A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I read and love them all. This is a nice long chapter. I hope you all enjoy!
AlphaBet love to BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow for helping this story not be stupid.

Draco was discharged from St. Mungo's on a snowy afternoon in early February, over a month after he had woken up from his comatose state. Though he could hardly feel his fingers or toes, his Healers were confident enough in his steady recovery to release him. From now on, unless he suffered a major setback, his primary care would be Granger's responsibility.

Granger, still under full-time protective watch from Potter, Charlie, and Bill, had likely been running her guards ragged. She was always popping in and out of his room at odd hours and Draco got the distinct impression that she might even be sleeping at the hospital some nights. Her guards never entered the room, but stood outside with Draco's guard as she tended to him.

On the morning that he learned he was being released, Granger entered his room brandishing discharge papers with a grin. She was dressed in her winter coat and scarf and had her beaded bag over her shoulder.

He read over the papers, noticing the false address in the contact line.

"We can't have the headquarters address on any kind of official record," Granger explained when he gave her a perplexed look.

With his permission, Granger signed for him, as his hands were still too unreliable to hold a quill with any dexterity. Then, Draco held tightly to Granger as he rose from his hospital bed for the final time. Together they traveled to Headquarters. The jerk Draco felt in his navel as he touched the Portkey was the strongest sensation he had felt in weeks. As their feet hit the ground just outside the wards, Granger remained steadfast while he stumbled into her. They entered the house as quickly as Draco's legs would allow.

Once inside, they hung up their coats, and Draco noticed the snowflakes clinging to her hair and eyelashes as she blinked up at him. She stayed by his side as he hobbled up the stairs at a flobberworm's pace and settled in the bedroom next to hers.

Legs shaking and exhausted from the travel and trip on the stairs, Draco sank onto the bed and watched with fascination as Granger bustled around him. She fluffed his pillows, brought him a glass of water, and even covered him with a blanket.

"You d-don't have to make such a f-fuss," he insisted.

"I'm your Healer," she returned as she tucked him in. Her cheeks were tinged pink as she smoothed the blanket across his chest. "I'll set up your vital charts like you had at St. Mungo's. That way I can be notified if your condition changes while I'm out of the room." She waved her wand in a complicated flourish over his body and soon the magical depiction of his vital signs was projected next to his bedside table.

She studied it for a moment before shaking her head abruptly. "Oh!" She turned away from the bed and bent over to rummage through her beaded bag.

Draco stared at her for several seconds before remembering that it was Granger's arse beneath those tight, muggle jeans. How had he never noticed her arse before? Round and firm, it popped slightly to the right as she shifted her weight onto her hip. Her jumper rode up at her waist, exposing a few inches of her lower back. With a jerk, he tore his eyes away, forcing himself to think of anything but her surprisingly gorgeous backside.

She straightened up, holding a bag in one hand and pulling on the hem of her jumper with the other as she turned around.

Granger frowned as her eyes fell upon his vitals again. "Your heart rate is a little fast and your blood pressure is high. Are you feeling alright?"

Draco nodded, cursing himself as his cheeks flushed. "J-just tired f-from the st-stairs." He grimaced, despite his steady improvement in his movement and sensation, his stuttering was nearly as bad today as it had been the day he woke up.

"Are you in any pain?" she asked, her eyes raking over his body as if looking for obvious broken bones.

He shook his head, wanting more than anything to be left alone. "No."

Her eyes flickered away from his body and met his for a moment. "Er, I have your personal effects," she announced, presenting the bag.

Draco sat up as Hermione sank onto the edge of his bed.

"There's not much," she began, pulling out the clothes he had been wearing when he'd been captured. There was also the lumpy green blanket she'd knitted for him. She held it and the clothes in her hands for a moment before placing everything in the bottom drawer of his dresser.

"Most of what you had with you wasn't left behind when you were abandoned at the Selwyn house, but…" she trailed off, pulling a wand from the bag.

His wand.

Not the twelve-inch yew wand with a dragon heartstring core that he had acquired after the Battle of Hogwarts, but the one that had been plucked from his hands by Potter the night the Golden trio had been captured and then escaped the Manor. Hawthorn, ten inches, unicorn hair…

Tentatively, he reached out and took it from her, wrapping his weak fingers around the familiar wood. It had been so long. Would this wand even recognize him anymore? Potter had won it from him long ago. But despite his weakness and the wand's time with a new master, Draco felt his magic flare to life. Like greeting an old friend after many years.

"Harry's had it all this time," Granger explained. "I know it's not the one you've been using, but I hope it will work as well as it used to for you."

Draco's heart thudded painfully as he stared at the wand he'd received in Diagon Alley when he was eleven. This was the wand that he had learned to perform all of his spells with. The wand that he had held when he had refused to kill Albus Dumbledore. This wand had never killed anyone.

A clean slate.

He looked up at Granger, a strange feeling coursing through him. Gratitude, perhaps… a warm, light, sentimental feeling for her—running through his body unchecked. He inhaled sharply to steady his racing heart. "Thank you," he breathed.

She smiled. "Don't mention it." Standing up, she looked at his vitals once again. "Do you need anything?"

Draco shook his head.

"Are you cold? I could get you another blanket," she offered. "I should get you some more water."

"Really, Granger, I'm fine," Draco insisted. As grateful as he was, he needed her gone. His emotions were running rampant thanks to her tight jeans and the return of his old wand and he needed time alone to push them back down where they belonged.

She hesitated, licking her lips before speaking. "Alright. I'll come back to check those vitals again in a couple of hours."

Draco didn't respond, already growing a bit tired of her over-attentive Healer routine. Perhaps her hovering was an attempt to make up for her absence through so much of his recovery.

Granger stood by the door shifting her weight between her feet nervously, her honey eyes landing on anything but him. "I'll be right next door if you need me," she said kindly. "And I—"

"Granger," Draco interrupted wearily. "Thank you, but please leave me alone."

She blinked, a deep flush rising to her cheeks. With an anxious laugh she turned away. "Of course," she mumbled before disappearing through the door.

As soon as she closed the door behind her, Draco felt sleep overtaking him. He carefully set his wand under his pillow and nestled into the blankets, relishing the feeling of being in an actual bed. Inhaling, he was glad to be far away from the sterile smell of a hospital, even if he was now surrounded by the smell of Granger's feminine perfume.

He slept for hours and woke to a dark room. Reaching for his wand, he wrapped his fingers weakly around the wood and murmured "L-lumos."

A feeble, flickering light appeared at the tip of his wand, illuminating the bedside clock. It was nearly eleven and his stomach was rumbling. He must have slept through dinner. Though he was briefly annoyed with Granger for not waking him, he realized that from her perspective, it may have been more important to let him sleep.

He tossed his blankets aside and made to get up, feeling his feet flop against the floor with far less control than he would have liked. With all the grace of a newborn calf, he shuffled to the door and ventured into the dark corridor. The hawthorn wand shook in his feeble grasp and the light went out, forcing him to continue by the dim light coming from the lower level.

He took the stairs slowly, only making it halfway down before a bushy head appeared at the bottom of the staircase silhouetted against the light coming from the parlour.

"Draco," Granger cried, hurrying up the stairs to meet him. "What are you doing up?"

"B-bloody hungry," he grumbled, leaning against the handrail.

"You shouldn't take the stairs alone," she chastised, wrapping one arm around his waist to help support him. She placed her other hand against his chest and gently guided him down the remaining steps.

He was acutely aware of her body pressed against his side, tense and warm, and how his heart was thumping against her hand.

"Thanks," he murmured as they reached the bottom, expecting her to release him. Instead, she kept her arms around him all the way to the kitchens, only stepping away to open the door for him. As he shuffled inside, several sets of eyes fell upon him.

Sitting at the kitchen table were Potter, Ginny, Charlie, and Cho. Charlie stood immediately and walked over to clap Draco on the shoulder. "Good to see you up and about, mate. Come have a seat," he said with a smile.

Draco moved gingerly to the table and sank into an empty chair next to Charlie's. Interacting with this many people was not what he had been planning, but he was starving.

Granger immediately began to bustle around the kitchen to prepare him a meal.

"How's it feel to be out of hospital?" Cho asked brightly.

Draco shrugged and glanced around at everyone's encouraging faces. "Good, I g-guess. I've r-really just—just slept s-so far."

Several of their smiles wavered slightly at the sound of his stammering and Draco felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment. Ginny's eyes flickered away from him and she took a bracing swig of the amber liquid before her. Draco noticed that they had all been drinking before he entered.

There was a tumbler of fire whiskey at the empty seat across from him—Granger's he supposed. Perhaps a glass of his own would ease the awkwardness he felt. "C-could I have a b-bit?" he asked hopefully, gesturing toward the bottle.

Potter reached forward to pour him a glass with a nod, but a sharp "no" from Granger stayed his hand.

Draco stared open mouthed at the witch. She walked to the table and set a bowl of soup and a glass of water before him. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "The alcohol could interfere with your potions. We don't want to slow down your recovery." She sat down across from him and moved her own glass aside. On duty again. Always the professional.

"I could make some tea!" Ginny offered brightly.

"I'm f-fine," Draco growled irritably. He picked up his spoon and dipped it into his soup. The spoon's journey to his mouth was a treacherous one. His hands shook so badly and his hands had such a difficult time holding the utensil that hardly any soup made it past his lips. Humiliated, he tried again. After several poor attempts, the spoon finally clattered from his failing fingers, falling back into the soup and splattering the liquid over the table. "F-fuck," Draco murmured, the unsatisfying curse only making him more frustrated.

Granger pulled her chair around the side of the table and picked up his spoon. "Here, let me," she offered kindly, lifting the spoon toward his mouth.

He flinched away from her hand, swatting at the spoon. "What are you d-doing?" he snapped.

Her mouth fell open. "I'm helping you!"

"I d-don't n-need your help!"

"You've hardly eaten anything. Do you want to be here all night?" She hissed, her brow furrowing angrily.

"Don't treat m-me like a child. I-I'm not a f-fucking invalid." He snatched the spoon from her grasp and bent low over his bowl. With shaking hands, he determinedly shoveled soup into his waiting mouth.

"You look ridiculous." Granger sneered. "Why won't you just let me help you?"

"Hermione," Potter warned softly. "Let it go."

The brunette gaped at her friend. "You're taking his side?" she accused.

"There are no sides," Potter shot back. "You offered to help him and he refused. He wants to do it on his own and you just have to respect that."

Granger's mouth snapped shut, her brow furrowing in frustration and a pink flush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks. "Fine," she bit out. "I'm going to bed. One of you can accompany him back to his room." Her angry eyes fell on Draco. "Your stubbornness won't prevent you from breaking your neck if you fall down the stairs." With a scowl she rose from the table and marched out of the kitchen.

A tense silence befell the group in Granger's absence. "Hermione just hates to see people struggling," Ginny said offhandedly.

"Then why is sh-she a healer?" Draco scoffed.

"Because she can't help but save people in need," replied Potter.

A cold stone of guilt settled in Draco's stomach. Granger had saved him. She had found him, saved his life, sat by his side at St. Mungo's, brewed potion after potion, and lost countless nights of sleep for the sake of his well being. And how was he repaying her weeks of work and care? By snarling in her face as she tried to help him.

He finished his soup in silence, keeping his chin close to the bowl so that his shaking hands had less distance to travel. The others at the table fell back into conversation, all deftly avoiding looking at him as he sloppily finished his meal.

How pathetic he must look, hunched over, shoveling stew into his mouth like an ape. He kept his eyes down to avoid their pitying glances. When he finally set his spoon down he wiped his face with a napkin and pushed the bowl away.

When he rose from the table, determined to shuffle away as quietly as possible, Charlie stood up too and walked with him out of the kitchen. The ginger man didn't help Draco up the stairs as Granger would have, but politely kept pace with him and made conversation about a book on dragons he'd recently read. And while Draco knew that Charlie only walked with him to make sure that his unreliable legs didn't give out on the stairs, he appreciated the man's attempt at normality.

After parting ways with Charlie in front of his door, Draco crossed the room by himself and clumsily climbed back into bed. Despite all the rest he had gotten earlier, sleep didn't elude him for long. As his eyes drifted shut, an unfamiliar, unsettling feeling settled in his stomach when he remembered the feel of Granger's arms wrapped around him.

As the days passed, the other occupants of the house tiptoed around Draco as if he were made of glass. Most people didn't seem to know what to say to him. A few people tried, but upon witnessing his shaking hands or horrible stutter, they would smile awkwardly and make up some excuse to leave the room. Some people did a bit better. Charlie and Potter were particularly adept at ignoring Draco's new afflictions, but even they tended to get a bit uncomfortable watching him struggle with simple daily tasks.

Only Luna seemed to treat him as she always had. The day after he returned from St. Mungo's she had stared at him for several seconds as he ate his morning breakfast with shaking hands before bluntly saying, "It must be terribly frustrating."

He had just grimaced in response and gone back to eating his toast. After that offhand comment, she had more or less ignored his shortcomings. No awkward, forced smiles or hurried excuses to leave the room. She would sit next to him and talk at great length about one thing or another while Draco pretended to listen and practiced simple spells with little success.

For several days, Draco got by wearing pajama bottoms and t-shirts, but when Saturday arrived and the house began to fill with Order members preparing for the weekly meeting, Draco resigned himself to putting on some proper clothes. He stood in his bedroom at headquarters, feeling accomplished at having buttoned up his trousers successfully. But the buttons on his shirt were much smaller, and his trembling fingers failed time and time again to fit them through the proper holes.

"Draco?" came a gentle voice accompanied by a soft knock at the door.

He shuffled to the door and pulled it open.

Granger's mouth fell open slightly as her eyes fell upon his chest. After no more than a second she looked up to his face and cleared her throat. "The meeting is starting soon. Would you like to walk downstairs with me?"

"Sure. I just need a m-minute," replied Draco, turning back to the mirror to continue his futile work on his buttons.

In the mirror's reflection, he saw Granger step inside, keeping the door cracked open. Draco could hear the sounds of dozens of people gathering downstairs. The brunette healer kept her eyes respectfully down, perhaps afraid to offer him help again after his heated refusal a few days ago. Her cheeks were slightly pink though, and she shifted her weight between her feet like she always did when she was anxious.

"We'll m-miss the m-meeting at this rate," he grumbled, still stubbornly trying to button his shirt.

Granger looked up at him, her lips twitching as if he'd made a joke.

Swallowing his pride he turned away from the mirror. "C-could you help me?"

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Granger nodded and took a few tentative steps toward him as though she thought he might run away from her or swat her hands away.

He stood quite still as her fingers set to work on his buttons from the bottom up. Twice, her fingers brushed against his bare skin and he shivered in a way he suspected had nothing to do with the coldness of her hands. As she reached the top of his shirt he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and her eyes flickered to his briefly. After Granger finished with his buttons, she fixed his collar and smoothed out the fabric across his chest and shoulders before stepping back. "All set?" she prompted.

"How d-do I look?" he asked teasingly. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. She'd left the top two buttons undone, exposing some of his clavicles and chest. Interesting.

"You look… perfectly acceptable," she said stiffly.

Draco chuckled. Perfectly acceptable? What had her acting so strange? Perhaps she was just fearful of offending him again. Or maybe she was still cross about his snapping at her. Both of those were perfectly logical explanations…

But there was something about the blush on her cheeks and they way her eyes refused to meet his for longer than a few seconds. Something about buttoning up his shirt had frazzled her. Could it be…

"Let's go," she insisted, making her way to the door and waiting for him to join her in the corridor. He obediently followed her and they made their way slowly down the stairs and to the dining room.

Each day brought painfully slow progress. He spent his mornings performing a series of physical therapy exercises that MacDougall had given him. Sometimes he did these alone and sometimes Granger supervised and offered advice. She sat on the edge of his bed as he stood balanced on one foot for as long as he could, then the other foot. He marched around the room, picking up his knees as high as he could. Then he would sit down next to her and work on his ankle and foot mobility, pointing and flexing his ankles at least twenty times.

After that it was finger dexterity exercises—diligently touching each finger to his thumb in turn as quickly as he could until his fingers felt like jelly with exhaustion.

Granger was patient with him, providing gentle encouragement when his body failed him and he was able to do less than what he thought he would be able to. After his exercises, she watched as he attempted simple spells and charms, offering assistance occasionally.

She brought potions each morning, some days trying new brews with refinements based on her research. On his sixth day back at headquarters, he spent the better part of the afternoon vomiting in the lavatory thanks to her latest concoction. Granger offered him several potions before finally finding one that was able to stop it. Draco heard her apologize at least a hundred times as she helped him back to his room and settled him into bed.

"Surely th-there are easier ways to k-kill me," Draco deadpanned as she dabbed his forehead with a cool cloth.

"I am sorry," she said again. "It's not an exact science. I thought some fluxweed might speed up your progress, but it must have reacted poorly with the hellebore."

"It's been over a m-month," he intoned. "Maybe there is-isn't a full cure."

Granger shook her head. "Don't say that. You're improving. You've already made so much progress."

"P-progress?" Draco sneered. "Look at m-me, Granger."

And she did. For the first time in several days, her eyes met his with a fierce determination.

"I can't even b-button my own f-fucking shirts. Or carry on a conversation without st-stuttering like P-professor Quirrel. I c-can barely even hold m-my wand," he said miserably.

Granger frowned, her eyes glistening. "I'm not giving up," she vowed. "And neither should you."

"And how l-long will you be my caretaker? Eventually the w-war will end and you'll buy your little house and p-probably marry Weasley and you w-won't have time to brew me a dozen p-potions every day."

Granger wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. "You're being dramatic. You'll be back to your old self before you know it—long before the war is over. And for the record, I don't know where you got this idea that I'm going to marry Ron, but I can assure you that I am not engaged to Ron, nor do I plan on getting engaged to him or to anyone else anytime soon."

She softened slightly, sweeping his hair from his forehead rather clinically. "You're my patient," she said matter-of-factly. "I will be your caretaker for as long as it is medically necessary."

Draco didn't respond. Humiliation flooded through him. When had he become so pathetic and self-pitying?

"Now," Granger said, standing from the edge of his bed and straightening out her jumper. "I'm going to bring you some tea with ginger to help settle your stomach. You can take the rest of today to feel sorry for yourself, but tomorrow we'll get back to work on your recovery and I don't want to hear anymore of this talk of you not improving. Understood?"

Draco bristled at being scolded like a child, but nodded stiffly.

"Good," she bit out before turning and marching out of the room.

Despite his reluctance to admit it, Granger had been right. After another week at headquarters, he started to notice genuine progress in his recovery. He didn't shuffle around as horribly as he had before, and his fingers were doing a better job of gripping his wand. However, his stuttering persisted, and his feet clunked loudly as he walked. When he first came to live with the Order, he could sneak around unheard even on the creakiest floors. Now his clumsy feet hit the floor with so little control that everyone in the house surely knew his whereabouts.

Though he knew he was improving, nothing irritated him more than the pandering, ingenuine way people pointed it out. Every time one of his fellow Order members smiled and offered him simpering praise, he couldn't help but sneer and snap out a scathing retort.

Due to her constant proximity, he snapped at Granger more than anyone else. And though she used to let his biting words roll off her back, they seemed to affect her more with each passing day.

Still, she brought him potions and helped him with his physical therapy and wand work daily.

"You can do it," she encouraged as he tried to produce a shield charm.

"I'm sh-shaking too badly," he snapped, dropping his arm in frustration.

"Support from your abdominals a bit more. You're stronger there," she advised from her perch on the edge of his bed.

He shuffled his feet to a more stable stance and raised his wand again, focusing his attention on steadying his trembling hand. "Protego," he said clearly.

A feeble shield appeared before him briefly before flickering away.

"Good," Granger praised softly.

"If I were being at-attacked, I'd be killed," Draco scoffed, shooting her a glare.

"But you're not being attacked," Granger reminded him sternly. "Just try again."

He produced another shield, this one even more pathetic than the last. "Fuck!" he swore loudly.

"Stay calm," Granger said warningly.

"Stop telling me to b-be calm!" He roared. "D-do you even kn-know how frustrating it is to have everything stripped from you like this? M-magic, movement, even my f-fucking speech."

"These things take time," she said calmly. "You've done so well. Just be patient with yourself."

He strode over to her, his feet clunking loudly against the wooden floor. "I am so s-sick of everyone telling me how well I'm d-doing."

Granger stared at him incredulously. "What would you prefer we say to you?"

"The truth!"

"It is the truth! You are doing well. You're just being too hard on yourself."

"I d-don't need everyone's in-insincere praise. Like I'm a b-baby taking his first steps," he snarled.

"No one is treating you like a baby," Granger laughed derisively.

"Oh n-no?" he challenged. "Pay attention next t-time we're around everyone. Th-they treat me with kid gloves, G-granger."

"Well maybe if you didn't snap at anyone who tried to help you, they would treat you a bit more normally," she countered sharply.

"You'd s-snap at people too if you were me."

Granger's eyes were piercing, her spine straight as an arrow and her voice chillingly even. "I know you've been through a lot, and you're right, I don't know exactly what you're going through. But I think I know a bit of what it's like to have people think that you're incapable."

Draco scoffed. "You're Hermione f-fucking Granger. Perfect little know-it-all. You c-can do anything. Who has ever treated you like you're incapable?"

Granger's face was devoid of emotion. "You."

The word hit him like a punch to the chest. She sat quite still on his bed, legs crossed at the knees, hands folded neatly in her lap—a muggleborn in a pureblood's world, fighting to prove her right to a place in it.

He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks burn. "Fuck, Granger, I-I…" he stammered, not knowing what to say. "D-do you really want to p-pull at that thread right now?"

"We've never talked about it," she remarked.

"D-do we have to?"

"Not right now. But someday I would like to get it all out in the open."

"B-bloody witches always n-needing to talk about everything," he grumbled under his breath.

"We're working together now," she said sternly. "And living under the same roof. Those two facts are unlikely to change any time soon. I, for one, would like to know if you still hold the same beliefs you always have when it comes to me."

"I-I…" Words failed him. Had his beliefs changed? He hadn't really thought about it much. The issue had just become so trivial in his eyes in recent years.

She pressed on, her eyes still fixed on his face. "Just because I trust you not to kill me doesn't mean that I've forgotten everything you've ever said to me. Everything you've ever done."

Draco clenched his jaw. Apparently trust and forgiveness were two very different things.

She stood and moved to stand before him. Close enough to touch if he would only reach out his hands. Her honey eyes darted over his features. "Am I still just a Mudblood to you?" she breathed, her voice wavering slightly.

Draco flinched at the word and the air rushed from his lungs as she waited for his answer.

No. You're brilliant.

It would be so easy to say, but his mouth was betraying him. Or was it his nerve?

He must have taken too long to answer. Her brows furrowed and she took a step away from him. Arms coming up to cross over her body as she dropped her eyes to the floor.

For a moment, he thought she might slap him, but then she brushed past him to the door. Hand on the knob, she paused and cast a glare over her shoulder at him. She opened her mouth but then snapped it shut with a huff before leaving, closing the door behind her with a bang.

Late that evening, Draco made his way downstairs in the hope of sneaking a bit of firewhiskey. As he opened the door to the kitchen, however, he found Potter sitting at the table drinking alone. He looked up as Draco entered with a scowl.

Without speaking, Potter summoned another glass and poured a small amount of the amber liquid into it before pushing it across the table. Draco blinked, but picked up the glass and sat down across from the Boy Who Lived.

"Don't tell Hermione," Potter droned before drinking from his own glass.

Draco smiled wryly before taking a small sip. "That witch… I swear she'll b-be the death of m-me."

Potter shook his head. "You've had to deal with her for a few months… I've been putting up with her for almost nine years. Don't get me wrong, she truly is my best friend, but I know how frustrating she can be. It's made worse by the fact that she's always right."

"Surely sh-she isn't…" Draco began.

"No, no," Potter interrupted, holding up a hand. "She's always right," he repeated emphatically. "Don't even bother trying to protect your own ego. You'll never win against her. Trust me."

Draco sighed and took another sip, relishing the taste of the smooth alcohol. "She's b-been weird lately, r-right? Moodier than usual. Or is it j-just me?"

Potter observed him closely for a moment. "It's not just you," he said evasively.

"Women," Draco chuckled evasively.

Potter didn't laugh with him but just looked at him a bit thoughtfully. "When do you think she started acting strange?" he asked thoughtfully.

Draco considered this. In his mind, his days with the Order could be split up into two sections: Everything before his brush with death, and everything that had happened since. Surely he had changed immeasurably in the instant the potion had seeped into his lungs, but it seemed that Granger had as well. Perhaps the timing was purely coincidental, but before he was captured, Granger had been ferocious—a force to be reckoned with. Quick to put him in his place or bring him down a peg with a biting remark. But now she seemed… diminished, somehow. Still fierce, but a bit more subdued—defeated, perhaps. Looking up at Potter, he saw the wizard staring at him knowingly.

"She lost a lot of sleep trying to f-find me, I guess. And she's been brewing all these potions. She's p-probably knackered," Draco posited with a shrug.

Potter frowned. "Why do you think she did all that for you?"

Draco bristled slightly. "She's g-got the same hero complex all you Gryffindors have," he sneered dismissively.

"Maybe," Potter shrugged, pouring himself a bit more firewhiskey. "But why do you think she would go so far above and beyond for you?"

"Fuck, P-potter, I don't know!" Draco exasperated loudly. "She's a b-better person than I am. Is that what you want t-to hear?" It was like Potter was trying to lead him to something, some kind of conclusion that Draco was apparently too stupid to come to on his own. But between his exhausting exercises and practice sessions with Granger and her dizzying mood swings, Draco was in no mood to play Potter's mind games.

Potter stood, crossing to a cabinet and pulling out a small glass phial. He pulled his wand from his pocket and held it to his head. A thin, silvery wisp pulled from his temple and Potter directed it into the phial. He corked it and placed it on the table in front of Draco.

"I was part of the team that found you," he said. "I've seen Hermione go through a lot over the years, but I've never seen her like that before. Maybe if you see it, you'll understand her a bit more."

The Auror picked up his glass and the half-finished bottle of firewhiskey and walked toward the kitchen door. "There's a pensieve in the office," he called over his shoulder before disappearing.

Draco stared at the memory for a moment, swirling innocently against its glass enclosure. He had seen his death through Yaxley's eyes. Granger had seen it too, and something within her had broken because of it. Surely finding him alive hadn't been as bad.

His curiosity got the better of him and he finished his firewhiskey in one gulp, snatched up the phial and made his way to the office.

The pensieve was concealed within an ornate cabinet like the one that had stood in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. Draco emptied the phial into the basin and then dipped his face into Potter's memory.

The Selwyn home was dark as the small team made its way up the path. Granger at the center of the group, surrounded by Dawlish, Bill Weasley, and three Aurors that Draco did not recognize. Why had they even allowed her to come? She was supposed to be confined to the Longbottom house under twenty-four hour watch with the exception of going to work. Potter trudged behind, his green eyes darting around in search of straggling Death Eaters.

They made their way up the front steps and opened the doors. Granger's wand shook in her grip as they entered the home.

"Fan out. Secure the house," Dawlish barked and the others walked in different directions of the vast home.

Potter stayed with Granger as she walked quickly through the foyer. "Hermione," he hissed, hurrying to catch up to her. "Slow down. You have to stay with us."

"He's here, Harry. He has to be," Granger proclaimed firmly.

"We'll see. If he is, we'll find him. But you can't just run off. You're not even supposed to be on missions."

He grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him. There were tears in her eyes. "Yes, alright," she conceded.

"Just wait for the all clear," Potter insisted, holding fast to her arm.

One by one, the Aurors returned from their respective wings, declaring the area safe.

"Harry," Bill Weasley's voice called from a room to their left.

Potter and Granger darted down the corridor and into the ballroom. The familiar S inlay on the marble floor. It was dark, save for a small beam of light glowing at the tip of Bill's wand. Before the ginger man was a large, dark structure.

A glass box.

Granger lit her wand and moved toward Bill on shaking legs. As she reached the box she sank to her knees, eyes fixed on the boy lying just out of reach. His skin grey and thin, eyes open, unseeing, and a haunting milky hue. His face was mere inches from the glass, his arms and legs laying limply against his body.

A choking noise erupted from Granger's throat and she leaned forward, pressing one hand against the glass. Sobs shook her body and echoed through the dark room. Bill stepped away to provide her with a semblance of privacy, but Potter moved closer, kneeling next to her and placing a hand on her back.

She seemed to hardly notice his presence, her wails growing louder as the full force of reality sank in. Head thrown back, she cried like a wounded animal. An awful, soul shaking sound. When, at last, her sobs subsided, she leaned forward until her forehead rested against the glass. Her face was mere inches from Draco's and she was still weeping softly as Potter wrapped his arm around her.

For several minutes they stayed there, unmoving while Granger cried. Bill and the Aurors waited at the back of the ballroom, unwilling to move in until it was more respectful to do so.

Suddenly, Granger jumped, a shattered gasp tearing from her mouth. "He's alive," she choked.

"What?"

"He's alive!" she cried again, holding her lit wand near Draco's hand.

"Hermione…" Potter said gently, as if preparing to tell her that it was impossible.

"His finger moved, Harry," Granger insisted. "Draco! Draco, can you hear me?"

She moved her wand over to illuminate his face. The unseeing boy did not move, but as the light passed his eyes, his pupils contracted unmistakably.

"Fuck," cried Potter. "We need some help over here!" He scrambled to his feet and waved the Aurors over. He began shouting orders at them, establishing a never-before needed protocol.

Granger stayed by the box, face close to Draco's, palms pressed against the glass. "Hold on, Draco. You're going to be alright. Just hold on…"

Draco found himself back in the headquarters office with his feet firmly on the ground. Mind swimming, he scooped Potter's memory back into the phial and closed the pensieve cabinet, his hands shaking.

As he walked back to his room, trying to keep his steps as quiet as possible, he thought about what he'd just seen.

Perhaps Granger had seen so much death and destruction over the past couple of years that it had finally overtaken her. After all, everyone had a breaking point.

One thing was for certain: he had even more questions now than before Potter had shown him the memory.

The following morning, Draco woke up to his stomach turning painfully. His mouth watered and sweat broke out on his forehead. Quick as his feet would allow, he hurried out of bed and to the lavatory just in time to retch into the toilet.

He heaved several times until at last his stomach was empty. Shaking, he slumped to the side and leaned on the wall.

"Draco?"

Draco groaned. How did Granger always materialize when he was at his most vulnerable?

"I'm coming in," she announced before opening the door.

Her eyes swept over him as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Stepping closer, she kneeled next to him, biting her lip thoughtfully. Draco tried not to think about how humiliatingly intimate this was—her letting herself into a room where he'd just been sick and sitting next to him as if she accepted him anyway.

She's a healer, he reminded himself. She's seen much worse.

"Which of them gave you firewhiskey?" she asked knowingly, reaching forward to brush his fringe off of his sweaty forehead.

Draco chuckled miserably. "I hardly had any."

"It doesn't take much," she remarked. "I did tell you that it would interfere with your potions."

"Consider me deeply regretful," he deadpanned. His stomach twisted again and he bolted up to vomit into the basin once more.

"I'll get you something to help," Granger said with a sigh. She left the room for a moment and appeared again holding a small phial.

"Take this," she ordered, thrusting the potion at him.

Draco groaned and sat up to take his medicine dutifully. He uncorked the phial.

"Wait," Granger said quickly before he could tip it into his mouth.

"What?"

One glance at her and Draco could tell that her mind was racing. "Say something."

"Say something? Like what?" Draco asked irritably, feeling his stomach churn in warning.

"Anything," she urged.

"Is this going to take long?" he asked. "I'm likely to vomit on your slippers if you don't let me take this potion soon."

Granger looked at him pointedly, as if he had done something remarkable. When he just stared at her she broke into a grin. "Your stammer is gone!"

Draco blinked, thinking back on the few words he'd spoken this morning. Surely he had stuttered a little. He'd hardly been able to string three words together without stumbling over them since he'd woken up in St. Mungo's.

"You can take the potion. I just wanted to see if it was really gone."

Draco stared at the phial. "Will it come back once I take this?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. Even if it does, it's new information that I can work with. How do your fingers feel?"

Draco flexed his hand not holding the phial. They were still tingling and felt uncoordinated. "No better than yesterday," he answered, his heart sinking.

Granger frowned. "Well, at least it's progress on one front." She waved her hand, encouraging him to take the potion.

He gulped down the bitter liquid and immediately felt his stomach settle. "Thanks," he said with a cough.

"I'll have to look at the formula. Something about the whiskey helped you. Of course it also made you sick, so we can't have that. I'll try a few different things over the next few days and see if anything helps," Granger rambled thoughtfully.

Draco stared at her, his mind flashing to her grief upon finding him dead. The cries she made, the anguish on her face, etched into his mind as clearly as his memories of the day she'd been tortured.

She'd done so much for him in the past few weeks for reasons that he couldn't begin to understand. No one—except his mother—had ever put forth so much effort to ensure his well being. And as annoying as her babying could be at times, she had never treated him with anything less than respect.

And he couldn't even tell her that he didn't just think of her as a Mudblood anymore…

"Granger," Draco said suddenly, cutting off her stream of consciousness.

Her mouth snapped shut, honey eyes watching him nervously.

"I'm sorry," he said. "About yesterday." He took a deep breath before pressing on. "About everything, actually."

Granger blinked. "Thank you," she squeaked. A pale blush rose to her cheeks and she turned her face away from him. "Er, do you need anything else?"

Draco shook his head slowly.

"Great, well I'll leave you to it then. Kingsley's called a meeting for this evening at seven," she informed him before leaving the lavatory.

Draco showered and brushed his teeth before heading back to his room to dress for the day. He opted for a black jumper today to avoid having to ask for Granger's help again.

At quarter to seven Granger knocked on his door and walked with him down the stairs. He no longer needed assistance on the stairs, but she still offered to walk with him, perhaps out of habit.

She seemed to be in a better mood as they made their way into the dining room and took their usual seats—her at the table and him sitting in the chair just behind her along the wall. She turned around in her chair as the other Order members shuffled in, talking to him about different ideas she had about alterations to his potions.

"Hey," Ginny chirped as she flounced in and sat next to Draco with a mocking grin. "Did you dress yourself today? Congratulations!"

"Bite me," Draco retorted, though he grinned in spite of himself.

Finnegan's foot collided with Draco's as he squeezed through the narrow aisle. Draco scowled at him, but pulled his foot in.

"Alright, Seamus?" Dean Thomas asked as his friend flopped into the chair beside him.

Finnegan just grunted and crossed his arms over his chest.

Charlie and Bill were among the last to enter, laughing at some shared joke as they took their seats at the table by Potter.

"Alright, everyone. Settle down, please," said Kingsley as he entered the room and made his way to the front of the room.

The stragglers took their seats, all eager to know why a meeting had been called three days before their scheduled weekly gathering.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice. Just a couple of things on the agenda for today and then you can all get back to it," Shacklebolt said calmly. His eyes fell upon Granger.

"Hermione, how's your potions work coming?" The minister asked.

Granger sat up straight in her chair, thrilled for the opportunity to impress the Minister. She used to do the same thing when she was called on in school. Practically vibrating with excitement.

"It's been slow, but I think we've stumbled upon some new information that will be helpful," Granger reported proudly.

"Good. I'm sure I don't need to tell you the dire importance of solidifying the proper formula."

"No, sir," Granger intoned seriously.

"Next, I would like to introduce a new member," Shacklebolt continued.

A murmur of confusion rippled through the group. Some people looked around as if seeking a stranger sitting amongst them.

"Mr. Malfoy," Kingsley began, making Draco jump. "It seems your defection has started a trend. Allow me to introduce our newest addition."

The door to the sitting room opened and in walked a person Draco thought he'd never see again. Long dark hair swishing over her shoulders, ice blue eyes landing on him, and red lips parting in shock.

Kingsley smiled and gestured to the witch. "Please welcome Pansy Parkinson."

A/N: Please review if you're so inclined! Follow me on Tumblr (graceful-lioness) for sneak peeks and to actually get a response from me if you want one!

Updates every Monday. Next chapter posts on May 18th.