Draco Malfoy did not give two shits if Jones was awake or not as he burst through the eighth year portrait hole. This prat had been around Granger more than anyone else, yet he couldn't be bothered to pay attention to his own dorm mate? If this were Draco's school, he would expel him on the spot for pea brained negligence. Exactly what sort of friends did Granger have hanging around her? First Potter and the Weasel, now bleeding Hufflepuff versions of Goyle...

Draco grit his teeth in boiling fury. She needed friends that possessed more than a single brain cell rattling around in their skulls. At least Longbottom knew how to properly read.

"Oi! Just what do you think you're doing, Death Eater?"

Draco stalked past the outraged twit on the far right side of the room. "Twenty points from Hufflepuff," Draco called back over his shoulder. "For laziness. Go knit a sweater or whatever you walking bumblebees do and then come back with a creative insult."

"He's right about that. Tell him he's an off-brand Chaser, for as many times as he chases the snitch and misses." He turned, eyebrows raised, only to find himself reeling at the sight before him. "Weaselette?"

The sight was like nothing Draco would have ever expected. He'd seen the entire lot of them in the library a fair number of times, all gathered together around the biggest table in the place. They'd been laughing, talking... and plotting just yesterday. The scene before him now was an entirely different one.

He was used to seeing the petite redhead's face twist in anger while glowing a shade of scarlet that would make Gryffindor swoon. It was common for the short ginger girl to barge headfirst toward taking on anything and everything bigger than herself. Hell, she stood up to him when she was only a first year.

She was loud, obnoxiously so, proud, and highly opinionated. There was a reason that her and Potter were a match made in hell. Now Girl-Weasel stiffly held her friend at wand point. Her face was drained of color; her jaw firmly set while she watched him with a determined glare.

Draco caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned quickly, ready to attack if he needed, only to find himself downright appalled. How many people knew the password to this dormitory?

Longbottom and Abbot stepped out from the shadows, the pair of them firmly gripping their wands. They wore matching looks of determination, and neither of them cast a second look at him. "What is all this?" Bumble-brat asked nervously. His voice shook on the last word, leaving Draco to consider whether he needed to stay put and watch. He inched a single foot forward. Big mistake on his part. With the blinding speed of a Seeker, Weaselette had her wand pressed to the side of her target's throat.

Impressive. Not that he would ever tell her that.

Draco knew that, as a professor, he should put a stop to this. He knew that his job was to break it up and send them all to Minerva, but he couldn't find it in him to do it. Nothing about this situation sat right with him. If he had learned anything over the years, it was that if a Gryffindork smelled trouble, they were usually onto something. "Move a single inch," Weaselette hissed, "and you'll find out exactly how well I can clean out your sinuses."

Every single person in the room froze in place.

"Helga would be so disappointed in you," Abbot sighed. "Our house already catches enough insults, and then you have to go and do us all another disservice."

"Go do what you need to do, Ferret," the girl-weasel said, not looking away from her target. "We know Hermione's not here." Her glare sharpened, turning colder than he ever knew she was capable of. "We know something's wrong."

"For fuck's sakes, how do you-" Draco started.

"Between Ginny and myself," Abbot interrupted, her tone bordering on cruel, and her gaze fixed on the scene, "we know nearly everything that goes on in this castle." As she took a step forward, Longbottom took one with her. Draco watched the pair, confused as to how any two people would be so in sync. Not even his own parents were that in tune with each other.

"Go on, Malfoy," Longbottom quietly urged. "We've got this."

If there was ever proof that Draco Malfoy didn't have any business being a professor, it was in his guiltless decision to leave the room without a second thought. Draco darted into Granger's room, trying not to think too much about what he was doing. It would undoubtedly be the first time he ever bolted into a witch's room. At least, without her in it.

Just outside the door, Draco heard Longbottom pondering. "I was just thinking that a walking quaffle would be a good description for Malfoy. He does get beaten in nearly everything. Exams, duels, quidditch, and sometimes physically, if you count third year."

"That's actually pretty good, but we need to focus," Abbot said softly.

"We'll get you some treacle tarts from the kitchens later Neville," Weaselette muttered.

"Really? Thanks!" Longbottom said, sounding infinitely more cheerful.

Draco rolled his eyes at the ceiling. How did their side manage to win against the Dark Lord again?

Stifling a sigh, he focused on what Granger said before she lost consciousness.

Oh, yeah. Granger. That's how.

"My des...don' let...HARRY...Mal..."

She had something in her desk. Something she wanted to keep from Potter. Granger didn't keep anything from Potter, as far as he knew. That was enough to drive Draco to find out exactly what was in that desk.

The first thing that took Draco by surprise was the scent that hit him the second he closed the door behind him. It was possibly the most intoxicating smell that had ever attacked his senses in his life. He shook his head at the thought. The witch this room belonged to barged into his life and assaulted his mind just by being alive. It was fair that this room followed suit.

The room smelled like spring. Like... grass? It was the only way Draco knew how to describe it. The witch had managed to recreate how the castle grounds smelled after being tended. Only it was mixed with another scent that was undeniably Granger.

Bookshelves, filled from top to bottom, lined an entire wall. Draco let his fingers drag along the spines of one row, fascinated for a moment by all the different and varying texts. He thought that the only sort of book she ever read was educational. Like in so many other things, he'd been wrong.

Draco's gaze drifted to the bed on the opposite side of the room. It was unsurprising to him that it was neatly made. What did surprise him was the pictures on her blanket. The Eiffel Tower? She was interested in travel? To France of all places? His family still had a house in France...

Draco quickly shook off the thought. He had a job to do. And there was still Astoria to consider. Her latest letter to him sat in the drawer of his desk, waiting to be answered. He ran his hand over his face in frustration. He definitely needed to be thinking of Stori first. Even though the gesture would be nothing more than doing a favor for a friend, he doubted his girlfriend would see it that way.

They had been dating for a little more than a year while both of their mothers were pushing for a wedding. After all, the Malfoys still carried an obscene amount of wealth and the Greengrass line was as pure as they come. A great deal for both families, right? Never mind how Stori and Draco felt about it. Draco sighed, needing to get off of this train of thought.

As far as that went, he was sincerely glad that Stori was a lovely witch. She's been a great friend-his best friend, really- since the war ended. The one person other than his mother who he could lean on, especially after Father got sent to Azkaban. As far as arranged marriages go, it could definitely be worse.

Draco tore his eyes away from Granger's bed and brought them to a gorgeous mahogany desk in between a set of shelves. He admired the careful craftsmanship, quickly observing the designs in the curved legs; the swirled design across the front that framed the one long drawer there. The standing backing provided the user with beautifully crafted small drawers that lined both sides, complete with a compartment in the center.

Little gold hardware pieces on the handles and knobs stood out against the wood, accenting the swirls and designs in such a way that Draco thought he might have to get one for his home office. Draco gave the furniture an impressed grunt right before gently pulling open the drawer on the front.

Draco really should have expected the chaos to be hiding in the desk. He snorted at himself with a quick shake of his head. He picked up her Twinned Quill, noting indented marks on the top, just above the feathers. "So, Granger chews on her quills," Malfoy muttered. He rolled his eyes, placing it with a little more care on the desktop than he knew she would, and reached for worn looking leather journal. Would this be the thing that she wanted to keep from Potter?

A piece of parchment seemed to be poking out, so he opened it to the marked spot. Several pages fell out, scattering across the desk. The few words that Draco spotted at the head of some of the pages made him want to scream.

MEDICAL REPORT.

AUSTRALIAN MINISTRY: MISSING PERSONS DEPARTMENT.

Draco then made the mistake of glancing down at the book he held in his hands.

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER

Horror spiked through him like nothing he ever felt before. He practically threw the book onto the desk to get it away from him. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. Draco frantically reached for the first page he could get his hands on. He needed to know more about what Granger's been hiding. Surely it couldn't be that bad, could it? Granger was just being dramatic. Yeah. That's it. She's a girl. Girls tend to do that.

Draco scanned the report from the Australian Ministry. This had to be the safest bet. He thought so, at least, until he read the date. Draco swallowed. Could this have been what Granger was reading before she snapped at him?

Miss Hermione Jean Granger of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London, England

It didn't take long for Draco to confirm that this was the culprit of Granger's actions that day. Once more, it all made sense and he found himself in awe of her. So that's where Mr. and Mrs. Granger had gotten off to. Draco fought to keep himself in the present, remembering Voldemort giving Yaxley and himself the order to "pay them a visit." Translation: torture their daughter's whereabouts out of them, and then kill them.

You brilliant witch, Granger, Draco thought. Back then, it took a monumental effort not to show how relieved he was that they weren't there.

There was no way in hell Draco would have gone back to studying if it had been him. He would have completely lost his shit. He sighed, no longer being able to blame her for lashing out like she did. If anything, the way she turned on him was tame compared to how he would have acted. He shuddered at the thought of receiving this kind of news, in a letter no less, about his own family. How did she do it? Draco swallowed. There had to be more to this. She had literally just found out her parents were gone, and yet...

And yet that conversation led to her offering her forgiveness.

A practical, logical witch like her wouldn't make a monumental decision like that without a reason. Unless maybe it had been her grief talking? She had just been orphaned.

His eyes flitted to the medical report that still taunted him. His stomach dropped further the closer it floated to his face.

Miss Hermione Jean Granger,

The results of your Frequent Portkey User Medical Exam, as is required of everyone who frequently travels internationally to undergo every two years, are below. We urge you to schedule an appointment with a specialist IMMEDIATELY.

Draco's breath stuttered in his chest.

Name: Hermione Jean Granger

Address: 12 Grimmauld Place, London, England

Birthdate: 9/19/1979

Sex: F

Status: Muggle born

Draco's mouth turned into a frown. Why does that matter?

Marital Status: Single

Blood type: O+

History of Sexually Transmitted Diseases (STD's): None

Draco's face pinkened. Never in his life did he need to know that. However, that did rule out that possibility.

Heart condition: Normal

Liver condition: Normal

Lung condition: Normal

Blood Pressure: Normal

Stomach condition: Normal

Leg condition: Normal.

Arm condition: Right arm- Normal. Left Arm is damaged. Patient has a large Curse Scar. Overseeing Mediwizard has ordered blood testing to proactively determine any long term effects due to nature of the wound.

Draco's jaw flexed.

Neck condition: Patient has small Curse Scar on the side. Patient has informed the Overseeing Mediwizard that it came from the same means as the large one.

Draco's vision clouded as he continued to read. Shame and regret welled in his chest, threatening to choke him.

Head condition: Large tumor has been detected in patient's brain. Overseeing Mediwizard has ordered further examination.

All the air instantly flew from Draco's lungs.

Tumor condition: Tests conducted show that tumor is cancerous. Overseeing Mediwizard has ordered further testing to determine whether it is curable.

Blood condition: Further testing on patient shows large amounts of Curse Magic in patient's bloodstream.

Mediward's notes: It is with the heaviest of hearts I report that my official diagnosis that the cancerous tumor residing in Miss Granger's brain is caused by the large amounts of Curse Magic found in her bloodstream. At its current rate of growth, Hermione Granger will only have approximately a year to live. At the time of this report, there is no known cure for magically induced diseases. May this find her swiftly and her remaining days be peaceful.

The papers dropped carelessly to the floor as Draco Malfoy, for the first time in his life, hit his knees. He did this. By his own inaction, Draco Malfoy killed Hermione Granger. "I didn't mean it," Draco whispered. He stared down at his hands, eyes round with shock. "When I said... I didn't really want her to..." He squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to block out everything.

She found out she was an orphan and that she was going to die at the same time. And yet she carried on, this entire time... alone. He wished right then and there he could bring his aunt back from the dead so he could kill her all over again.

Draco's eyes flashed open as resolve settled in his bones. Not anymore. He refused to have her blood on his hands. With a quick wave of his wand, all the papers neatly arranged themselves and returned to Granger's notebook. There was a certain "missing" witch Draco needed to visit. No wonder she didn't want Potter to see this. If this got out, there would be a certified media circus and then scar head would wind up accidentally taking credit for killing his best friend.

Draco shook his head with a sigh. Some habits really did refuse to die. Like ragging on Potter and the Weasel, for instance. As Draco apparated straight into St. Mungo's, he resolved to give himself a little more credit. He could only work on his thoughts toward one Gryffindork at a time. However, he would never change his mind about the Weasel. That wasn't happening. In the meantime, there was a certain curly haired Gryffindork he needed to save. The way she saved him.

Tonya, a curvy almond-toned witch, didn't bother to look up from her paperwork as Draco walked past the front desk. "She's already with her, Draco. Room 4D." God, this woman was amazing sometimes. "Thanks. I'll make sure to bring you a coffee next time." A sly grin crawled across her ruby red lips while she tucked a lock of straight black hair behind her ear. "Cappuccino. Vanilla. Tell Maria at the shop next door it's for me. She knows how to make it." Draco was about to round the corner when he heard, "And make it a large one!" He snorted. "Got it!"

Draco broke into a sprint down the hallway. Granger had to be alive. There was no other truth he would accept. He'd find her the best Mediwizard in the world if he had to. What was Hogwarts-bloody hell-what was the whole Merlin-be-damned Wizarding World without Granger in it? As Draco finally spotted the sign that said 4D, he realized McGonagall had been right. He needed Granger alive and kicking to keep showing him how to be a better man. She'd been showing him that he, and the whole blasted Sacred 28, were wrong. About everything.

She stumbled into his head when he was seven. She blasted her way in at eleven. She's had permanent residence there since. He partially blamed her for not being able to kill Dumbledore. Theo, Blaise, and Pansy may have played a monumental role in his development, but in the end, his first exposure to people different from himself came from Granger.

Her screams were still the main feature of his nightmares.

Maybe the Mediwitch he came to see would give him something, anything to go off of. Maybe she would tell him these papers were false, and that something else was wrong with her. Something curable. Draco took a deep, shuddering breath before he set foot in the bright room. If Draco could make Granger's life hell, he could certainly take it upon himself to save it. It would be at least one step in setting things right. After all, this particular witch owed Granger as much as he did.

Like all hospital rooms, this one was too bright, too cold, and too... sterile... for any sort of feeling beyond dread. They left Draco with heightened anxiety every time. Not that he would ever say so. Malfoys didn't get anxiety. At least, they didn't let anyone else know they did.

The world was supposed to see Malfoys behave as cold and unfeeling as the hospital rooms they walked in.

So, when Draco walked in to see chestnut curls sprawled out across a thin pillow, he shouldn't have been stopped in his tracks. He shouldn't have instantly broken into a panicked run toward the "bed" that was nothing more than a cot. No respectable Malfoy immediately looks over a bedside vitals display. They especially don't visibly sigh in relief afterward, no matter how grateful they are to see signs of a steady heartbeat. Draco Malfoy certainly should not have pulled a chair up to Granger's bedside. Nor should he have hesitantly reached out, and then, finally, taken her small hand in his.

The pre-war Draco would have been appalled, disgusted even, at what he was doing.

The man he had become wouldn't dare be anywhere else.

Silver eyes studied the witch he used to loath; the witch he now owed his whole life to. The witch he could admit, at least to himself, that he cared about. It wasn't so bad to care whether she lived or died, right? Draco sighed. No. He owed her that.

She looked too small, though it gave him a palpable measure of relief to see that the blue was fading from her skin. He didn't like that her eyes were closed. Sure, she needed rest more than anyone, but she looked... too still. It was only the slight rise and fall of her chest that kept Draco from losing it.

Has she always had freckles?

It took Draco a few minutes to think about it. Wait. Yes, he supposed she had. He studied the too-light specks that were splattered across her nose and cheeks. They looked like little constellations on her face. It was simply one more thing he never took notice of before. He'd been too busy making himself hate her.

She was still far too cold for Draco's comfort. Not quite as cold as she was before, but... he didn't like it. He watched the fluttering of Granger's eyelashes against her pale cheeks for a half moment more before he rose out of his seat, clutching her book in his other hand. "I'm about to find your ruddy blanket, Granger," Draco whispered. "Since nobody thought it wise to let you keep that unsightly thing. But it has to be warmer than what they gave you."

"I've got it right here, Draco," came a voice from behind him. Draco turned at once toward the source. That high pitched, demanding voice could only belong to one witch. Sure enough, a witch in a high-necked hospital uniform stood in the doorway. She watched him with pitying bright blue eyes while clutching an oversized monstrosity of a blanket in her grip. Soft golden curls, held back by her signature bow, framed her once-pretty face that was now marred by three angled claw marks. Her eyebrows each had an angled line between them; her lips slightly deformed. Her forehead, cheeks, and chin would be scarred forever.

And that was just what he could see. But at least she was alive.

"Good. Brown. You're here," Draco said without any preamble. I brought these documents from Granger's desk. They will need verifying, but I'm sure they will help the Mediwizard and the lab technicians." Draco absolutely hated the way this girl looked at him as though he did something worth mooning over. "It's good that you care about her. Hermione, I mean." Draco loudly scoffed, taking the blanket from her hands and replacing it with Granger's journal. "Let's just get this analyzed, yeah?"

Lavender Brown's girlish giggle filled the room, and as she turned to leave, she said, "It's good to see that old rivalry being put to rest." Draco rolled his eyes. "She's been looking for you, by the way. Got a whole bloody crew of nosey shits trying to follow your trail. I've had to get half my family's house elves to comb the castle to make sure nobody found anything of yours lingering around." Lavender turned on the spot, surprise coloring her face. "Really? Hermione's been looking... for me? Why?" Draco gave her a single, short nod. "Do you want me to tell her, or do you want to do it yourself? When she wakes up..."

"Nothing can stop Hermione when she gets her mind set on something. Believe me, I remember," the St. Mungo's nurse said through a misty smile before she quickly turned and walked away.

Draco, on the other hand, wasted no time in draping Granger's thick blanket over her. He scoffed at himself. How did Brown know he would be looking for that thing, anyway? "You better thank me for this later," he whispered, feeling ridiculous for saying the words. Chances were, she wouldn't hear a thing. When her eyelashes didn't even so much as flutter, Draco heaved out a heavy sigh and pulled his chair closer to her bed. It seemed like a reflex when he took her hand back in his. As automatic as waving a wand. He didn't know why he did it; he just felt like he should.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Granger," Draco whispered, "but you're not doing this alone anymore."

Why. Why did Granger keep this quiet? Does she not know how many bleeding Gryffindors would have rallied around her, ready to look for a cure? She could have had most of the Wizarding World ready to fight for her. All she had to do was say the word! What was she thinking?

Draco heaved out a heavy frustrated sigh as he watched her. Unmoving. Unblinking. Uneverything that was uniquely her. As his head fell forward onto their joined hands, he muttered, "You're not dying on me, Granger. Even if I have to invent the fucking cure myself. I won't allow it."

That was when Draco Malfoy resolved that he wouldn't rest until he did exactly that.

The Malfoy heir was jolted awake by the sound of hurried footsteps clambering into the room. "Fucking shit," he said, his voice raspy as he sat up. He peered up at Lavender through narrowed eyes, still clouded over with sleep. It took him an extra second to realize that she did not look calm.

In fact, her teeth were pressed firmly into her bottom lip. Her left hand clutched the side of her skirt while she rigidly held a piece of parchment in the other. Her shoulders were... stiff. Draco ran a hand over his face and let out an audible groan. "What is it, Brown?"

"You need to look at this," Lavender said firmly.

Draco peeked at her through his fingers. Brown was never this firm with him.

So, he reached out and took the paper from her, ready to scan its contents, when she started her babbling. "The Australian Ministry documents you gave us were authentic, but we found something disturbing in the tests we ran."

Draco stopped and snapped his gaze back up to hers. "More disturbing? What's more disturbing than finding out you have a terminal brain tumor?" He swallowed the lump in his throat when Lavender Bloody Brown squared her shoulders.

"We found traces of Draught of Peace as well as Sleeping Draught in her system. Due to the amounts, I'd wager that Hermione was heavily self-medicating for a while. But here is where the truly disturbing part comes in. We found large amounts of Calming Draught, an infatuation potion known as Twilight Moonbeams, an accelerant laced with a weakened version of Draught of Living Death and some form of darker magic I've never seen before!"

Lavender finished her information dump with several loud, irate huffs. "Draco. Someone's trying to kill Hermione, and whoever it is obviously isn't aware of her condition-"

"Until tonight, nobody but her medical examiner knew of it," Draco said though numb lips. Shock held him in its clutches.

"Draco, don't you understand? Whoever is trying to kill Hermione just accelerated the growth of her tumor! She... She..."

"She what?" Draco snapped. "Spit it out!"

Lavender was sheet white when she muttered, "She might have six months."

Draco fell out of his chair.