Everyone gasped; were they all right? The group of students, foreign and citizens, stormed the gate to the landing field, keeping a long leeway from Yoyotte. All eyed her with suspicion. Madame de Confiture pushed her way through the crowd, making her way as quickly as possible to the fallen would-be birds.

They lay crumpled together, not moving or stirring a bit. The grass around them was still perfect, as if in mockery of these damaged beings. The teacher kneeled down by them, searching for a sign of life, any sign. She found one, however faint; the two were breathing dimly, just enough to support life. Get the nurse. You know where she is, she said quietly to a student. And tell her to hurry. We can't move them until we know how their condition is.

Draco stood by in shock. A boy that he had known for barely twenty-four hours lay struggling for life, and Draco was already scared for him. And Hermione, too. If she dies, he thought, would he have to be the one to tell Harry? That would be too strenuous eve for calm-headed Draco. And, he would miss her. Draco shook his head in bewilderment. Where had that thought come from? He would never miss a common mudblood like her; it was against his moral code. Still, he would have to make sure she was fine.

He watched in silence as the quite-capable woman who was apparently the nurse flew in and gauged the seriousness of the situation. She obviously thought it was a grim one, because she carefully levitated both Hermione and Thomas in their same positions away from the scene of the crime. He observed, hushed, as the Thestral was led away to a darkened stable jail for the calming-down period. He followed, waiting, surveying the way all students in the jammed halls forced their way to the edge of the passage, like cars pulling over while an ambulance alarmed it's way down the freeway.

When the nurse finally made her way all the way to the aid station, all the way over on the other side of the expansive school, no one was allowed in the bibelot crowded room.

They are not stabilised, and will be in here at least a week, so just rein in your horses. You'll be able to see them tomorrow, and no earlier. Go to class, the disgruntled woman told the patiently lingering Draco. So he went on his not-so-merry way, carefully looking out for Potter in the halls. When he finally glimpsed that elusive boy, there was no time for chitchat, and there wasn't until dinner that night.

While the student body was eagerly anticipating their meal, Draco strode over to where Potter sat joking with his newfound friends. "Potter," he announced, "Your girlfriend is in the hospital ward. You might want to go visit her, but no one shall be able to till tomorrow morning."

"What did you do to her?" Potter shouted. "If I've found you've harmed her in any way, shape, or form, your mine! You won't live to see your awful father again!" His face, crimson as a Howler, seemed ready to catch fire at any moment.

"Be still, Potter. The nurse is taking care of her, and it was not my fault at all. Just ask that Care of Magical Creatures professor. She was the one who let Hermione and Thomas up on that dangerous beast." Draco felt bad about placing the blame on Madame de Confiture, as it wasn't her that caused the mare to rear. "Like I said, you can see your beloved in the morning." He let no mention pass that Draco himself would be there just as anxiously awaiting his own friend's awakening.

The rest of the day had passed normally, albeit apprehensively. Classes continued on, with a degree of subdued anticipation. Before the Soleil children went to bed, Thibaut called them together for a brief conference about what had taken place that day.

I'm glad to say that Madame Santé says that Thomas only suffered a mild concussion and should be back in regular classes by the day after next, and Hermione by the day after that. The congregation let out a muted cheer, happy that the two would join them so soon after what had appeared to be such a devastating fall. They were dismissed, talking in low whispers about how it was lucky they hadn't fallen from higher up. Draco shuddered to think of that which might have been, and was glad it wasn't. He headed up to his bed, feeling slightly lonely from the temporary lack of Thomas' warm and eclectic companionship, and he got into bed believing himself to be isolated from all the others in the world. Just as he slipped his friendless legs into the covers on his lonesome bed, a warmth placed itself there. He glanced up, and saw Thibaut close to him.

I know you had already bonded with Thomas, but don't worry. He'll be back soon, and Mme Santé says anyone can go visit him starting tomorrow. With that, Thibaut absconded the foot of the bed, and Draco was left to sleep.

Dreams didn't trouble him this night; it was a dark and black sleep full of healing properties. He awoke feeling refreshed from this overnight nap, and then remembered the occurrences of the previous day. He hurriedly threw on his robes and made his way to the infirmary.

The miniature hospital was already up and running at this early hour of the morning, and Draco could smell hot tea, heavily aromatic, wafting towards him. He hastened in, and was pleasantly surprised to see that Thomas was the one to be drinking it. "Thom! Are you better now?" he cried out.

"Well, Madame Santé wants to keep me here for a little longer. She tells me that one of the few things she can't heal are concussions, though she can help them along," Thomas slowly told him, taking sips of the tea on alternating words. "I might be able to come back later today if I'm good, though I'll have to 'take it easy.' "

"That's good. Any word on Hermione?" Draco asked, carefully keeping any particular emotion aside from curiosity out of his voice.

"I'm fine, thank you very much. I just have a few bruises that are left. Madame says that I'm lucky that nothing major was broken. Just my legs," came a voice from behind a curtain. "And I didn't have a concussion like dear Thom here."

Which is a good thing, said Madame Santé as she bustled in and about. Now have more tea and another croissant. It's the best meal for convalescents like you two. And you have seen them for long enough. Shoo! She hustled Draco out of the door, only allowing him a small wave before pushing him out of sight.

Draco went down to le petit dejeuner, and ate up, happy that his friend was (friends were) okay and had survived the night.