Draco Malfoy looked up from his mountain of sodding papers he was stuck grading the moment his Twinned Quill lit up and furiously began to scribble. Why McGonagall insisted he take part in this ridiculous pen pal program, he still didn't have a clue, but at least now he knew who was on the other end of the paper.

It was quite foolish on her part to shove him into a professor's position if she wanted anonymity. Even if it was to keep a closer eye on him due to the conditions of his parole. If he were in her position, stuck watching over him for the next ten years, he would have done the same.

As long as he lived, he would never forget Mother breaking her dignified, rigid pose at the very last moment before his sentence began. At first, Draco had been so confused he hadn't understood what was happening until he felt her arms around him. He froze, surprised at the contact. It had been the first time his mother had hugged him in years. "I love you, my dragon," the only light and comfort in his world whispered.

Another one of his regrets would be taking too long to hug her back. When she stepped back, the known face of Narcissa Malfoy returned. Only the slightest tinge of pink reflected in eyes that matched his own; so faint, Draco was the only one who spotted it.

"Might as well make yourself useful, Mister Malfoy," McGonagall told him primly after the Aurors dropped him off last year. Granted, the old bat didn't give her that terrifying stern look of hers as much as she used to, and, secretly, he had warmed up a bit to her too. A year being stuck rebuilding the castle and working together will do that, he supposed.

It was even more foolish of her to put her prized pupil in his class and think he wouldn't be able to put it together. Draco's head fell into his hands. Knowing Minerva, she likely did this on bloody purpose. After six years of having to deal with their fighting, this was probably her way of forcing them to say something to each other beyond shut it, Malfoy, and watch it, Mu-

Malfoy couldn't so much as think the word anymore. Not after physically seeing her blood. Not after hearing her screams. Not after she, the Embodiment of Fucking Gryffindor took the stand at his trial and spoke... for him. Not after she literally saved his sorry fucking life. After everything he had said. Everything he had done.

Her and their shared past literally played through his mind like a million moving pictures over the last year. When his sins came to mind now, he had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat.

The quill came to an abrupt stop and clattered unceremoniously onto the desk. What Draco saw made his blood run cold.

Ink, I am sorry to have to do this, but I have to cut off our communications.

The fuck is this?

Granger started acting weird -even for her- not long after term started. Right after he caught her in the library with that letter, now that he thought about it. The Granger he knew, unfairly judged, and was groomed to loath for years despite his promise to her, always took a desk at the front. She always raised her hand first, eager to share everything she knew. Every chance she could, she would spout off every fact crammed into her brilliant head. She unapologetically took up space in whatever room she was in, proudly skewering whatever injustice she saw with eyes that could see right through you.

Draco involuntarily shuddered at the flurry of memories that came to mind. Ones where she rammed him through with a single furious look. Every single time, he had been secretly terrified that she saw his black and depraved soul. That fear only fueled his blind prejudice more.

It was unsurprising, really, when Draco stopped to contemplate it. A coward was all he managed to amount to, in the end. Yet it was supposed to be himwho was superior. He snorted loudly at the notion. When compared to the walking, talking definition of how wrong the world was about Muggleborns, what was he? When she had been busy being an integral part of saving the entire bleeding world from the Dark...from Voldemort.. since she was eleven.

No doubt Potter would have died first year without her, now that he knew exactly how long the bastard whose Mark he wore had been trying to kill the idiot. Potter's sidekick, the Weasel, would have died right along with him. Did the moron have any clue how stupidly lucky he was?

Draco's mouth immediately slipped into a frown. Knowing that the two only shared a single brain cell between them, it was probable neither of them did. Granger's behavior over the last month could be a strong indicator.

She hid-bloody hid-in the back of the class.

She wasn't raising her hand.

She wasn't sharing what she knew.

She bolted out of class first, like her feet were on fire.

When she was forced to answer, she only answered half assed.

Yet she still turned in assignments of the caliber that he would expect of the most brilliant witch in England.

On an equally concerning note, it was hard to miss how much looser her robes hung on her.

Worse: she constantly had a glamour charm on her face.

Worse still: Hermione Granger was forgetting things. Like putting away her sugar quills before class. He didn't even know she liked sugar quills.

Probably the most concerning: Her eyes. That spark was gone. She looked... haunted.

Draco knew that look. He wore it himself all throughout sixth year and then the war. He wore it during his pre-trial stint in Azkaban. The bastard in the mirror perpetually had it on his face until he finally resolved to start trying to utilize the gift Granger had given him. Ironically enough, it had been the Head of bloody Gryffindor, the Headmistress, who managed to get through to him.

"You may not see it now, Mister Malfoy, but I know exactly why Miss Granger saved you from a lifetime in Azkaban." Sparkling dark eyes threatened to suffocate him, pinning to the spot over the teacup that lingered at her upturned lips.

"If I may-" Dumbledore's portrait chimed, his voice a punch to Draco in the gut. Then, he focused only on the ever-stern Headmistress. In here, she was his only lifeline.

"No, you may not, Albus," McGonagall chided.

"Just... get on with it," the voice of his godfather drawled.

If McGonagall didn't get to the point, the ghosts of Draco's sins would drown him.

"Yeah? Well? What is it? Because I sure as hell don't see it!"

"Neither of you are aware of it, but the two of you are what push each other."

Back then, Draco couldn't believe it.

"Excuse me? You've lost your-"

"Language, Mister Malfoy," Minerva chided. "Listen very carefully. I have watched, quite painfully mind you, your rivalry over the years, and this is what I have concluded: For every time Miss Granger displays a quality that goes against pureblood teachings, you would act out in anger because it made you question."

Draco opened his mouth to argue but was swiftly quieted. The woman was truly terrifying.

"Each time you would act out to silence something you didn't understand, it would simply push Miss Granger to work harder to prove her place in our world. In turn, it drove you to prove that you were superior."

"I don't understand, Professor. What exactly are you getting at?"

"You provided something for her to fight against. In turn, she gave you something to question everything you believed in. If I may be frank, Mister Malfoy, out of all the muggleborns in this school, don't you find it odd that you only focused on one?"

For once, Draco Malfoy was speechless.

"She needed you to push her to excel, much like you need her to show you how to be a better person. Now, I urge you to use the second chance you were given. Don't you dare waste it, as these things don't come freely."

That was when Minerva gently placed her teacup down atop her saucer, squared her shoulders, pierced him with an unnerving glare, and told him something that still haunted him.

"There is always a price to be paid, and I assure you she is likely paying it as we speak."

Granger, dipping out on a school assignment by cutting off their communication? This could not be good. Salazar, what price was she paying?

Before Draco knew what he was doing, he had already risen to his feet and was out the door. The truth was, he now owed Granger a Life Debt. That didn't sit well with him, especially when he knew that something was going on and she hadn't said a word to anyone. He didn't know where he was going. Frankly, he didn't care. He needed to get away from that desk, away from that hurried scrawl that he knew was due to the rampant thoughts constantly turning in that bushy head of hers.

His feet stopped at the castle's front doors. Was her head really that bushy, or was it years of conditioning that made him see it that way? Before he let himself contemplate further on that, he deliberately shook the train of thought away. It was unique. Just like her. He'd leave it at that.

He couldn't stop the next train of thought if he tried. Granger had a habit of using Potter's cloak to sneak around the castle. He could head directly to the eighth year corridor and no one would think anything of it. He was a professor, after all. It was perfectly normal for teachers to patrol these halls.

As he turned, stupidly storming back the direction he came, couldn't help but chastise himself. Professors shouldn't be trying to find students. They shouldn't be in any member of the staff's every thought.

Even if the student in question was technically a little older than they were.
Even if, just two and a half years before, they sat in the very same classroom.
Even if the staff member's father worried that they might be nothing more than a thief due to said student beating them in every exam.

Draco actually smirked at the memory. It really should be Granger in his post instead of him. Whenever he saw her name at the top of a paper on his desk, he simply snorted, automatically gave her an "O," and moved on to the next one. His smirk grew as he thought of how furious she would be if she knew he never bothered to check her work. It was Granger. He would spend half the night just reading her paper alone.

His smile melted right off his face when the girl that haunted his thoughts stumbled out from an alcove. All good natured thoughts quickly changed to worry and something he couldn't name. Why did the sight of her rich auburn curls, in a messier disarray than normal around her face, while wrapped up in a sodding comforter and stumbling out from behind a tapestry twist his stomach in knots? Why did the sound of horrified apologies tumbling from her lips-of course it had to have something to do with Longbottom-sound completely wrong to his ears?

Then Draco's entire world came to a stop. Granger's small, delicate looking hand, covering her pale pink mouth. That mouth that always spit fire at him. That hand that slapped him in third year. What was wrong with it?

Draco's eye quickly assessed the girl who haunted and tormented him with her presence for years. Right now, trembling, presumably cold, in the middle of the hallway in a complete mess, looked like a shell of the powerhouse he knew her to be. This had to stop. Now.

Wait. Was that... sparks?

Showtime, Draco.

"Going somewhere, Granger?"

Holy dear sweet Salazar and Merlin! It was a thousand times worse than he thought. Her face, much more slender than he had ever seen it, was a stark pale. Paler than him, even; nearly blue and a stark contrast to lifeless mocha eyes that now seemed far too large for her. Where was the fire? Where was the spark of wit?

Her blushing pink lips, usually opening by now to say something, anything, were nearly as blue as her face and clamped firmly shut. Her jaw tightening and loosening along with her trembling frame that was dwarfed and hidden by the size of her... blanket. Her spine didn't straighten. Her shoulders didn't square. She hadn't even raised her chin at him. Instead, she remained slightly hunched.

Visible tear tracks remained on her cheeks. The dark circles under those flat mocha eyes were the liveliest thing about her now.

Worse... Merlin, so much worse... Blue sparks were steadily shooting from the tips of her fingers, yet somehow, they did not catch anything on fire.

No one, especially Granger, had bouts of accidental or uncontrolled magic after they turned eleven. Granger hadn't even been in this state at his trial, nor at any of the funerals. She actually looked radiant at the bookshop, where he first saw her again afterward. Then, she had been lively and smiling and so much like the Granger he knew it took his breath away. The sight of her being so normal had given him hope.

Seeing her like this crushed every shred of hope he had in an instant. Instead, all Draco felt was horror. If this... this could happen to Granger, what hope did any of the rest of us have? What in Salazar's name had happened to her?

Of course. Of. Bloody. Course. Even then, Granger's pink rimmed eye had to dart to the spot where Longbottom and Abbot were no doubt hiding. His irritation grew as her nearly colorless lips mouthed one word: don't.

Rage exploded inside him. How dare she stand there like a walking corpse and still only be worried about covering someone else's duty-dodging arse! Draco had legitimately seen corpses with more color in their cheeks. The most ridiculous part of it all, was that she has too! Draco worked harder than he ever had before to keep from saying the words. Let Longbottom and Abbot get detention. They could lose their badges for all he cared. They weren't the ones who looked nearly dead.

"Don't you dare assume you can tell me anything!" Malfoy snapped. In a fit of anger, he reached out and grabbed his former school rival by the arm. He was about to get down to the bottom of this. Now. How dare she walk around like this? Half dead and potentially leaving him with an unpaid Life Debt? Stupid, ridiculous, bleeding Gryffindors! How thick were they?

A small part of Draco's mind noted that the tips of his fingers nearly brushed his knuckles while he gripped her wrist. This only fueled his anger further. He frantically checked classrooms on both sides of them as he dragged her behind him, refusing to take a chance on any room whose door wasn't already open. It wouldn't do to try and explain why a Hogwarts Professor was dragging a student into a classroom in the middle of the night. He nearly groaned at the mere idea of the press that would get. The Prophet would spin stories about the Death Eater-turned-Professor abusing his authority over the Wizarding World's Golden Girl for months.

Finally, mercifully, he spotted a door that was cracked open. He was beginning to think he would have to drag Granger all the way back to his office with the excuse of a detention or something. McGonagall would have a field day with that one. He could already see her self-satisfied, barely-there, hint of a smile, thinking she accomplished whatever pet project she came up with when she paired the two of them together.

Not wanting to waste any time, Draco shoved the door behind them closed as quickly as he good. A loud bang filled their ears, leaving him to wince at the volume. He hadn't meant to do that. He opened his mouth to apologize when, suddenly, the room turned Ravenclaw blue.

Small, angular features were washed in sapphire light. Swallowed, shrouded in cotton, Granger looked up at him in perfect, terrified innocence; like some sort of holy being. Draco swallowed. In fall fairness, she might as well be. Just, all-knowing, forgiving, powerful, and terrifying wrapped in a small package that is criminally overlooked. Especially by him.

Granger always held a steady hand. It had been steady when she slapped him. It had been steady when she held him at wand point. It wasn't so steady right now.

Merlin, the crimes he committed against her. Merlin, the amount of work it would take to ever come close to deserving her forgiveness. He would start, really start, right now. Otherwise, he'd never find any sort of penance for his soul. Why had she forgiven him? Better yet, had she truly forgiven him at all? Who says they forgive someone only to avoid them after?

Lead dropped into his stomach.

The letter. The radical change in her behavior. The subtle glamour that nobody except him ever seemed to notice. The lack of late-night notes from "Blood," except for the one he got tonight.

Draco's heart sunk when he pieced it together. Her pen name suddenly made a lot more sense. Granger, of all people, choosing the name Blood.

Her scar. Mudblood.

The same reason he chose Ink. His own eternal brand.

Then this. THIS!

When Draco glanced back up at Granger, he felt an overwhelming sense of obligation. He didn't know what was going on with her, but neither of them were leaving this room until he found out. If there was one thing the two of them had become quite good at, it was silently communicating. He dared her to lie. He dared her.

However, he nearly lost it; nearly shouted with relief when the witch in front of him straightened and squared her shoulders. There you are, Granger. Just a little more. The show still had to go on, though. "It's all connected." Draco said in a rush.

Better give her facts she can't argue with.

"The back of the class. Bare minimum, half assed answers that even Finnigan could give. That is, when you bother talking at all. Darting out of the room first instead of last."

It pissed Draco off to no end when her eyes dropped to the floor and chestnut curls cut off his view of her face. Look at me, damn it! Fight back!

To Draco's horror, Granger's body started practically convulsing. Tremors shook what was left of her body, even bundled up in that thing she called a blanket. He nearly took a step back as the room got brighter; the sparks from her fingers continually getting more and more prominent. Her condition, whatever it was, was no doubt getting worse. He'd have to get her to see Madam Pomfrey, and soon. Somehow, with all the light, he caught a glimpse of Granger starting to reach for the thing that swallowed her whole before she stopped herself.

Why was she so cold? Draco was getting rather warm in here. He shook his head, appalled by how this witch could take down the Dark Lord, but not think to cast a simple warming charm. Instead of embarrassing her, he wordlessly cast the charm and took another step toward her. Hopefully this worked. Hopefully she didn't catch his suit on fire.

"You're a witch, Granger," Draco whispered, his... friendly... tone even surprising him. It was a lot nicer than he tone he typically used with Pansy or even Astoria. "Warming charms come with the territory."

Damn it. Why wouldn't she look at him? "Look at me, Granger," he demanded. He couldn't let her know he was getting desperate.

Finally, mercifully, she lifted her head. He could read her again. "You're not acting like yourself. You're shaking like a wet niffler when it's not even cold, and now your fingers are-"

Something inside him told him to take a chance. It was a crazy, stupid impulse, but he needed to steady her hands. He needed something to anchor him. She was his tie to everything he knew. As soon as his skin touched hers, he lost his shit, and it wasn't because her parents were muggles.

Ice. Her skin felt like fucking ice.

Hermione Granger was colder than a corpse.

Draco began to spiral.

No.

NO.

NO!

His heart instantly jolted and began to hammer in his chest. In his panic, he gripped her other hand. He needed to be sure. Fuck. Shit. How? "Fucking shit! If that bird's nest you call hair wasn't dry, I'd ask if you've been in the Black Lake! What is going on with you?"

Merlin be damned Granger, if you don't open up your insatiably Gryffindor spout right this bloody second!

Granger's face went slack. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Draco's heart stalled in his chest. He barely saw her lips move when she quietly breathed, "My des...don' let...Harry...Mal..."

The world stopped spinning when Granger collapsed straight into his arms. Draco's mind blanked, spinning straight into a panic. "Granger?" Draco shook her shoulder. No response. Fuck! "Granger?" This time Draco moved to lay her gently on the floor, taking care with her head. Her hair was, in fact, softer than it looked, but now was not the time.

Come on, Granger!

Full on panic set in when he tipped his ear to her mouth. She was barely breathing. This couldn't be happening. Not here. Not now. She's supposed to grow old with the Weasel and make sure Potter and Weaselette's kids don't turn out to be complete idiots and... go be the bloody Minister of Magic or something and...

She's supposed to be his friend. His redemption.

"No. No, no, no, no! GRANGER!"

Something inside Draco snapped. Granger was too cold and too still, laying there like this. She looked dead. If he lived a thousand years, he would never forget this. He closed his eyes, bracing against his own thoughts. No. Not here. Not now.

"Rennervate," he growled. Nothing.

"Rennervate!" Still nothing.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he tried once more. "Bloody. Fucking. RENNERVATE! SALAZAR! DAMN IT! TILLY!" Draco didn't bother to hide the shine of his eyes when his mother's house elf appeared with an immediate squeak. "Tilly, I need you to get Granger to St. Mungo's. Immediately."

"Yes, Master Draco," Tilly said worriedly. "Tilly will get Miss Grangey..."

"Please, just do it!" Draco pleaded. "She can't die. She can't."

Both Granger and Tilly were gone with a pop.

Draco apparated directly into McGonagall's office. He couldn't find the embarrassment that he probably should have when the old woman bustled into the room with sheer alarm evident on her face in a grey robe and a nightcap. "You better have good reason to-"

"I do," Draco choked. "It's Granger. She's at St. Mungo's. I think... I think she..."

He couldn't find the words. He couldn't say them. He could barely see the Headmistress when he turned his head, unable to look at her. All he could hear was her sharp intake of breath. "Is she...?"

Draco shook his head. "She's alive. Barely."

McGonagall's words were sharper than any blade. For that he was thankful. It cut through the thick fog that clouded his thoughts. "Mister Malfoy, I need you to go straight to the eighth year dorm and look for anything that could give any indication of what happened to her. Immediately."

Draco nodded. "Yes, Professor." As he turned to leave, softer words spoke to him like a siren's call. "After you have done that, I believe it is procedure to get a report from the overseeing Mediwizard when one of our students is in such dire shape that he or she has to have outside medical care."

The professors shared a singular look of understanding before Draco Malfoy left his old Transfiguration teacher in an office that once belonged to Albus Dumbledore.