The long corridor was disgustingly lit with florescent lighting that made even the relatively healthy, look sick and pale. The tap of his dragonhide Oxfords on the dull grey linoleum was grating on his already frayed nerves. His work day was complete though and he always came to see her. To see if she remembered anything. From before. From now. Any change in her was a good change.

Stepping in front of the last closed door in the third hallway of the Janus Thickery Ward, his red Auror robes swirling around his ankles, Draco Malfoy took a long and deep breath. At a count of 10, he let the breath out and let the stress of the day fall away. Shoulders released of tension and one hand on the knob, he entered her room slowly, as to not scare her.

A team of 20 Aurors, 10 Junior Aurors, and the remaining Order of Phoenix members, had been working to find her for five years after the Battle of Hogwarts fifth anniversary before Narcissa Malfoy had literally found her in her drawing room after hearing a commotion inside the long locked room. How she got there, they would never know. Accidental apparition would be his best guess. Somewhere that was connected to her. Somewhere with her magical signature. Her blood was still soaked into the floor, no matter how much his mother had them scrubbed.

Hermione sat with her arms wrapped around her muscular legs that she had pulled up to her chest at the head of the bed with her bottom on her pillows. Soft, long, curly hair covering her face like a hood and her hospital gown looking worse for wear.

"Hermione, have you been giving the Healers a hard time again? Showing them your proper swotty attitude in the form of not dressing correctly?" Draco asked calmly.

"Harry" she answered.

"No, you have nothing to fear with them and you know it. They are here to help you." he told her sternly as he sat in the nylon covered hospital issued chair that sat the closest to her bed. He shifted his right leg to rest over his left knee and sat back to get comfortable.

"Ronald" she sqeaked.

" I don't know why you are mad at me about this. I got dressed this morning and combed my hair like a proper gentleman. So unless you want me to floo Weaslette to come scream like a banshee at you once again, I suggest you let them brush that mane you call hair and keep your clothes on like the lady I know you are."

She had always been a well mannered, polite and kind girl. Even Draco Malfoy knew that. No matter how much he taunted and ridiculed her, no matter how far he pushed her, she had always held herself with dignity, grace and dare he say, pureness. Muggleborn or not she was generally good. Better even, than most purebloods he knew. Since she had been found though, she had been a bit...well, crazy would be a fitting word. Pulling at her hair, biting at her own tongue and cheeks till blood pooled in her mouth and dribbled down her chin. Scratching at the scar on her arm till it no longer resembled the original slur. Only ribbons of unhealed flesh that stayed raw and red that the Healer assigned to her for the day, would have to constantly place healing charms on to keep infection from setting in. She only spoke in names of people she knew. Six months, she had been here in this room. Locked within her own mind, to an extent. Six months of mumbled names and five years missing before that. She explained how she felt by saying the names of people she loved, coveted, kept close. Weasleby came in the mornings before he was due at the Ministry and Draco came at night. The remaining members of the Weasley family came to visit periodically throughout the day.

Percy, the biggest pompous prat of the lot, told her about the new law's the Ministry had and would be passing all while Hermione bit at her nails till nothing was left but bloody cuticles. Charlie, the bumbling giant, would lie in bed with her while he explained the new dragons they where working with in Romania with her head on his chest like she was his little sister but holding her in a vice like grip to keep her from thrashing. Bill and his scars would ask her opinion on new curses he was trying to break on some old ladies jewelry from the 18th century he had never come across before and would hum and agree with the side of her face while she tore at her clothes. Fleur, the beautiful but annoying Veela, would fuss with her pillows, the flower arrangements, and the ridiculously stupid get well cards from fans and friends alike while Hermione would attempt to suffocate herself in the bedsheets. George would just hold her hand, kiss her knuckles, move her wild hair out of her face while she cried neverending silent tears. Ginny would tell her about her job at the Daily Profit as a Quidditch writer, although she knows Hermione cares not a lick for Quidditch, while she holds some ugly beast Hermione at one point deemed a pet. Mrs. Weasley was something else entirely. Molly brushes her hair and braids it away from her face. She feeds her small bites of whatever she made for dinner while Arthur holds her arms down away from her face while he tells her about the new muggle things he is tinkering with. Molly brushes her teeth the muggle way. She washes her face and paints her nails a simple nude even though there is nothing left of her nails to paint. She reads her Lovegood's pieces in the Quibbler about whackspats that make your head go fuzzy. She dresses her in traditional Weasley jumpers and soft pants. She makes her tea with honey and a splash of milk and helps her bathe. Harry Potter. Her best friend. He comes in at odd times at all hours of the day and scoup her up bridal style and hold her in her hospital bed. He wouldn't care who was in the room or even if she was mid bath. Her nakedness didn't effect him in the slightest. He would breath in her shampoo and whisper into her hair whatever it was that he needed to say. He would hold her for hours while she curled up in his arms.

"Harry" she mumbled from under her cloud of hair that will surely give Mrs Weasley a hard time when she shows up in the morning. "Harry" she repeats a little louder.

"Granger, you're going to stress me out more than you already do. I don't know what you are scared of but if you don't tell me I can't help." Draco slid his hand through his hair and mused the perfected slicked back hairstyle of his youth, that he fell back on as of late. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his face. "I beg of you Hermione, please, please talk. Anything other than another bloody name."

"Draco"

Draco's eyes flew open and he sucked in a breath. She had never said his name. Never. She said Potter's more times than he could count as her way of saying scared, Ronald for when she was angry, George when she was sad and Molly when she was tired. But never his own. Maybe he had imagined it? It wouldn't surprise him really. Sleep was an elusive witch.

"Draco", she repeated. Ya...that was real. He looked up at her through his fingers. She was looking at him now. Hands in her hair and flushed face.

"Right. I'm Draco." He stood up from the ugly chair and sat on the edge of her bed. "Do you need anything?"

She leaned forward closer to his face. His breathing hitched and he swallowed stiffly. One of the hands she had tangled in her hair slipped out and reached for his cheek. She swipped her thumb over his sharp cheek bone, across his nose, down to his lips. "Draco" she breathed as she ran three fingers over his top lip. She sucked in a breath through her teeth and plunged forward before he could even comprehend what was happening.

Lips. Soft, warm, full lips are on mine. Her lips. Merlin and Morgana. Hermione's lips. He hadn't been kissed in so long that he forgot what it felt like. The bubbling in his stomach. The rise of his body temperature. The tightness in his chest. Hands framed his face and plunged into his hair before his mind snapped back into place from wherever it floated off to. Need to push her away. Need her away from me. Not right. Not appropriate. But he couldn't, no, wouldn't push her. He was frozen in place while her lips brushed against his. While her tongue darted out to taste him. "Draco" she cooed.

Draco's eyes snapped open. He didn't even realize he had closed them. He moved out of her grasp by a few inches. Just enough room to breath. To gather himself. He had just let Hermione put her lips on his. He wasn't even sure if he had kissed her back. Had he? Damn it. He couldn't think stright with her breathing the same oxygen as he was. Her fingers fell away and she moved back to her original space at the head of the bed. "Harry. Ron. Molly. Ginny. George. Author. Charlie. Harry. Harry! Harry!"

"Okay. Okay, I'll get Potter, alright? Don't cry. No, no, Hermione, it's alright. Look, I'm not mad or upset. Just don't cry." Draco pleaded with her. Hermione's body wracked with great sobs that would have scared even the most skilled wizard. "It's fine. It's alright. Look, I'll go get the Healer to send word to Potter ok? It's alright. Just don't move ok? I'll be back before you can say bowtruckle. Or not. That was stupid on my part. Right...Ya I'm going. Don't move." Draco had never ran so fast. Down the long hallway with the glaring light, then left to mismatched chaired waiting area with the receptionist that wore too much perfume and drew on her eyebrows.

By the time Potter had showed up, Draco was back to the sparce room where Hermione had lived inside this sham of a hospital with his back to the wall and his hands deep in his pockets watching the frail young woman cry and repeat his name while she tried to hide under her thin blankets. "What's happened, Malfoy? Is she sick?" he asked.

"No, Potter. Listen." Draco tipped his chin in her direction.

"Your name? Huh. What's that one mean?"

"At this point, your guess is as good as mine."

"But you always figure it out. You break her code with the names. What happened when she said it?" Potter asked.

Draco froze. He wasn't ready for that. He knew he would have to say something. Part of the investigation to find out where she had been or why she was this way, was going over everything that happened while he and everyone else was with her. Damn.

"She said my name, then she kissed me" Draco replied dryly, like he was talking about having sushi for dinner.

"She kissed you? Like with her mouth?" Harry gaped at him.

"No Potter, like 3rd year, with her fist. Of course with her mouth you complete dolt. How have you survived this long again?"

While Draco spat at him, Harry had moved to Hermione's bedside. He slid his hand under her legs and lifted her into his arms to hold her like he always did. But instead of murmuring into her hair, he talked directly to her.

"Mione. Draco?" he asked and pointed at Malfoy. "Mad?" She shook her head. "Happy?" She tilted her head, but then shook it again. "Excited?" "Angry?" "Sad?" "Hurt?" The list went on and the longer it went on the more irate Draco became with the whole situation and began pacing across the room. Back and forth across ugly grey linoleum, with the tapping of his shoes and the sniffing of the woman in the background. His hands clenched and unclenched inside his pockets.

"Malfoy. Malfoy, did you hear me?" Potter called.

"What?" Draco barked. Then he froze. They where starring at him. Hermione sitting in Harry's lap and the boy wonder himself. Just starring. "Sorry. What? I missed...What?"

"Mione," Harry called to her. "Draco? Love?" Harry looked at Draco like he just found the 13th use of dragonsblood and deserved another Order of Merlin for it. But Draco stopped breathing. He spun the ring on his fourth finger of his left hand. Habit. Hermione looked at him. She sighed. She rolled her eyes. Draco fell to his knees. Son of a...

"Draco."

She remembers me.