A/N: One of my lovely reviewers suggested that I don't actually need to hash out the entire chapter in my author's notes beforehand... So I think I may just take their advice :)

It's a bit of a neurotic habit, you see.

Thank you again for everyone's support, I can't tell you how great it is to see so many reviews! I love you guys.

Warning: brief mentions of torture.


"For years," Ron growled immediately as they hit the earth, "for years you've been on my back, telling me to 'let bygones be bygones' and to give people the benefit of the doubt. Would you mind telling me what that was about?"

"Thanks for playing along," Harry replied a bit breathlessly, walking briskly and leaving Ron in the dust behind him, gobsmacked.

"What in the bloody hell is going on?!" Ron demanded, breaking into a jog to catch up with his friend. "You think that Malfoy planned all of this?"

"No," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets as he strode forward. "But something doesn't feel right. Why would the busiest Healer in the U.K. seek out a patient who didn't want treatment? And really, what are the chances that he would be there when Dolohov attacked her? Why didn't he just disapparate when he was finished healing her?"

"But you just said you didn't think he—"

"I don't," Harry insisted. "But I don't know what the truth is, either."

Ron made a face. "So, you thought it wise to threaten Malfoy… why?"

"I don't trust him," Harry sighed. "He's obsessed with his reputation—you heard him in there. Falling out of the social elite and losing his galleons nearly did him in after the war. If he thinks that his career is on the line, he won't mess around with Hermione."

"Have you gone mad? There are other Healers on that ward, you know! We could have just gotten her transferred to one of them!" Ron spat, his mouth curling into an ugly snarl. Harry knew that the thought of being on the bad side of a Malfoy panicked him, and knowing that Hermione was on the brink of death would be devastating to him, but he couldn't comfort Ron just now. Harry shook his head solemnly.

"He's the expert on dark magic and the best chance we have. Plus, if we have him distracted, maybe we can investigate what's really going on. And Hermione…" He swallowed heavily. "Whatever Dolohov's done is killing her. Couldn't you see it in Malfoy's face? I need him to be motivated to find out what's wrong with her and to fix it. I didn't have time to wait and figure out another way!"

Ron's mouth clamped shut, but his eyes were a mixture of anger and worry. Harry stared ahead furiously, digging his hands further down his pockets until it brought pain to his knuckles.

The night air was cold on their faces, and they were both silent.


Draco pulled the heavy door open and he let it slam loudly behind him. He rubbed his face tiredly before surveying the discoloured body that lay before him.

"Tell me everything," he said through his hands to the medi-witch, Wanda.

"Powerful little curse he invented," she sighed, motioning to a very unconscious Antonin Dolohov. She was an older woman; fat, wrinkled and cantankerous-looking, but Draco considered her the most competent of her profession on the ward by far. "He's responding to the mending potions. We won't know if we got to him before brain damage set in until he wakes. He'll be in a controlled coma until the pain's bearable enough for him, though I don't know why we're bothering. I expect he'll be getting the Dementor's kiss soon as he wakes."

"I take it you don't know the occupant of the other quarantine room," Draco muttered.

"Of course I know who's in the other bloody room," she snapped. "Like it matters a whit. Do you really think that who the patient is will change anything?"

"It's Hermione Granger, Wanda," he hissed, though he didn't know why his voice had become so hard. "Dementor's kiss or not, he needs to live so that he can tell us what he's done to her."

Wanda eyed him skeptically, apparently suspicious that Draco hadn't yet figured out what was wrong with Hermione, nor the point that she was trying to drive to him. She shook her head in disbelief and let out a bitter laugh. "And why would he want to tell you that?"

Salazar save me, Draco thought anxiously, his heart sinking, the woman's got a point.


"Look, Granger, I know that we have a history, but I'm a professional."

Everything was upside-down.

Draco Malfoy was clad in Healer's robes, yet he looked younger—much younger. His frame was rail-thin, which served to accentuate the angularity of his features. But his eyes… those were the most different. Not grey. Obsidian.

Darkness within them, but so much more darkness behind them.

When did I last see those eyes?

The wind was blowing. Torn bits of parchment whipped through the air, ancient tomes were strewn across the blackened ground, the pages flipping wildly with the gusts.

Hermione realized that she was sprawled across the floor on her back, her neck bent awkwardly so that she was looking up at Malfoy—hence the world appearing to be inverted. She wanted to move and she begged her body to respond, but it was too heavy, too broken.

"And still the Mudblood lives," he whispered.

His voice sounded far away and foreign. It was spurious, but somehow also definitely—uncomfortably—real.

Lines of blue flame began to dance with the wind.

"Why," she began to slur, but the words were catching before they would leave her mouth. Her throat was tightening painfully, but she needed to know, she knew this was important. "What does it mean?"

"This? Probably nothing," Draco replied nonchalantly, gesturing to the scene around him with a tilt of his head before shrugging. "But maybe everything."

And Hermione knew that she wasn't dreaming, not really.


Even though recent events had Draco wanting to strangle Potter in his sleep, he had to concede that the ex-Gryffindor was a faithful friend.

Halfway through his first shift back from being sent home, there Potter was, waiting for 7 PM to roll in so he could get the protective charms cast on him. Draco wanted to come up with some reason to get him escorted off the premises, but between Potter's celebrity and falling squarely into the friends and family visitation rights, there wasn't much hope of that.

Draco paused.

Friends and family visitation rights…

Fuck! Was there no respite from this hell-torn week? How could he possibly forget about Granger's parents?

He ignored Harry for the time being and strode to check on his other patients, allowing one of the medi-witches to outfit Potter with wards so that he wouldn't have to do it himself. He was going to avoid him as long as humanly possible—which wouldn't be very long, considering that Granger was under his care for the next twelve hours and she needed to be checked by a Healer at least every half-hour.

He delayed the inevitable for as long as he could, but finally, Draco dragged himself into the quarantine room.

He wasn't prepared for it.

Granger had deteriorated more than he had thought possible in the sixteen hours that he'd been absent. According to Friedmann and his other Healers, her health hadn't worsened considerably, but her appearance told a different story. Everything about her looked frail and pitiful—even her ridiculous bushy hair had fallen limp against her face. Potter sat dutifully beside her, holding her languid fingers in one hand and methodically stroking the unkempt locks away from Granger's cheeks with the other. Draco felt his stomach knot uncomfortably at the sight and he cleared his throat loudly to get Potter's attention.

Harry startled at the noise, but to Draco's surprise, he didn't shy away from what he was doing upon seeing him. Instead, he turned back to Hermione with a troubled look and continued trying to bring comfort to his unconscious friend.

"Hello, Malfoy."

"Potter," he returned curtly. Dying friend or not, he would not allow any pity in his heart for someone who was trying to sabotage him. "Er… I need to check her vitals."

Harry glanced back at him and sighed. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and bent over to give a soft kiss on her cheek, and Draco found himself feeling smugly satisfied when Potter finally had to back away.

Granger reacted unpredictably to the spells, sometimes with no change, and other times setting her magic into overdrive, spitting sparks and manipulating the gravity and pull of the room. Those reactions were particularly frustrating, because they automatically triggered an alarm that vanished all of the loose objects in the room—including Draco's equipment or any potion he'd brought in but hadn't yet administered. Therefore, the Healers and medi-witches had to limit their use of magic whenever possible, which meant taking vitals the old fashioned (muggle) way, which was much slower, and to Draco's chagrin, required much more body contact.

Oddly, though, muggle medicines weren't doing what they were supposed to do, either. They couldn't achieve proper levels of anything despite the drugs. The only things that were reliably helping Granger were actual physical interventions, like a device to regulate her breathing. It didn't make any fucking sense.

Once he was finished, he jotted the statistics into her chart and turned back to Potter, dreading what he was about to say. "I have to ask you for a favour."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You're not even going to address this, then?" he asked waspishly, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at Hermione.

"There's nothing to discuss," he replied coldly, letting his professionalism slip more than he really ought to. "She's steadily getting weaker, but she hasn't had any major incident since we last spoke. I'm doing the best that I can. That's it. That's all there is."

Surprisingly, Potter didn't utter a word of complaint about Draco's callousness, but continued back to their conversation.

"What favour?"

"Muggles can't come into the quarantine units," he said quietly; maybe if he said it quietly enough, the problem would just go away. "Without powers, there's nothing for the protective charms to bond to. Unfortunately, Granger's parents won't be able to visit her while she's here."

Harry blinked. "That's the most ridiculous thing that I've ever heard. Wizards use magic on muggles all the time."

"I know," Draco sighed impatiently. "It's difficult to explain. Certain spells, usually ones that last for a period of time, bind to the magic of the wizard they're cast on. If there's no magic, the spell can't hold. That's how it is with these wards. It's the same with the fidelius charm, unbreakable vows—and, of course, the underage trace that we all had during our Hogwarts years. Some of the longer-acting curses as well, but a lot of dark magic was created to be indiscriminate of its victims…" He was rambling, but he couldn't really help it. He was on edge.

"Right," Harry muttered. "So you want meto break the news, yeah?"

Potter sounded exhausted. Draco wondered if the Golden Boy had finally buckled under pressure like every other mere mortal, what with the Dolohov case and Granger. For a fleeting moment, Draco felt a twinge of compassion for the twat. Sometimes he wished he was more like his Hogwarts self—ruthless, spoiled and unforgiving. It made things less complicated.

Luckily, the feeling quickly passed. As if any of that was a bloody excuse for blackmailing him.

"I think it would be easier on them to hear it from someone familiar," he said awkwardly. Awkward doesn't even begin to cover this sodding mess. "I'll speak with them soon after. St. Mungo's has provided a few of those muggle talking devices for communication with families. I'll use one of those, and if they want I'll arrange to meet them properly."

"Telephones," Harry supplied.

Like I give a fuck what they're called!

"Yeah, telephone," Draco replied, keeping his tone firmly in check. He was beginning to let his contempt for Potter cloud his judgment, he knew it. Unconsciously, he glanced back at Hermione and frowned. "So? Can you do that?"

Potter followed his gaze and nodded. It didn't escape Draco's notice that the Auror's breath rattled as he exhaled.


"Ennervate."

Eighteen diagnostic spells, a medley of potions and countless healing incantations and he was no farther along than he had been before he started. He felt useless—an unwelcome state of being for any member of the Malfoy family. If anything, Granger had gotten worse.

Now, he was alone in her room, grasping at straws like a panicked apprentice Healer. She had been in his care for seven days, and at this rate, she wouldn't be seeing the end of another week.

"Ennervate!" he shouted.

Hermione didn't stir; she wouldn't even do as much as shudder. Her eyes were closed and her long, black eyelashes brushed the bruised skin beneath them. Her wasting frame seemed completely engulfed by the myriad of medical apparatuses that were sustaining her—a charmed breathing device, intravenous drip, a feeding tube.

If he didn't reverse whatever Dolohov had done—yes, he was positive now that the Death Eater had managed a curse, even in his incapacitated state—Granger would be gone by the same time tomorrow, two days tops.

He didn't want to think of what would await him if he allowed her to die.

She showed traces of dark magic, but there was no discerning what kind. It was nothing that Draco recognized. By the same token, he was fairly certain that her current state was also a product of whatever had been causing her so much pain before Dolohov attacked her. It appeared to him that the Death Eater had activated something older, something that was already there.

If he activated it, he has to know what it is.

By Wanda's estimation, Dolohov would be awake and (hopefully) relatively alert in three days, and then he could be questioned.

The problem was that Hermione didn't have three days.

"ENNERVATE!"

She remained still, and Draco stood swiftly, kicking his stool to the wall in the process. "God damn it, Granger! Wake up! Move! Do SOMETHING!" he roared at her near-lifeless body.

Sirens sounded immediately and he heard the distinct pop of items vanishing around him. Draco sucked in a shaky, furious breath and squeezed his eyes shut, marching towards the door and finding the handle without any vision whatsoever, purely by memory and repetition.

"Malfoy?" Wanda called uncertainly as he stalked through the hall. "The alarm—"

"She reacted to an ennervate charm," he called loudly over his shoulder. "Observation for an hour, then resume your regular care duties. Call on Healer Smythe if anything happens."

"Where are you going?" she shouted back.

"The Ministry," he answered, and he wouldn't elaborate any further.

As his mother used to say, desperate times called for desperate measures.


Hermione opened her eyes wildly. She couldn't move, and her head was pinned painfully to the side. The only thing that she could see in her immobilized state was pale, creamy skin blotted by a tattoo of a snake threaded through a skull.

How did I get on the floor?

It doesn't matter, you idiot! You've been CAPTURED!

Right. The Dark Mark. It could tell her where she was and why she was there; it meant that she was in immediate danger. The Mark was a… What was that word?

"Is this really necessary, Bellatrix?" came a voice so bored and exasperated that it could only belong to a Malfoy. Malfoy Senior, to be exact.

"Oh, I should think so, Lucius," Bellatrix replied sweetly, and now Hermione realized that she was being straddled by the psychotic witch. She lacked the energy to voice her protest; her mind was vacant, her body broken, her spirit beyond that. "She needs a reminder, don't you think?"

Reminder; that was the word she was looking for. It was an important one, she knew, though she couldn't say exactly why.

Metal touched skin, and in a single moment, Hermione both realized her fate and was resigned to it.

I won't scream for her. It's what she wants. I will not scream because of Bellatrix Lestrange.

But she did. The blade was goblin-made; it had been imbued with something that made it feel like each stroke was pouring acid into her slashed skin. She screamed with such raw agony that she could feel her lungs burn in protest. She screamed louder and longer than she'd thought possible; she screamed until Bellatrix finally removed the dagger to admire her handiwork.

Her arm was being lifted up. Hermione felt like a ghost—once the blade had lifted, she felt disconnected from feeling, like an outside observer.

"Look at it, Mudblood," Bellatrix snarled, shoving Hermione's mutilated arm into her vision. "Look at what you are. Remember it."

She looked at it, but she didn't see, not really. Her gaze fell somewhere between her forearm and Bellatrix's, where the Dark Mark seemed to slither almost restlessly.

Marked, she thought, a single tear sliding down her dirtied cheek, marked so that everyone will know, marked so that we'll always remember.

The reminders.


Draco watched as Granger fidgeted and twitched about in her bed, occasionally moaning something incoherent. She seemed to be distressed, but at least it meant that she was dreaming. He took it as a positive sign; it was the most lifelike activity he'd seen from her since she entered St. Mungo's.

She was looking much better already. Though he had gotten used to seeing the yellowish-grey pallor that so many patients took on in ward four, he felt less tense sitting beside her now than he had before the elixirs had started working.

It hadn't taken much convincing at the Ministry to get access to the potions that he wanted. When he told them that Granger would most certainly be dead in a couple of days without action, a quiet panic crept through the room like an electric shock. It seemed that no one wanted to be the one that could be forever known as the one who practically signed Hermione Granger's death certificate.

His eyes flicked up to the IV pouch.

It's a high price to pay.

He frowned. As if I had a bloody choice!

Like clockwork, Potter arrived at 7 PM, this time with she-Weasley on his arm. Granger had had a slew of visitors: Longbottom, the crazy Ravenclaw blonde whose name escaped him, and almost the entire brood of Weasley's—minus Weaselbee himself, of course—but Potter was there every single night at the same time.

Draco performed the protective incantations this time, knowing that he would have to face the pair at some point.

Upon entering Granger's room, the girl blanched and seemed to lose her balance, but Harry took no notice, as he had run over to the bed with a grin on his face. Draco gripped Weasley's arm and helped her steady herself, for which he earned a perplexed 'thank you.' She stared at Potter, incredulous at his giddiness.

After what felt like a lifetime of Weasley's anticipatory silence, Potter seemed to remember himself and he turned back to his girlfriend.

"No, no, it's good, Ginn! You didn't see her yesterday—she looks loads better! Doesn't she, Malfoy?"

Weasley looked up at Draco warily for an explanation of Potter's manic behaviour. The desperation in the Auror's voice made him feel ill with unease—he really was fucked if Granger didn't wake up.

"Yes, she's definitely improved since yesterday," Draco agreed, clearing his throat. "Look, Potter—Weasley—"

"Just Potter now," the girl said pleasantly to him, and it was only then that he noticed the simple diamond ring adorning her finger.

When did that happen?

"Right," he said stiffly, massaging his forehead. "As I was saying, we need to discuss why she's improving. I had to start her on a new treatment regimen."

"Well, yes," Potter answered cautiously, "whatever you were doing before wasn't working, so that only seems logical."

"I'm glad you see it that way." He crossed the room to the side of Granger's bed. "Come over here. Both of you."

The couple stole uneasy glances with one another before the girl approached slowly, Potter close behind.

Draco pointed to the IV pouch, specifically at the label covering it. "Do either of you recognize this?"

Ginny shook her head as Harry's face instantly darkened.

"I take it you've gotten Ministry exemption for using this?" Potter questioned, turning to Draco suddenly.

"Ministry approval," he corrected sharply. "And yes, I have, along with consent from Granger's parents… Not that I needed it."

"Harry?" the girl asked uncertainly. "What is it? What does it do?"

"We've put Hermione on a schedule of several different potions," Draco explained, studying Potter's face carefully. He couldn't seem to read his expression. "The reason I needed Ministry approval is because it's technically considered to be dark magic. The potions act to debilitate her powers. The reason she's improving is because whatever has caused her illness appears to be based in some sort of magic that's trapped in her system. She's fortunate for that. If it was a biological issue, the potions wouldn't have helped her at all."

"So, when she wakes up… She'll essentially be a muggle?" Ginevra furrowed her brow in confusion.

"No," he replied firmly. "We haven't given her the full dose. If you completely strip a witch or wizard of their powers, the effect is permanent."

Potter had been strangely silent, but he was watching Draco like a hawk. Finally, the Auror spoke.

"Exactly how debilitated will her magic be?"

"She'd find it difficult to levitate a feather," Draco said bluntly. "And there's about a thirty percent chance that she'll have some sort of permanent damage to her magical abilities… perhaps less than that since she's still quite young."

Ginny's eyes widened. "Malfoy, I really don't think that this is what Hermione would have wanted—"

"No," Potter interrupted, much to Draco's surprise, "but it would appear that there isn't an alternative."

"Correct," Draco replied slowly, eyeing Harry with suspicion. "Anyway… If her recovery continues at the same rate, she should regain consciousness fairly soon. Hermione will be quite weak for a time—very tired—and situations like this tend to hit patients quite hard emotionally. She'll need all of the support that she can get and I'd ask that you try to keep visits as calm as possible."

"Of course," Ginny replied automatically. "Anything to help her along."

"What about Dolohov?" Potter asked suddenly.

Draco let out a short laugh, though it was far from happy. "Yes... Dolohov. I'm very hopeful that once he's talking, we'll know what's happened to Granger and that will be the end of this nightmare. He's woken up a couple of times now, but he's being so heavily medicated that he's not really coherent."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I'll owl you as soon as he can be questioned," he answered in a too-friendly tone. Draco was trying to be cooperative, but just came off as sounding impatient.

Mercifully, Potter relented and nodded, sighing. "Alright."

"Good. Well, if you don't have any more questions, I'll leave you three alone for a few minutes." He nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Good night."

Out of nowhere, Ginny stepped towards him and almost looked like she was going in for a hug (a terrifying prospect), but at the last second she seemed to think better of it and squeezed his arm instead.

"Thanks, Malfoy. Really," she said seriously. Her face was deadpan, so he had to assume that she wasn't trying to make an ass out of him. "I know this whole situation is probably… Odd for you, to say the least. I can't tell you how grateful we are."

There was an extended pause before Ginny tried to shove Harry in the ribs without Draco noticing.

"Er, yes. What she said," Potter said quickly, smiling awkwardly at him. Draco raised his eyebrows back, incredulous at both of them—Ginny for actually thanking him and Potter having the audacity to pretend that he was extending the same courtesy. Luckily, Draco was a better actor than Harry and he gave a polite smile to the two of them, bowing his head in acknowledgment.

"Just trying to do my job," he replied, his eyes locked meaningfully with Potter's for a brief moment before he started, again, to walk out of the room.

"Um, Malfoy," Ginny piped up before he reached the door. "Don't you think it's a bit institutional in here?"

He turned around and blinked at her. "It's a hospital, Weasley."

"It's Pott—ugh, couldn't we just call people by their first names like regular human beings?" she asked in exasperation. She shook her head quickly as if to clear the frustration from the air. "What I meant was that it sounds like Hermione's going to be in here a while. Could we maybe make the room look a little less like a quarantine unit?"

Draco frowned, surveying the white, blank walls and seeing little he could add that wouldn't just vanish every time the alarm got set off. He walked over to the wall and stared at it for several moments, then made a square-shaped outline with his wand. Instantly, the walls began to shift into a large window. Obviously, since the room was in the heart of the hospital, the window only showed the inside of the wall—perhaps not the best view. Draco ran his wand over it again and a serene landscape appeared in the confines of the window, with hills reaching back to the horizon and trees scaling across the scene. With another flick, he added a sprinkling of snow, plus some frost on the other side of the glass. Lastly, he decided to push the entire thing back, using the new depth to create a cushioned alcove. He surveyed his handiwork and nodded. It wouldn't be an entirely bad idea to do something similar for the other quarantine units...

He turned and raised his hand to the 'window'. "Better?"

Ginny's mouth moved into a bemused smirk and she nodded. "It's perfect."


Open your eyes. Come on, just open, it's not that hard…

Merlin, it hurts!

She tried, she really did, but she was so tired, the pain was so bad.

She took a deep breath and her eyelids lifted a little. It was blurry and her head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

"Hermione?"

It sounded like the man had cotton in his mouth. Or was the cotton in her ears? She heard something else, a strangled sort of moaning noise—was that from me?

"Just wait. I'll be right back."

Don't go! Please, don't go!

She didn't know where she was. She didn't know the man who spoke, she didn't know why her body felt like lead, she didn't know anything.

She began to panic.

Her chest began to hitch with shortened breaths and suddenly she couldn't get enough oxygen. She still couldn't see properly—everywhere her eyes went, there was just white. That couldn't be right, surely?

No. It's not right. Nothing here is right!

She shut her eyes tightly and started to feel light from the hyperventilation. She was going to pass out…

There was a hand on hers. She thrashed as forcefully as she could to get away from it.

"Granger."

She stilled. She recognized that voice. She didn't know where it was from, but it made her feel calm. The Voice meant that she was safe.

The hand moved up to her neck and pressed in a bit, but The Voice's fingers were gentle.

She leaned into it and let The Voice cradle her head. Her head was so very sore.

"Can you hear me?" he asked.

She nodded shallowly.

A thumb ran across her cheek softly. It felt good.

"Can you open your eyes for me?"

Yes, she could do that. She trusted The Voice. She let her eyelids lift, and instantly she was assaulted with brightness, it hurt, she had to shut them again, shut them tight.

More strokes across her cheek, simple and soothing.

"Shh, shh, you're alright, Granger," said The Voice. "How do you feel?"

She didn't know if she could speak, but how could she disappoint him?

"Hurts," was all she could manage. Her throat felt dry.

"I'm going to put a pain potion in your drip," he told her, and suddenly the comforting fingers were gone and her head fell to the side in their absence. Her eyes batted open, searching to see where the hand had gone, then she saw it.

The snake and the skull. A sign…

You've been captured again.

And she had to escape.


"Healer Malfoy?"

Draco turned, shrugging his coat on in the process. "Yes, Jesse? I'm about to head out."

The junior Healer nodded a bit nervously. "Yeah, I know, it's just that Hermione Granger seems to be regaining consciousness—"

"She's waking up?" He threw his coat off and chucked it over his chair. "Thank you for telling me," he breathed as he started off towards her room.

"Healer Malfoy?" Jesse called from behind him. "Am I—er—should I come as well?"

"Yes!" he barked back in exasperation. The apprentice hadn't really gotten the hang of ward four quite yet.

When he entered, Granger was taking her breaths in gasps with her eyes trying to survey the room through half-opened lids before she closed her eyes entirely.

Clearly panicking.

He jogged over to her and placed his hand over her wrist. She twitched a bit—probably the most that she could manage between the meds, the pain and the fatigue—and let out a sort of scared squeak.

"Granger," he said firmly, trying to pull her back into reality so that she would stop having a fucking fit. Surprisingly, she calmed immediately and her breathing eased.

He frowned and went to check her pulse and her head rolled onto his hand, then she…

She rubbed her cheek against his palm?

He swallowed heavily.

"Can you hear me?"

She rubbed against him again in what could pass as a nod and he couldn't help but to run his thumb over her cheek to encourage her to keep communicating. Her skin was dry—he wasn't surprised—but it was reassuringly warm. Granger was obviously quite out of it, and he knew that he would need to explicitly ask for anything he wanted from her.

"Can you open your eyes for me?" he asked gently as he fished his wand from his robe with his free hand. He felt a bit guilty—patients never liked the light when they woke up, but it had to be done. He pushed up his sleeves and leaned over her, wand poised.

Unsurprisingly, she didn't like it either. To make her stay with him, he spoke in a reassuring voice and asked her what she felt.

"Hurts," she murmured almost inaudibly. She leaned further into his hand and he could feel her breath ghosting over his skin. His pulse quickened.

He told her that he would help her with the pain. Only a moment after, she let out a horrible sound that was somewhere between a groan and a scream and her eyes flew open. She immediately spotted her IV and went to wrench it out of her skin. He grabbed at her wrists to stop her.

"What do I do?" Jesse nearly shrieked. Draco had almost forgotten he was there.

"Just get the potion in her drip," he said, his voice surprisingly calm. This was more of what he had expected from her when she woke up, and as fucked up as it was, he was more comfortable with her this way than when she was trying to nuzzle up to him.

She was weak as anything, but she was giving it all she had, kicking her legs feebly and twisting under him. Her eyes were shut again and she was chanting "no, no, no."

"Stop," he commanded firmly, holding her wrists rigidly in place. "Granger, stop."

More squirming. She began to scream.

"Hermione!" Draco boomed over her. Instantly, her eyes snapped open and she froze, her eyes looking directly into his. Her mouth began to move as if to make a 'ma' sound, but no noise came out. He released his hands slowly and led her arms down to her lap. He gave her a hard stare. "Okay?"

She nodded and fell back into her pillows, her eyes suddenly glassy and no longer focused on him. The excitement was over, and she seemed completely spent. He very much doubted that she had the energy to discuss her situation just now.

"You're in St. Mungo's," he explained as if he were talking to a four year old, "you're safe here. Would you like to sleep for a little while?"

She nodded again, her gaze resting somewhere along the tiled floor. Draco looked back at Jesse and motioned his head towards her IV. The junior Healer hastily administered a sleeping draught. Hermione's eyelids fluttered for a moment before she was knocked out cold.

Draco stood and mussed his hair tiredly.

"Why do you think she freaked out all of a sudden like that?" Jesse asked.

"Damned if I know," Draco muttered, shrugging, "who knows what's going on in your head when you wake up out of a coma."

He started tugging down his sleeve and realized that the band of material he used to cover his Mark had ridden up along with it, exposing it to plain view. Exposing it to Granger.

That's why.

"So it's okay to put her back to sleep after being unconscious for so long?"

"Yes," Draco sighed. "She'll have more than her fair share of reality to catch up on once she's rested."