A/N: Thank you as always to Ravenslight, the realest of rockstars.

May 27th, 2003

At two o'clock in the morning, Hermione's vine wood began vibrating on her night table. It was time for Draco's next dose of Strengthening Solution.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, she smiled at the pair of boys dozing on the couch. Ron was snoring, his limbs splayed and hanging off the worn cushions, while Harry looked as though he nodded off mid-sentence, still sitting with his head lolled to the side. Too soon, they'd be gone again – back to headquarters and the war front.

Her mind floated back to the conversation between her and Ron last night, and when she remembered the way that his eyes clouded when he spoke about the chance that he might not see her again, a bit of her heart fissured. Until that point, they had been indestructible throughout their entire friendship, and to her, it only made sense that the streak continue. Today, in this new and terrifying world that none of them recognized, nothing was guaranteed.

In any war there was risk, but these two idiots were the prized pig of each battle. They had the largest targets on their backs; for capture or kill, it didn't matter which.

With a sad shake of her head, she walked into Malfoy's room and yelped, jumping back at the sight of him. He was upright, a book perched in his lap.

"Oh," she panted, "you're awake." Her eyes studied him – still abnormally pale, his only colour the dark purple circles under his eyes and the bruises littered over his entire body. "Time for your potion." She yawned.

"Thanks," he clipped, his eyes barely raising to greet her. "I think I can manage."

She gulped and took a tentative step into the room. The potion hadn't been the only reason for the visit. "Do you mind if I look over your wounds? I normally do a quick check before you get your dose."

His face pinched, and he closed the book in his lap. "Erm, is it necessary?"

"It is."

"Right." Hermione makes her way further into the room, stopping next to his bedside. "Since you're already seated, let's check your shoulder. I repaired it when you first arrived, but since you've been unconscious, we haven't had a chance to check your mobility. It might be a little tender," she warned gently.

He raised his back off of the pillows with some grumbled effort, and the blankets fell around his waist.

Placing a hand on the muscle that connected his neck and shoulder, she pressed down gently, earning a hiss from her bruised patient. With a concerned pull of her brows, she helped him through the assessment, frowning when he couldn't complete a full rotation.

"You'll need to work on the movement." She lowered his arm to his side while he craned his neck, his face pulling in discomfort. "The more you practice, the less tight it'll feel. A few times a day, yeah?"

"Yeah, got it." He reached for his book again, the Healing Herbology book she must have left on the nightstand. "That it?"

Her chocolate eyes went wide. "Well, no. You'll need to lie back. I need to check your internal injuries."

Draco let an annoyed groan but obeyed. Hermione's lips twitched in amusement as he stared up at the ceiling like a petulant child.

With mild hesitation, she gently placed her hands on his chests. Under her tentative touch, his muscles constricted as he sucked in a sharp breath of air. She quickly removed them, startled.

"Damn Granger, can't you rub your hands a bit together first? Your fingers are fucking freezing," he chastised, still starting at the popcorned ceiling.

She narrowed her eyes at him and returned her palms firmly to his stomach, the muscles tightening again as he grumbled and flexed.

"Injuriam Revelare," she recited, her eyes closed. As the spell worked its way through his system, she couldn't help but smile – her regimen was working. She was healing him, and something about the power in that statement healed something in her.

"That has got to be the strangest thing I've ever felt," he murmured, and her eyes popped open.

"What?"

"That spell. I can… I don't know how to describe it. I can feel your magic spreading through me. I've never felt anything like it."

Hermione hadn't thought of that. Odd.

With an assenting hum, she began reciting healing spells and announced that she was finished. She didn't leave. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, giving a small smile when he glared at her before swallowing his potion.

"Why were you awake?"

He gave an indelicate snort. "Should be obvious. Couldn't sleep."

"Would you like a Dreamless Sleep? I've got it by the crate," she offered.

"No. I hate the stuff."

Her nose wrinkled. "Does it make you feel groggy?"

"No. I'll be fine, thanks," he rushed and thumbed through his book, retrieving his previous page. She stood grinning. "Why are you smiling?" He squinted at her.

She turned over her shoulder briefly. "Draco Malfoy – as I live and breath – thanking me? I never thought I'd see the day. Until tomorrow, Malfoy."

He sneered. "Night, Granger."

Hermione awoke just a few hours later, Harry and Ron looming over her. She squacked, scrambling in her sheets and reaching for her wand. Ron laughed and reached out to calm her, her curls suffocating the pair of them.

"Shite!" she batted at him as her breath evened out. "I almost hexed you!"

"'Mione," Harry said lowly, and her heart sank. "We've got to go."

"So soon?" She sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Can you stay for breakfast at least?" She knew the answer already, but even the question delayed the inevitable.

"Sorry, 'Mione." A corner of Ron's mouth tugged down, the lines of his lips puckering.

Hermione stood and squeezed both of their necks at the same time, all three of their heads knocking together.

"Come back soon?" Her voice trembled as she fought back the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

The boys exchanged nervous glances. "Soon," Ron assured her, his cornflower blue eyes tightening. "Here." He reached in his pocket and produced the charmed coin from the their fifth year.

"Where'd you get this?" Her eyes went wide as she greedily snatched it from his palm, turning it over in her hands.

Harry chuckled and rolled his eyes. "From our trunks at the Burrow. Some of us are actually sentimental."

Ron's calloused fingers closed overs. "Activate it if you need us. We'll try our best to get here as soon as we can."

Wiping a tear from her cheek, she nodded. "Don't get yourselves killed. And look out for each other. Don't try to be a hero!" She poked them repeatedly in their sternums, glaring at them with a grave expression.

"We'll miss you." Harry squeezed her hand, and his lips pulled into a crooked smile.

"We love you," Ron added, his eyes flamed with intensity that only she understood, even if it made her blush.

"You too, boys." She gave them a final squeeze, and they Disapparated out of her bedroom, the crack leaving a haunting chill in its wake.

She crawled back into bed, yanking the quilt up to her shoulders and praying for sleep to find her again. It never did.

The stairs creaked under her feet just after six in the morning, her mind in a fuzzy state having managed a handful of broken hours of sleep.

When the eggs were sizzling and sausages simmering, she walked over to where Draco was staying and poked her head in. In the four hours since she'd last left him, he hadn't moved, though he appeared to have found a new book.

"Do you feel up to eating?" Her brows arched as she tried for cordial, but when she looked at him, she still saw the schoolyard prat who called her hair too busy and her teeth too big. He didn't look the same – maybe the missing sneer changed her perspective on him a bit – but the history was still there. There were many unasked questions still plaguing her, but they'd have to wait.

"I'd begun to think you were starving me, Granger." It was quickly becoming his signature to barely address her when she entered the room, keeping his eyes trained on page in front of him instead.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, then waddle on out here. Breakfast will be ready in five."

He blanched, finally turning to gape at her. "I can't come out there," he protested.

"Oh, of course you can. Just one foot in front of the other, now." She clapped her hands together like she was calling a cat, and he growled at her.

"I've barely been awake for twenty-four hours, and you want me to…"

"What?" she scoffed. "Walk? Yes. Yes, I'd like to you walk to the kitchen. I'm not asking you to trim the bushes."

Draco bared his teeth at her before pushing up to a seated position, wincing at the strain in his muscles.

Hermione stayed stationary, leaning on the door frame. "Need help?" Hermione offered too sweetly.

"Who, me?" He stared at her flatly. "Nah – I've been on holiday, as it were, so I'm quite well rested. Never felt better," he retorted, pushing himself up to stand on wobbly legs. Hermione grimaced as she watched him, his shoulders hunched and his scarred abdomen sunk in. His knees buckled, and before he fell to his knees, she shot to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist and bracing his weight against her.

"Don't go ruining all that hard work I've done healing you over your pride. Let's just get you to the couch; that'll be enough of an adventure for today."

"If you insist on helping me because of your damned bleeding heart – no other reason – so be it. But I can manage just fine on my own." Arrogant little prat.

"I'm sure you can, Malfoy." She huffed under the extra weight. "Hurry, my sausages are burning."

They made a slow journey to the couch. Hermione inwardly cursed him for moving so slow, as she heard the angry hiss of her breakfast burning from the kitchen. With a clenched jaw, she glanced over her shoulder and saw smoke billowing from her cheap pans.

"Why don't you just use magic?" He heaved as she helped lower him onto the sofa. "Wingardium Leviosa." The two pans lifted and hovered over the burners as Draco rested back against the slouched cushion, his wand nowhere in sight.

"You're better at wandless spells than I remember." She stared at him curiously, her eyes lidded and suspicious.

"I didn't realize you'd paid attention." He smirked, and she blushed at his insinuation.

Hermione wandered back towards the kitchen and grabbed the pan with eggs and inspected the remains. Blackened eggs were not her favorite, so they went swiftly into the waste bucket. The sausages were perfect, with a crisp char on them, and her stomach grumbled at the sight. She started a new pan of eggs and hummed to herself as she fixed them properly.

In a few minutes; time, she was walking a plate over to him, topped off with a muffin smothered in strawberry preserves from the farmer's market. She fell into the upholstered arm chair, her legs curling up under her as she balanced a second plate on her knee.

They ate in a comfortable silence for a long while, neither one daring to break the peace. It was hard to look at him, she found. Every few moments, a flash of a memory would threaten to invade their quiet space, and she'd tamp it back down. If they wanted to move forward into some kind of mutual understanding – or even friendship – there were things to be discussed. However, she hadn't established that she wanted to more forward.

For now, she was still wary to let him inhabit her space. That would need minding first, above all else.

"How often do Twathead and Weasel return?" Draco broke the silence first, pushing an egg-soaked sausage around his plate.

"Not often. It's a bit bittersweet when they come, actually. They usually bring people who are injured, so it's good to see them, of course, but the circumstances usually leave a lot to be desired. It's hard when they leave, too. Sometimes it's better if they stay away."

"Surprised you're not out there with them." He unceremoniously dropped his plate on the table in front of him, the clash of cutlery against porcelain making her skin jump. "Didn't take you for a benched player." he said in a dismissive tone.

Her dark eyes flashed dangerously, her chest swelling in a sudden rage that left her breathless. "Well, I actually spent a good amount of time rebounding from a mental breakdown that you assisted in. Nothing quite like watching your sister in arms be brutally raped and murdered to really fuck you up." He physically flinched from her words.

"Sorry," she mumbled, stabbing another bite of egg. "I promised myself I wouldn't go there."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offered through a tight jaw.

"No."

"Okay," he agreed, relief washing over his features.

"I'm going to go tend the garden a bit. Do you know how to work the tele?"

"I'll manage. Thanks."

She chuckled, breaking the tension between them as she stood and walked their plates to the kitchen. "Not sure I'll get used to this," she said with a shake of her head.

"Used to what?"

"You not being a complete prat. I mean, you're still a prat… but not completely." It was almost teasing, and as the door swung closed behind her, she was struck by the improbability of it all working itself out.

June 2, 2003

Against all odds, the unlikely pair fell into a comfortable routine over the following week. Draco would wander between his room and the couch, and Hermione carried on her daily life, sometimes joining him in the late afternoon to read in quiet. She'd made her personal library available to him, and while it was certainly impressive, she knew that Malfoy Manor boasted the largest private library in the United Kingdom.

Days stretched on, but there was no word from the boys. She tried to remind herself that no news was good news, but it was difficult to be so cut off from the world, and her anxiety felt on the verge of overwhelming her. She found herself perched in the high crass on the moors far too often, staring at the crashing waves below and wondering what chaos was awaiting for her friends.

Having recently discovered the magic of the television, Draco lounging in the front room, his feet propped up on the coffee table and his hands resting behind his head.

His relaxed demeanor did nothing but infuriate the curly-haired witch, and as a quiet anger bloomed in her chest, she took deep sobering breaths. As hellbent as she had been to make their interactions generally pleasant, the boy was spoiled. She narrowed her eyes at the back of his head as she wiped down the counter top with a wet rag.

"Malfoy," she called cheerfully. No response, "Malfoy. MALFOY!"

"Merlin, WHAT?!" he shouted back at her, and her mouth fell open.

"Excuse me? Do not yell at me!" She stamped her foot petulantly and nearly growled at him.

Draco barked a laugh. "Are you serious?" He sat up and turned around in his chair to glare at her. "It was in response to you yelling at me."

Hermione glowered at him, but he responded with a shrug and returned to an inclined position. "I know you are mostly healed. You ought to start helping out."

"Ah, you know, I thought you might start on about that. And honestly, I was going to help – I do love tedious house chores and all that – but you do such a good job, Granger. I'd just muck it all up." He waved his hand over his head, and she had a very real inclination to hex it until it was swollen and covered in painful blisters.

"How incredibly thoughtful of you," she said, her words dripping with fake sincerity. He sat up again and turned to smirk at her, his lips pulling into a playful grin.

"I'm so glad you've finally seen what I've been saying all along. I'm quite the catch, Granger. Thoughtful, wealthy, charming..." He winked at her as his voice trailed off.

"I think I'm going to be sick…" She paled and dropped her rag in the sink, heading for the garden.

"Not to mention sexy!" he called after her.

"Scratch that. Definitely going to be sick." As the door clanged behind her, she swore she could hear his smug chuckles chasing her from her home.

Later that evening, Hermione fluttered about the kitchen, pouring a bowl of freshly grated parmesan into her creamy, freshly made sauce and casting a spell to lazily turn her fettuccine noodles in the boiling water.

Malfoy had since begun the second installment of The Lord of The Rings trilogy and was watching in an awed trace as the characters went to war.

"Granger! Why doesn't this wizard just use his magic?" he called from his seemingly permanent seat on the couch.

"I don't know," she said.

"What do you mean you don't know? I thought you were supposed to be clever." His voice had a condescending snag to it, and she sucked in a long breath through her nose as she dumped the noodles into the colander.

"Being clever has nothing to do with knowing what the author was thinking. And," she added, her voice rising an octave, "The author is far more clever than you or I, so it's bad taste to question his motives."

She garnished her steaming bowl of pasta with a pinch of fresh parsley and piled her dishes in the sink. She'd set a cleaning charm later when she had her wand on her again.

Draco stared at her with an accusing glare as she sat at the dining table and opened her book, swallowing a large bite with a delighted little hum.

"Excuse me?" He gave an indignant little snort, his lip pulling up into a sneer.

"Yes?"

"And where is my food?"

Hermione tried to hide her budding smile as she looked between her houseguest and the kitchen. "Did you make any? I must have missed that." She shrugged and turned away from him again, devouring another creamy bite.

"Granger. I'm ill. You're meant to be helping me."

"I have been helping you, Malfoy. I've been helping you for over a week! And in my very humble opinion, you're very capable of making yourself dinner."

Malfoy huffed, "Nothing about you has ever been humble, first of all. Second, you can't be serious. You really didn't make me anything?"

Hermione clucked her tongue. "You'll find I don't really do joking." She shrugged with a twitch of her lips. "Really don't have the right temperament for it, I'm afraid."

"Do you really want to do this?" Draco set his chin smugly, and she gave him a withering look. "Accio bowl."

With a gasp, Hermione clawed at the dish as it flew off the table and out of her hands straight into Malfoy's waiting lap.

"Send that back. Now," she managed through a clenched jaw, her fist closing around her dripping fork.

"Oh. Accio fork." The fork followed the bowl, and Hermione pushed away from the table, sure steam was escaping her ears. She marched over to the couch and stood crossly in front of him.

"Give it back," she demanded.

"Um. How about no, Granger." He fixed her with a mocking pout. "Can't have your patience withering away, could you?" He stabbed the pasta with his newly acquired fork and was seconds away from putting it in his mouth.

"Don't. You. Dare," she warned, her lips pulled back to bare her teeth in a snarl.

He smirked and then shoved the forkful in and moaned. "Oh, Merlin. This is good. Seriously, Granger. Have you thought about being a cook? I could hire you after this whole mess is finished." He shoveled another bite in.

Hermione turned and stomped up the stairs, muttering uncharacteristic obscenities with each step. In turn, Draco happily gorged himself on the homemade pasta, watching as the strange elf hopped lithely from the battlements in the film. She returned moments later, pink in the cheeks and pointed her wand at his face with a smug expression.

"WHOA! Granger!"

"Langlock!"

Draco quickly made a garbled sound, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he tried to speak.

He was mumbling some type of profanity, but Hermione ignored him and grabbed the bowl from his hands. She inspected the fork, cast a cleaning charm on it, and sat ungracefully at the end of the couch, staring at him with a wide grin as she took a bite.

Draco's protests were getting louder and more annoying by the minute. "Finite Incantatem," she said offhandedly, "That should teach you to—"

"Augamenti Maximum," he interrupted, standing as water poured from the end of his wand and dumped onto Hermione's head.

"ARE YOU MAD?! STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!" she shouted, slashing wildly through the water in the air around her. Draco was laughing maniacally at this point, and she stood quickly and sat right next to him so their sides were touching and he was unable to cast without drenching himself.

"Argh, shove off! You're soaked!" he grumbled, pushing at her and the bowl of watery pasta.

"Fat chance! If I go over there, you'll attack me again."

"Go!"

"Aribus!" she cast with a pompous pout of her lips.

"Really? You want to continue this?" He challenged, as his ears started burning a bright red. He tugged and itched at them furiously and then gave her a wicked smile. "Rictemsempra!"

Hermione broke out into a fit of giggles, as if a hundred fingers were tickling every inch of her skin. She wiggled and fought against it finally falling on the floor in hysterical laughter, kicking her feet into Malfoy, who was still scratching at his ears with a scowl painted on his face.

"Stop! Call it off!" she managed between laughs, her sides catching a stitch as she doubled over on herself.

"You first!" he demanded, his ears flaming a vibrant red. "And get your disgusting feet off me!"

"PLEASE! I promise!" She laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Finite!"

Suddenly, the sensation was gone, but Hermione let out a few lingering belly laughs that were hard to shake away.

"Granger!"

"Right. Finite Incantatem," she panted from her position on the floor. "Merlin. I haven't laughed in ages." She giggled again. "Even if it was fake, it felt nice."

"Well, next time hit me with one of those. It feels like a nest of fire ants has taken up residence in my ears."

Rolling her eyes severely, she pushed her bowl of watered down fettuccine away from her. "I'm still hungry. My pasta is ruined. Do you want pizza?"

"Pizza?"

Hermione shoved up on her elbows, staring at him in bewilderment. "Don't tell me you've never had pizza!"

"Does it sound like I know what the bloody hell pizza is?" he sneered.

"I'm going to get pizza. I'll be back, I just have to pop into town."

"Fine. It better be good… I'm starving."

"Oh, it'll be life changing, Malfoy."

"I think I've had enough life changing moments for a few years."

She turned to regard him, wondering if he really had changed all that much at all. There may have been a time he would've cursed her hair to fall out rather than to tickle her. Maybe that counted for something.

"I'll be back in little bit – with the life changing pizza." She grinned and snatched her bag from the peg by the door as he watched her go, a curious pull to his brows.

"Wow."

"I know."

"No. I mean… wow. After this war, I'm marching straight into Gringotts, withdrawing a large sum, and then opening a Pizza shop on Diagon Alley. I'll be rich."

"You are rich." She frowned, munching on the tail end of her pizza crust.

"Rich-er, which is a very good thing to be." He grinned.

"You're less of a bastard now," she regarded, grabbing another slice.

"I'm still a bastard. Just about less important things. For instance, I still think your hair is housing several small creatures, but I don't think you feed on feces." He took another giant bite.

"I guess I'll just take what I can get,"

"That'd be your best bet, Granger."

A loud crash filled the room, distracting them from their surprisingly amicable banter, and Hermione dropped her food onto the floor in surprise.

"Hermione!"

Feet from them, Ron was buckling under the weight of a limp, middle-aged man, her friend carrying all of his weight. Draco rushed to his side and helped to shoulder some of it, taking the unconscious man's arm around his shoulder. Hermione froze as her eyes locked on the gaping wound at his neck, blood staining the front of him.

"Ron." She gulped, she hadn't seen – she wasn't prepared – "Who is that?"

"He's an Auror, and he needs help. Dolohov – that fucking bastard – caught him with a slashing curse across the blasted neck."

Draco and Ron, now covered in the man's blood, laid him unceremoniously on the floor.

Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes, praying for strength when she clearly had none. When she opened them, she inspected his gray skin and dull, blank eyes.

She pushed two trembling fingers above the slash on his neck, looking for a pulse in his still warm blood. The check was for Ron, but there was no pulse. She knew it before she touched him; the cut was so deep she could see through to the back of his neck.

"I'm so sorry, Ron. He's gone."

"No. Hermione, you check again," Ron choked, and when she didn't immediately move, he repeated himself, "Check again!" he cried in hysteria.

"Okay, okay. I'll check again."

She repeated it and looked for a pulse. Nothing. She gave a final shake of her head, and Ron buried his face in the crook of his arm.

"Fuck!" he cursed under his breath, lifting his face to stare at his fallen brother. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, his palms covered in blood. "I'll bring him back to the field. He'll be collected there. His family will want him. Fuck."

"I'm so sorry, Ron."

"I'll be back soon. I hope." He didn't look back at them, just stared at the blood on his hands while he grit his jaw. The pop signaling his departure made her jump.

Hermione was left kneeling in a pool of the fallen Auror's blood. She stared at her bloodied hands, lost in a trance and having forgotten Draco was still with her.

"Tergeo," he cast from beside her, and the blood siphoned away from her skin, disappearing from her palms and knees in front of her, though she swore she could still see where it stained if she looked hard enough.

It took only a moment, and the kitchen was as it was before.

But Hermione wasn't.

She was somewhere else, holding a girl who had died in a forest all alone.

"Come on, Granger. Up we go."

Draco's hands were under her arms, lifting her to her feet. She wasn't sure how, but she was obeying – she was moving. He steered her towards and up the stairs and finally to her bedroom.

She trembled in his arms and barely registered his soothing palm as it ran over her shoulder.

She fell into bed, and Draco draped a throw blanket over her quivering body. She thought he'd leave, but he instead settled into the chair by the door, which was hardly meant for sleeping.

"You don't have to stay," she whispered, her eyes wide and staring at her closet door.

"Don't mention it."

Neither of them slept for a long time, but sometime in the early hours of morning, she finally fell into a fitful bout of rest.

When Hermione woke with a clear head early in the morning, Draco was there. A book laid across his chest and small snores escaped his open mouth. She sat up and removed her blanket, laying it across him. She then crawled back into her bed and watched him until her eyes felt heavy again.

A/N: I'll be posting a fun little one shot for my lovely's betas birthday tomorrow! If you are into the bedsharing trope, be sure to follow my page so you can follow along!

Would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter!