A/N: HELLO MY DARLINGS! How I've MISSED you! It's been way too long. I'd like to start off by apologizing for my sudden and unexpected departure from our little world here. Real-life had to trump fanfic-life (wonderful though it may be) for a while, but now that my drama has dropped to a reasonable level, I feel like I can finally devote enough time to this story to do it justice.

A round of thanks yous: First of all, you ALL deserve a HUGE round of applause for being so patient and not harassing me about this chapter! It's been a long time coming and I know how hard it is to wait for a fic to be updated. Your patience astounds and is highly appreciated. Second, a shower of roses and kisses upon all EIGHTY-SEVEN (holy freakin' cow) of you who reviewed for the last chapter. I live off your feedback, my darlings, and you never disappoint. It is for you guys that I was really inspired to return to writing as soon as I did. Lastly, a zillion hugs and kisses to Lorett, beta extraordinaire.

So, who's excited to see what happens next? I certainly am! I'd forgotten what a joy and pleasure this story is for me to write. Now, I think you've waited long enough for this chappie (more than two months, can you believe it?), so I won't ramble on any longer. On to the chapter, my darlings!

Chapter 20: Finding the Cure

He smiled at her the next day. More than once. She hadn't asked him why, because she was afraid that if she did, he wouldn't do it anymore, and she didn't want that. She loved it when he smiled.

Why, you may ask? Well, that was quite simple. Because, when he smiled, he wasn't perfect. His teeth, of course, were white and straight and all that a person could ask for from teeth. It was his smile itself that cracked that mask of dignified perfection: slightly crooked, gently lopsided, utterly boyish and endearing and un-Malfoy-like. She was quite sure that if he knew that about himself, he would never smile again (not that he did it much anyway). For her own part, Hermione thought that it was perhaps the most beautiful smile she had ever seen.

He only did it when they were alone. In the halls, at meals, in classes; there he was as cold and aloof to her as he was to everyone else. When it was just the two of them, though -- in the library, at Heads meetings, during late-night patrols -- his smile came as easily to his lips as he smirk once had. When he graced her with one of those lopsided grins, she felt more than pleased; she felt privileged.

She suspected that Draco didn't mention the thrills of pleasure she derived from being on the receiving end of his smiles as a sort of pay-back for her never questioning him about why he had begun smiling in the first place. She was grateful for that, for the continued stability and normalcy of the strange, isolated world in which they were the only inhabitants. It was comfortable there, and in those stolen hours in which she resided there, she was happy.

She was not blind to the irony of the fact that the only real peace she could find in this time, as the threat of Voldemort and the epic and tragic final battle loomed ever nearer, was to be found in the company of Draco Malfoy, who had shown her nothing but cruelty and contempt throughout most of their acquaintance. How odd that she should find such comfort in his closeness now, such a feeling of stability in her constant awareness of his presence.

Such was her train of thought as she made her way through the library on the last Sunday before the holiday break. Hermione had put her foot down several days previously about studying for end-of-term exams taking precedence over searching Delilah's journals, so she was not going back to meet Draco for another of their all-day "look-for-the-cure" sessions. She was, however, going back to meet Draco to study for their Ancient Runes examination together. She had finally appealed to his Slytherin thirst for excellence by any means, and had persuaded him to let her help him with his Runes if he would drill her with some of the more difficult aspects of emotion-altering potion making, which they had been studying all semester. She was a considerably stronger student in Potions than he was in Runes, so he thought he was getting the better deal and she knew that she had manipulated him into accepting her help. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

She was several minutes early for their scheduled meeting, which was a habit she had picked up over the course of the last few months. Draco was always on time (it seemed to be a matter of honor to him), and she was certainly not going to allow him to best her at something she could so easily remedy. Despite his high regard for punctuality, Draco was never early, either (which had always seemed to say to Hermione "I'm not going to waste one more second of my valuable time on you than I absolutely have to"), so she was not surprised to find their customary table empty when she arrived. She sat down and began to unpack her materials.

She hadn't been sitting there for more than a few minutes when the nearby stack of unsearched journals began calling to her. She fidgeted in her seat for a moment, casting furtive glances at the journals. Despite her insistence on focusing on their studies for the week, she couldn't help but think that the answer -- and there had to be an answer -- must be in one of those wonderfully few volumes, just waiting to be found.

And Draco wasn't here yet, was he? It wasn't as if she could get much done in the five minutes before his arrival anyway. She would just take a quick peek at one, just to ease her curiosity for a while. What would it hurt? And what if she actually found it? Wouldn't the look on Draco's face when he arrived and she told him that she'd discovered the cure be more than worth the scant moments of study time she would have to sacrifice to the cause?

She picked up the top-most journal, and began to read.

Draco looked impatiently at the majestic clock that hung on the wall near his door. He had twenty minutes to go before he was supposed to meet Hermione, and he absolutely refused to get there early; it would seem like he was eager to see her, and he certainly couldn't have that. However, he could not decide which was worse: showing up early and making her believe that he wanted to see her, or sitting here trying to convince himself that he didn't.

He stood up with an exasperated sound (directed at the portion of his brain which was supposed to maintain his image as the cool, immovable, unemotional Draco Malfoy and which had begun to fail miserably of late). He strode aimlessly around his room for a moment, desperately seeking anything that might distract him from his restless and unsettled state of mind (he was not anxious to see her, he was not). Unfortunately, his eyes strayed (as they often did these days) to the seemingly innocuous drawer in his nightstand where he kept the journal that he had smuggled out of the library.

He groaned inwardly. He had almost succeeded in getting through two entire days without giving a single thought to the disturbing events that were unfolding on the pages of that slim volume. Delilah James had devoted this particular journal to chronicling her love affair with Edward Flannigan, the man to whom she was linked and who had once been her greatest enemy and rival. Draco had read with no small amount of dismay how love had taken root in Delilah's heart despite her most valiant efforts to resist it. Their link had not allowed Delilah to keep her new feelings secret for long, but Edward had not only welcomed the revelation; he had responded in kind. Late-night rendezvous, stolen kisses, moments of joy and sorrow and despair: all were documented carefully on the yellowed pages of the journal now tucked away in Draco's nightstand drawer.

Draco didn't want to know all this about Delilah James; he really didn't want to know all that about anyone, unless it would be useful as a blackmail tool. Somehow, though, for reasons he absolutely refused to investigate, he had an almost overwhelming compulsion to read the journal. He wanted to know every detail, every tiny nuance that had somehow added up to a love great enough to overcome a lifetime of hatred and prejudice. He suspected that, if he gave it any thought, he would discover that he already knew the reason he wanted to know all this so badly, which was precisely why he gave it as little thought as possible.

He had last put the journal aside several days before when he had been particularly shaken by a passage. The words still echoed in his head, in a silky, feminine voice that he was relatively certain he had never heard before in his life.

I have spent but one night here in Paris, and already I miss Edward's presence like I miss the warmth of sunlight in winter. When did he become my sanctuary? When did his touch become as necessary as water and air? When did I stop feeling whole unless he's with me? Perhaps I never felt whole. Perhaps I simply did not know that I was walking around, half of myself. I cannot decide if he got under my skin when I wasn't looking or if he has always been there and I was simply too blind to see it.

Now, as he stared at the drawer in which the journal was hidden, he wondered if it really happened that way, if people could really turn around one day and realize they couldn't live without one another. He certainly hoped not. If anything was going to completely change him and everything he knew, he wanted to see it coming. He wanted to be able to recognize it before it was too late to get the hell out of Dodge.

And that, his subconscious whispered traitorously, is exactly why you keep reading that journal. He shook his head at the thought, declaring it ludicrous even as he began walking over to the nightstand.

DRACO!

He halted in his tracks. That had been Hermione's voice, and he had heard it as clearly as he might have if she'd been standing not three feet away from him. As he stood there in shocked perplexity, a sense of urgent, imperative need crashed into him, and he suddenly understood.

Hermione needed him.

He was out the door in two seconds, much too quickly for him to question why he was going.

He was halfway to the library when he ran into her. She was racing down the hall toward the Slytherin common room, curls flying wildly around her flushed face, eyes shining, elation rushing ahead of her like a shock wave. She skidded to a halt in front him and for a moment he was struck with the horrifying thought that she was about to launch herself into his arms. Thankfully, she seemed to think better of the idea, and settled for giving a small shriek of pure delight as she thrust a brown leather-bound journal that was sporting some kind of potions stain on the front cover into his hands and pointed to the page she was holding open.

The ingredients and instructions for preparation of a very complicated potion were listed on the page on the left. On the right was a single sentence:

IT WORKS!

Draco looked up at Hermione, his numb shock slightly dulling his perception of the ecstatic joy that was flowing off of her. She clasped her hands together and laughed happily, nodding affirmatively at his questioning expression.

"I told you we'd find it!" she exclaimed. If he hadn't still been trying to recover from his shock, he would have made a scathing comment about her inability to hold her "know-it-all" tendencies in check even at a time like this. As it was, however, he was trying very hard to contain his euphoria. He was really quite impressed with himself when the only outward sign he allowed himself to show was an exceptionally wide and triumphant grin.

"I was starting to have my doubts," he admitted, and then wondered why had had admitted it. She smiled back up at him.

"So was I," she confessed. They stared at each other for a moment, just smiling and basking in the glow of their victory. Suddenly, Draco realized that he was smiling like an idiot at Hermione Granger in the bloody hallway for all the world to see. He quickly smothered the smile, and pretended that it didn't sadden him ever so slightly to see Hermione's own smile dim somewhat as his disappeared.

"Did you look through this at all?" he asked her, carefully curbing the brusqueness that would normally have characterized such a question and unsure why he was doing so.

"Not really," she admitted sheepishly. "I got a little excited." He glanced up at her and was unaware that he had given her a small smile until he felt the tiny thrill of pleasure that such an action usually inspired in her.

"Really? You hid it so well," he commented with a straight face. She quirked an eyebrow at him as only she could. He ignored it and returned his attention to the journal.

"Some of these ingredients might be hard to get our hands on," he commented. "I might have to send home for them." Hermione came closer and looked over his shoulder, careful as always not to touch him. Her heat seeped through the thick wool of her sweater and the fine cashmere of his and warmed his skin.

"Maybe not," she commented. "Between the two of us, I think we can come up with all but the last three, and I think Snape probably has those in his private stores. He used to, at least." Draco shot her a look of disbelief and she looked back at him with confusion for a moment before she seemed to realize what she'd said and gasped, putting a hand over her mouth as if to stop the words she'd already said.

"Broke into Snape's private stores, did you?" Her delicate blush answered him. He couldn't help the smirk that twisted on his lips. "That takes balls, Granger. I'm rather impressed." She seemed to struggle for a moment over whether to be insulted or pleased, and settled on a slightly embarrassed pride.

"And apparently not for the last time," she said by way of confirming what their link had already told him. "Can you get the other ingredients together and start on the potion while I get these last three? I'll meet you in that abandoned classroom in the south corridor on the fourth floor."

"All right," he agreed, still beaming with what felt suspiciously like pride at the thought of straight-laced Hermione Granger breaking into a hated professor's office and pinching rare potions ingredients from him for Merlin knew what reason. She turned with a smile and headed toward the stairs; stairs, he realized, which led up and away from Snape's office.

"Uh, Hermione?" She turned and looked back at him expectantly.

"You are aware, I assume, that Snape's office is in the other direction?" She surprised him by grinning with a very Slytherin-like deviousness.

"I need to nip into the Gryffindor common room for a moment to borrow something from Harry first." Without any further explanation, she flipped her impossible curls over one shoulder and all but skipped up the stairs. Her joy lingered in the air like the clean, sweet scent of her shampoo.

Draco looked up the staircase for a few moments, long after she was gone from his sight. Finally, he turned and began to make his way back to the Slytherin common room to gather the necessary ingredients to finally sever the link and put an end to the madness that had ruled his life for the past two months.

Halfway there, he noticed a strange sort of tightening in his chest, and he spent the rest of the walk convincing himself that it was anything but regret.

Hermione didn't take Harry's invisibility cloak off until she'd reached the door outside the classroom where Draco was waiting. She certainly hadn't wanted to be caught wandering the halls with precisely the potions ingredients that Snape would undoubtedly soon discover to be missing from his private stores. She rolled the shimmery cloak into a ball and stuffed it into her bag and checked to make sure the Marauder's Map was folded up and out of sight before pushing the door open and slipping inside.

Draco was standing in front of a table near the middle of the room, blocking the view of whatever was atop the table with his body, his hand hovering discreetly near the pocket of his robes where, she assumed, his wand was hidden. His tense wariness dissipated immediately, and he visibly relaxed, the sight of her inspiring in him a sense of familiarity and something strangely similar to happiness. His pleasant response to her appearance was as cool and soothing to Hermione as the sweetest breeze in spring.

"Did you find them all?" He asked by way of greeting. She sent him a look that she hoped conveyed a message along the lines of 'what do you take me for?' One corner of his lips tipped up at her and she carefully placed her prizes on the table beside the other ingredients he had neatly organized there.

"Someday you'll have to tell me how you managed that little trick, Granger," Draco commented. It was a question born of honest curiosity, and she had the oddest compulsion to actually tell him.

"My lips are sealed," she said evasively.

"Bet I could fix that," Draco replied in a teasing voice as she picked the open journal up to scan the ingredients one more time before beginning the potion. She smiled but didn't look at him.

"Oh?" she said flippantly. "And just how would you do that?"

"I have my ways." His voice had become something of a purr. She rolled her eyes and looked up to find him leaning against the table next to her, much closer than she thought he had been. His mood was light, and playful, and his eyes glittered with good humor like silvery ice in winter sunlight. She smiled; she couldn't help it.

And then, for no reason at all, the harmless flirting didn't seem at all funny any more. She wondered suddenly exactly what Draco's "ways" would entail. She also wondered why his eyes had suddenly stopped sparkling with mischief and were instead swirling with something she had never seen in them before. An unfamiliar emotion began to tug at her heart, pulling at her in a way that was similar to that of a portkey and yet wasn't like it at all.

Hermione blinked, and whatever had been in Draco's oddly intense gaze was gone as if it had never been. That strange pulling sensation had also evaporated, and though she still couldn't place it whatsoever, she could feel that Draco knew precisely what it had been and was not in the least happy about it. His brows furrowed, and he pushed away from the table and began to put space between them, deeply disturbed.

"Let's get started. The sooner this is over, the better," he said with sudden brusqueness. Hermione found she had nothing to say to that, and pretended that it hadn't bothered her as she began to work.

For the next three hours, Hermione and Draco worked in not-quite-companionable silence. The potion was a complicated one, requiring much tedious preparation and minute measurements. They said little, and when they did speak it was with a politeness that seemed quite unnatural between them.

All that silence gave Hermione more time to think than she really cared to have. Draco's statement about finally getting everything over and done with had given her serious pause. She had been so devoted to the search for the cure and then so elated upon finally finding it that she had never stopped to consider that this strange ordeal really would be over.

It was quite possible (it fact, it was quite probable) that the friendship or whatever-it-was that had somehow formed between them when she wasn't looking would not survive the loss of their strange connection. In her mind's eye, she saw the relationship she had come to treasure so much shatter like an exquisite and fragile stained-glass window, and she looked down at the floor, half-expecting to see colorful and tragic shards of glass around her feet.

She wondered if she would find his face as unreadable as ever once she could no longer tell was he was feeling. She wondered if she had seen that lopsided smile for the last time. She wondered if she would ever hear her given name upon his lips again. She wondered if it was possible to miss him when he was standing right in front of her.

"Okay, it should be ready now." His voice shattered her reverie, and she looked up at him, at his now-familiar face and his dark, troubled eyes.

"Already?" She said it before she could stop herself, and she hoped he couldn't hear the disappointment in her voice.

"Yes, I've just added the last of the black rose petals," he confirmed solemnly. She must have been imagining the foreign sadness she thought she felt infringing upon her own sudden depression.

"Okay, then. Did you bring glasses?" she asked, trying very hard to keep her voice crisp and matter-of-fact. He nodded and motioned to two slim silver cups on the corner of the table. Hermione ladled the correct portions of the potion into each container and handed one to Draco. The mundane action seemed much more meaningful and grim than it should have, she thought.

Once she had her own cup in her hand, she turned to Draco, who was watching her with an expression that might have been regret, and a state-of-mind that was horribly conflicted. She gave him a small, melancholy smile, but he did not smile back. Instead, he reached forward and tapped his cup against hers.

"Cheers, Granger," he said quietly, echoing the toast he had given right before they'd taken the Partis Sensus potion two months earlier when they had been different people and things had been so much clearer. If he noticed the tears pooling in her eyes, he did not mention it.

They drank. Hermione curled her lip as the potion (which tasted sickly-sweet and slightly soured) slithered down her throat. As it pooled in her stomach, she waited for a warm, spreading sensation similar to the one that had proceeded her awareness of Draco's feelings so long ago. Instead, it simply . . . stopped. One moment, she was clinging desperately to her consciousness of Draco's tense expectation, and the next, there was simply nothing.

They looked at each other uncertainly. It seemed to . . . anticlimactic, somehow. She had expected to feel their link being severed as one might feel a bone being broken or an appendage being torn away. Instead, it was simply gone as though it had never been. She wasn't sure why it filled her with sorrow to realize that something that had been such a huge part of her life could be destroyed with so little effort and absolutely no pain at all.

"Well," she said finally. "I suppose we should clean up."

"I suppose so," he agreed quietly. She used every ounce of willpower she possessed to convince herself that it didn't matter that she couldn't read a single emotion in his flat, icy eyes.

They began to clear away the ingredients, packing salvageable left-overs away and tossing everything else. Hermione was using scouring charms on the cauldron they'd made the potion in, and therefore didn't notice when Draco picked up the journal. He stared at the potion ingredients for a moment, and then turned to page and began to read.

Hermione finished cleaning the cauldron and looked up to ask Draco what he wanted to do with it and found him staring at the journal with furrowed brows and a very odd expression.

"What is it, Draco?" she asked. His eyes were as unreadable as ever when he met her gaze.

"We might have a problem."

A/N: Well, there you have it, my darlings. I will attempt to update at least every couple of weeks from here on out. I know that's a big change, but it's better than nothing at all, isn't it? Anyway, for the next installment you may look forward to Draco's perspective on the severing of the link, and, of course, the conclusion of my cruel-but-oh-so-satisfying cliffy! And, I'm sure I don't have to have to tell you, but REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!