February 1999—

Hermione awoke to shouting. Willing it to go away, she kept her eyes clamped shut.

"It wasn't my fault!"

"The bloody hell it wasn't!"

"You clipped her tail, Ronald!"

"Shut the fuck up, all of you." It was Draco's voice.

"Like you don't want to tear him a new one!" Ginny shouted.

"It was the Firebolt! It just shot out of my control," Ron's voice was pleading.

"Well, it never shoots out of my control," said Harry, an unusual edge in his voice. "Thank Merlin I was on Draco's broom. If I were on the school broom, she'd be dead."

"Oh, he's 'Draco' to you now, too?"

"Yes, Ronald," Ginny spat. "Harry can call him whatever he wants. If Draco hadn't managed to slow Hermione's fall, Harry wouldn't have had time to catch her, fast broom or no."

"Stop it." Hermione's voice croaked out of her throat. She felt Draco's presence at her side, which was confirmed when his hand took hers.

Harry's voice addressed her first. "You're awake. How do you feel? Can you move your shoulder?"

She circled her left shoulder in her socket as the memory of the sharp pain came back to her. "Yes," she forced herself to speak.

"Move aside!"

Hermione managed to open her eyes to the sight of Madam Pomfrey hovering over her.

"Look at me here, now." The school nurse peered into her eyes then cast a few diagnostic charms over her. "You're almost mended, but you need some more rest."

"What was…"

"Shh, it's okay. No questions just yet." Madam Pomfrey's tone was more soothing than usual. "I've got a tonic for your throat, but I didn't want to give it to you before you woke. You burst some blood vessels in there while screaming."

Hermione was abruptly aware of the metallic taste in her mouth.

"I've also repaired your dislocated shoulder, the tendon and muscle damage, and the flesh wounds on your forearm." She lowered her voice. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but there was nothing I could do to heal your scar. I put a thick salve on it, and that bandage should stay on overnight. That should help mitigate the pain, at least."

Madam Pomfrey helped Hermione sit up, then handed her a series of potions to take, which she listed off as she offered over each one. Hermione took them without complaint and smiled when the throat-healing position splashed down. In minutes, she felt renewed. To their credit, Draco, Ron, Ginny, and Harry all sat quietly until Madam Pomfrey collected up the empty bottles, gave Hermione a final warning to rest, cast a disapproving look at her four companions, and left.

After a tense moment, Ron spoke up first. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to. I just lost control of the broom, you see. I'm not used to flying it."

She shook her head. "It's okay. I'm fine."

"Still, I'm really sorry."

"You seem to be apologizing a lot today," Malfoy said. Hermione noted the scathing drawl that crept into his voice.

"At least I know how to apologize," Ron spat red-faced.

Malfoy sneered. "You're one—"

"Enough." It was Harry who spoke up, and he was full of authority. A fleeting image of fifth year DA meetings popped into Hermione's head. "You two can kill each other in the hallways all you want to, but not in here."

"He started it!" Ron was almost shouting.

"Oh, yes," Malfoy's voice was low and icy, "keep redirecting the blame. Salazar forbid you ever—"

"AAAHHH!"

Hermione was startled by her own scream. She had tried to peek at her bandaged scar to see Madam Pomfrey's salve, and a fiery pain ripped across her forearm. When she opened her eyes, everyone was looking at her. Ron's eyes were the size of saucers. Draco's were discerning. Harry's were fearful. Ginny's were calm, so Hermione kept her gaze there.

"How about a little girl time?" Ginny said. "Boys out to punch each other in the halls and see if Ron and Harry can get expelled without even being students. Or, if you feel like playing nice, Draco, take them to your bloody gorgeous common room. We'll be all set here by the time you're done."

Harry looked like he might protest.

"Off you pop." She took a seat at the end of Hermione's bed and shooed all the men like she would a group of lost first years.

To Hermione's surprise, all three trudged towards the door. Draco held it open for the other two, then turned back with an unreadable expression.

"I'd rather sta—"

"GO."

With a last lingering look to Hermione, he left. When the door swung shut, Ginny turned back to her.

"How bad is it?"

Hermione gave herself a moment to assess. "It's not too bad, except for my scar. It's sort of burning and… crawling? I don't know."

Ginny nodded. "Harry caught you by your forearm. He just grabbed the first thing he could."

Hermione looked down at her bandage, and her head filled with new questions that had no answers.

"How's your head?"

"Totally fine. I don't think I hit my head, did I?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Not physically, you bint."

"Hey, with the insults! I just fell thirty feet!"

"Well?"

Hermione sighed. "I think that's okay too. It's not as bad as I thought, with the three of them. I hate to say it, but I probably do just need to rest. Ech," she rubbed her right hand over her face, careful not to move her left arm, "I'm going to ruin tomorrow, aren't I?"

"I'm pretty sure Draco would be as happy sitting with you in the hospital wing as he would be at Paris' finest restaurant."

Hermione smiled.

"Why don't I let you rest and chase down those idiots. I'll make sure they don't kill each other for real in your common room. It'd be a shame to ruin the furniture."

"The password is 'cherry cherub.' Padma just changed it today to be festive." She rolled her eyes.

Ginny smiled and patted her leg. "Okay, I'll bring the troupe back later to get you before dinner."

When Hermione was finally alone, it took only moments for her eyes to slip shut. She had gotten more sleep than usual lately, but the rapid healing must have wiped her out. Even with the magic and the potions, it takes a toll on the body, the logical side of her brain knew. She floated in an inky, warm blackness. The lack of all sensation made her feel oddly safe.

Then, she was falling.

Plummeting.

She tried to scream, but the sound was sucked into the dark void. She had no idea when or if she would meet the bottom. But, it came rushing up to her all too soon, and she found herself crushed against dark tiles. They were slick, and Hermione knew it was from her own blood.

"TELL THE TRUTH!"

Bellatrix's hateful eyes filled her vision. Then, knowing it was coming, she felt the pain before she heard the curse.

"Crucio!"

Her body instantly convulsed. Stabbing, burning, tearing pain covered every inch of her. There was no end, even when all of Hermione's other senses disappeared into the blackness.

"Miss Granger, come back to us."

Hermione was still in blackness and unable to move.

"Hermione, it's all right. Open your eyes."

The voice was familiar, patient, calm. She opened her eyes. Madam Pomfrey stood over her pressing a cool cloth on her forehead. Her usual briskness had died away and was replaced by a new serenity. An ostrich-egg-sized clump of chocolate sat on the side table.

"Tell me, dear, how long have your dreams caused you physical pain, and not just fear?"

Hermione sighed. The cat was out of the bag. She spoke with Madam Pomfrey at length and answered dozens of questions for her. Some of them (the nature and frequency of her dreams, when they started, if they ever subsided), Hermione could understand. Others, like the usual length and date of her most recent cycle, she found more puzzling but answered just the same.

Finally, the woman prescribed her remedy, "Miss Granger, you'll need to stay in overnight at least. Eat this entire chocolate throughout the course of the evening. I'll give you a Dreamless Sleep potion tonight, but not sooner. You have too many potions in your system right now to handle it. We'll talk tomorrow about long-term care. Your friends will be permitted to return to stay with you until curfew."

Madam Pomfrey walked away to tend to a boy with hands the size of balloons, and judging by the way his arms hung above his head, they were floating like balloons, too. Hermione sat for several minutes staring straight ahead. She tried to clear her mind. The echoes of her dream still rang in her ears.

Breathe in.

If only she could write to Draco like she used to.

Breathe out.

Maybe he would be willing to bring her her quill and journal. Maybe he would agree to go back to his room and act like he did not care about her the same as he did now. Maybe, for one night, they could step back so she could have back her impartial confidant.

"What happened?"

Hermione's eyes, which she could not remember shutting, snapped open. Ginny was standing above her with a worried look on her face. She hated that look.

"Nothing, I just had a bad dream."

Draco moved around Ginny and sat in the chair next to her. He was silent and watching her with an unreadable expression.

"C'mon Hermione, you can trust us," said Ron. "What was it?"

Harry and Ron moved to sit on either end of her bed, while Ginny stood at the foot. They were all watching her, with the exception of Draco, who was leaning forward, elbows on knees, and staring at his hands.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Why don't you tell me what you think of the common room instead? I have this ridiculous brick of chocolate to eat, and my throat is still a little sore."

The three Gryffindors exchanged heavy glances, but Ron snapped out of it first.

"Well, I can see why you spend so much time in there," he said. "It's bloody brilliant! I wouldn't have minded a little bit nicer furniture in the Gryffindor common room. And, as much as I like our colors, I have to say the variety in there is nice." He continued to pick apart the room in a very un-Ron-like fashion.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Unless they were talking about quidditch, Ron never had this much to say about a anything. She let him continue for a while, and when he got to his thoughts on their teacups being the perfect size to hold in your hand, she stopped him.

"What's up with him?" She asked the question to Harry, but she noted that Ron turned bright red.

Ginny cackled, and so did Draco. Hermione whipped her head to stare at him.

Harry cleared his throat. "We, er, ran into someone unexpected on the way back here."

"Who?"

"Blaise Zabini."

"He's unexpected?"

"Well… not him exactly."

"Listen, I just fell thirty feet. I'm not in the mood for riddles."

"Apparently," Malfoy drawled, "Zabini has some interesting insights into—"

"FINE, I'll tell her!" Ron burst out. He spent a few moments glaring between Harry and Malfoy, then spent another few with his head bowed, then took a deep breath and finally spoke. "I was in Diagon Alley a couple weeks ago at this new pub. It's kinda dark, really close to Knockturn—out of the way you know—"

"Get on with it," Ginny barked.

"I had a bad day at training and wanted to drink. I can't exactly drink at home, being back at the Burrow now—"

"Your own fault," muttered Harry.

"—and this place seemed like the sort of place you could get pissed and not be noticed. So, I started drinking. I wasn't looking around, wasn't talking to anyone. Just me and my firewhiskey. I don't really know how it happened, but before long I had a drinking companion. We didn't really talk, just took turns refilling each other's glasses."

"Is this going somewhere?" Hermione asked.

"It's important that you know the whole scene. Otherwise, what happened doesn't make sense. Hell, I can hardly make sense of it now. There was a lot of alcohol involved, and my memory is patchy from that night. But, I want you to know, it's not going to happen again. It was a one-time thing, and it wouldn't have happened if I was in my right mind. You see, sometimes—"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Ronald! He got pissed and had a one night stand with Pansy Parkinson!" Ginny blurted out.

Hermione's jaw went slack. She stared at Ron, and a million things flew through her mind. Not the least of which was her fairly recent understanding of pure-blood dating dynamics.

Her four companions were all staring at her again.

"You fucking asshole."

Now it was Ron's turn to gape at her.

"You harassed me to no end about Draco!" She yelled, then her voice turned mocking. "He's a Slytherin! He's a snake! You can't trust them! And that's not even the worst of it! Where is my wand? Give me my wand. I'm going to hex your fucking bollocks off."

"Hermione!" Ron gasped. "It was a mistake! I'm not dating her. I was drunk, not insane!"

Ginny smacked him hard across the back of the head.

Hermione felt her blood boiling. After all that she had to put up with for just talking to Draco, he had a lot of nerve to then jump right into bed with the likes of Pansy Parkinson. Her head ached, and her scar began to burn again. She took several steadying breaths.

"I don't have the energy for this," she whispered through gritted teeth.

"We'll let you rest," Ginny said, standing and pulling Harry and Ron to their feet. "It's nearly dinner anyway. Draco, we'll bring you a plate."

Draco nodded. He had made no move to stand when the others did. They said their goodbyes in case Hermione was asleep by the time they returned. Ron promised to be less of an idiot before Harry grabbed him by the collar and hauled him bodily out the door.

Finally alone, Hermione and Draco sat for a few minutes in silence. Her brain started to work through how she might begin to ask her question about the quill.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Draco asked. His voice was steady.

"About what?"

"The dream."

"Well, it's hard to describe. I'm not sure…" Hermione closed her eyes and steeled her nerves. "I'm not sure that I can talk about it. It's difficult to say aloud, but it's also difficult to say to you."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You told me about your dreams before."

"Yes, but you didn't care much about me then."

He shared at her, tight lipped.

She continued. "I don't mean this to sound awful, because it sounds awful in my head. I want to share everything with you, but it's a lot harder to do that when I think about how you'll react now. It was just easier when I knew whatever I told you, you wouldn't really care. You'd be blunt, even if it wasn't what I wanted to hear. You didn't care about being brutally honest, which I think is what I needed. And sometimes still need. I know this all sounds crazy, because sharing so much with someone I didn't trust was definitely mental, but at the same time, it was also easier because I kind of did trust you in a different way, and I knew telling you something horrible wouldn't lessen your opinion of me. And now…."

She took a breath.

Draco stared at her for a long moment, still without speaking.

"Say something."

"You think I cared less about you then?"

"Well, I— What?"

"I didn't." Draco's cheeks, she realized, were slightly pink. "Merlin, Granger, did you really think I'd buy a quill like that for some random girl I wanted to start a casual correspondence with?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to stare in silence.

"Everything I wrote, that's just who I am."

The wheels in her head were spinning at one hundred miles per hour. He cared for her then? From the very start, even?

"I didn't know," she whispered.

Draco just shrugged.

"How long have you…"

It took Draco a long while to reply. He cleared his throat. "Sixth year, probably. Fourth year is when I first really… saw you."

"I don't understand. Why this year? Why now? I mean, yes, I know, Voldemort and the war and everything. But, fourth year was a long time before that."

"No. The end of fourth year is when it all began for us. When he returned."

"Oh. Of course. I should've realized that."

"Besides that, my head was still pretty fucked up. And, I had different expectations on me."

Hermione scrunched up her brow.

"Family expectations."

"Ah."

They sat together in silence for a while, both feeling the weight of understanding between them. Then, neither knowing how or when, they started to talk. Hermione shared her latest dream, the echoes of pain, the raw and flaming scar, and her fears. Draco listened without giving her a single look of pity, and he shared his own experiences with the Dark Mark, the pain from his dreams, and his acceptance of his fears. Madam Pomfrey brought them both dinner trays and gently reminded Draco of the curfew time that evening. Finally, Hermione's shoulders began to relax.

"Draco, I have something to tell you."

He nodded as he spooned a bit of bread pudding into his mouth.

"It's about my parents."

He looked up at her, his expression carefully blank. His spoon hung in the air halfway to his mouth.

"On Monday, I'm meeting with the Healers with McGonagall. We're going to discuss further treatment."

"That's good news, isn't it?" he asked slowly.

"Well, yes," Hermione sighed with relief. "It could be promising. But it depends on a lot of variables: if their memory has progressed over the past month since they started trying to come back to the U.K., if they begin to have any memories of their real names or of me, if the current treatment the team has been doing has made any changes—"

"Current treatment? Coming back to the U.K.? I'm missing something."

So Hermione told him all of the things she and McGonagall had been discussing over the past month, the treatments they had approved together, and the reports they had received back. It was mostly little things, but it felt so good to finally share it with someone. Her heart was light as a feather. She signed contentedly.

But, Malfoy did not respond.

"Draco?"

"Let me get this straight. Over the past month, you've been making plans with McGonagall, received major and possibly life-changing news about your parents, and your gut reaction was to lament that we've grown closer, because you preferred to talk to me when you thought you meant less to me. Or, perhaps, you preferred it when I meant less to you?" His voice grew icier with each word.

Hermione looked into his eyes and was startled by the coldness. Cold, empty fury.

"Draco, it's not like that."

"Save it," he snapped as he rose to stand. He took three long strides towards the door, then paused. Over, his shoulder, he said, "Feel free to write me when you next need me." The invitation was dripping with acid. He left.

Hermione watched him disappear behind the hospital doors, stunned into silence. What just happened? They were talking like they had never talked in person before. She was trusting him with the most precious information she had about her parents—her only family. Yet, somehow, he was livid, and she was alone.

A single tear betrayed her by slipping down her cheek. She lay back into her pillows, rolled to her side, and stared at the wall.

Half an ostrich egg of chocolate sat on her side table next to a purple bottle of Dreamless Sleep. With a frown, she reached for the potion.