Chapter Twenty-Nine

It had been the longest night of her life since the final battle against Voldemort. As Hermione made her way up the long bridge toward the castle doors with Draco by her side, all she really wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep for a week. She was finally starting to feel herself again, though her mind was still a little fuzzy from the alcohol she'd had, and she was still a bit twitchy when things moved out of the corner of her eye—like now, when, as they neared the doors, a silver wisp flashed past her. But before she'd fully registered its presence it was gone. There were a few other older students heading toward the castle around them, but Hermione didn't engage in any greetings or stories about her night when anyone waved at her, and as soon as they registered Malfoy's presence many of them passed on without another word.

The entrance hall loomed huge and mostly empty, the stone stairs dominating the space as Hermione came to a stop at their base. She felt a bit unsteady just then, in many ways besides her currently still unpredictable equilibrium (a fact which Malfoy had generously not commented on when she occasionally stumbled into him as they'd been walking), and wasn't sure what she wanted to do. She felt safe when Draco was by her side, as he had been the entire journey back to Hogwarts, a tall, solid presence that she'd wanted to curl into, but she couldn't bring him upstairs into her dorm room, or even into the common room. And yet, she didn't want to walk away.

"Hey, Granger," his voice cut into her thoughts and Hermione looked up to find Malfoy standing very close to her in the shadows cast by the flickering torches. He reached for her, settling his hands on her arms just below her shoulders and holding her steady. "You're going to be ok."

She nodded, feeling warmth seeping into her from Malfoy's palms as if he were giving her his own strength. Before she realized she was doing it, Hermione had stepped forward and slipped her arms around Malfoy's waist, pressing against him and hugging him tightly. There was a pause, during which she could feel him drop his hands from her arms in surprise, and Hermione felt a lurch in her chest. Draco was probably not the hugging type. Not in this casual sort of manner. Not like Harry, or even Ron, was. Feeling her cheeks sting in embarrassment, she started to pull back, but then Malfoy's arms were around her, wrapped around her back with his hands gripping her shoulders from behind. He hugged her back tightly for a long moment before stepping away, his face strangely stoic.

"Sorry," she muttered quietly, moving back herself, not looking at him. Everything felt so disjointed tonight, surreal. And after the way they'd talked earlier, and the way Malfoy had embraced her in the field… well, hugging was ok between friends, right? It didn't have to mean anything different because she'd been hugging Draco Malfoy.

"No problem," Malfoy said, his voice neutral, and she glanced up at him to find a faintly twisted smirk on his lips, as if he were amused, and pained, by something only he understood.

"Hermione?" a new voice called out behind them, and Hermione jumped in surprise, turning to see Ginny hurrying down the stairs. Ginny came to a halt a few feet away, glancing at Malfoy in some concern, confusion in her eyes. "Malfoy?" she questioned next, as if waiting for him to say something.

"G-Ginny!" Hermione choked out, stepping back further from Draco and turning all the way around. "What are you doing here?"

"I sent for her," Malfoy said, and Hermione spun back to him, eyes wide. He didn't flinch at the look of muted horror on her face. "I figured you'd need someone to talk to, and, well, I can't exactly hang out in your common room all night, even if we didn't have a curfew."

Sent for her? A vision of the silver wisp she'd seen a few minutes earlier came back to Hermione. She hadn't even been aware that Malfoy could produce a patronus, he certainly hadn't been in Harry's secret DADA classes a few years back. Despite her anxiety though, the idea that Draco Malfoy had a memory happy enough to produce one gave her a little flicker of joy. Maybe one day she'd ask him about it.

Ginny moved closer, still looking between them. "What's going on?" she said, voice hard. "Hermione, you look a little…" she trailed off, glancing at Malfoy, and he hurried to clarify.

"Granger had a rough night, it might help her to talk about it with someone."

Hermione bit her lip, but Malfoy didn't continue, leaving it up to her. Ginny's expression was pinched, but she took her cue from Malfoy and didn't overreact. "Is everything ok?" She looked Hermione up and down. "Are you hurt? Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"

"No—" Hermione began.

"Yes—" Malfoy cut in, and the two frowned at each other.

Ginny's lips pursed. "Malfoy—" she started, her eyes narrowing as she glared at him. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing," Hermione protested, but flinched when Malfoy took a step toward her, drawing Ginny's calculating eyes to herself instead.

"Granger got into a scuffle with an arsehole who'd had too much at the pub," Malfoy interrupted ruthlessly, not looking at her as he spoke. "He was a bit rough with her, but she says she wasn't seriously hurt."

Ginny's expression changed from suspicion to horror as she turned on Hermione, her eyes blazing with righteous fury. "What? Are you ok? What happened?"

Hermione felt her shoulders hunch at the onslaught of questions, and glared at Malfoy for outing her to the first person she saw. She didn't want to talk about that night. She wanted to forget it had ever happened. "I'm fine," Hermione said as firmly as she could, trying to placate her friend, but Ginny wouldn't be swayed.

"Why is Malfoy with you?" she demanded, then her face crumpled with guilt. "I shouldn't have left you. I went off with Harry and left you all alone! What kind of horrible friend am I? I mean, I thought you'd catch up with us later, maybe. Or find someone else to hang out with. But Harry and I have only been back at the castle for half an hour, and you weren't in our dorm, and even Ron said he hadn't seen you in hours, and then suddenly there was a patronus shooting in through the window, demanding that I come meet you at the entrance hall—"

"I'm fine, Ginny, really." Hermione glanced over at Malfoy who was hovering next to the stone wall, his gaze shrewd as he watched this exchange. She turned back to Ginny who looked desperately sorry. "Malfoy, he…" she hesitated for a moment, still feeling a tumult of emotions from the past few hours. "He rescued me, actually," she finished more softly, and Ginny's mouth dropped open. "I don't know how he got there in just the knick of time, but he saved me." Her voice had fallen to almost a whisper as Hermione relived the moment she'd seen a flash of blond hair, and heard a shout of fury as someone yanked Blaise off of her, tumbling to the gravely alley and rolling into the far stone wall.

"You—" Ginny said haltingly, staring at Malfoy in surprise. "That was your patronus?" Then she blinked, as Hermione's words registered. "He… saved you?"

"I heard from a reliable source that Granger had had a run-in with someone disreputable from my house," Malfoy said from behind Hermione, voice cold. "I couldn't just let her deal with him on her own." He sounded angry again, and Hermione knew if she looked at him she'd see fury in his grey eyes once more.

"Right," Ginny said weakly, sounding thrown at the tone of Malfoy's voice. Apparently she hadn't fully realized how close Hermione and Draco had become over the past few months, despite everything Hermione had tried to explain to her. She turned back to Hermione, straightening her shoulders and obviously trying pull herself together. "Ok, let's go see the mediwitch then. If she says you're fine, then I won't say another word about it."

"But—" Hermione protested, but Ginny had already taken hold of her arm and begun to pull her gently up the stairs. Halfway up, she turned to look behind Hermione.

"Oy, Malfoy," she called, her voice echoing in the empty hall.

"What, Weasley?" he called back, sounding exhausted.

"Thank you," Ginny said simply, looking back at him for a long minute. "Maybe you're alright after all."

There was a pause before Malfoy replied. "Maybe you are, too, Weaslette." But there was no malice in his tone, only a tired sort of affection, and Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see Malfoy watching them ascend the steps, the faintest of smiles on his battered face.

xXx

Draco made his way back to the dungeons in a daze. Of all the things that had happened that night, the one that he was currently reliving had taken place only ten minutes ago. As he neared the blank stone wall that covered the secret entrance to the Slytherin common room, Draco glanced down at himself, still feeling the phantom tingles of Hermione's hands as they'd grazed his back when she'd suddenly hugged him. He'd been rather gobsmacked if he was honest with himself. In fact, he'd been so surprised to feel her suddenly pressed up against him that it had taken his brain several seconds to respond. Holding her small form tucked against his chest just felt right—he muttered the password and waited for the stone wall to slide to one side—so why did he only ever end up holding her when she was upset?

It was going on midnight as Draco stepped into the spacious common room, and the already murky light cast by the lanterns and huge black marble fireplace was further dimmed by the dark water of the lake beyond the windows. There were only a few people hanging out on the green velvet couches, and most of them only cast him a curious glance as Draco crossed the large room and headed for the stairs that lead up to his dorm.

"Oy, Malfoy!" came a voice from near the stairs, and he looked over to see Burlington and Cartwright. Unable to avoid them since they were virtually blocking the stairs, Draco headed toward the boys, trying to suppress a growing headache. He really just wanted to go to bed and sort through the rest of tonight's disaster tomorrow.

"What?" Draco deadpanned, unable to muster even annoyance just then.

"Where'd you run off to tonight?" Cartwright asked, his voice a little slurred still, and Draco realized he must have only recently returned to the castle himself.

Burlington leaned against the wall, his own face blotchy and eyes glazed. "Yeah," he called, seeming unable to focus properly. "You should have stayed. We played cards." He gave a half-drunken laugh.

"Uh huh," Draco muttered, fighting an urge to just hex both boys out of his way, regardless of the detention he'd likely get for it. "Who won?"

Cartwright and Burlington exchanged glances. "Munoz," Cartwright admitted, sounding sulky, and Draco almost grinned. Of course he had. Miguel was crafty when he wanted to be, and, even sober, the pair in front of Draco were not deft hands at card games.

"Good on him," Draco made himself say, then pushed past, ignoring the grumbles from the other two.

When he reached his dorm room, Draco came to a halt in the doorway and stared at the empty beds. Blaise's was on the far side and Draco's on the right. Despite the fact that there was supposed to be double the amount of students at Hogwarts that year, there were less students in Slytherin than expected. This was for varying reasons: some of them had decided not to return to repeat seventh year and had gone out into the workforce, some had fought in the war and not made it out the other side, and some had transferred to other wizarding schools, such as Durmstrang. As a result, there were several dorm rooms where only two or three people shared the space, and up until recently Draco had relished the fact that it was only he and Blaise in the same quarters.

Tonight, however, Draco didn't know how to feel. He definitely did not want to continue sharing a room with Blaise. One or the other of them wouldn't live to wake up the next morning if that remained the case. He didn't even know if Blaise would come back to the castle that night, let alone dare to return to his room, but Draco knew he wouldn't get a wink of sleep until he knew what had happened to Blaise after he and Phil had left him in that alley.

"Ahem," came a voice from behind him, and Draco whirled around, muscles tensed to reach for his wand, a defensive curse already on his lips, but the boy behind him didn't flinch.

"Merlin help me, Phillip," Draco bit out, still trying to calm his racing heart, "do you want me to curse you or something?"

"I spoke to the head," Phil said mildly, though he eyed Draco until he relaxed his wand arm before he continued. "Spun him a tale of drifting friendships and new bonds, that sort of lark, and convinced him to do a little shuffling around the quarters."

Draco raised an eyebrow at Phil's speech, wishing he would leave so Draco could collapse onto his bed for a few minutes of well-needed oblivion.

"He said you could move into the room Miguel and I share," Philip continued calmly, "so I took it upon myself to transfer your things."

Draco turned around and took a closer look at his side of the room. It was true, his armoire gaped open, empty of robes and shoes, and his trunk was missing from the foot of his bed. The third bed, in between Draco and Blaise's bunks, which they'd used as a sort of couch/dumping spot for whatever they didn't feel like putting away at the moment, now only held a scattering books and a house scarf that Draco knew belonged to Blaise. He turned back to Phil, opening and closing his mouth without saying anything.

Phil seemed to understand though. "Come on, mate," he gestured toward the door with a head bob, "your new bunk is down the hall and up the stairs."

Draco followed Phil in a daze as the shorter boy directed him up a few stairs to a room that felt a little like a turret, with a few tall, thin windows that let in dancing reflections from the dark lake water. Miguel was sprawled across his bed, one side of his curtains drawn, the other tied back, counting his mound of galleons. He looked up when Draco and Phil entered.

" 'Sup, Malfoy?" he called, nodding a greeting before turning back to his gold. It looked like he'd really cleaned the others out after Draco and Phil had left.

"Kicked a few arses tonight?" Draco offered, feeling a little uncomfortable. He hadn't spent a lot of time with Miguel outside of card games, though the boy seemed the decent sort.

"Taught a few loud mouths to put their galleons where their bragging was," Miguel smirked, sweeping the gold off his bed and into a leather pouch. He glanced at Phil. "Phil said you needed a change of pace, so mi casa es su casa."

"Thanks," Draco said gratefully, walking over to his new bunk. It was the furthest to the left, near the windows, and his trunk already lay at the foot of it. A quick look at the armoire showed that his clothes were all accounted for. Shaking off the strange, new, feeling of camaraderie, that wasn't very common in a house known for prizing ambition, Draco threw himself onto his bed and lay back with his arms behind his head.

The room was quiet for a minute as Phil dropped onto his own bunk. He cast a look at Miguel then at Draco, looking hesitant.

"Spit it out," Draco said after a long minute. He knew what Phil wanted to talk about, and that he was only hesitating because of Miguel. But Draco also knew that if he was going to share a dorm with them for the rest of the year then secrets would out, no matter how he might try to hide them.

"Er," Phil said, looking at Miguel again, who finally noticed and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Do you want me to leave or something?" His tone was light, but had a slight edge to it. Draco knew that tone. Phil and Miguel had been roommates for as long as he could remember. Their friendship was probably as tight as Draco and Blaise's had been, and he didn't want to do anything to hinder that. He knew how hard it was to find true friends in Slytherin house.

"Of course not," Draco cut in, rolling his eyes as if Phil was being ridiculous. He might as well get things over with. Some sort of rumour was sure to spark by morning and Draco needed to be on top of things if he wanted save any sort of face.

"Are you sure, Draco?" Phil asked, looking uneasy, but Draco nodded and Phil shrugged, as if to say 'your funeral'. He glanced at Miguel. "You missed out on a real rumble tonight, mate."

"You did, too," Miguel snorted. "I nearly clocked Burlington when he claimed he couldn't pay me all the galleons he owed, when I know for a fact that his mother transfers a monthly allowance into his vault every first Friday."

"Not what I meant," Phil mumbled, looking to Draco for help.

Draco sighed and sat up, meeting Miguel's eyes. "What Phil is trying to say is that I mixed it up with Zabini tonight. In a major way." He paused, then pressed on. "Wands were drawn."

Miguel's dark eyes grew wide. "What?"

He looked truly startled and Draco really couldn't blame him. Though he and Blaise had argued before, it was usually a snide comments sort of a fight, each of them trying to outdo the other through arrogance and wit. They'd never argued so deeply that a shot of firewisky couldn't solve their problems. Not until tonight.

Miguel struggled with words for a moment. "Why—How—?" He looked between Draco and Phil, floundering, then back to Phil. "What happened?"

"Blaise is a wanker," Phil said coldly, "though we always knew that, of course."

Miguel merely frowned in confusion. "Sure, everyone knows that. But so are both of you." He smirked, obviously trying to lighten what had suddenly become a very heavy conversation. "Even I am, on occasion."

"Except that you aren't likely to attack a muggleborn in an alley and try and force yourself on her when she's too pissed to tell you back off," Phil cut in bluntly, causing Miguel to drop the money pouch he'd just picked up to move into the drawer of his bedside table. The other boy swore in surprise.

"Bloody hell, y-you can't be serious," Miguel stuttered, his mouth dropping open. "I know Zabini can sometimes be a little aggressive in his pursuit of his next girlfriend, but—"

"But nothing, Munoz," Draco broke in, his expression darkening. "He did, and Phil and I were only barely in time to stop him."

Miguel looked thunderstruck. "What did the headmistress say?"

Draco and Phil exchanged glances. They hadn't gone to the headmistress yet. Phil, because he didn't have all the information about everything from Hermione, since Draco had carried her off, and Draco because, well, because Hermione had seemed too fragile to go through everything again so soon. He'd done his best and compromised by summoning her best friend and insisting on having Pomfrey look her over, but he knew that tomorrow he'd have to see McGonagall. Maybe he'd luck out and the Weaslette would force Granger to talk to her head of house tonight.

Merlin's beard, he sure wasn't looking forward to the summons to the office later.

"No one's informed her yet," Draco said a last, his stomach twisting with the admission. "We—that is—I thought that we should wait until the morning."

Miguel narrowed his eyes at him, and Draco fought a sudden, unfamiliar urge to hunch his shoulders against the boy's penetrating gaze. "Who was the girl?" he asked, looking between Phil and Draco once more. "Do I know her? Is she alright?"

"Granger," Phil said before Draco could decide if he wanted to share that information. He knew he couldn't protect Hermione's privacy forever, but he still wanted to spare her the humiliation of her horrible night being passed around as merely a night's gossip.

Miguel frowned. "Granger? Potter's friend?" He looked at Draco. "That girl you were… what, getting tutoring from or something?"

Draco didn't bother to correct him, anger was surging in his chest once more. Phil replied for him. "Yes, that's right."

"Isn't she, like, supposed to be super smart or something?"

Draco suppressed a growl, but only barely. "Smarts don't count for much when an arsehole like Blaise decides to play around with you like a cat with a mouse."

Miguel read his expression and seemed to start to grasp the situation more fully. "Did he… hurt her?" His own face had darkened now, and Draco could tell that he was just as disgusted and upset as he and Phil were. Slytherins were ruthless and ambitious, but that didn't mean they were all cruel and unfeeling as well.

"A little," Draco said stiffly, "but we got there in time to… put a stop to things." His last words were heavy with implications and Miguel's lips thinned as he processed things.

"So that's why you moved out of your dorm," he summarized, putting such a laughably mundane spin on the end of the night that Draco almost let out a hysterical bark of laughter.

"In short," he agreed. Then he looked at Phil. "Phillip deduced that it probably wasn't good for me to hang around there if I didn't want to get sent to azkaban for murdering my former best mate."

"We don't know if Zabini will come back to the castle tonight or if he'll try and scarper, but a little space is probably wisest right now," Phil said, pulling back his covers as he readied for bed.

"I'll say," Miguel muttered under his breath, still looking shocked.

"So, want to kick me out yet?" Draco drawled, striving for his old, cool, cockiness as he dropped back onto his bed.

Miguel studied him for a moment before answering. "If you brought Zabini down a peg or two tonight, well, I think you bought yourself refuge here. I never liked hanging out with him anyway, and I never truly understood why you were friends with him all this time. He was only trying to use your family name to social climb by association."

Draco leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes, wondering why it had taken him so long to realize the toxic presence Blaise was in his life. Sure, he knew now, but at what cost? "And we all know what associating with the name of Malfoy does for a bloke these days," he muttered under his breath, flicking his wand at his hangings so they dropped closed around him.

He wouldn't sleep, but the darkness around him had a quieting effect, and slowly Draco could feel his muscles begin to relax. Outside the curtains he could hear Phil and Miguel conversing in low voices, but his brain was too exhausted to attempt to eavesdrop, even if it was more than likely their source of conversation was him. Tomorrow he'd send a note to Hermione and see how she was. Or maybe to Ginny, since she finally seemed have stopped thinking of him as the devil incarnate. Draco felt a tired smirk tip his lips despite everything. Was this what a 'good life' was? To be thought of as a 'lesser evil'? Well, he supposed he'd take what he could get and be grateful for it.

xXx

"I'm fine, Ginny, really," Hermione protested as Ginny all but dragged her down the hallway toward the hospital wing. She had a hand firmly around Hermione's arm, just above her elbow, and she wasn't allowing an inch of wiggle room.

"I never thought I'd live to say this," Ginny muttered, still walking purposefully down the hall, "but Malfoy was right, you need to see Madam Pomfrey. You don't look good, Hermione," Ginny said, a little more gently, her brown eyes concerned. "I'm worried about you. If you keep refusing to see Pomfrey then I'll have no choice but to drag you straight down to McGonagall's office." She paused, thoughtful for a moment. "I probably ought to do that anyway."

Hermione tensed and said nothing more as they neared the infirmary door. She knew she should let the mediwitch look her over. Hermione herself could treat her scrapes and bruises—she wasn't seriously hurt, physically, just a bit battered from grappling on the alley floor, though it was probably still better to let a qualified professional Healer tend her. Her mental state was another story, however, and Hermione wondered if she could ask Madam Pomfrey for a dreamless sleep potion before she left.

"Hello?" Ginny was calling out, voice loud in the silent hospital wing, and Hermione hovered back a few feet as her friend stuck her head around the door, looking for the matron. "Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes, what is it?" came the motherly, yet stern tone of the school nurse as she bustled up the empty ward with a frown. "It's very late, Miss Weasley, is everything alright?"

Ginny pulled the door open further and stepped into the ward, gently tugging Hermione after her. "Hermione's had a bit of a dust up," she said in her firm, distinct voice, the same sort of blasé tone she used with her brothers, not giving away anything that didn't need to be shared. The look in her eyes, however, warned Hermione that she wasn't yet ready to let things go entirely. "Could you please give her a look over?"

"Miss Granger?" the matron said, a briskness taking over her tone as she eyed Hermione. "What happened?"

Hermione glanced at Ginny, then back at Madam Pomfrey, feeling suddenly vulnerable. "I, um…." She looked down at her hands, at a loss for how to explain away the night's events in a manner that would make things seem less horrible than they really were. She took a step forward, away from the door, and swayed. Madam Pomfrey's expression tightened slightly.

"Miss Granger, I'm hesitant to ask it, but are you… drunk?" The older woman's disappointed tone stung Hermione's pride, but she nodded, her embarrassed flush blending into her already pink cheeks.

The matron glanced at Ginny, then back to Hermione, her expression and demeanour morphing into clinical efficiency. "Miss Weasley, kindly help Miss Granger to one of the beds while I get a Pepper-Up potion for her, then I'll ask you to please wait outside while we have a private talk. I'll let you know when you can come in again."

Hermione looked at Ginny in terror, afraid of the knowing look in the matron's eyes, but her body was against her, sinking down onto the cot and immediately refusing to move as exhaustion seeped through every nerve until Hermione could barely keep her eyes open. Ginny bit her lip, her face anxious as she looked down at Hermione, but as soon as Madam Pomfrey's office door opened again she gave her hand a squeeze and hurried out of the ward.

"Drink this," Madam Pomfrey said, in a no-nonsense voice, pressing a small bottle into Hermione's hand and helping her sit up enough to swallow it back. Then she set the empty flask on a side table and studied Hermione's face. "I've seen this before, I'm sorry to say," the matron began, her voice low, and faintly angry, "and I'm only going to ask you once, so please be as honest as you can be." Hermione tensed, waiting for whatever the mediwitch would demand of her. "Where you hurt in any way beyond these surface marks, Miss Granger?"

Hermione closed her eyes, letting the Pepper-Up potion wash away the last of the drunken haze that had clung to her like a fog all the way back to the castle. She felt almost fine, physically, by this point. Madam Pomfrey had waved her wand up and down Hermione's body, healing the small cuts and scratches, vanishing the bruises, until Hermione looked completely normal, aside from the dirt smeared across her dress.

"No, Madam Pomfrey."

The mediwitch's eyes were penetrating, and Hermione wondered if the woman across from her was employing legilimancy against her to see if she were telling the whole truth.

"Who attacked you?" the matron pressed on, her voice not unkind, though the question felt like a command to Hermione. She hesitated and Madam Pomfrey's voice softened the slightest bit. "Miss Granger, whatever happened, you need to tell me who hurt you so that he can be set straight."

Hermione felt her insides start to war with each other once more, just like when she'd been talking with Draco in field. She bit her lip, looking down at her hands again, and fiddled with the blanket on the cot. She didn't want to start trouble, and yet, somewhere deep down insider her, rage burned. She couldn't let him get away with this.

"Miss Granger?" the matron prompted gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and covering her hand with an older, more weathered one of her own.

"B-Blaise Zabini," Hermione choked out, feeling a shiver race down her body at the name. "He…" she began, trying to be as clinical as the mediwtich was herself. "He'd been drinking, too. I had a few shots of firewiskey at the Hog's Head," she admitted, flushing at the admission, even though she hadn't broken any rules by doing so, she was of legal age in the wizarding world. "I… I decided to head back to the castle. He… followed me out." She repeated the story of alley attack in as condensed a form as she could manage, explaining how Blaise had made a pass at her and she'd refused him, and how he'd taken the rejection badly and gotten rough with her, but that Malfoy and his mate, Phillip, had suddenly showed up and rescued her. The matron's eyes went up at this bit of news, but she didn't interrupt until Hermione showed signs that her story was done. "And then Malfoy saw me back to the castle and called Ginny to come get me," she finished up, voice dull from having to relive the experience over for the third time in one night.

"I see," Madam Pomfrey said slowly, still casting a critical eye over Hermione's body as if to search out any contradictory evidence. "I'll speak to the headmistress about this. And Mr. Malfoy and his housemate are to be commended for their bravery and chivalry. I'll be sure to let their head of house know about their actions as well." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Mr. Malfoy has grown this year, hasn't he?" she mused, straightening Hermione's blanket.

Hermione thought back to the way he'd held her in the field, and the way he'd taken hold of her shoulders in his gentle, yet firm, manner, in the entrance hall, to tell her that she was going to make it through this experience. "Yes, he has," she agreed softly.

After a few minutes more of Madam Pomfrey waving her wand about and making notes on a chart, she pronounced Hermione well enough to return to her dorm, though she offered a night in the hospital wing if Hermione so wished. Hermione had to admit she was tempted to hide away in the ward with the mediwitch there to guard her against intruders all night, but on balance decided she'd rather be tucked up in her bed in Gryffindor Tower.

"I'll let Miss Weasley know she can see you back to the Tower," Madam Pomfrey said at last, walking toward the entrance to the ward, as Hermione got out of bed and straightened her clothes. As Hermione started to follow her, the matron turned around to look her in the eye. "I know tonight has been a harrowing experience, Miss Granger, but you are a strong young woman, do not let it consume you."

As Hermione passed through the doorway and saw Ginny hovering anxiously in the empty hallway, she set her shoulders and straightened her spine. She wouldn't let Blaise break her. She was Hermione Granger: muggleborn extraordinaire, the best witch in her year, and stronger than one cruel boy could ever know. She would rise above this. She would be brave. She would not be broken.

xXx

The next day the Hogwarts rumour mill ran rampant, the gossip mongers claiming that Hermione Granger had been attacked—and then rescued by no less than Draco Malfoy. Those who were apt to try and see some good in a bad situation were inclined to say that he'd been in the right place at the right time, and had done it at the very least to prove he'd changed since the war. Those who were less forgiving, such as Ron Weasley, furiously claimed that it was far more likely that Malfoy had orchestrated the entire ordeal from the very beginning as a sick sort of game, from playing up a false friendship with Hermione to arranging for one of his mates to rough her up so that he could swoop in and play the hero.

When Draco walked into the great hall the next morning, Miguel and Phil on either side of him, he held his head high, refusing to look at anyone as they marched to the Slytherin table and took their seats for breakfast. Draco couldn't help scanning the long table for Blaise but there was no sign of him. He wasn't sure yet if that was a good or bad thing. Draco hadn't hung about in the common room before breakfast that morning, choosing to make a beeline for the exit with his new roommates in tow, but that didn't mean he missed the sidelong glances, or didn't hear the way certain groups of people stopped talking when he passed. He knew he'd drawn a line in the sand last night, rescuing a Gryffindor, let alone a muggleborn. It wasn't that every Slytherin hated all muggleborns, or was against friendships that crossed school houses, but the fact that it had been Hermione Granger and Draco involved in the upset, well people were bound to talk.

Draco took a seat at the long table, across from Sylvia Melville, her friend Ebony conspicuously further down the row, and was relieved she didn't leap to her feet and hurry away at Draco's presence. He nodded at her, unsure if it was in grateful camaraderie, or just relief that he hadn't been fully ostracized like the beginning of the school year, and greeted her as normally as he could.

"Morning, Melville," Draco said cordially, reaching for a plate of bacon.

"Draco," Sylvia acknowledged, eyeing him, holding a cup of tea halfway to her lips.

"Morning," Phil chimed in, in his regular, cheerful voice, pulling a bowl of fruit toward himself and grinning at Sylvia. "Great day for a lie-in," he added, stifling a yawn. "If I didn't have that paper due in Herbology I reckon no one would have seen me before noon today."

On Draco's other side Miguel had dropped onto the bench and almost immediately dropped his head onto his plate, eyes closed. "If any one of you makes any noise, I'll hex you," he mumbled, burying his face in his arms.

Sylvia snorted delicately, rolling her eyes at Miguel. "Long night, Munoz?"

"He cleaned out a few moneybags," Draco said casually, adding tomatoes and a slice of toast to his plate, "and a few bottles of firewiskey along with them, I hear."

"Big hex. Painful," Miguel muttered, swinging halfheartedly at Draco's arm, but missing, since his eyes were closed and he'd apparently forgotten to snag a Pepper-Up potion before coming down to breakfast. Draco smirked, but lowered his voice just the same.

"It was a long night for many reasons," he muttered to Sylvia, wondering if she'd already heard what had happened. She'd seen Draco pelt out out of the Hog's Head the previous evening. Other students had probably already asked her if there was any truth to the rumours flying around the school. Draco was surprised he hadn't been pulled out of bed and summoned to a meeting with McGonagall.

Sylvia's expression darkened a bit, and she glanced from side to side to make sure no one else was sitting close enough to overhear. Draco wanted to roll his eyes at that, as soon as he'd sat down the students closest to him had moved further down the benches so that they could continue to whisper and sneak looks at him. "Listen, Draco," Sylvia said in a quiet voice, her face pale. "People are saying that there was some sort of fight last night." She paused, looking nervous, then pressed on. "They said that you were involved, and so was Hermione Granger."

She waited for him to nod, admit his involvement, or guilt, or whatever, and Draco almost refused to acknowledge this direct question. In the end though he knew there was no getting around it. His friendship with Granger was no longer a secret, if it ever had been, and he'd have to deal with it. He was relived, in some small part, that it was out in the open, but he'd have chosen a different way to bring that reveal about if he'd had the opportunity.

"That's true," Draco said, leaving it there, and waiting to see if Sylvia would continue. He was curious what rumours were circulating and didn't want to add to them before he knew what other people were saying. Next to him, Phil was eating a sunny-side-up egg on toast, with all appearances of being completely engrossed in his meal, but Draco caught him giving him a sideways glance.

"People are saying Granger was attacked and you carried her unconscious body out of an alley and all the way back to the school."

"She wasn't unconscious," Phil said, reaching for his glass of pumpkin juice and taking a swig. "But it might have been better if she was." He met Draco's eyes, and then Sylvia's. "Zabini tried to take advantage of her. Apparently she'd had a few too many, and he definitely had. And you know how he gets when he sets his eye on someone." He trailed off meaningfully, and Sylvia blanched.

"B-Blaise?" Sylvia stuttered, looking thrown, but only for a second. Draco could see that she wasn't as shocked as she wanted to be. "But he—"

"You told me he left with Granger," Draco cut in, his gaze steely, and Sylvia flinched faintly, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Draco ignored this, pressing on. "Thank you," he said in a low voice, holding Sylvia's eyes. She looked surprised. "If you hadn't shared that information, we might never have gotten there in time to stop things."

Sylvia still looked unsettled by Draco's thanks. "I didn't do anything," she muttered, looking embarrassed. "I was just upset that he'd blown me off…"

Draco could see she was working through a lot of feelings, the same sort of thing he'd been dealing with for most of the night, but he didn't press her on it. He had the feeling that Sylvia was finally admitting to herself that she'd had a narrow escape from a very bad relationship and he didn't want to jeopardize that realization.

"Just the same, I'm grateful," he said again, needing her to hear it. Because he was. He had thought over and over all night about what might have happened if he hadn't stopped to chat with Sylvia. He couldn't bear to think about it.

"Well," Sylvia muttered, sounding flustered at this admission from the prince of Slytherin, despite the fact that he'd blown her off romantically several times that fall. "I may not be friends with Granger, but any boy who tries something that heinous deserves the business end of a wand." She fiddled with her napkin, glancing up at Draco through her long lashes.

"Trust me, he got it," Phil said darkly, and Sylvia glanced at him, her eyes widening.

"Were you there too, Philip?" she questioned, a certain tone of interest appearing in her voice that hadn't been there when she'd been talking to Draco a moment earlier, and he glanced between them. Now that would be a much better match than Melville and Zabini had been. He'd have to see about nudging them in the right direction when things calmed down a bit.

Draco looked over at the Gryffindor table on the other side of the room. It was crowded as always, but he had no trouble locating Hermione's brunette curls tucked in next to Ginny's long red locks. Brown was on her other side, and Potter was across from them, but Weasley was sitting further down the row, that twit, Violet, cuddled up next to him. Draco rolled his eyes mentally as he took in Weasley's canoodling; couldn't he give up being a grade-a prat and try and be there for one of his supposed best friends?

Draco had expected that Granger would have shared her experience at least with Potter, if not Weasley, or that Ginny would have told them, considering she was dating one and related to the other, but Potter hadn't come charging over all knight-in-shining-armour yet, and Weasley was only glaring periodically over at the Slytherin table, not even pretending to be a bodyguard, so maybe they didn't know? Or maybe one or both of them was simply saving all their anger for the next time he and Draco met alone in a hallway, let alone met Zabini. Weasley would love to blame him for Hermione's misfortune, Draco knew, and he couldn't even fault him for it. He still felt horribly guilty for drawing her into a world where such a thing had happened to her. How would he ever make things up to her?

Draco had just reached for the glass jug of pumpkin juice to refill his goblet when there was a commotion at the far end of the Slytherin table, as a group of latecomers took their seats. Draco could see Anderson and Cartwright shouldering their way onto the bench, past a group of second years who shoved at each other trying to scramble further down the row, and then Burlinghton and Blakely, and behind them—Blaise Zabini.

"Don't," a low voice hissed in Draco's ear, accompanied by a hard grip on his arm, preventing Draco from reaching for his wand right there in the middle of the Great Hall, and he knew that Phil had seen the arrival too. "Wait for a better time."

Blaise looked relatively okay, considering the beating Draco had given him the previous night, with both fists and wand, and had on a school sweater over his casual trousers, so he'd clearly been back to his room some time between then and now. Draco watched as Blaise started to eat, talking in a low, heated voice to the boys around him. He only glanced down the row once, but Draco knew he was looking to see what Draco would do upon seeing him, and so help him, if Blaise so much as smirked at him, Draco wouldn't be able to stop himself from leaping up tackling him right across his scrambled eggs. Just in the knick of time, an owl swooped low across the table, dropping a letter half an inch from his nose, and it was only Phil's quick hand that saved the missive from dropping into Draco's breakfast.

He could see at a glance that the note was from McGonagall, and upon opening it, Draco felt a lurch in his stomach.

"Mr. Malfoy,

Please report to the headmistress' office at 10am. Bring along Phillip and anyone else who may have

been involved in last night's events. I have arranged to speak with Miss Granger and Mr. Zabini separately.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress"

Draco glanced at Phil, who'd been reading over his shoulder, and then over at Sylvia, then down at his watch. It was nine forty-five. Time to face the music.

"Come on, Phil," Draco said, dropping his toast back onto his plate, no longer hungry. Then he met Sylvia's eyes. "McGonagall wants us all in her office in fifteen minutes," he informed her in a low voice, so as not to attract any more attention then need be. "You should come too." After all, she'd seen Blaise and Hermione in the pub, and Draco needed all the evidence he could get.

With as little ceremony as possible, Draco got up from the table, Phil and Sylvia following him, and made his way down the aisle toward the tall, wooden door. It took all his willpower not to look at Blaise as they passed his group.

"Come on, mate," Phil said quietly, "just get out of here. McGonagall will sort things."

Draco certainly hoped so, or he couldn't be held responsible for what happened.