The arrival of the new school went basically unnoticed in all the confusion - it was nothing like the grand entrances of the schools the last time, so nobody really talked about it. What people did talk about, though, was that Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had split up. Nobody thought about Draco, alone in the hospital wing on just the second day, staying overnight for the third. His memory charm had backfired, but not badly; he'd been focusing hard enough to limit it to just the opinionated part of his brains - he could scarcely remember what any of his opinions were. He remembered the encounters, and certain feelings, such as despair and, dare he say it, love, but his opinions on those matters he had to re-create by re-living them, which was definitely hard in some places, like when Snape had killed Dumbledore and hearing Weaslette, Weasley and Granger scream Potter's name.
He remembered everyone's blood status and what he'd thought of it, but he couldn't figure out for the life of him why he'd thought that. Just because you have Muggles for parents didn't mean you'd have any lesser ability to cast spells - look at Granger. Top of the class, best of the year, whatever you wanted to call her, and look at someone like Crabbe or Goyle - bottom of the class and stupid as hell. Blood traitors were something he didn't remember having an opinion on, either.
He wondered whether he'd ever actually had opinions, or if he'd been given opinions to assume were his.
The blandness of the hospital wing was depressing, and Madame Pomfrey seemed terrified of him now. Every time he fell asleep, he saw her watching him from the corner of her eye. He knew she wanted more details about his 'nightmares' but he wasn't going to give her any. Why should he, when he's been literally trying to forget it?
He was released the next day, and headed straight for the common room.
He'd been alone in the hospital wing for too long, and he knew that, even though it hadn't even been a full twenty-four hours. But he wasn't expecting the hoard of seventh and eighth-grade students from both Hogwarts and somewhere else (Where the hell are these kids from? he wondered) flocking at the door, unable to get in. At the sight of him, someone cried, "It's Head Boy!" and they all scattered. Confused by this, opening the prefect common-room door, he saw nobody.
Except Granger.
She was sitting directly in front of the fireplace, curled up in a loose fetal position, apparently asleep. Her hair looked dark and wet; her skin looked shiny; she'd apparently just taken a bath. She looked almost angelic, just laying there, the flames reflecting off of her face, dancing, making her look fiery, that Draco felt it was almost a crime to move her.
He bent down next to her and shook her shoulder gently. "Granger," he crooned. "Granger, you've got to move. You can't be comfortable there, go to bed."
It was the middle of the day - everyone had to be at lunch. She barely stirred at his attempt to awaken her gently and gave a small, delicate snore. Draco chuckled and changed tactics. He picked her up, baby-doll style, into his arms and began to carry her toward the girls' dormitory. She was comfortable in his arms, very warm from the fire, and so small, like a perfect little child; but she radiated anything but immaturity. Even in sleep, she had a silent authority nobody could mess with.
He knew immediately which room was hers when he entered the dorm. Beside it were huge stacks of books, sorted by subject, then importance, and then alphabetically. He smiled a little at her almost obsessive-compulsive need to sort and placed her gently on the bed.
As soon as her head hit the pillow, Draco turned to leave.
"Don't leave," she pleaded.
He whirled around, surprised by her words and by her tone. Why would she want him to stay, and why would she beg? And she was asleep, how was she talking? Her eyelids fluttered, but her breathing returned to normal.
A little worried, Draco turned to leave again.
"Take the locket off, you wouldn't be saying this if you had the locket off," she argued against someone invisible.
Locket? What locket? Draco once again spun around, only to see her shift in her bed.
"Ron, don't go," she begged the air, reaching out an arm like a scared child to their mothers' skirt, but her fingers grasped nothing.
"Please," she whispered. "You won't think like this if you take it off, just give it to me, I'll wear it until we find the sword -"
So she was dreaming of Weasley. That made a little more sense. But what was this locket thing, and why would Weasley be better of without it? And what sword?
"Don't go," she cried, reaching out again, trying to grab someone who wasn't there.
Draco was once again close to tears. Closing the few feet of distance, he caught Granger's hand in midair and held it there, feeling his cold fingers against hers.
Her eyelids fluttered all the way open, and her breath stuttered. "Harry?" she asked drowsily, obviously not seeing clearly.
"No, it's Draco," he whispered, but she'd already fallen back asleep after intertwining her fingers with his.
He was unsure how long he stayed there, but it was long enough for Weaslette to enter the dorm.
"What are you doing here, ferret?" she asked. "You're supposed to be welcoming the Russians."
"Is that where they're from?" asked Draco in a whisper, so as to not wake up Granger.
"Yeah, were've you been?" she asked.
And then she saw his hand and Granger's. Marble and sand, they seemed to fit together perfectly, their palms not sticky, not sweaty, but Draco's fingers were always cold; hers were not - in fact, he was beginning to think everything about her was warm. But he dropped it as she saw their temperatures twisted into one hand. Granger's arm fell, but she did not waken.
"What was that?" asked Weaslette, brittle.
"She was asleep on the floor," Draco defended, "so I brought her in here."
"And held her hand." It was a slight accusation.
"She thought I was Weasley at first, and then Potter."
Weaslette rolled her eyes. "Great. So, she's having a threesome in her dream. Great to know, now get out."
"No, it's not like that," said Draco. "When she was dreaming, she was trying to convince Ron - I mean Weasley - not to leave, saying something about a locket and a sword, and then she woke up and thought I was Potter, and then fell back asleep."
"I thought that would happen," sighed Ginny. "He's left her twice now, she can't stop thinking that she's not good enough. Now. Get out."
And she shoved him out the door.
"Left her twice? What do you mean?" Draco asked, but the door slammed closed in his face, the wind of it brushing against his open lips.
Draco leaned toward the door, pressing his ear against it, but heard nothing except footsteps of Weaslette. And then Granger shrieked, "No! No, Harry, HARRY!"
"Hermione, wake up," Weaslette cried, anxiety marring her normally smooth voice. "It's okay, wake up!"
"Harry!" Granger shrieked again. "He can't be dead, no, Ron, stop, don't, Harry!"
"Hermione, wake up!"
There was rustling and Draco imagined Granger sitting bolt upright in bed. There was a strangled gasp that reminded him painfully of Pansy, and then Granger was panting.
"Ginny," she said.
"What were you dreaming about?" Ginny asked Hermione. "You were screaming about Harry being dead..."
"I was remembering... when he came here, and Hagrid was carrying him -"
"Stop."
Ginny's voice sounded almost like someone had put her through the wringer. Draco felt immense pity for her.
More rustling. Draco thought that Hermione was probably hugging the red-head, because she said comfortingly, "But he's alive, Gin, he's fine, and Voldemort's gone."
"Holy cricket; Hermione, look out the window!"
"Oh my. That would be the other school, wouldn't it?"
Draco pulled away from the door and headed straight for the window in the common room. He peered out the glass panes into the sunny grounds below, and saw none other than a group of maybe three hundred boys and girls their age trooping across toward the grounds. They wore light pants, usually jeans but some khakis, and white button-down t-shirts. Most of them had trunks floating above their heads.
He really didn't care about that, so he went back to the door.
"I'm not a bad person, right?" Hermione was asking,
Draco felt the urge to tell her she was a magnificent person, but stayed silent.
"You've got flaws," said Ginny, "but you're not bad. You're a chaotically good person that's lived through too many bad things, is all."
"But then Ron is too," Hermione said. "And why should -"
"Everybody deals with pain differently," said Ginny. "Some people, like me, try and turn it into something that strengthens their relationships with others, or, in my case, Harry. Ron was never much for expressing anything but jealousy and anger. He tends to bottle it up until it explodes out of him, and then he's fine again."
"So I have to wait until he's exploded?"
"Yep."
There was silence.
"You know, you're Head Girl, you should be welcoming the new schools."
"Ah. right," Hermione said.
Footsteps.
Draco pushed away from the door and toward the exit of the room, making it into the throng of males outside the room before the girls saw him; the males scattered once more, and Draco decided to test something.. He hid behind a suit of armor, and when Hermione opened the door, the hoarde returned.
"Is it true you and Weasley broke up?" shouted a Hogwarts boy.
"Yes." She looked completely taken aback. "What does it matter?"
The questions were shouted.
"Do you want to go for a drink?"
"No thank you."
"Want to take a fly with me?"
"I don't like flying, thanks."
More questions were yelled, making her take a step back as she tried to deflect them and everyone got closer to her.
"OI!" Ginny shouted. "Leave the Head Girl be, you nitwits, she needs food!"
"I'll take her out to eat," someone shouted.
Draco watched in fascination and stepped out from behind the suit of armor.
"Draco," said Hermione, surprised.
The males shouted profanities at him for interrupting their bombard on Hermione. He raised his eyebrows.
"That'll be detention for every one of you, then," he said.
They shut up immediately and dispersed, giving him angry looks.
"Thanks." Draco hadn't noticed that Hermione had gotten so close, but she walked right past him, her shoulder brushing his, sending a spark of her warmth down his spine. "Now we'd better go greet the other school."
She walked on, and Draco realized something: he'd begun thinking of them as Ginny and Hermione instead of Weaslette and Granger. He shook his head, determined to fix that, and followed the two girls.
