A/N Hullo

A/N Hullo! I'm afraid this chapter won't be as good as the last one. The last one was nice, wasn't it? I think it's the best I've ever written. This one is a bit longer than Ch. 2, thankfully. Oh, and I'm running a poll on who you peeps would like Hermione to end up with, and so far the Leather God is winning. And to compensate if you find yourself disappointed: Just in case this turns out to be a d/h, I am currently writing three h/h series, two already posted but still not finished, one still in progress and set in 2006. And just in case this turns out to be a d/h, I have what, two, three other d/h stories up, and am working on one that Remmirath would very willingly tell you about. ::looks down:: notice the bad grammar and want of eloquence in Pansy's diary. What a *@?!#

Rating note: This part contains just a tiny bit of kissing. A very tiny bit, OK? And some very, very few swear words.

Disclaimer: What you could possibly recognise, be it a word, a phrase, or a name, I don't own. The title very evidently isn't mine.

This chapter is very lovingly dedicated to: Remmirath, who probably won't read this but is still a very good friend; my dear mother, who is trying to read everything I write (but I won't let her); the few faithful reviewers; and my new laptop, which does formatting better than my old computer.

A Way with Words

Chapter Three: Say My Name

Dearest Diary,

Draco was so mean to me today. He yelled at me and was about to hit me It was so humiliating because Mudblood Granger was there.

Draco and me were walking by the lake, when I pushed her in because she said something really bad about me. Draco got all mad and started yelling at me and – get this – he saved her! And – and he saved her with mouth-to-mouth I was so jealous I almost exploded. He told me to go away and I did. I was really sorry I made him mad, but I'm not sorry I pushed that little slut in. I'll get her for this, I swear.

Pansy P – er, Parkson – Parkinson?

***

Harry looked down at Hermione, who was avoiding his eyes and concentrating on the portraits they passed. The fact that her clothes, hair, and skin were wet and a bit mucky with lake water was sufficient evidence enough to prove that she had indeed been in the Lake, and the state Draco Malfoy's clothes and person were in was ample indication that Malfoy had been in there with her. Harry wrinkled his nose in thought – if the story she and Draco told him and Ron was true (and he fervently hoped it was), she was pushed into the Great Lake by Pansy Parkinson – why, then, was Pansy not there when they came? He sincerely hoped Hermione was telling him the truth, and all of it, but could not ask her if she was – he was afraid he would sound like Ron did in fourth year; protective, suspicious and jealous all at the same time.

Ron was lagging behind them, holding both Harry's Honeydukes parcels and his, and refusing to go and store them in the boys' dormitories first. Harry rather wished that it was he who was carrying Hermione – not because he did not like to be so close to her, but because he felt he liked it so much he didn't know if he could keep his face straight. – He was already well aware that his cheeks were tinged pink to match Hermione's. It was a good thing, therefore, that Ron was behind him, and Hermione seemed to feel too awkward to look – he was exceedingly glad neither could see his countenance.

The three came to a stop in front of the Infirmary door. Just as Hermione was going to knock (evidently Harry's and Ron's hands were full) Albus Dumbledore, the man of most impeccable timing, opened it and came striding out.

Harry stepped back to let the Headmaster pass. Dumbledore, who was wearing his usual deep purple robes, caught sight of them and smiled, a typical twinkle in his blue eyes. Harry wondered what that twinkle could mean – he was amused? That rather irritated him, as he didn't think his holding his best friend like she was a damsel in distress (which, come to think of it, she was) was amusing in the least.

Hello, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Ms Granger,' said he, smiling characteristically at them.

Perhaps Ron sensed his friends didn't want to talk, and that if no one replied it would be awkward for all of them, for he said in a bright, atypically polite voice, Hello, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir.'

Dumbledore smiled at him, and gave him a questioning look with his penetrating eyes. Ron shrugged; knowing the Headmaster knew what happened anyway, and that this silent enquiry was merely a gesture of humility? Concern? Courteousness? He didn't know.

The headmaster turned to Harry and Hermione, both of whom were immensely eager to get in the infirmary and get a distance of at least fifteen feet from each other to remove the memories of the other's touch from their skin. Dumbledore then asked, to the surprise of each at his bluntness that followed immediately an interrogative glance; Where is Mr Malfoy?'

In his astonishment Harry nearly dropped Hermione, and, to the great discomfort of both, she clung to his neck to keep from falling, bringing her face closer to his than either would have liked. Dumbledore acted unaware of the embarrassment he was causing them all, even though they very well knew that he was conscious of its presence. After no response from the three of them, he sighed, smiled jovially, and tipped his wizard hat in a polite, Englishman gesture. Harry and Ron nodded at him as he swept away, whilst Hermione was too busy keeping her countenance as normal as possible to bother with anything that could be described a pleasant parting gesture.

***

A few minutes later the famous triumvirate found themselves in the infirmary, the two boys sitting on a bed, backs to the curtains through which the silhouette of Hermione dressing herself in hospital pyjamas was visible. Ron was chewing absently on a Birtie Bott's Every Flavour Bean (strawberry jelly), looking bored. Harry was still recovering from the discomfort of having had his best friend so close to him, his countenance retaining vestiges of the blush that had overspread it only minutes earlier. His skin was a bit cold from the dampness of his robes and from the magical air-conditioning in the hospital wing. From where they were sitting they could see a small second-year girl, whom Harry recognised to be Annie Macmillan, napping some beds away. Harry wondered at her hair – the short blonde locks had turned into a mop of white strands. He supposed it must be from shock.

Madame Pomfrey was clucking her tongue in that lecturing manner she always used when students were careless' and showed up injured at the threshold of her workplace. None had told her what happened yet, for as soon as the nurse had seen them at the door she had told Harry to lay Hermione down on a bed, no questions asked. They did not have to tell her that she had been in the lake, for the unsanitary-smelling water that soaked Hermione's clothes was so evidently from the sizeable tarn.

Done!' Hermione called from inside the curtains. Ron's head snapped up; he swallowed the last of his sweet obediently followed Madame Pomfrey into Hermione's corner. Harry was in no hurry to see her, and took his time in hopping off the bed and setting his and Ron's packages down. Heaving a sigh, he pushed past the curtains and sat himself down on a chair beside the bed, avoiding Hermione's eyes.

Madame Pomfrey, who was standing near the opening in Hermione's curtains, held herself up in a very familiar pre-lecture posture.

I trust you are all wondering why Miss Granger is unable to walk?' she said in a professorial voice. The three nodded, Hermione looking like she was dreading the very explanation they all knew was coming, Ron looking like he was sure magic could cure whatever it was and that he was only staying her for support (and doubtless the air-conditioning).

The nurse sighed uncharacteristically. The giant squid is ill.' Seeing the three's expectant And?' faces, it was apparent that this did not have the effect she so desired, and she again sighed extensively. I told the Headmaster to inform you, but I suppose he thinks it was unnecessary for the students to know' Her eyes took on a glazed look, and her nostrils flared in a way reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. Either that or he knew what was going to happen, and just didn't care enough to warn you, or he found it most amusing to watch you – no consideration at all as to what I have to do to restore you –'

Madame Pomfrey,' Hermione interrupted gently but firmly, I don't think it would have mattered had the Headmaster informed us of the squid's illness – Pansy Parkinson would have pushed me in anyway.'

And she would find it more tempting because Pansy would know what could happen if she did push Hermione in,' Ron chirped in helpfully. Harry and Hermione shot him a reprimanding look for the distaste so clearly directed towards a student in his words, even though privately they agreed with what their friend said. What? I was only trying to –'

Anyway,' Madame Pomfrey cut in sharply, causing Ron's tactless mouth to fall shut. (She did not seem at all perturbed at the knowledge that a student had caused this trouble, and Harry wondered at it.) It is obvious you do not know how the squid's illness can affect Miss Granger. Well, I'll tell you – you see, the kind of disease the squid is experiencing is the type that taints all the water and creatures around it. Merpeople are born with immunity to it, as well as some other water-dwellers. However, humans and other land-lovers are easily affected by it, and results of prolonged contact with the tainted water vary.'

Here she paused for breath. Hermione, taking her cessation to be one people made when they are to reveal something dreadful, asked Madame Pomfrey in a timid voice:

Is it deadly?'

Madame Pomfrey looked shocked. Of course it's not, Miss Granger. The Headmaster, who I'm sure knew this would happen' (eyes taking on that glassy look again) does not care so very little as to risk the death of students.'

Hermione sank back into her pillows, looking gratified now she was sure the disease was treatable.

Has anyone else been in the water?' Madame Pomfrey asked them.

The look of discomfort and deep colour returned to Hermione's face, and she left Harry and Ron to take the pains of informing the nurse of whom else had been drenched in the water.

Looking irritably at his friends at being left to answer this (Ron was busy with another bean and looking innocent), Harry answered, Draco Malfoy, Ma'am.'

Madame Pomfrey raised an eyebrow. Draco Malfoy, indeed!' She exclaimed. An unreadable expression on her aged countenance, she turned to Hermione. What, pray tell, were you and Mr Malfoy doing in the water?' She sounded like a mother demanding to know her daughter's questionable activities, making Hermione squirm.

Knowing that if she answered this with a mere nothing' she would not only awake suspicion in her friends, but also give the staff something to discuss over coffee, Hermione tried to form an answer that would give away neither too little or too much. A sickening feeling in her stomach arose at the recollection of what they were doing in there, but strangely enough, it came with an unnatural sensation of warmth. Choosing to ignore the latter sentiment and to focus on the nurse's inquiry, Hermione replied, with some difficulty; I was pushed into the lake. – ' (She did not want to say by whom anymore, for fear that if they gave Pansy a punishment word would spread about the whole incident and the modus operandi Draco had used to revive her would leak out.) Malfoy, of course, had to save me, or else he and his girlfriend,' she spat it out as if it were a dirty word, would get in trouble.' She was reluctant to acknowledge the sting that had gone through her at her own explanation for Malfoy's actions.

' Madame Pomfrey looked intrigued. My, my' She seemed about to make some further comments, but apparently decided to keep her own musings to herself, lest she make the prejudice against Slytherin and the students in it worse, or perhaps give Hermione something to feel embarrassed about. For some reason Hermione felt the latter was more probable, from the look of ill-disguised amused suspicion in the nurse's eyes.

Regaining her nurse-ly attitude, Madame Pomfrey came forward to tuck Hermione in, telling her to get some rest and assuring her that the problem would be fixed as soon as possible. Hermione, aware that protests against Madame Pomfrey's commands for her rest were futile, obeyed and sank into her covers.

You two,' said Madame Pomfrey, turning to her two friends, would you like to get Draco Malfoy? I have to see if something is wrong with him as well.'

It was obvious that the two boys had no desire of taking the boy who, even if he had saved Hermione's life, was their known archenemy. And of course they could care less if there was something wrong with Draco Malfoy. Harry and Ron, after meeting each other's eyes in silent agreement, shook their heads.

Madame Pomfrey, who had not been expecting a positive response anyway, told them to Go on out and enjoy what is left of the day'. The two, after a kiss on the cheek each from Hermione (unwittingly making Madame Pomfrey stare), left with their parcels, one not pleased at having to leave the air-conditioning, the other still burning under the parting kiss from their friend.

Hermione, sorry for the want of any company but not regretting that the feeling of unease that had gone along with Harry when he had quit the room, closed her eyes and willingly let sleep overcome her very tired, aching body. It had been a very strange day, indeed.

***

Saturday. Hot.

Now I've seen everything

R. W.

***

Silver eyes stared back at him Draco Malfoy surveyed himself through the mirror in the Slytherin bathrooms, emotions as horrible a mess as his silver hair. Displeased to see his pride and joy in disarray, he took his silver comb – which, understandably, he carried around with him everywhere – and ran it through his hair. Watching it separate and smooth the platinum strands, Draco thought the comb was almost indistinct from them.

Once satisfied with his appearance, he drew the comb from his hair. It had, as everyone would expect of a Malfoy accessory, a raised silver snake twisted around the intricate filigreed handle. This reminder of his ancestry caused his handsome features to twist into an unpleasant frown. He kne whe was supposed to be proud of whoever he was, as his father seemed more than satisfied, but for some reason he could not bring himself to be proud of being a Malfoy.

Malfoy?' she had called him. Draco wished she hadn't. He closed his eyes and let his mind's eye sift through the recollections of earlier. He now found himself fantasising, longing, wishing for the day that the name Draco' would roll lovingly off that soft pink tongue he had so very nearly tasted in his attempts to recover her

Draco's eyes widened. Had he just No, he couldn't, can't have.

Shaking his head as though doing so would wipe the memories of the previous events from his head, Draco stepped out of the bathroom into the boys' dormitories. He looked around, eyes narrowed, for Crabbe and Goyle. Strange, he found himself wanting their company right now – around those two he didn't have to think, didn't have to say, didn't have to do anything, unlike when he was with Granger. He always had to compose his features, attempt to control and ignore the beat of his heart, and think of proper words to keep his emotions concealed and hers unchanged. He usually didn't care what anyone thought about him But, for some very strange reason, she must always stay mad at Draco Malfoy, for it was one of those things that, despite the pain they caused, brought forth a sense of comfort, all because you could count on them always being there.

For a second he regretted ever making her mad at him in the first place – perhaps he would have felt better about maintaining her good opinion, rather than her offensive one. But then he caught himself, reprimanded himself for allowing his brain to produce such sentiments (he was incorrect -- obviously he did not realise that it was his heart that had done so), and tried answering to his own if-only', for once. – No matter what his first actions to her were, she was always going to hate him, for the way he was raised, his family, his house, and really, for the way he just was. Hermione Granger hating Draco Malfoy and (supposedly) vice-versa. That was the way the world worked, and should work.

Depressing thoughts such as these always obtruded, of course, but Draco could not bear to court them, and he made no effort to do so.

He, not seeing his two cronies anywhere, decided he would take a nap. The events of the past hour, he supposed, had deeply tired him in more ways than one. -- And unfortunately, not even the soap that he had so roughly rubbed on his skin to remove the mucky scent of lake water was enough to eliminate the very disconcerting thoughts he had regarding them.

He padded in his naked feet towards his four-poster. Feeling as if he could sleep for ten weeks in the weariness he now felt, he drew open the emerald drapes that concealed his one sanctuary in the whole castle.

But, alas, not even this small amount of space could be called sanctuary anymore, thanks to one Pansy Parkinson. Draco groaned at the sight of her sitting there, looking at him with the pretence of grief in her eyes.

What're you doing here?' said Draco in the calmest voice he could assume. He had not thought of her at all after she had left him and Hermione to themselves beside the lake, too engrossed in his contemplation of his own feelings.

Pansy, now wearing green silk robes to match the curtains around his bed, slowly got up from her crouching position on his berth and stood so close to Draco that their bodies touched. She fluttered her eyelids and pouted her lips in what she perhaps thought a seductive gesture. Draco fought the inane urge to puke.

Draco,' she murmured, lazily lifting a hand to trace his chest with her finger, I've been thinking I know it was really stupid of me to push that Mudblood' (here Draco's eyes flashed) into the lake' Her hands snaking around his waist, she lifted her head and began to spread small butterfly-kisses from his neck to his chin, and finally, to his lips. Draco, who didn't at all feel even remotely attracted to Miss Parkinson but was desperate to erase from his mind all images of kissing Hermione Granger, did not resist nor accept this entreaty, thinking he would only allow himself to render the latter if she apologised for being so senseless.

Apparently she had no plan of doing so. But you must admit,' said she, with an arch smile, it was rather unnatural of you to do what you did.'

That spoke more than anything Draco had yet heard. Revolted at this sudden change, and getting the idea that Pansy thought him the one at fault here, Draco put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away roughly. Surprised, Pansy landed on the bed.

Misinterpreting his actions, she smiled sensuously, flipped her shiny black hair over her shoulder, and came forward again to kiss Draco on the lips. Mortified and disgusted that Pansy would think him so, so Slytherin to do such a thing, Draco took her by the arms and let himself shout at her, all pretence of calm gone.

Listen here, Pansy,' he spoke scathingly, I don't know if you're just insensitive or really, really stupid. Don't you yet realise what you almost did? Don't you know Dumbledore knows?' He yelled, mindless of how his grammar became erratic when he was angry. Pansy looked determined not to cower under his wrath like she had before, but fear was so clearly expressed in her eyes, as well as a growing hint of suspicion.

What's the matter, Draco?' she asked in a soft, coy tone, as if she had not at all heard what Draco had been so loudly stating. Don't you love me anymore?'

If it were not for the irritation he felt and the want to get into bed and just sleep, Draco would have laughed himself silly at such an absurd idea. Have I ever loved you?' Draco hissed at her, in ire borne of agitation to have her out of his sight.

Pansy's eyes widened in unspeakable astonishment. The expression on her countenance quickly changed to one of anger.

You – you bastard!' she screamed.

Draco wondered vaguely if Pansy even knew what a bastard is. He certainly wasn't one, and would have told her so, if she hadn't started in on a new aspect of the conversation:

You – You're in love with that – that Mudblood filth –' Pansy shouted, eyes watery and shocked at this new realisation.

What did you say?' Draco yelled at her, disgusted both at Pansy for being so impertinent to assume that just because he didn't love her it meant he did Miss Granger, and himself for retorting just a little bit more defensively than he would have had this assumption been made yesterday. Or even just an hour ago, actually.

Don't deny it, Draco!' Pansy screamed, standing on tiptoe to blare into his face. It's so – so obvious!'

Was it? Had he been so careless as to let Pansy, who his parents knew very well and favoured, believe that he was attached to that Mudblood? And it's not true, of course not! Draco frenetically searched his head for something he could say or do to convince her otherwise, and then he did something that was immensely uncommon for Draco Malfoy.

He took Pansy in his arms and kissed her urgently, trying to ignore the sensation of repulsion that had shot through him when his lips met hers.

Fortunately for him, Miss Pansy Parkinson was not hard to convince. Once she had got over her astonishment, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back passionately, with gusto.

Just as the revulsion in Draco was beginning to fade from the kiss (Pansy had had lots of practice, and therefore was not a bad kisser), the door was flung open by a most unexpected person.

Miss Parkinson!' said the shocked voice of Madame Pomfrey.

Draco was rather irritated at having so many people intrude on the solitude of the boys' bedroom – first a girl who assumed herself his girlfriend, next the school nurse. What next, Headmaster Dumbledore?

He and Pansy sprung apart as Madame Pomfrey treaded through the pile of junk food wrappers (left there by Crabbe and Goyle) and came towards them, eyes wide in astonishment and nostrils flared at the cheek of the students.

Do you not know that the boys' dormitories are off-limits to young ladies?' said Madame Pomfrey upon reaching them. She sounded rather reluctant to discover that Miss Parkinson was a lady.

Pansy, visibly upset at the interruption of this most happy moment, put her hands on her hips and said, in her usual Slytherin-esque impertinence, Don't you, Madame Pomfrey?'

Draco, despite the intensity of the moment, could not help but want to laugh at the two of them. Pansy had made a point, actually, and Mr Malfoy was rather amused to see that she had some wit in her.

Madame Pomfrey seemed to sense the irony of this situation, and glared scathingly at Miss Parkinson, in the same way that Draco had glared at the young Slytherin earlier.

Unlike yourself, Miss Parkinson,' said she, cheeks turning red with anger, I am here for a more important reason than to exchange saliva.' Here she shot Draco a sharp glance, to which Draco replied with the What'd I do?' look. I suggest,' the nurse said, still glaring at Miss Parkinson, that you take your leave.'

Draco once more had to stifle his laughter at the irony – the nurse had asked Pansy to leave the same way Draco had earlier, ad litteram. But she was not to know that.

Pansy, who seemed to realise the same thing Draco did, heaved a sigh of derision, lifted her nose into the air in a way reminiscent of Hermione Granger's bossiness, and left the room in a swirl of silk.

All feelings of amusement dissipated once Madame Pomfrey directed her gaze to him, and for the first time Draco wondered why she was here. Then realisation dawned on him – of course! Potter and Weasley had brought Hermione to the Hospital Wing, and – they must have blamed him for Hermione's predicament! That was just so like them. Stupid, gloating Gryffindors

Mister Malfoy,' Madame Pomfrey began angrily. Yet it was differently angry, not the one an elder would use upon finding two teenagers snogging. Draco hadn't the time to wonder at it, for Madame Pomfrey took his arm and quickly led him outside the dormitory, as if eager to escape for fear that someone would enter and accuse her of engaging in the activities she had found the two Slytherins engrossed in.

She stopped dragging him only when they had reached the entrance to the common room.

Draco took his arms from her and rubbed it where her nails (kept cut short for sanitary purposes) had dug into his skin.

Madame Pomfrey!' he said, upset. He was still very tired, and somehow he felt Madame Pomfrey would not have him resting in bed so very soon. Where are we going?'

The nurse scowled at him. To the Hospital Wing, of course!' she exclaimed as if this had been insanely obvious all the time.

But why?' asked Draco incredulously. He was not up to any screaming matches right now.

I will explain on the way,' said Madame Pomfrey, looking like she was very eager to escape from the walls of the Slytherin dungeons. Draco followed her, albeit reluctantly, out of the common room, where a only a few first to third years were situated, what with its being a Hogsmeade weekend.

As soon as they were above ground Madame Pomfrey started to speak. Miss Granger was brought into the Hospital Wing just some time ago, Mister Malfoy,' said she. Draco wondered how she could have the breath to speak so sharply and yet walk so fast, and he tried to keep up with her quick pace.

So? What do I have to do with it?' said Draco in a rather insolent voice, as if daring the nurse to come within half a sentence of blaming him.

Madame Pomfrey looked at him over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows. What do you mean what do you have to do with it? You saved her, didn't you?'

Draco, who had been ready to deny any blame that could befall him, was unsure how to react. Well, yeah, but –'

Be quiet, Mister Malfoy – do not waste any breath.'

Draco shut up.

***

At long last the two reached the hospital wing, one extremely weary and the other very worried. Poppy Pomfrey had only walked so fast because she did not want to pain the student who had so unhesitatingly saved Hermione Granger's life by letting him faint in tiredness and let others see him carried up to the hospital wing by a stretcher. She opened the door and ushered him in.

Pick a bed, Mister Malfoy,' said Madame Pomfrey, walking in after him.

Draco's eyes widened at the brown hair that peeked out of the covers on most adjacent bed. Recognising the russet locks to be Hermione Granger's, he scowled and picked the bed farthest from hers, to prove to Madame Pomfrey (who seemed to doubt the animosity between the two in the light of recent events) and to himself that any supposed attachment involving Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy was in reality impossible.

Draco sat down on the edge of the bed and awaited Madame Pomfrey's explanation for having him here. It certainly wasn't to verify Hermione's tale, as she had already done that. And certainly he wasn't going to give him a talk about misbehaviour such as this from a Malfoy (yes, to them it is classified misbehaviour), as that was his father's job. So what was the nurse going to do?

Madame Pomfrey tossed him some infirmary pyjamas, telling him to change into them. Draco took one look at the white cotton and shook his head.

Nope, sorry, Madame Pomfrey, I can't wear this,' said Draco with a small smirk.

The nurse chose to ignore the boy's cheek and asked him why, though rather apprehensively, not wanting to hear a remark like I'm allergic to cheap fabrics'.

Because I just changed into these,' said Draco, gesturing to the rich material of his robes.

Madame Pomfrey thought it pointless to argue, and thought that it really was all right – at least he had already changed out of the clothes that were soaked with water from the tarn. So instead of scolding him she instructed the Slytherin to lie down on the bed he had chosen.

Draco wrinkled his nose and proclaimed, I won't do that until you tell me what I'm doing here.'

At least he's got a bright future as a businessman, thought Poppy with a sigh, observing the boy's persistence. She sat on the chair beside his bed.

I hate having to explain this two times a day' she muttered under her breath.

Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Huh?'

Nothing, Mr Malfoy. Now listen. The giant squid is sick, and you and Miss Granger, who have been drenched with the tainted lake water, are sick, and I need you to stay here obviously so I can cure you.' She was too weary to elaborate on the squid's illness.

Draco looked surprised. But I'm not ill!' cried he. He pointed a finger in the direction of Miss Granger. She obviously is, she can't walk, but I can!'

Poppy wondered why he seemed to hate the idea of being unwell so, when three years ago he had been here for days, faking pains of the wound a provoked hippogriff had bestowed upon him.

Which makes it possible that you are more ill than she is,' she said, the soothing manner in which the words came from her mouth useless as it contradicted the troubling statement.

Not another word came from Draco who, defeated, took off his shoes and started to make himself comfortable on the bed.

Madame Pomfrey did not tuck him in like she did the other patients, lest she make him feel uncomfortably like a child. She knew Malfoys hated to be treated so, from personal experience

~ But Miss Hawkins!' said the lad, struggling to get away from the nurse's grip.

Poppy watched from her corner in the hospital wing, intrigued at the scene this handsome boy, whom she knew was five years younger than her, was causing. Aware that he would not like her watching, Poppy pretended to be asleep, eyes only half-closed.

Mister Malfoy!' said Miss Hawkins, visibly upset. The nurse took a deep breath and tried to smile gently. Come now,' she said, attempting to take the youth's arm and lead him to a bed. You're sick, and we don't want that, now do we?'

Shut up!' the boy screamed. Poppy, mortified, watched as he whipped the wand out of his robes and directed it at the nurse.

Stupefy!' His yell resounded in the infirmary in an echo.

Miss Hawkins fell to the floor with a dull thump'.

Malfoy rushed to her side, and Poppy, thinking he was about to Ennervate' her, was gratified. But satisfaction turned to dismay as the boy muttered Obliviate' under his breath and left the hospital wing without a second glance. ~

Madame Pomfrey? Madame Pomfrey!' The voice of that very boy's offspring broke her from her reverie.

Sorry, what were you saying?' said the nurse, feeling rather ill herself.

Draco Malfoy shifted uncomfortably. Can you close the curtains, please?' said he.

Poppy, trying to ignore the voice in her head that repeatedly yelled Stupefy!' in her head, nodded and drew the drapes closed. As she walked back to her office for a very brief nap, a hand to her head, she could not help but worry for her safety.

Draco, not pleased to be in this place, but still gratified that he could at least sleep, buried his head in his covers, accepting sleep with open arms.

***

Hmm. Where was he?

Draco looked around him and took in surroundings. Grass in dire need of a mowing covered the ground, and white clouds that concealed the sun dotted a lovely blue sky.

The sound of footsteps could be heard, and a figure came up behind him. Draco barely had any time to react when a pair of small hands covered his eyes and an ill-stifled giggle came from whoever owned them.

'

Draco smiled at the sound of the name and the voice that had pronounced it. It was said so gently, so lovingly, so unlike when he was called Malfoy'. But who had said it?

A green blindfold replaced the hands in front of his eyes. Another giggle. Draco was practically bursting with curiosity, and was about to tell whoever it was to take the cloth off, when his words were abruptly smothered by a pair of soft lips on his.

Shocked, Draco raised his hands and removed the blindfold from his eyes himself. He blinked to help focus, then saw that a girl – undoubtedly the one that had kissed him – was running away from him, still making soft giggling sounds.

Draco, a genuine smile forming at last on his countenance, threw the green blindfold on the ground and started to chase after the girl. She was a blur of yellow and brown, butter-coloured dress whipping in the wind, chestnut hair flying behind her. Now who did he know with hair like that...?

At last he was right behind her. Draco reached out a hand to touch her, and turn her around by the shoulders, curiosity overpowering him.

A gasp escaped his throat as he realised who it was.

Granger...?'

***

Draco sat up in bed, the neck and back of his black robes damp with sweat. It took a moment to remember where he was, for he gasped at the sight of unfamiliar curtains and the roughness of the strange bed.

Moonlight streamed in through the long above his and all the other patients' beds, telling him that he had been there for already most of the afternoon and night and illuminating barely anything. A hand to his suddenly aching head, Draco tried to cling to the last of the dream. What was it? There was this girl, and a blindfold, and a kiss Who had kissed him?

The pain in his forehead seemed to increase upon remembering who the girl had been. Draco scolded himself for forgetting to tell Madame Pomfrey that his Dreamless Sleep Potion was in his dormitory. Dreams were a most unavoidable thing, of course, and as he had read somewhere, dreaming was nearly as crucial as breathing; but he felt that his dreams were killing him rather than keeping him alive. Lucius was aware of this, of course – and that he was the cause of such horrid dreams in the first place – so he had given his son a concoction that would let him have dreams, but make him forget them instantly upon waking. It was the same as the brew that Harry Potter had drunk years ago, in this very room, but he was not to know that, not being present at the time.

Feeling like he was suffocating behind these curtains, Draco drew them open and took a deep breath. He frowned at the smell – it smelled just a little bit like the Potions dungeon, most likely because of the rows of medicine stacked up in the shelves that stood against the walls.

He winced – he when he'd sat up abruptly upon waking up he had cracked several vertebrae. Face twisted in pain of both his head and his neck, he rubbed at the latter with his hand.

He wanted to ask Madame Pomfrey for some medicine, and stood up. It came to him that he didn't really know where Madame Pomfrey slept, and, hoping maybe she was in her office, padded towards its door in bare feet, passing Hermione's bed in the process.

Draco knocked, careful not to be too loud as to wake up the others students in the infirmary. After no reply, Draco knocked en core. Nothing.

Impatient, Draco tapped his knuckle smartly against the wood, loudly.

Instead of waking Madame Pomfrey, however, Draco only heard someone stir behind him. Recognising the voice, he turned around agitatedly, not wanting Granger to see him.

Hermione was tossing and turning in bed, frowning as if she were having a mildly disturbing dream. Draco's eyebrow furrowed, and of some reason he tiptoed quickly to Hermione's bed to comfort her.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he squinted at her face for lack of light. She was still uneasy, and her eyelashes quivered as they rested on her pink skin.

Draco, disregarding the voice in his head that objected fervently to what he was doing, he lifted his hand and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He stroked her cheek in an attempt to abate her discomfort.

It seemed to be working, as when he had touched Hermione's cheek the trembling of her lips and eyes diminished, and her face gained that peaceful quality sleep always brought forth. As if the dream she had been having improved drastically, a hint of a smile even flitted across Hermione's face, making him think that Hopefully you're seeing something different to what I dreamed of. Quietly he watched as her breast rose and fell while she breathed.His gaze fell on her lips, and he remembered how, in his dream, the girl -- Hermione -- had said his name. Once again he found himself wishing the dream were real, but then he shook his head. How extremely different her reaction would be to his if she ever had a dream similar to his most recent...

A/N: ::sigh:: Don't worry, you don't have to flame me, I already know it's bad I need a knew beta! OK, then, call for beta-readers! Contact me at serle_blue@yahoo.co.uk. I don't know if that link is working – if it's dead do tell me