With a choked cry, Hermione dropped her face forward into her hands.

Normally she would never have succumbed to her fear in front of the headmaster like this- it was of the utmost importance to her that she project an appearance of outward calm and capability to all authority figures, including Dumbledore, at all times. Crying in front of teachers was simply not something she did. In fact, crying at all, except for in the wake of her night terrors, was simply not something she did. But she couldn't help herself now. Her defenses had crumbled completely under the onslaught of Draco's injuries and the two hellish nights she had just experienced, and this news was simply too much to take. If she lost Draco- oh God. It didn't bear thinking about. She had almost lost him once- she didn't think she could go through that again with her sanity intact.

She broke down and began to sob in earnest, cursing herself all the while for showing such weakness in front of Dumbledore, and for further burdening Draco with an hysterical girlfriend when he surely already had plenty to worry about.

He was on his knees in front of her in an instant, his own troubles apparently forgotten at the sight of her in distress. "Hey," he murmured, catching both her hands in his, "you all right?"

"I'm sorry," she choked, pulling one hand free and scrubbing the back of it vigorously across her puffy eyes. "I just- I don't know what-"

Her mind was in a whirl, her thoughts all jumbled up. There was only one thing she could think of to do in a situation like this; only one place she could go that could possibly calm her. "I need to- um- g-go to the library."

She shot to her feet and, pulling her other hand away from him, bolted for the office door, without so much as another glance at Draco or at Dumbledore.

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She was halfway down the spiral staircase before Draco had gathered his wits about him sufficiently to start after her- but before he could take more than two steps toward the door, the headmaster laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"You know where to find Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with a sad smile, "but before you go after her, there is much we need to discuss. I have a source within your father's inner circle who has been providing me with some useful information, and I want to be sure that you know absolutely everything I do. I once made the mistake of keeping Mister Potter in the dark about Voldemort's plans for him, and it was quite possibly the most grievous error I have ever made. I intend not to repeat it. You shall know everything I know about your father's plans, as soon as I know it. So please, Mister Malfoy- have faith that our Head Girl is a remarkably strong young woman who can look after herself for the time being, and do sit down."

With a last pained glance at the door, Draco grudgingly complied.

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Hermione's day just went from bad to worse.

She remained in the library, feverishly perusing huge old tomes on the rise to power of previous dark wizards, for the duration of potions, which, being a double period, lasted until lunch. By the end of her research session, her eyes kept slipping shut despite herself, and her chin was propped heavily on her hand, elbow on the table beside the massive book she had spread open before her. When Madam Pince rang the little silver bell she kept on her desk, signifying the end of morning classes and the beginning of lunch, Hermione, very nearly asleep, started violently- her arm jerked and her head fell to the open book. She hit it chin first, biting her tongue.

Tears of pain and sheer tiredness were threatening as she gathered up her belongings, plus the book she had been reading- a 5,200 page volume entitled "The Careers of Dark Wizards Through the Ages", and headed down to the Great Hall for lunch, more from force of habit than out of any real desire to eat.

Indeed, once she was seated at the Gryffindor table, the sight of the dozens of platters heaped with steaming food caused her stomach to turn over queasily. Muttering something incoherent to Ginny, who had just settled herself beside her- neither Draco, nor Harry and Ron were anywhere in sight- she popped back up from the table less than a minute after having seated herself and, grabbing only an apple from a nearby fruit bowl, beat a hasty retreat from the hall.

She ate the apple sitting on the front steps of the school, and felt somewhat revived afterward, both from the nourishment of the fruit and from the stiff breeze and slight chill outside. It was enough to see her through advanced transfiguration, though for once she was relieved that McGonagall never called on her during class. She began to fade again, however, during the final class of the day, History of Magic.

Draco was still missing. She hadn't worried too much about missing him at lunch, having elected to remove herself from the Great Hall before most students had arrived, and she didn't have transfiguration with him, and so hadn't expected to see him there, but they did share this class, and she was troubled by his absence. Harry and Ron, who also shared this class with her, made a beeline for her when entering the classroom, seated themselves on either side of her, and questioned her anxiously about her whereabouts at lunch- it seemed that they had been searching for her in the library during the brief appearance she had made in the Great Hall, and had reached the hall only moments after she had left, to be informed by Ginny that she had rushed out, looking ill.

She spoke words of reassurance, but Ron and Harry, listening less to the words themselves than to the dull, flat tone in which they were spoken, shot one another worried glances over the top of her head, appearing to be anything but reassured. She caught this, of course- if the two of them were trying to be inconspicuous, they were failing miserably- and was torn between amusement and annoyance. Just like a pair of mother hens, she thought, with an infinitesimal shake of her head.

And then class started and all her attention was absorbed by note-taking as she dutifully wrote down every single thing Professor Binns said, though none of the lecture actually penetrated her thoughts, which were all bent on Draco. She had a vague feeling that when she read her notes over later, it would be as if the material were brand-new to her. She almost wished she could give herself permission to lay down her quill and doze like the others all around her, but that simply wasn't who she was. So she wrote, and wrote, and wrote, her hand moving mechanically across the parchment while her mind whirled with anxiety and fatigue.

It was undoubtedly this fatigue, coupled with the fact that she had eaten practically nothing all day, that caused the drama at the end of the class. It happened just after Binns had floated away through the blackboard, as was his custom. All around the room, students were reviving from the collective stupor that had overtaken them during the lecture, were gathering up their belongings, beginning to chat animatedly, and heading for the door, for the Great Hall and dinner, content in the knowledge that Monday was drawing to a close and now only four days stood between them and the next glorious weekend.

All except for Hermione. When Binns had stopped lecturing, her quill had ceased moving, but she had not raised her head. To the contrary, she seemed to droop forward, over her parchment, her nose inches from the desk, her face all but hidden by the curtain of her thick, dark hair, her eyes open but glazed with exhaustion.

It was Harry who noticed her alarming state; Ron was already on his feet, cramming his things quickly and hap-hazardly into his bag, all his thoughts bent on dinner.

"Hermione?" Harry asked softly, trying to keep the sudden, desperate worry out of his voice. No response. If anything, her head seemed to slip a fraction of an inch lower, toward the desk. Her eyes began to fall shut. "Hey- Hermione. Snap out of it. Earth to Hermione-" and he nudged her gently on the shoulder.

Whatever he might have been expecting, it was certainly not the violent reaction his gentle touch provoked. She gave a startled gasp, her eyes flew wide open, and she shot to her feet with a panicked cry of "NO!" Then, before Harry even had time to stand up, she swayed, her eyelids fluttered, and she collapsed in a dead faint, falling sideways into Ron.

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Later, she would have no recollection of fainting. No recollection of slumping against Ron as Harry sprang to his feet with a cry of alarm and Ron, drawing on his Keeper instincts, reacted with lightning speed, dropping his bag and clasping her in his arms with a startled oath. No recollection of Ron sinking slowly to the floor with her clasped tightly to his chest, saying her name again and again in a voice that was suddenly, oddly constrained, pushing her tumbled hair back from her face as Harry crouched beside them both, shaking with reaction.

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The next thing she remembered was blinking up in confusion at Ron, who was leaning over her, upside down from her point of view. His eyes, wide and startlingly blue this close up, were overbright and unguarded, and held an expression of naked fear and- love.

The last time Hermione had seen that expression on his face was that night over a year ago when she had fallen off his broomstick. Once they were both safe on the ground, he had declared his love for her, for the third and final time, telling her it was the last time he would say it, but that he would mean it forever. She had started dating Draco the following night. True to his word, Ron had never mentioned his feelings again, but in this one brief, unguarded instant, she could clearly see that nothing had changed.

She was too disoriented, however, to dwell on this. "Ron?" she whispered, her brows knitting as she tried to piece together just what had happened; why she was suddenly lying flat on her back on the classroom floor, her head cradled in her best friend's lap while he looked as though he was teetering on the brink of outright panic.

"S'okay, love," he said hoarsely, and brought a big, Quidditch-roughened hand up to cup the side of her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

She took a deep breath and attempted to lever herself up onto her elbows, but before she could, Harry was looming over her as well, gently but firmly pushing her back. "Stay still," he murmured, "Madam Pomfrey's on the way."

This was getting really worrisome. She looked from one to the other, her eyes wide, questioning, and the echo of an earlier thought ran through her head- mother hens. But it didn't seem even remotely amusing now. What was she doing on the floor? Why were her friends treating her as though she were made of glass? And where was-

Draco.

She turned her head at the sound of a disturbance near the classroom door and there he was, racing toward her, vaulting over desks and shoving gawking students savagely out of his way. He reached her in an instant, throwing himself to the floor a good three feet from where she lay and skidding the final distance on his knees.

Looking back over his shoulder, he snarled at the students who remained clustered around them; "this is not a fucking sideshow! Get the hell out of here, NOW!" As they scurried away- Draco, for all his new status as romantic hero among Hogwarts' female population, was still capable of striking fear in most of the student body when irate- he turned back toward her, and she could see that his face was a mirror of Ron's.

Love and fear.

Fear and love.

She was almost more surprised to see these emotions on Draco's face than on Ron's. Though it was Draco who was her boyfriend, and though she was sure deep down that he did indeed love her, he was far from the demonstrative type. Unlike Ron, who had been trying to keep a brave face on since she had chosen Draco over him, but whose natural inclination was to wear his heart on his sleeve, and who Hermione was sure would have been a very expressive lover if given the opportunity, Draco kept close rein on his emotions at all times, even when the two of them were alone together. He had only ever admitted his love to her once, and that had been right before they had confronted Voldemort; an encounter he hadn't thought he would survive.

Ron hid his feelings because she had not chosen him. Draco hid his feelings even though she had.

And right now, seeing first one and then the other reveal himself to her in a moment of near frantic fear frightened her deeply. What the hell had happened here to scare them both so badly?

"Draco," she said uncertainly.

He reached out with both hands and framed her face between them- she realized distantly that Ron had withdrawn his own hand from her cheek. "I'm sorry I didn't come after you this morning," he said quietly; "Dumbledore kept me all day. He only just let me go and I came here to meet you so we could go to dinner together and that cluster of morons-" his face contorted for a moment with anger- "at the classroom door were saying you- that you-" he abruptly shook his head, pulled his hands away, and ran them through his silvery hair. "Jesus Christ, Hermione, are you trying to scare me to death?"

Hermione was taken aback. "Draco, no- I…" she trailed off, unsure what to say, and alarmed at the feeling of tears pricking the backs of her eyes; God, what was wrong with her? She didn't want to cry again today!

And then, as she stared up at Draco, it was as if shutters behind his eyes snapped shut, hiding the love, hiding the fear, as he retreated behind an emotion that was, to him, far more familiar and comfortable; anger. When next he spoke, his voice was harsh.

"Well then what the hell are you playing at, eh? Cause you're doing a damn good job for not trying! As if I don't have enough on my plate, now I have to worry about- Goddamn it! You've been taking shitty care of yourself lately, and now it's gone too far. This has to stop!"

Not trusting herself to speak without dissolving into tears, Hermione swallowed hard. It was Ron who spoke for her then, his voice low and dangerous.

"She doesn't need this right now, Malfoy. Back the fuck off."

Draco's pale eyes left hers then, snapping onto Ron's, and the two boys glared at each other, neither backing down, in mute hostility as Hermione continued to struggle against the threatening tears, knowing that she had brought about this miserable state of affairs; that this was all her fault.

Fortunately, the staring contest was cut short as Madam Pomfrey arrived, accompanied by the Gryffindor head of house, Professor McGonagall, and the two women shooed all three boys away as Madam Pomfrey set to checking Hermione over.

The examination lasted about fifteen minutes and at the end of it Madam Pomfrey declared Hermione to be no more than overtired and underfed. Rummaging around in the many pockets of her robe and apron, she eventually produced two items which she handed to the distraught girl; a large chunk of chocolate and a vial of extra strong dreamless sleep potion. She made Hermione eat the entire block of chocolate right then and there, watching like a hawk to ensure that she swallowed every last morsel, and as she did so, she explained that she had had Professor Snape concoct the modified potion especially for her. Finally, she released her with strict instructions to go down to the kitchens- dinner now being nearly over- and have the house elves make her up a plate.

"That chocolate should give you enough energy to go downstairs and get yourself some decent food, but it is not, in itself, a suitable dinner. You are under no circumstances to go back to Gryffindor Tower until you've put some hot food in you, is that understood?" she asked sternly. Hermione nodded meekly. "Good," the mediwitch said briskly; "then get going, girl. Your friends will be most anxious to know you're all right."

Released, Hermione slowly packed up her bookbag and slung it over her shoulder, staggering slightly under its weight. She walked out of the classroom door slowly; apprehensively. She wanted nothing more than the comfort and security of Draco's arms, yet was desperately worried that he would still be angry. In her current state, she wasn't sure she could take that. And Ron- God, he and Draco had looked as if they were about to kill each other- all because of her, because she was weak, weak, weak.

The corridor right outside the classroom door was empty, but as she turned a corner in the hall, headed for the marble stairs and, ultimately, the kitchens below, she came abruptly upon the three boys who were her world at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall had apparently been unable to banish them any further than this. They were sitting in a row on the stone floor of the corridor, their backs against the wall. Harry, in the middle- Hermione was sure this was no accident- had his head leaned back, face tilted up toward the ceiling, but she could see that behind the glasses his eyes were closed. His hands- those Seeker's hands, so swift, so skilled- were dangling loosely between his up-drawn knees. He looked as tired and haggard, as run-into-the-ground, as she felt. Ron, on Harry's right side, had his arms crossed tightly over his chest and was staring straight ahead into nothingness, his jaw set, his expression grim and angry. But it was Draco, on Harry's left, who most arrested Hermione's attention. His knees, like Harry's, were drawn up, but he had rested his elbows on them and dropped his face forward into his hands so that it was entirely hidden from view. His fingers were clenched in his fine, pale hair. His entire aspect was one of utter, abject despair.

Hermione halted in her tracks and stood stock still staring at the boys, Draco in particular. Seeing him that way hurt her right down to the core. Suddenly numb and nerveless, she let her bookbag slide from her shoulder; it hit the floor with a heavy thud.

This got the attention of all three boys, but it was Draco who reacted the fastest. By the time Ron and Harry had gained their feet, he had already reached Hermione, having unfurled himself instantly, with almost feline grace and speed, and crossed the distance between them in two long strides. Without a word, without a pause, he engulfed her in his strong arms, burying his face in her hair. She could feel that he was shaking.

She knew this was the closest she would get to an apology for his earlier harsh words. It was enough.

Draco released her at long last and as he bent to retrieve her bag and sling it over his own shoulder, she glanced at Harry and Ron. They were just turning away, Harry's arm slung over Ron's shoulder, but the brief glimpse she got of the redhead's face caused her to draw in a sharp, unhappy breath; he looked more bitter than she had ever seen him- more bitter than she had imagined it was possible for a person to look. She wanted to run to him, comfort him, but she could not; what comfort could she offer when she was the cause of it all?

And then the moment had passed and the four of them were walking; they parted ways at the marble stairs where Harry and Ron, reassured by seeing her back on her feet, headed straight up to Gryffindor Tower and she and Draco took a detour down to the kitchens.

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She made sure she ate regularly three times a day after that, though she rarely felt hungry or took any pleasure in mealtimes. She viewed food, in her logical way, as a necessary fuel that she required so as not to repeat her disastrous fainting episode. After a few days of glaring, Ron and Draco subsided first into a cautious truce and finally back into the odd state of pseudo-friendship they had maintained since Draco's resorting. Harry, who was now almost as close to Draco as he was to Ron (the friendship between Hogwarts' golden boy and the former Slytherin bad boy had gotten off to a rather rocky start, true, what with Harry having attempted to stab Draco to death, but had developed nicely since), was ever on the alert should he be called upon to act as peacekeeper, but no more crises seemed apt to present themselves any time soon.

Hermione even began catching up on missed sleep, as the new, more potent sleeping draught Madam Pomfrey had given her promised to keep her chronic nightmares at bay.

All seemed well.

For a while.