The next morning, Hermione woke at, yet again, half past seven on the dot. It was dark in her bedroom, the hangings closed around her new four-poster bed, the curtains drawn outside the secluded enclosure. It was a Saturday, and a Hogsmeade trip was scheduled for the afternoon. Hermione blinked. She couldn't remember what she'd been doing in the past twenty-four hours. She knew she was in her new Head's dormitory. And she knew that Malfoy was there too. And she also knew that Anielle, his daughter, was here. She hadn't seen either of them the previous night. She'd gone up to bed before either of them returned. She'd been tired. There were too many things going on in her mind. Too much to think about. She heard a faint rustling sound coming from the Common Room. A kettle boiling, and something being poured. It was Malfoy, of course. He was moving around downstairs, but quietly. Hermione got out of bed and tied her dressing gown around herself. She put on her slippers.

When she got downstairs, she saw that Malfoy was sitting in one of the black leather armchairs by the fire; piles of splintered wood lay amongst old ashes in the newly-lit flames. He turned his head when he heard her footsteps coming down the stone staircase.

"You're up early, Granger" he commented.

"I'm always up early" she shrugged. Of course, he wouldn't know that having been in a separate Common Room from her half his life. Hermione walked over to where he was sitting. He was cradling Anielle, who was nodding off quietly. She wasn't wrapped in the white blanket now. Instead, she was dressed in a light pink sleep suit, her tiny hands and feet bare. She looked very sweet with her blonde hair all sticking up at odd angles. Malfoy shuffled about in the armchair, as if trying to get more comfortable.

"I've just fed her," he said, nodding in Anielle's direction. Hermione nodded in reply. He yawned slightly, and then got up. Hermione noticed that he looked tired. Well, it was obvious he would be tired. Hermione went over to the kettle he had just boiled for Anielle's bottle, and switched it off at the mains. She didn't like wasting electricity.

"You can use Muggle appliances?" Hermione asked him, pointing towards the kettle. He turned to look at her.

"My mother taught me how to use them" he replied, shrugging. He swept past her, and went up the staircase. Just before he went into his own bedroom, he called out, "Why, do you think I'm not capable of using Muggle electronics, Granger?" he laughed heartily, if cruelly, and entered his bedroom. Hermione was relieved when the door shut with a soft click. He could be very irritating sometimes. Hermione decided to put that in the back of her mind and get herself ready for the Hogsmeade trip. That would take her mind off things. She went to her bedroom and got dressed. She pulled on a pale pink pastel sweater and her favourite washed-blue jeans. Casual, yet smart. She was ready by twenty to eight – she usually took less time than that to get ready, but she felt a little slow that morning.

She tugged a brush through her brunette curls and put some colour in her cheeks. Then she was ready to go. No sound came from Malfoy's bedroom. She wondered whether he'd gone back to bed (and Hermione wouldn't be surprised if he had), but light footsteps across the ceiling proved that theory incorrect. She hadn't seen his bedroom, but she suspected it was green and silver, like the colours of his own house. Then Hermione realised what had just come into her mind. Urgh! I definitely do notwant to see Draco Malfoy's stupid bedroom. Anyway, he'd only tell me to get the hell out or something. Why does he always have to be so arrogant? She quickly focused her mind on something else. Along the hallway, the breakfast bell sounded from a distance. Hermione went to check her watch, only to notice she'd forgotten to put it on. Sighing, she went back upstairs to get it. She sat on her bed, near the headboard, and opened the drawer of her bedside table. She rummaged through it, looking for her watch, and at that moment, the room began to turn. Slowly at first, but then it began to spin more quickly.

She grabbed hold of the bedside table to steady her. Hermione's head span with the pace of the room. She could feel her body growing hot and uncomfortable under her thick sweater. Why did this keep happening to her? It was only twenty-four hours ago that she was lying in a bed in the hospital wing after fainting from the aftermath of another nightmare. What did they mean? Slowly, she tried to get up. Her head was pounding, and room was turning sideways again. In her haste, she knocked a white, willow-patterned china vase off the bedside table. She bent down to pick up the broken pieces of delicate ceramic, and she felt as if someone had pulled a string in her back. It was very painful, but Hermione fought against the urge to scream. Only she wasn't actually having another nightmare – it was just the terror and injury she was feeling, not the images themselves. Her hands began to shake. She had no control over herself; it was as if someone, somewhere, was making this happen to her by forces of magic. The pain in her back escalated, and she could barely move her legs. Her hands sweated, and one of the broken pieces of china slipped. She winced as the sharp corner of the fragment cut her palm. Tears formed in her eyes. WHAT WAS HAPPENNING? She slumped against the wall, defeated, the cut on her hand stinging with the heat of her body. In a second, her head cleared. Her hands stopped shaking. Her body cooled down. She was feeling back to normal.

She didn't understand. Why had that just happened? It was as if someone had taken over her body in those last few minutes, and those things had happened to her. It was frightening, and she knew she had to speak to someone; about the nightmares, the symptoms she experienced, what exactly that it was happened every time she saw a tall dark figure darkening her path…

There was a knock at her door. Hermione jumped up to get it, then realised she was still holding the broken fragments of china. The tears in her eyes were still there, but she couldn't bring herself to wipe them away. There was another knock on the door, louder this time. Ok, ok, I'm coming she thought as she crossed the room. Putting the pieces of the vase aside, she opened the door. Surprise, surprise, it was Malfoy. She forced herself to look straight at him. Her voice cracking, she spoke the very few words that came into her mind,

"What do you want?" her voice was dry and quiet, with a hint of fear still quivering in the back of her throat. Her back was still hurting her, and her neck was warm and uncomforting.

"I just wanted to know…did you…did you feel anything just now? Like you were really ill or something?" he asked. He looked rather hopeful, as if he desperately wanted the answer to be 'yes'. His grey eyes bored into her own brown ones. Did he know what had happened? Did he have something to do with it? They stood still for a moment, and then Hermione answered.

"Yes, I did. Why, did you feel it too?" she asked. His eyes widened.

"Yeah, it was horrible…Granger, has this happened before?" he asked her sternly, taking a step forwards. Part of Hermione didn't want to tell him about the nightmares, why she'd fainted the night before…but part of her knew that, if he'd felt as ill as she had, what was the harm in telling him it had happened to her as well?

"Granger?" he asked. Hermione hadn't answered for a few seconds – her mind was somewhere else. She brought her mind back to the subject in hand, and opened her mouth to speak.

"Granger, we need to talk," he said sharply, staring Hermione right in the eyes. It was making her rather uncomfortable standing there, with those great big grey orbs pounding into her. Why did he always make her feel daunted? He continued, "If this is happening to both of us, we need to tell somebody." He continued to stare at her.

"Since when have you been so concerned?" Hermione retorted, raising her eyebrows at him. Unfortunately, he chose to ignore this comment.

"Because I think it has something to do with my daughter," he said after a few seconds of silence.

"Your daughter? What has she got to do with this?" Hermione asked. She was confused. Anielle? What? What on earth would a four-month-old baby have to do with frightening nightmares shadowed by a figure in a hood and sudden outbursts of illness?

"I'm not sure yet, but I'm almost certain I'm right. I just need proof," he said, his eyes not moving even a mere millimetre from hers. Hermione was once again puzzled. Her brow furrowed with confusion, and Malfoy must have seen this because his next words were, "Let me explain. Only you mustn't tell anyone. No one knows about Anielle, or me…and her mother" his voice trailed off as he spoke those last three words. His expression was dark and serious. Hermione unfroze her furrowed brow and let herself be at ease. She didn't know what Malfoy would tell her, and her curiosity came back again. Maybe, this time, her questions would be answered. Maybe, she'd find out all the things she wanted to know about Anielle. As ridiculous as it may have sounded, Hermione thought that, in some way, Malfoy knew she was curious. They'd missed breakfast, and were five minutes late for their first class, but that didn't cross either of the two student's minds. Hermione breathed deeply.

"Ok, Malfoy. Tell me what I need to know," she said confidently. Malfoy was taken by surprise – he'd secretly half-hoped she wouldn't want to hear the story he'd been keeping bottled up inside him for the past fourteen months. More, even, now he thought back on it. But, maybe it was for the best. It did concern her, after all.

Hermione heard Anielle crying. She seemed to be in some kind of distress, her cries high-pitched and desperate. Sensing this, Malfoy went immediately to see to her. Hermione was left standing in her bedroom doorway. Would he tell her what was going on? She hoped he would.