. I don't think that I could even stretch my legs. I feel like I have been thrown into a wall," Granger grunted. Her eyes drifted into the fingers that rested on her lap. Draco watched her as she watched Potter take a look back at Draco. This was rather an awkward engagement. It might be nice for a time-out, Draco thought. Granger added, "Was I, Harry?"

Potter sighed. It was loud enough that Draco thought he exhaled every inch of his lungs. "What do you remember on the night of August 13th?" Potter asked. He did not release her hand. He kept holding it—perhaps to keep her calm as he revealed to her the truth. To think of it, that night had been far off when Draco realized.

"What night…?"

Potter and Draco shared a concerned look. Potter, concerned as his remaining best friend finally showed a symptom of what could possibly be a brain damage; and Draco, concerned as to the fact that her inability to recall might take more time than he anticipated to protect her.

Draco stepped up, since Potter had seemed to have lost his voice, and asked, "Do you remember anything that happened on August 13th? Possibly around midnight?

"Draco watched her. He saw her face tensed as recent events finally sunk in. He watched her eyes widen and her dried lips slightly agape as a deep and shallow breath escaped her throat. Each gesture corresponded to a reaction, Draco thought. Granger raised her hands to cover her mouth, preventing herself from releasing any more distressful noise, but instead she failed to do so.

He could not see what was running through her mind. But he assumed that it did not involve happy memories at all. Granger's reaction said enough about what occurred during that night. Draco saw the horror in her eyes as she stared blankly into space, recalling what had transpired that late evening. He was certain that it was surprisingly horrifying for someone as knowingly courageous as Hermione Granger.

Suddenly, Draco heard that familiar noise coming out of Granger's throat. Her breathing turned shallow and fast as if she was being chased in her memories. He noticed her shoulders, all the way down to her fingertips, as they shook involuntarily. Her eyes watered; tears on the brink of falling but it did not. Draco knew that not crying, or having lost the ability to cry, was worse than crying. Potter turned to him and asked him to call for the Healer, and so he did.

Potter attempted to hold her shoulders. But his touch only made it worse. Granger was frigid and shaking, which was rather a bad combination. The Healer came with two medi-witches; the medi-witches held her arms down while the Healer dosed her with Draught of Peace. Draco could only watch what was happening. Potter paled as he stepped back. The Healer fixed Granger to lie back on her bed and rest for the time being before telling the two gentlemen that she will have to rest for now. The Healer also informed them to refrain from stressing her more if they do not want to witness such event again, and they left.

Potter walked over to Granger. He leaned down to her forehead and whispered, "I'm sorry, 'Mione." He left a soft kiss on her forehead before turning around. Potter caught Draco watching and asked him, "Please look after her while I'm gone."

Draco felt that need to snap back, What the hell do you think I'm here for? But he did not. Speaking his mind might only make things worse for Potter; so instead, he only nodded. He was not, after all, heartless. Draco was indifferent, apathetic at his best mood; yet not heartless. Draco could feel and empathize but he preferred not to show any sign of emotion. He was raised that way and he figured that it would be best to keep it. Then he watched Potter walked toward the door and left.

Three hours after, Hermione woke up once again. Her head was leaning sideways, and the first thing she saw was Draco on the bench. In his hand he held a piece of paper with noticeable traces of folding. She watched his eyes drifted on each line that was written on it.

She did nothing. Only she watched him. Her breathing slowed as the memories of August 13th flashed in her mind. There was nothing that could prevent her from seeing because everything that was happening right now seemed to have been an effect of that evening. Everything she saw made her remember.

Even Draco Malfoy.

Until now, she could not think of any reason for him even being here. They were not related as far as she remembered. Both of them worked under the Ministry of Magic but they were not work-mates. He was rather better acquainted with Harry, having to work together in a lot of cases and raids. She was after all a mudblood; he was a pureblood.

"Do you like what you see?" Draco finally spoke. Hermione sighed. Right, he was still an arrogant bastard, she thought. She was not surprised even for a little that he knew she was watching him; and she did not care. "Must be. You've been staring for a whole good five minutes," he finished, and refolded the paper in his hand.

Hermione slowly sat up. Her bones ached, her muscled flexed, and everything in her being seemed to have been shaken. She winced at her movements. Draco remained at his seat and watched. "Just curious," she finally said with a final grunt. Her back laid down on the pillows behind her and she felt a sudden rush of relief fill her.

"Regarding me being here?" His brows perked at her curiosity, then he said, "That is a curiosity that I had been dreading to tell you for the past… three days, give or take."

"Well, then… enlighten me," Hermione said—her voice calm and monotonous.

"The Minister has tasked me of protecting you. So, Granger, I've been assigned to babysit for the next few weeks as Potter solved the mystery behind your attacks," Draco explained. Her name rolled in her tongue like sour candy.

"Why can't Harry do it?" Hermione asked. She saw him roll her eyes which she returned with a frown.

"Did you not hear what I said?" Draco snapped, "Potter heads the investigation of this case. He cannot pursue a cold-blooded killer and babysit. So instead you will have to deal with me. And if you're going to ask why me rather than any other Aurors, I'm afraid that I do not have a perfectly clear answer to that one. The Minister was simply eager to put me in on it; and yes, I am as well not pleased with it," he went on as he rose from his seat and paced.

Silence filled in. Hermione wanted to say something; but there was nothing else left to say. Her questions had already been answered, even if his response was rather bitter, she still got what she needed. However, she was not not pleased with him being her protector. Draco Malfoy has a good record in his work; and Hermione knew now why the Minister had tasked him of this duty. He was good at his job. He was a professional. So for Hermione, it did not matter anymore who protected her; what mattered was the immediate arrest of her attackers.

Hermione simply nodded. Draco watched her, and she tried but failed to read him. His reservation caught her almost off guard. "Will you please give me a glass of water?" Hermione asked him. He did not hesitate and poured water in a glass before handing it to her. She took gentle sips from the glass. Water soaked her dried throat, and it felt nothing but satisfaction. She thanked him afterwards.

Quietly, Hermione thought of her next actions. She remembered the battle that occurred in their living room. Even if some of those events seemed to be only nothing but a bad dream, she found it hard to believe what was real and what was not. The house must be a wreckage, she thought. Where was she going to stay now? How would she be able to work now that her life appeared to be in imminent danger? And with Draco Malfoy at her tail every now and then, she did not know how to cope with things.

One thing at a time, Hermione, she thought.

Draco broke the silence that filled the room and told her, "We need set aside our differences for the time being, Granger. And also, settle the living arrangements." Living arrangements? Hermione's ears perked at the sound of that.

"What do you mean?" Hermione frowned.

"The Minister asked me to protect you," Draco sighed. "I do believe that that requires me to be with you for as long as you need me. I am simply doing what I was assigned to. Wherever you go, I go; and that's what I meant with living arrangements."

"But my… our house," Hermione stuttered. She could not even mention the house without croaking. So much memories of the last year, and most especially that night, that happened in that tiny yet comfortable family home. It was a place where she and Ron had planned to build their family in the future and raise their children. Her voice faltered as she spoke. "It was… destroyed. I-I don't think I can go back there."

She remembered Ron. Ron… she wanted to cry. Her chest heaved as memories of Ron flooded in unwelcomed. She could not believe that he's gone. She almost did not want to believe it. But she saw him with her own eyes. And the events that happened might not seem so clear or complete in Hermione's mind, it was enough for her to grieve. She grieved of Ron's death, and her inability to do anything about it.

There were no tears to be released anymore. She cannot show any sign of weakness to Draco. She spent the last few years to build herself up again, to convince herself that she had a place in this world, and that despite her muggleborn-status, she was an important member of the Wizarding world. She was not going to allow Draco to shatter her pieces again. Her reverie was shattered as Draco spoke.

"Fine then," Draco said. "We'll settle in my flat at the moment. It is spacious enough for five people, and I'm the only one living in it. Might be nice to live with a flatmate, though." Hermione fell quiet and nodded. "Oh, and by the way, Harry brought some clothes over. He said that Ginny's nice enough to lend you some trousers for now since Harry guessed that you wouldn't want to return to your house after the attack. Considerate, is he not?"

Sarcastic, Hermione snorted.

Both their heads turned to the door at the sound it made when it opened, revealing a Healer that walked in. "Glad that you're finally awake, Ms. Granger," the Healer spoke. She walked over to Hermione and checked her vitals again. "It seemed that your recovery is faster than I expected. I take it that that's a good sign that you're well enough to be discharged tomorrow. We will have to keep you for another twenty-four hours for further observation. There are some symptoms that we might need to watch out for and their occurrence may just be delayed, so we'll check for that. Will that be alright, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione nodded. She did not ask anything. "Well then, I will leave you to it." The Healer nodded to Hermione, then to Draco, before leaving.

For the next few minutes, Hermione thought of the upcoming days. She would living under the same roof with Draco Malfoy. He tormented her with loathsome words, dubbed her as nothing but a worthless and classless mudblood, and even if that had already been buried in the past, Hermione still felt uncomfortable with Draco. However, despite their differences, she trusted the Minister's judgment. The Minister wouldn't have placed Draco as her protector if he was not equipped for it.

She did not hate him. Regardless of how he made her feel. Regardless of the words he spoke of her. Regardless of his arrogance and selfishness. Regardless of everything he did to her. She did not blame him for how he acted; he only acted upon how he was raised to act. His actions then were mere representations of his environment; and his actions now were representations of how he has developed as a better person.

Perhaps she could not yet see his change. But how he acted toward her now said more than enough. He did not despise her now. He was indifferent. He did not care about her; he only cared for the job. And so did Hermione. She did not care about him and his judgments; she only cared for her safety. He was right, after all. They needed to set aside their differences in order for this to work out. It was however for the benefit of both.

"Well," Draco said. He glanced over the room; and it was the first time that Hermione noticed the boxes that had been scattered. Some were closed, some were empty and open. She recognized some of the boxes and knew that Draco had been doing his own investigations. "I've been looking over your work to see if there would be a hint as to who would've done this. So far, my trail has gone cold…"

Hermione let out a sigh. Even she did not have a clue who would do this. Hermione was one of the few youngest witches, or member, of the Wizengamot. It was the Wizarding's high court of law. She pursued high-profile cases for the last four years that she had been working there; voting against the Death Eaters' release, setting up sentences, pushing up the bill for house elves to be paid and now the anti-discrimination law for the muggleborns and squibs. The law legitimates the punishment and imprisonment of those who fail to comply or show respect muggleborns and squibs. Her influence and judgment in the Wizengamot was valued by other members, and she was thankful for being a part of it.

Year 2004. August 17th.

Minister Shacklebolt arrived at St. Mungo's eight minutes to ten in the late morning. Behind him, Harry Potter followed as they walked up to Hermione's room. Together, they passed a couple of Healers and medi-witches until they finally reached their destination.

When they came in, the first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy packing up the boxes that had been scattered around the room. The Minister saw Hermione afterwards, who was sitting on the edge of the bed and dressed in normal clothes. Draco greeted the two gentlemen that came in. The Minister nodded at his greetings. Harry walked over to Hermione and gave her a slight squeeze. Hermione winced at Harry's embrace and Harry apologized.

The Minister asked, "How are you feeling, Ms. Granger? Are the Healers treating you well?"

Hermione nodded in response. Her body still ached, but she can now move better than yesterday. Sitting up and walking around helped. Draco assisted her in some of her movements, especially whenever she needed to go to the loo. "Well, I'm better than yesterday, that's for sure," Hermione responded and smiled faintly.

"Have the Weasleys visited you yet?" The Minister asked, and Harry sighed once the question was out in the air.

Hermione looked down. She wanted to see them; but she knew that with Ron's death, and her possible involvement, she didn't press on seeing them. It might be too much for them to see her right now. Yesterday, Hermione came to face the possibility of her killing Ron. She remembered her nightmare well as if it was imprinted in her head. She remembered Ron's face, the terror in his eyes as he fell, and she could not erase it. Hermione had asked Draco who were the primary suspects and despite his sugarcoated responses, she gathered as much that she was a prime suspect. She was after all in the house with him; she did after all run away in a blood-soaked dress and blood-stained hands.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I'm sure they'll eventually come around," Harry reassured her. Hermione heard in his voice that even he wasn't sure of anything. Perhaps he was only saying that to comfort her since the Weasleys were some of the few people who Hermione considered family. Her real parents were indeed in Melbourne, Australia, pursuing their careers as dentists, and still with no memory of her.

During the war, Hermione decided to erase her existence from her parents' memories and charmed them into deciding to move to Australia, which was as far enough from the brewing war; so they would be safe. Hermione sought them out after in hopes to reverse the memory charm. However, the Healers have advised her not to pursue them again since they had already filled the gaps in their memories that were once hers with new memories and altering their memories might cause brain damage. So Hermione left them on their own.

The Minister said, as he realized that he asked the wrong question, "Well, I'm glad that you're ready to go. But I must inform you that your work will have to be ceased at the moment to pave way for the investigation." Hermione looked as if she wanted to protest, but the Minister was not yet finished talking, and so he continued, "If our assumption is correct, that your work may have been a trigger to this attack, then it might be best if you leave at it at the moment. The situation is crucial, and we must exercise every precaution necessary. I've asked Mr. Malfoy here to protect you and keep you in house arrest for a while. Not because you're a suspect, but because you're a person of interest in this crime. You are after all the prime witness to this crime."

"But what about my bill? The hearing for my anti-discrimination bill is due in two weeks!" Hermione exclaimed.

The Minister raised his hand, "That will have to be continued after the investigation. I'm sure there are other bills that can be discussed in the meantime. We are not rushing, anyway. We just need to be careful."

Hermione could only sigh. There were no arguments left for her to say. She knew that she lost this battle before she could even begin. The Minister was right. Afterwards, the Healers presented Hermione papers to be signed. Hermione was getting out of St. Mungo's. She was returning to the real world where her life was in danger. Draco offered her arm, which Hermione hesitantly took, and disapparated both of them back to his flat.

Upon arriving, Hermione stood on the sidewalk with Draco at her side. She stared at a seven-floored establishment with four windows on each row that faced her. Some of these windows had light, and others don't. "Welcome home," Draco muttered. "The building is heavily warded. I checked it myself the first time I moved in; so there's nothing to be worried of. I even added some wards of my own. I cannot take chances on those people who wanted me dead." He picked up Hermione's bags and reached the front door.

Hermione simply followed him inside. The inside was rather simple. There were some plants on pots, landscape paintings on walls, and a plain yet vintage maroon wallpaper. Both of them took the flight of stairs to the fourth floor before Draco took a left turn down the corridor. He stopped at the end of the hall, opened the door with his keys, and allowed Hermione in first. He followed soon after.

His flat was bigger on the inside. Hermione remembered the Weasleys' tent back at the Quidditch World Cup. It was a small tent that seemed to be enough for only two people; but once you go in, it looked as if it were a portal to the inside of the house. There was a living room on the middle of the apartment, just down the porch of Draco's flat, with a large couch and a fireplace. On her right, there was the kitchen. Draco had a small dining table for four people near the kitchen. Then, Hermione saw four doors facing one another down the narrow hall. Hermione could not believe how mundane his flat was. The décor was minimal. He did not have artworks. The drapes were plain and sheer. The carpet that lay in the middle of the living room set was a vintage looking Persian rug. His kitchen were also neat and full. The flat was in its entirety tidy and simple.

"Make yourself comfortable, Granger," Draco said. He immediately went to the kitchen to grab two glasses of water—one for him, and one for his guest. "You'll be living here after all." He handed her the glass and finished his own with a few deep chugs.

"I think I'd take a rest now. Where should I sleep?" Hermione asked. Draco nodded and told her to follow him. He directed her to the guest room. Hermione came up from behind him, seeing the room where she was going to sleep, and thanked him. Draco informed her that he will be outside if she needed him; then he turned and left. Hermione was left in her room to settle. She sat on the soft cushion of her bed, sighing, before deciding to take as much rest as she needed.

She never would've thought that she'd ever need Draco Malfoy's help. His assistance. His protection. He wouldn't have been the first person she'd ask for help; but she knew that he was by far the best chance of her to stay alive. Whoever attacked her and Ron, whoever was responsible for her suffering, they were good enough to kill Ron. How much more were they good enough to kill Hermione as well?

Author's Note: Hello, guys! I've managed to post a new chapter regardless of how tedious and tight my schedule is of at the moment. I hope you enjoyed this one. I know that the story is slow, and believe me, it sucks; but I also want to develop my characters gradually. I want them to reflect, to learn, and grow. So please I only ask you to be patient with me and this story. Thank you! Your reviews are very much appreciated. Thanks for the support!

Question: Who do you think killed Ron?

PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling.