A/N: A big THANK YOU to all my reviewers. Really, I appreciate you guys so much. (Oh and I'm so glad you made that association with the shrubbery, BonnieCharlie, that's exactly what I was thinking when I wrote it.) I have been so swamped lately with school and other crap, I've had zero time for writing this fic until just now (and believe me, I'm barely keeping my eyes open, I'm so tired.) Please, everyone, feel sorry for me. I'll try to soak up the e-pity and turn it into energy. I'm the walking dead. So anyway, back to the reason you're all here. As a reward for all the wonderful reviews you sent me I thought I'd give you this special gift: It's chapter 5! (It's a little shorter than the others, but come on, give me a break.)

Disclaimer: No, I'm not J.K. Rowling. If I was, I'd be swimming in my pool full of money with my hired pool-boy, Tom Felton. Not sitting around writing fanfics.

Chapter 5: Life-Savers and the Potency of Revenge

Hermione was sitting in the hallway outside, leaning against the wall, sobbing quietly. She hated that her heart was going out to Malfoy, but she couldn't help it. He actually wanted to die! And the way he spoke about his life…it was just so sad, so tragic. She couldn't help but feel bad for him. She just wished she hadn't started crying in front of him. Maybe he hadn't noticed.

Oh, who was she kidding. Of course he noticed. WHY had she started crying? Why? The situation was heartbreaking, sure, but why did she start crying?

It's because I'm a girl, she told herself. I'm emotional. And I haven't slept in a long time.

Yes, she definitely needed to get some rest. This emotional breakdown was proof. She had planned on sleeping in the room with Malfoy, but now she wasn't so sure she could. Surely he would taunt her endlessly for her little display of girly emotion. It was embarrassing.

Her mind kept going back to the question, "how could anyone want to die?" If she was in the same situation as Malfoy, would she want to die? She thought this over for a very long time, trying to open her mind to the possibility. She thought about what it might feel like if her parents were murdered by Dumbledore. If she was shunned by the Order of the Phoenix. If someone like Lupin or Mr. Weasley stabbed her and left her for dead. If Malfoy himself found her in an alleyway and made her stay in his house with Crabbe and Goyle.

She didn't know if these comparisons were equal or not, but they did shine a bit more light on Malfoy's situation. Hermione felt saddened just thinking about them. But if they happened, would she actually want to die? Just stop living completely? She wasn't sure. But she knew she would feel absolutely miserable and depressed. It would take someone or something very powerful to make her want to go on living. Someone to take care of her, to nurture her, to push her back into the land of the living.

And suddenly, in a flash of brilliant revelation, she realized she was that person for Malfoy. She was the one in a position to take care of him and nurture him. She would be the one to pull him back. She didn't know why this thought hit her so suddenly or why it seemed to make so much sense, but she could just feel it. It felt right somehow. She was his life-saver. She didn't exactly want to be his life-saver and she was damn sure Malfoy didn't want her to be either, but it was just… fate. Strange, twisted fate that no one could have anticipated.

Hermione was suddenly filled with resolve. She wiped her eyes, sniffed loudly, stood up, straightened her robes, and hitched her chin up high. She was going to walk back into that bedroom and heal Malfoy until he wanted to live again, whether he liked it or not.

Draco was still sitting up in bed thinking about what had happened. Sure, he had made girls cry before. But usually he felt a sense of pride over it. Then again, usually he knew why he had made them cry. This little outburst from Granger was completely unprovoked and unexpected and he felt nothing but puzzlement over it.

He was just beginning to wonder if she was ever coming back when the door opened softly and she walked into the room. Her face was flushed and her eyes were puffy, but she didn't look sad. She looked determined. Her chin was held high and she looked Draco straight in his eyes. She sat down in the wooden chair next to the bed and cleared her throat. She spoke firmly and seriously.

"I know you don't want to be here, Malfoy. And I know you think you want to die. But you are here, and you're not going to die, and that's final. The sooner you resolve yourself to that fact, the easier this whole thing will be for you."

There was an almost dangerous gleam in her eye that told Draco she was not kidding. That she was hell-bent on keeping him here and healing him. And for a moment, he really, really just wanted to give in. He felt so weak, body and soul. He was tired of fighting. He was weak and Granger was strong. He almost wanted to just admit it. To just give in to her and let her do whatever the hell she wanted with him.

But that was not the way of a Malfoy, especially not Draco Malfoy. He would never admit defeat, especially not to this bossy, blazing-eyed, bushy-haired girl in front of him.

But apparently his few seconds of silent thought were enough to tell Granger she had won because she said, "Okay then," and stood up.

Damn it, thought Draco. He should have started yelling or something. But no, he had just sat there staring at her. And now she thought he was being compliant. He had to say something to get the upper hand.

"I don't know why you're so fucking set on healing me, Granger, but there's really not anything I can do to stop you. So, fine. Heal me. Get me back to health so I can get the hell out of here. But don't think for one bloody second that you're doing me a favor."

"Fine," she said. They stared at each other for a moment. Then she pulled out her wand and did a healing charm on his legs where the cat had scratched him up. Then she repaired the rips in his pants.

"I'll need to check the dagger wound later," she said. "But right now you need to eat."

She warmed up the soup and butterbeer with her wand and set the tray of food over his legs.

"I'll be back in a little while," she said, heading out the door. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Don't care," said Draco without looking up. He was starving and currently very focused on his meal.

The stew was delicious and tasted somehow familiar. He wondered who did the cooking around here. He also wondered where "around here" actually was and how much longer he'd have to stay.

And for the first time, he stopped to think about what he would do after he left, because for the first time, he realized he was actually going to live. His whole life had been school and his family and being a Death Eater and worshipping the Dark Lord. But now that was all gone. So what would he do?

He couldn't go back to Malfoy Manor; the Death Eaters would be watching. He had no parents, no home. He certainly couldn't live a normal life, probably for the rest of his life. He'd always be glancing over his shoulder, wondering if a Death Eater was after him. He would definitely have to hide his identity. Maybe he'd change the color of his hair and move to a country far, far away. It was certainly a possibility, though the thought was daunting. He had never lived on his own before.

He wondered if Snape knew he was still alive. Had Snape just assumed that Draco would die from his injuries? Or would he have suspicions, now that no body had been found? Would Snape come looking for Draco?

And a new question hit Draco. Would he go looking for Snape? The thought was immediately…satisfying to Draco. Hunting Snape. Hunting Voldemort. Hunting the Death Eaters until they were all dead. Draco fantasized about this sweet revenge for a few moments. Revenge for the pain his parents suffered before their death. Revenge for the way he himself had been treated. Ah, he could just imagine it.

Well, it was something to look forward to anyway. If he ended up living through this Hermione Granger ordeal, hunting the Death Eaters would probably become his life, he realized. And really, he had a bit of an advantage: they probably all thought he was dead. His Dark Mark was gone, so the Dark Lord would have no way of monitoring him. He would be virtually invisible. He could fly under the radar. He could sneak up on them. And then he could sneak away, without a trace.

These thoughts caused him to eat with more vigor. He suddenly felt the need to be strong. And he realized, he didn't really want to die. He may have before, but not now. Not with these thoughts of revenge flowing through him. He was filled with conviction. And he suddenly had a very big change of heart.

He wasn't going to run away from the Death Eaters in fear. He wasn't going to change the color of his blond hair, the proud, Malfoy color his father had passed onto him. He wasn't going to move to a country that wasn't his home. And he certainly wasn't going to give up Malfoy Manor, not the grand house his ancestors had inhabited for so many generations.

No. He was going to fight. And they would be running from him. God, the mere thought was almost intoxicating. Fighting the Death Eaters until they were all dead, Snape and Voldemort too.

Snape had said he was a disappointment. That he was not the man his father had been. Oh, how sweet it would be to prove him wrong. To have Snape at the end of his wand, begging for forgiveness.

Draco suddenly noticed that he had stopped chewing. He had gotten so caught up in his thoughts.

Revenge was a potent, potent feeling.

Hermione was in the middle of the first shower she'd had in quite a while. It was very relaxing, the heat and the steam and the scent of lavender swirling around her. She was so sleepy. She just wanted to curl up right here in the bathtub and take a nap. Ah, but soon she would be curled up in her big, soft bed and—

Wait. No, she wouldn't be in her big, soft bed. She would be in her mini-sized bed in the same room as Malfoy. She had almost managed to forget about him for a moment.

She sighed and shut off the water.

Malfoy, she thought. What a strange, strange situation she was in. Taking care of Malfoy. Sleeping in the same room as Malfoy. Having Malfoy actually succumb to her.

Now, what was that all about? He had actually agreed to let her heal him. In a really nasty, ungrateful way, but still, he had agreed. She really hadn't expected that from him.

Not that he had much of an option, though, she thought. It was either succumb to her or die.

She had to admit, she was slightly nervous about the sleeping arrangements. She wouldn't have Harry watching over them this time. Oh, well. She didn't think Malfoy would have the strength to get out of bed by himself and try to hurt her anyway.

She stepped out of the shower and started toweling off. She wondered what Malfoy's dagger-wound would look like now. She was suddenly filled with curiosity. It took the bite off of her fatigue.

She crossed the hall to her room and was about to put on her pajamas when she realized how much Malfoy would probably laugh at her for them. They were a set of fluffy, oversized, purple pants-and-button-down-sweater pajamas. No way she could wear them in front of him. They were the type your one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old Grandma Myrtle would wear.

Wait. Why did she care what Malfoy thought?

I don't, she thought. I'm merely trying to save myself from his stinging criticism.

So instead, she donned a pair of gold, satin sleep pants that her mother had sent her last Christmas and a red, V-necked short-sleeved shirt.

Ha, she thought. Gryffindor colors.

Pleased with this choice and clutching her wand, she walked down the hallway to Malfoy's room.

When Granger walked in, Draco immediately noticed something was different about her. Normally she was wearing either enormous black robes or her frumpy school uniform. But now…she was wearing form-fitting clothes. Gryffindor colors (which nearly made him gag), but still, a major improvement. And her hair was usually a fluffy mess. But now it was hanging in shiny, wet tendrils all around her face.

Wait, thought Draco. What am I, a girl? Why was he paying attention to her clothing and hair?

It's just a big change, he thought. Anyone would have noticed.

Because now Hermione Granger was actually resembling a, dare he say…female?

Okay, enough, he thought. Enough of these thoughts.

It unnerved him that she could possibly manage to look so normal. It also unnerved him that he had noticed this and was now thinking of her as an actual girl.

"Done?" she asked, gesturing towards the tray of food.

"Yeah," said Draco.

She leaned over him to lift the tray away and he caught a whiff of some flowery scent.

And now she smells like a girl too! thought Draco. What kind of shower did she take?

"What?" he heard her ask.

He realized he had been staring at her with a confused look on his face. He cleared his throat.

"Nothing," he said.

Then the look of confusion passed to her. "Okay…" she said. She set the tray aside. "Could you take your robes off? I need to see the wound."

He hesitated. "I swear, if you poke it again—"

"I'm not going to poke it," she interrupted, placing her hands on her hips.

Huh. She actually had hips. Another new, unwanted discovery on Draco's part. And really, more than just hips—

STOP, said his brain before he could even let his eyes roam. He didn't even want to know what other feminine growths Granger had on her body.

He began unbuttoning the front of his robes, much quicker than the first time. The hot meal had given him energy and a lot more control over his limbs, though he was still fundamentally weak.

He slipped the robes off over his arms and looked down at his wound. Looked pretty much the same to him.

"What?" said Granger, leaning down to get a better look. "It didn't even change!" She reached her hand up to his side.

Draco grabbed her hand.

"Don't even think about it," he said severely.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to poke it," she said impatiently, snatching her hand away from his. Then she reached her hand back up. He grabbed it again and looked at her in disbelief.

Her eyes flashed angrily. "I said, I'm not going to poke it!"

"Then what are you doing!" he said.

"I'm examining the surrounding areas!" she said exasperatedly.

He let her hand go. She flashed him a glare and then reached her hand up to gently press two fingers on the skin surrounding the wound.

"Does that hurt?" she asked.

"No," he said honestly. It only hurt when the actual wound was touched.

She pressed down in several different spots with varying amounts of pressure. Her hands were cold. A chill went up Draco's spine.

"Okay, what purpose can this possibly serve?" asked Draco impatiently.

Her brow was furrowed. He could tell she was thinking hard as she ignored his questioned.

"I've got to go check something," she said, standing abruptly and walking out the door.

Draco sighed and flopped down on his back.

Hermione was walking back up the stairs in an extremely agitated state. She had actually missed something in the book! The potion wasn't even meant to heal. It only reversed the effects of the curse. So now she would have to heal the strange wound by herself. She would have consulted Professor Lupin, but he wasn't anywhere around. Whatever. She could handle it. She would just use a regular healing spell and hope for it to work. Because, really, now that the curse was lifted, the wound should just be a regular wound. Right?

She sure hoped so.

A/N: Loyal Band of Reviewers! What do you guys think? Still moving at an okay pace? And the writing? Still good? Characters still in character? Tell me your thoughts. (Oh and nobody should feel bad about giving me ideas. I love hearing your input, even if I may not use your suggestions. I'm not the control-freak kind of author who goes crazy and kills anyone with an opinion. So feel free to say anything to me!) : )