When the sound of Snape's footsteps had faded to nothing, the three boys raised their heads and stared at each other; Harry and Ron, best friends since first year, leaning on one another, each deriving support and comfort from the solid presence of the other at his side, and Draco Malfoy, off at a distance, shoulders hunched under the weight of a grief that he bore alone.

Using the wall as a support, Harry slowly dragged himself to his feet. "I'll go get…Dumbledore," he said in a tired, defeated voice. "Ron, you…go on and find Hermione. You should be with her now."

Ron staggered to his feet as well, also leaning heavily against the wall. But before either of the exhausted Gryffindors could move, Draco leapt up lightly, with catlike agility and grace. "Don't be a fool, Potter," he hissed. "Professor Snape said to fetch Dumbledore quickly, and you're in no condition to go anywhere fast. I'll get him."

"Like bloody hell you will," Ron spat as Draco turned to go. "Harry and I will manage just fine. I don't know what you're playing at, Malfoy," he continued, eyes narrowing, "but I think it would be best if you just slithered on back to your dungeon and left us- and Hermione- alone! You're no part of this."

Draco rounded on Ron, his pale eyes glittering and hands clenching and unclenching in fury. In two purposeful strides he covered the distance between them, and grabbing Ron by his scarlet and gold tie, he thrust his face forward until they were nearly nose to nose.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, Weasley," he hissed, "because what little brains you have are clearly overwrought right now and I can respect that, given the circumstances. I know- hell, the whole school knows- how you feel about her. So I will forgive you just-this-once. But DO NOT go trying to tell me what is and isn't my business again." He let go of Ron's tie and gave him a little thrust backwards. "And another thing," he added, "if I had been down here with you to begin with, the whole bloody business never would have come to this." He turned and glared at Harry. "I would have found a way to stop that bastard."

"I'm sure you would have," Ron growled as Draco again turned to leave. "You probably would have asked him pretty please, and that's all it would have taken, coming from YOU. After all, he's practically your godfather."

Draco stopped short, with his back to Harry and Ron. For a moment he just stood, head bowed, teeth gritted, as he waited for the wave of red which had passed before his eyes to subside. His left hand twitched, so great was the temptation- the need- to grab his wand. After a long moment, however, he felt himself in control again. Without looking up, he spoke in a low, feral voice. "Maybe you are willing to just stand around down here and exchange words while Hermione dies, Weasley, but I'm not. I'm going after Dumbledore, and then I'm going to the hospital wing. End of discussion."

Before either Harry or Ron had a chance to reply, he was gone.

Harry and Ron looked at each other for a moment with identical hopeless expressions. "I can't live without her, Harry," Ron said at last, his voice dull, wooden. "I know," Harry replied, and looked as though he was about to say more, but then just repeated, "I know."

Together they made their way around the corner, up the stairs, and toward the hospital wing.

00000

Draco headed for Dumbledore's office at a dead run. His feet pounded the stone floors of the Hogwarts hallways, blood pounded in his ears, and as he raised his hand again and again to dash tears from his cheeks, a single word pounded in his brain, in rhythm with his footfalls: weak. Weak. WEAK. That's what he was; weak. Coming apart like that. Letting Potter and Weasley see him cry, by God! It gave him some small comfort to remember that even his mentor, Professor Snape, had lost his composure for a minute or two back there.

...But oh God, he didn't cry, now did he? I can't believe I cried! In fact, I'm still CRYING! Get a hold of yourself Draco, before you disgrace the Malfoy name beyond repair!

But try as he might, he couldn't contain the tears, or the memories that accompanied them.

The first time- he saw again the first time he had fled, over a year ago, to the solitude of the library one evening after dinner. He had chosen it as a destination simply because it seemed the least likely place in the school for him to encounter any of his fellow Slytherins. They were not a very intellectual group. And that was exactly the point: he was sick to death of being followed around, looked up to, idolized by a bunch of slack-jawed cretins! Draco was not stupid; quite the contrary, in fact. And after several years in the company of Crabbe, Goyle and their ilk, he was desperate for some intelligent conversation. He craved it the way a man lost in the desert craves water.

Being unwilling as he was, however, to approach the members of any other House, it didn't look like he was going to see that desire fulfilled. But at least, he told himself, he could shake off the morons for a few hours and lose himself in a good book.

The library was dim and quiet, and seemed utterly empty. On his way toward the restricted section, navigating down a narrow, dark aisle between two towering rows of bookshelves, he had tripped over something on the ground and gone sprawling. He had picked himself up, swearing imaginatively under his breath, and glanced down to discover that the object he had fallen over was a school bag, discarded right in the middle of the aisle. Furiously, he looked around for its owner.

He located her some distance away, at a small table in a particularly dark corner, hunched over a massive book, reading intently by wandlight. She was so deeply engrossed that she didn't seem to notice his approach. Angrily, he slammed the bag, which he had picked up off the floor, onto the table beside her. "This yours, Granger?" he snarled.

She jumped a little, startled, which he found gratifying. When she looked up at him, her eyes were wary. "Yes, it's mine," she said guardedly. "Where did you find it?"

"Right where you left it, presumably," he snapped.

"I put it down when I picked up this book- I don't remember exactly where," she said dismissively, and started to turn back to her reading.

"Well, it almost killed me!" Draco exploded. "What the hell were you thinking, leaving it lying about in the dark like that! I tripped and fell flat on my-" he broke off suddenly, aware that he sounded rather less than dignified. This was not the calm, collected persona that he liked Granger and her Gryffindor friends to see.

She turned quickly, and this time completely, back around to face him, and he thought he saw the barest hint of a smile twisting her lips. But when she spoke, her voice and eyes were icy. "It is true that I have become accustomed to leaving my things about when I am in the library at night," she said. "I am very unused to encountering anyone else here at this hour. Which is frankly the way I like it."

"I suppose I could ask you," she continued, her voice dripping with scorn, "just what the hell YOU were thinking, blundering about in the dark, as it seems to me that most people would have enough common sense to use wandlight. But then it occurs to me that considering which House you hail from, intelligence is not likely your strong suit. So that would be a wasted question. Now good night, Malfoy." And she turned her back on him once more.

For a long moment he simply stood staring at her, seething, rendered speechless by outrage. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. Here he had come to the library seeking to distance himself from the… the…the intellectually challenged members of his house, and now he was being labeled as one of them by this snooty Gryffindor bitch. Oh how that did sting!

He cast about for a really cold and cutting reply, but in his state of high indignity words continued to fail him. This was an entirely new experience, and far from a pleasant one; never in his life until this moment had he been, well, flustered. He turned to leave, but before he had taken more than three steps, he whirled about again. The injustice was simply too much to bear.

"You think just because I'm in Slytherin I'm stupid!" he cried like a petulant child.

When she looked up at him for the third time, one of her eyebrows was raised archly and she bobbed her head ever so slightly in agreement. Suddenly it seemed very important to prove to her that he was not the idiot she believed him to be. He cast about desperately for some means of proof, and his eyes lit on the book spread open before her.

"I know this book," he said, leaning in for a closer look and causing her to draw away from him, "and I know it's not the only copy here. Tell you what, Granger; I'll prove I'm not stupid. I challenge you to a race to the end of the chapter. I'll go get another copy and open it to this page. On your go, we both read. I submit that I will not only reach the end of the chapter more quickly than you, but with a better understanding of the subject matter as well."

The expression on her face gave him a sense of deep satisfaction. Doesn't look so aloof now, he thought. Hermione was, in fact, staring at him in complete, open-mouthed amazement. Finally, a most un-Hermione-like exclamation escaped her; "As IF!"

"So you accept, then," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. And that was how it began. What had started as fierce competition ("I want a rematch, Malfoy," she had growled later that night; "same time, same place, tomorrow!") had warmed over the following weeks and months to mutual respect, then friendship, and finally, for Draco at least, a dawning of love. Of course, he had never admitted that last bit, even to himself- until now.

They had met in the library three or four times each week, the most recent time having been only last night. Their friendship was entirely contained within the library walls. In the halls and in class, they studiously ignored each other. There were some differences, however; Draco had ceased to tease and bait her, and had seen to it that his henchmen Crabbe and Goyle desisted as well. He had noticed that over the past few months Potter and Weasley hadn't been giving him such a hard time either, and wondered if that was Hermione's doing. He decided it probably was.

More tears- more tears flowed and he was helpless to stop them, as he remembered her pale, still face, the chill of her skin, the blood on her thighs. A wave of despair engulfed him, so intense that he stumbled and had to fling out an arm to catch himself against the wall. Don't think of her like that, he told himself fiercely, or you'll collapse right here crying like a baby, and you'll never reach Dumbledore, and she'll die for sure! GET A BLOODY GRIP ON YOURSELF!

He willed himself instead to see her as she had been last night in the library; eyes bright with humor and intelligence as the two of them bantered good-naturedly, brow furrowed in concentration later in the evening as she bent over her book, the two of them studying side-by-side in the companionable silence that good friends enjoy. "I won't let you die," he whispered, shaking his head to clear it. Pushing away from the wall, he ran on.

Moments later he barreled around a final corner and skidded to a halt in front of Dumbledore's office. Dropping his hands onto his knees, his pale hair hanging in his eyes, he spent several long seconds gasping for breath. Fortunately, before he had to begin worrying about how to gain entrance into the office, which was of course enchanted, Dumbledore himself appeared around a corner at the opposite end of the corridor.

Upon seeing the usually cool and collected Draco Malfoy in front of his office in such a state, Dumbledore broke into a jog, reaching Draco just as he straightened up. The stricken look in the boy's eyes was enough to tell Dumbledore, who like most people at Hogwarts had never seen Malfoy display any emotion other than disdain and, occasionally, rage at losing a quidditch game, that something was disastrously wrong.

"Out with it, boy," he said, not unkindly, but sensing that time was of the essence. And he reached out and squeezed Draco's shoulder. The very fact that the boy did not repel this gesture further heightened his sense of alarm.

"Headmaster," Draco gasped, "Hermione Granger…hospital wing…maybe dying…The Dark Lord…right here at school…Professor Snape said…bring you…quickly, go, go!"

Without another word, Dumbledore went. A minute later, after sufficiently regaining his breath, Draco tore after him.

00000

Outside the door of the hospital room, Dumbledore stood with Madam Pomfrey and Professors Snape and McGonagall, looking grave. "I have done what I can," he said quietly, "now all that remains is to wait. Harry and Ron are to be excused from all their classes and other obligations," he continued, now addressing McGonagall, "until Miss Granger either recovers or-" he broke off for a moment, then composed himself and continued. "I think Miss Granger may yet recover; she is, as we all know, a very strong-willed young lady. Nevertheless, in all my time at this school I have never seen a student injured to this extent, and I fear that without her friends beside her, she would give up the difficult and painful fight for life in which she is engaged. Therefore, I stress again that those two young men must be allowed to remain by her side day and night. She is deriving strength from their presence, I can sense this." Professor McGonagall tersely nodded her assent.

Snape, his face etched with uncharacteristic lines of concern, now spoke. "What about Draco Malfoy? I've never seen the boy so upset. I was not previously aware of any connection between him and Miss Granger, but I think it is clear now that one does exist."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Indeed, young Mister Malfoy looked severely shaken when he came to collect me. He will be free to come and go from this room; however, he will not be excused from class. I do not sense that his presence is crucial to Miss Granger's survival, as is the case with the other two boys."

Turning to Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore said, "Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Draco Malfoy. These three young men are to be granted unquestioned access to Miss Granger's room. Absolutely no other students are to be admitted without first consulting me." Madam Pomfrey nodded briskly. "And now," Dumbledore said wearily, "if you will please excuse me, I must go and notify Miss Granger's parents."

He walked slowly away, his shoulders bowed as if under an immense weight. The others shared a bleak look and dispersed.