Draco pointed jabbed his wand at the air until he felt something. He pushed into an empty room, following after it and locking the door. "Show yourself."

A prolonged silence. Draco could only hear the faint sounds of conversation from the sitting room. The rain pattered down the windows. For a halting moment he wondered if he had already lost this person. Maybe the intruder had slipped through the slightly ajar door. Or perhaps he had imagined it all. Maybe he would wake soon, his eyes snapping open and sweat-damp pajamas rubbing stuck to him.

A shift in the air. A silvery puddle of cloth on the floor, slipping off like discarded skin. A head, a torso, then legs.

"What the fuck?" he said.

It was Granger. Her wand was in her hands, but she had woven it between her fingers, her palms out towards him. "Don't shoot," she said miserably.

"What—what the fuck are you doing here?" he hissed at her. "Did Potter bring you?"

"I can explain," she said. "Put your wand away."

"No," Draco scoffed. "This is my house. Start talking." There was nothing stopping him from calling out to his mother and handing her over to the Aurors. Granger was immune to many things, but breaking and entering into his house while it was technically on lockdown would have to cost her something.

"Harry brought me, and I asked him if I could come. I'm just here as a witness," she said hurriedly. "Malfoy, you saw it yourself," she said in a rush, "I'm not any use to the Ministry right now. We're both just witnesses to this case. This isn't some sting operation. I'm just here as a civilian."

"Our situations are very different," he snarled. "I tried being nice to you. And then I find you slinking around my damn halls?"

She bristled. "You show me a hint of civility after eight years—"

"Do you think all Slytherins are evil, too?" It was rich of her to talk to him like that at wandpoint. What about her, golden girl Granger crawling around, sniffing like a hound?

"Please let me go." Her hair was wild and mussed after being under the cloak, and he could see a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

There was another world, perhaps, where they were simply old classmates. Where did others run into the people they grew up with? At a bar? Passing on the street? There were people he knew since the day he was born, and then there were the people he had gone to school with. And then there were enemies. The people he had counted as close friends barely spoke to him now. A glimpse of her face might be the closest thing he had to his old life.

"I need your memory from the day of the attack," he said, thinking quickly.

"What—why?"

His heart dropped. How could he explain his haunting suspicions? Perhaps it was no coincidence that this attack occurred on the day he happened to be at Hogwarts. Had he somehow been an accomplice to his father's crimes? Were there things he couldn't remember not only from his restless nights, but also from his waking hours?

"I can tell you what I saw," she lowered her hands slowly. "Nothing's changed since I gave the Ministry my testimony. They believed me. And I was telling the truth."

"I want to see it for myself," he said. "I don't—I don't know why the attack on Hogwarts was on the same day I happened to come take my exams. I have to rule everything out," he said, keeping his wand steady, still pointing at her. She eyed it carefully.

"I—I can't."

"Sod off," he said. "Give me that memory."

Granger's face reddened, something new in her eyes that he couldn't quite recognize. "It's not—I'm not able to produce the memory. Or any memory after a certain—a certain point in my life. I've been trying, you see, but nothing's working."

"Wait," he said. "Doesn't that weaken my case? My father's case? How will you go on the stand?"

"I don't know," she said. And then he realized her expression was one of panic. "I thought I'd have it figured out by then."

The floorboards creaked. Granger's gaze flashed towards the door. "I need to get back under the cloak," she said, her voice urgent.

He could hear the footsteps nearing. It was the first choice he'd had in almost a year. He could see himself from her point of view. She must think he was evil, but what she didn't know was that he was finally, finally, trying to do something good. He turned over the things Pansy had told him—things the Ministry would do anything for. They glinted in his mind's eye like jewels dipped in poison.

He tossed the cloak back to her.