She still didn't understand why he was there. They had been enemies for twenty years, and yet that seemed to have melted away, because they were now lying beside one another. She stroked his cheek softly. He stirred for a moment, but his eyes stayed shut. She snuggled down under the covers, her head resting on his chest. She tried to figure out at which point throughout the week's events had ended her hatred for him.


He knocked on her door in the pouring rain. He was completely soaked. His green pullover was ripped towards the bottom, and he held his hand to his side. Blood seeped through his fingers and down onto his black trousers. He passed out and fell to the floor. She hurried to help him. She knew who he was, but there was too much blood on his hands to think about her hatred for him.

She quickly muttered Mobilicorpus and laid him on her sofa. After this was done, she hurriedly muttered all the spells she knew that would deal with the wound. The wound was now considerably smaller, but was still bleeding. She rushed into the bathroom and returned with Muggle bandages. Slowly, she began bandaging him up, taking a lot of care not to aggravate the wound. Soon, he was almost as good as new. The bleeding had almost stopped.

His clothes were still soaking, and he was certain to catch a cold. With slight hesitation, the clothes were soon off and drying. She moved him to her warm bed. She decided she would spend the night watching over him.


As the world around him grew lighter with the Sun's appearance, he awoke. He viewed his unfamiliar surroundings. The walls were a pale blue. The double bed in which he lay had matching coloured sheets. The curtains, also that blue, he noted, were open. The view of the sunrise was beautiful from here. Whoever owned the house was a very lucky person. Underneath the window was a desk, strewn with balls of parchment, quills, and ink bottles. To his right were wardrobes made of what looked like oak or mahogany, and by the side of the bed was a bedside table. Towards the far right of the room was a door, he thought could lead into a walk-in wardrobe. He looked to his left, and saw a bedside table, a chair towards the corner of the room and another door. On the bedside table was a mirror. He lifted it up to look at himself. His blond hair was scruffy and falling in his eyes, which looked very steely in colour this time of the morning. He reached down to get his wand from his pocket to adjust his appearance.

It was at this point he realised his was unclothed. The door on his left opened. A young woman stood in the doorway. She was clutching a cup of coffee, and her dressing gown was wrapped around her. As she walked towards him, he took her in. She wasn't ugly; in fact she was quite pretty. Her hair was set in curls the colour of chocolate and her eyes were like cinnamon. He noted that she had a curvaceous body. She handed him the coffee and he saw a wedding ring on her finger. He nodded at her to say thank you. She acknowledged the nod with one of her own, before sitting in the chair.

"Morning, Malfoy," Hermione said, almost cheerfully. "Have a good sleep? You had a pretty rough night last night."