A/N: Chapter III, reposted. Another short chapter. Last I have already written. Chapter IV will be here soon enough, I promise! Give me a week.

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Chapter Three

"Is she…to be…Will she really…" Low, yet loud enough for one of less that five feet away could hear, whispers filled Hermione's black nothingness of a dream. Like a dream without its picture, a memory with its vision.

"We don't…It is clearly…Quite a fall…Loss of blood…head…"

"You're joking…How…perform…Will she ever…"

"I don't know what you're worried about, Miss Anderson," a much louder, and deeper, voice sounded. "It's not like she could perform much before. No spark in her eyes; no strength to dance during a long period of time. Her voice, however, is what we should be afraid she'll lose."

Hermione knew right away, without even having to see, that that voice was no other's than Draco Malfoy's. Not even the smallest of 'Bad Faith' fan girls could mistake it; not even the last batch of first years before Hermione, Draco, Harry, and all the other seventh years had graduated could mistake it; not even Hermione.

And how Hermione ached to escape her black nothingness and find out exactly what Draco meant by that, but as soon as she tried a sudden burst of pain surged through her head. She must have winced in the world Draco, Daisie, and, most likely, the doctor could see because she could somehow feel the small crowd of three people surrounding her unconscious, seen form.

"Miss La'fleur," the doctor began. "Can you hear me?" Hermione could not seem to answer. Though she could indeed hear him, she could not bring herself to deal with the pain.

"Doctor," Daisie's out-of-place American accent started. "Look at her eyes. Are the supposed to be so… white?"

"I'm most certain, Miss Anderson, that they are meant to be like that," Draco stated. "She's probably trying to fight her unconscious form into conscious."

Hermione could almost hear the light spark in the doctor's head. "Miss La'fleur, if you can hear me, try to bring your unconscious form forward a bit," he suggested.

Against the agonizing protests, Hermione obeyed the doctor. She brought the strange form she had taken in the unconscious world (looking much like her conscious form, only it looked like a young Hermione Granger, seventeen years old and in her Hogwarts graduation robes) closer toward the direction of the voices.

"Go back," cried a voice in her head. "It's safe; no stage, no spotlight, no danger. Live forever in your safe world!"

"Don't listen!" another cried out. "You have a life to finish; no one wants to have a dead superstar! And that movie with Malfoy, the Weird sisters, and the Flower Beds! Do not you wish to fulfill your dreams?"

Hermione slowly drowned out the two voices as they mentally fought to drive her crazy. Go back to safety, she mused. Go forward to life. Life where I can find unanswered question's true answers. Life…

Hermione found herself leading her form forward; forward until she suddenly got a blurry vision of Daisie, Draco, and a man she didn't recognize. The doctor, she decided.

"Tough decision, Miss La'fleur?" the doctor asked. Hermione nodded in response, then looked to the small white name-tag on the doctor's suit. 'T. Boot'

"Terry Boot?" Hermione exclaimed. "The Ravenclaw in my year?" Doctor Boot raised an eyebrow at Hermione, no clue what she was implying.

"Yes, I am Terry Boot," Doc-…Terry started. "But I'm afraid I never went to Beauxbatons, Miss La'fleur." He then turned to Daisie and Draco. "Miss Anderson, go get the nurse. Draco, get the silver-coloured Memory restoring potion. I'm afraid she's having side affects." Daisie left immediately, while Draco began to search through open potion cabinet.

"Side affects!" Hermione said, raising her voice. "There's nothing wrong with me! You can't make me take that foul-tasting potion, either! I'll sue both of you if you even try!"

"Miss La'fleur," Terry began, irregularly calm. Things like this must happen every day, Hermione mused, then caught herself. Things like this? There's nothing wrong with me!

"I won't have it!" Hermione yelled, being very reluctant. With that, she swung her hospital-uniformed body over the small bed and stood on her feet. She placed a hand on the tiny bedside table for a moment before gaining her posture and walking not so fast-like out of the room…

… Only to be overcome by a waft of lightheadedness. Her vision blurred and began a dizzy twist of swaying from side to side. Hermione put a hand to her forehead, only to find it wrapped in a muggle bandage. Where did they take me? Surely not St. Mungo's, they don't use muggle healers and are way to far from the Digital Abyss. Maybe a muggle hospital with certain doctors to take care of witches and wizards?

Finding that to be a good answer, Hermione stopped her thoughts. Taking the hand from her bandaged forehead, her eyes widened as she found her delicate fingers stained in fresh blood.

"Bloody hell," she said with all the voice she could muster. She looked up to where she was going again, only to find it was still a visual mess. "I'm going to get nowhere."

"Got that right," a sweet, yet still hinted in cold sarcasm, voice stated behind her. "Need help, Hermione?" the semi-stranger asked. But Hermione knew right away at the mention of her hidden name that it was none other than Draco Malfoy behind her.

Hermione decided to ignore Draco; however much she needed the help. She pushed a hand against the white-bricked wall to steady herself further and continued walking towards the exit in silence, annoyed by the factor that the closer she tried to get, the farther the doors seemed to go.

"Granger," Draco continued on. "If I wanted you dead I would have done so myself. Now let me help you before you do end up dying."

"Stop calling me that," Hermione ordered, her voice barely above a whisper. "And if I remember correctly, you've already tried."

"How do you know I meant to…Flambez?" Draco asked after a slight moment of silence.

Hermione, however, gave no answer and continued walking toward the exit. She hadn't even made it to three more steps before she suddenly had much of her weight supported by some else, her arm moved over their shoulder. Malfoy never gives up, Hermione thought. Never gives up on anything.

"Malfoy, I said I didn't need help," Hermione hissed.

"As I recall, Flambez, you never said you didn't need help," Draco stated simply. "Judging, though, by the slight sway in you walking and your former support on the wall, you vision happens to be quite blurred and dizzy and you're feeling lightheaded, probably wondering how long you'll last before you faint."

"How do you…?" Hermione whispered, a sudden shock that Draco was either very observant or he actually knew something.

"I took Magical Medical Health School for a year," he began. "Before taking Performing Arts at a Muggle school for three years."

Hermione gave a slight nod, noting to ask further when she felt more…composed.

Much to her astonishment, though, Hermione found herself standing in front of the glass exit doors of the strange, almost confused idenitied, hospital she had been brought to. Somewhere in their small talk Hermione must have lost her hardheaded reluctance and instead leaned into Draco's helping support to be led to the door.

"The bus is outside," Draco said after a moment of silence. "Along with," he stopped momentarily to look at a small muggle beeper, nodding. "Along with police, police wards, and, well, fans. Can you handle that?"

Hermione once again gave a small nod as Draco pushed the door open with his foot. Almost instantly, a large crowd of fans behind two separated sides blocked by police wards burst into frantic shouting, calling and jumping.

Yet, just as instantly, it stopped. And they all just stared at the odd duo of people walking out of the doors. But then again, you would be just as surprised no matter if you read the morning paper or not. It wasn't every day you saw the worlds most popular pop sensation walk out of a hospital, bandaged and weak, leaning against the world's fastest rising punk band's vocal. Not at all.