We're not defined by our pasts, Ink. No matter what the rest of the wizarding world says.

Why must you always be so hard on yourself? Just reach out to your mother. Trust me when I say that one day these memories of her will be all you have.

I am also an only child, biologically. The closest thing I have to a sibling is my best friend. As it is, he's all the family I've got. Don't you have someone like that?

That's funny. I tend to think that our lives are a bit like the stars.

It's not ridiculous! Don't you find it strange that we never tend to take one's words seriously until after we can no longer hear them?

I have a secret, Ink. I love to paint, but I gave it up a long time ago.

Because the world needs my brain more than they need my feelings.

If I were to stand in front of a boggart now, it would show me something very different from what I saw in Third Year. But isn't that the case for us all? Our fears and desires change as we grow. If they didn't, I think that would be a terrible thing.

Don't be daft! That would mean that we never lived, never grew and never moved toward reaching our full potential. You and I both know how quickly a life can be snuffed out. It should be a crime to waste it.

What do you mean? Everyone has their own form of expressing themselves. I believe we all have a lot to say, but half the battle lies in finding a way to say it.

No. No, I am certainly not okay, but Merlin it feels good to say so.

I get it. I know we're not friends, but seeing as we've been talking for weeks, do we not get the privilege of at least trying to help one another?

The passionflower tea works. It doesn't do anything for the nightmares, but it does help me fall asleep. Thank you for that.

Someone once told me that there are things worth taking a risk for. He also told me to stop looking at things so black and white. It's a funny thing, really, when the wisest words you've ever heard come from someone who aspired to pull the world's greatest pranks. I guess that happens when you dedicate your life to bringing others joy.

Oh, will you stop being such a ridiculously stubborn male! Don't you dare say anything about it, either.

You have to understand, there is evidence that suggests that your brain chemistry changes during a particularly traumatic event in certain individuals. In our case, it would be a series of events due to the war against Voldemort. What we are both experiencing is a mental condition called PTSD.

I'm going to pretend that you did not just ask me that. How you choose to respond to all you've been through will invariably shape your quality of life. You can either continue to let your misery drown you, immobilized by all you've suffered and lost, or you can stand up with an appreciation for all the good there still is in life. The way you talk about your girlfriend and mother, for example, speaks volumes. Why don't you write them a letter? I'm sure they miss you terribly.

Oh, FINE. To get to the kitchens, go through the side door in the Great Hall. At the end of the corridor, there is a portrait of a bowl of fruit. Tickle the pear. Happy?

You incorrigible, perpetually hungry males are going to drive me up the wall! I demand that you go get some food, and don't you dare write another word to me until you do.

Ink, if there is one thing I know for certain, it is that men are guided by their stomachs, whether they are magical or not.

NO, I will absolutely not be having this discussion with you! Whether or not I am a virgin is none of your business!

I am not a prude. I keep the details of my love life to myself. That information is meant to stay between someone and their partner. If you go sharing all the most intimate parts of yourself with everyone you meet, then your personal life isn't very personal, is it? And shut it, Ink, before you go twisting what I just said.

Draco must have read and reread Granger's words to him at least a hundred times. The version of Granger on these slips of parchment was a completely different version of her than he ever saw in person. Yet, at the same time, he could practically hear her say every single word in his head. He sighed, letting her letters fall onto his desk and cradled his head in his hands. He needed to see McGonagall. He knew that. By the same token, his mind was in shambles. Granger had wrecked him in more ways than a few.

That infuriating witch had no right to steal his mind, call him on his shit, turn his world upside down, make him laugh, shine a damned lumos maxima in his direction, and save his life in more ways than one just to...

"Knock, knock."

Draco's head snapped up immediately. Could it be...?

He had to work to not let his face fall.

"Stori," Draco said, planting a smile where he wanted to frown. Like the gentleman his mother raised him to be, he immediately rose from his seat and strode swiftly toward the dark haired beauty in his doorway. "Draco," she purred in a smooth, pleasant voice. Pink painted lips stretched into a wide smile designed to bring the strongest man to his knees. For the first time in his life, Draco internally cringed. Stori's lifetime of being groomed to be the perfect pureblood wife was showing.

"You didn't have to come all this way," Draco said without missing a beat. Never one to betray his manners, at least to anyone in their social circle, he raised her hand to his lips.

Her hand felt wrong. The action felt wrong.

Nevertheless, Draco smirked at the joy he found in Stori's tourmaline irises.

"I was in the neighborhood," Stori said, waving it off while Draco tucked her into his side. She rested one of her smooth and perfectly manicured hands on his chest as he led her further into the room. "Dray, how are you able to see in here? It's so dark." Draco stifled his annoyance at the pet name she pinned him with. "I can see in here just fine," he grumbled.

Astoria narrowed the jewels of her eyes and pursed her lips. "One lit torch does not count as enough light, and you know it." She turned swiftly on her heels and strode toward the curtains that Draco had tightly closed. "Stori," Draco groaned. "Don't."

He didn't want to look at the stupid moon or the stars. They reminded him of her. He'd never missed the Slytherin dorms more than he did right now. An underwater view of the lake was exactly what he needed to soothe his nerves.

Astoria stopped in her tracks and slowly turned toward him with that speculating look that told him he was in trouble. "I knew it." Draco gulped. "Knew what?" She slowly shook her head, running her freshly painted nails through her smooth, glossy locks. The one indicator she ever tended to give when she was frustrated. "Something's wrong."

Draco found himself wishing that she would yell at him. Where did that come from?

"It's..." He put his hands on his hips, dropping his head to stare at the floor. "It's one of my students."

"Oh?"

He hated the surprise he heard in her voice. Instead of acknowledging it, he dragged his feet toward his desk instead. He perched atop it and patted the empty space beside him. An invitation. She didn't bother to hide her evident curiosity as she lightly stepped toward him, and for that he was thankful. He found himself snorting when she held out her hand for assistance. She arched one perfect eyebrow when he grabbed her shoulders instead. "Just turn," he murmured. She did as she was told, like any witch with good breeding would. So, when he grabbed her waist and hoisted her atop the desk, it was hilarious to hear the little squeak that followed.

"It's not funny," Astoria said, only letting out the barest of huffs of indignation as she crossed her legs. "Yes, it really is," Draco chuckled. He half expected her to lift her chin in the air, but a sobering thought hit him. She's not Granger. Astoria did humor him by crossing her arms across her chest, though. He supposed that was the best he was going to get. "Alright, Stori. You win," he smirked. She softened immediately. It was disappointing.

"What is it about this student that's got your wand in a knot?" She asked gently.

Everything.

"She's-"

"It's a girl?" She asked, blinking rapidly in surprise.

"Relax, Stori," Draco soothed, painting on his most dazzling smile for her.

"Of course," she conceded with pink cheeks.

"She's not doing so well."

"Academically, or...?" She reached over and threaded their fingers together. For a moment, Draco could have sworn he saw mocha orbs with little flecks of gold in them. When he blinked, they were hazel once more, but he couldn't swallow down the pang of guilt.

"Medically," he said, working to keep his voice level. He knew Astoria wouldn't say a word. She had been trained to keep her mouth shut from the time she was old enough to talk. Every pureblood woman was a walking vault of secrets that would make the Chamber jealous. Astoria gasped. "What...?"

Draco shook his head, staring down at their joined hands. He couldn't shake the way her hand felt wrong in his. Why was that? "I can't tell you that. All I can tell you is that it's not something magic can fix."

"Are you certain?"

Draco's head snapped up to see a hardened determination he would have never dared to hope for. "What?"

"Are. You. Certain. Draco? Have you tried? Explored every possible avenue?"

"The Mediwizard-"

The steel inside Astoria's gaze held Draco in place. "I'm only going to say this once, because I know this student means a lot to you. If you approach this like you would if she were Narcissa, you'll find the answer. If you don't, she will die. Decide now if you can live with that."

Draco had to force the words through his windpipe. "I can't live with that."

Astoria's smile made the morning sun look weak in comparison. "You'll make an amazing father one day, Draco."

Draco gulped. How had this gotten so far off track? "I hope so."

Without another word, Astoria slid off his desk. Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Stori?"

A blind man wouldn't miss the sultry sway in her hips as she sauntered to the center of the room. The sound of the door locking echoed off the walls. Astoria spun around on the spot, her glossy black hair falling around her shoulders as she pinned him with a look that made Draco's mouth go dry. "Since you have me here all alone," Astoria breathed, "Professor Malfoy."

Draco forgot how to breathe.

And then he heard words spoken in the past by a very different witch.

"You don't think that verbally casting spells would be helpful to the class, Professor?"

Draco greedily took everything Astoria had to give, desperate to get chocolate eyes, chestnut curls, and a larger-than-life attitude out of his head.

Draco wound up leaving a sleeping Astoria in his bed and stepped back into his office. "Winky," he whispered. He flinched at the pop that sounded far too loud in such a quiet space. "Master Draco needs Winky?" He cringed once more at the sight of the elf's eyes widening into saucers. "Master Draco should be sleeping! Master looks-"

Draco forced himself to smile down at the poor, worried little thing. "It's alright Winky. I actually need you to do something important for me. It's critical we get this done as quickly as possible. Do you think you can handle it?"

Winky nodded feverishly. "Oh, yes, Master Draco! Winky wouldn't dare let her master down!" Draco sighed. "I'm not... ah, forget it." Draco crouched down to meet her at eye level. Winky's ears shot up in surprise. "Master...!" Draco held up a single finger and it worked. She silenced herself. "Winky, I need you to retrieve every medical book from the library at the Manor, as well as any book that has anything to do with curse magic. If Mother asks, just tell her that I asked for it. Can you do that for me? The books need to be brought straight here to this room."

"Yes, sir, Master Draco! Winky will get it done straight away!"

Draco sighed in relief. "Thank you, Winky."

"It's a blood curse, isn't it?"

Draco froze in place. Fuck.

"Something like that. It's in her blood."

"I'm no Mediwizard, but the answer sounds fairly simple," Astoria said through a yawn. "If you want to buy the girl more time, bind her magical core."

Draco stood and turned on the spot. "Bind? Her magic?"

Astoria nodded seriously. "It happens often enough in pureblood marriages that it makes sense. Like, in cases where one partner has been unfaithful. The only survivor of a blood curse had their magical core bound. She had to live the rest of her life as a Squib, but..." she shrugged, as if she hadn't just dropped the most important answer of Draco's life right in his lap. "If you want to stop the flow of the curse, stop the flow of magic. That should buy her enough time to sort out whatever is wrong with her."

Draco could have cried with the relief that threatened to knock him on his ass. "Astoria, you beautiful, brilliant witch!" The witch's face turned a deep, crimson red as Draco ran to scoop her in his arms. Her laughter filled the space with more light and hope than Draco had felt in a month as he spun her around and found himself laughing with her. The moment her feet touched the ground, Draco brought her lips to his, pouring all the relief and gratitude he felt into the kiss. "Thank you," he whispered and bolted out the door, leaving a very breathless and confused woman behind, wondering what just happened.

The lit torches in the halls were barely a blimp in Draco's sight. The armor that normally stood out so prominently was no more than a shining speck. The bricks and tile no longer had identities; they all blurred together as one in the trek towards McGonagall's office. Draco took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the sweat that fell from his brow and the burning in his lungs.

"Ooo Professor Death Eater is out of bed! He doesn't wear silver, not covered in red... "

"Shut up, Peeves, or I'll go find the Baron."

Finally, mercifully, the statue that was the Headmistress' office entrance came into view. With his hands on his knees, he barely managed to huff out, "Lemon drop."

This time, it was the old bat glancing up in surprise. "Mister Malfoy! I trust you come with news regarding Miss Granger?" Draco nodded, staggered to his seat, and plopped down in the most ungraceful movement that would have earned him the swift caning from Father. He didn't bother to move the curtain of hair from his right eye but opted to watch McGonagall's unbridled fascination through his left. As a cup of tea with honey fixed itself in front of him, he told her everything, minus his activities with Astoria.

By the time he finished his story, McGonagall looked like she was at a funeral. "Are you sure this is the only way?" She said gravely. Draco's tea had gone cold in front of him. "I don't know what else to do," he ground out. "St. Mungo's only gives her six months. What are we going to do about the bastard that's trying to kill her? They're here! In the castle!"

"I'll be investigating that personally," McGonagall said. Chills shot down Draco's spine. This wasn't a statement from the Headmistress. This was a threat coming from the Head of Gryffindor; a mother ready to avenge her young. Draco had never been gladder this woman was on his side. McGonagall sat back, pressing her fingers together. "I've been informed of a bit of a scuffle in the eighth year common room, Mister Malfoy. I would dare to say that a few students should be called in here in the morning." He nodded. "I agree."

"Minerva-" Dumbledore's portrait interrupted.

"Oh, save it, Albus," McGonagall snapped. "As much as I respected you immensely, you were always too lax when it came to the students. I still stand by what I said when you dropped Mister Potter off on those awful muggle's doorstep!"

Awful? Muggles?

"Well, it's no wonder Potter didn't know his head from his arse when he got here," Draco exclaimed. "That idiot is still trying to catch up!" Draco snorted when McGonagall and Dumbledore's portrait gave him matching warning looks. At least Severus' portrait rewarded him with his version of a smirk. "The boy's... not... wrong," his godfather drawled. McGonagall sighed and turned her gaze to the ceiling, as though silently begging a higher being for help. "Merlin give me strength," she sighed.

Nailed it.

"You do realize, Mister Malfoy," McGonagall said in exasperation, "Miss Granger will, for all intents and purposes, become a Squib if her magical core becomes bound?"

Panic shot through Draco, leaving him grasping at straws. "Maybe she could teach. Muggle studies. Arithmancy. Take Binns' spot. Her nose is stuck in a book enough."

That was when McGonagall pinned him with a look that shook his entire resolve over the rim of her glasses. "I think this is something that needs to be discussed with Miss Granger when she awakens. Tell me, Mister Malfoy, how would you feel if you were all but stripped of your magic?"

Draco swallowed. "That's different."

"How so?"

"I don't know how to live without magic. She does. Her parents were muggles."

"Even so, this decision is too great to not get her opinion on."

"Merlin knows she's always got an opinion," Draco found himself muttering.

He could hardly believe it when he looked up and saw McGonagall smiling. He didn't know whether to be elated or run.

The next day, however, was a different story. In his morning class, Longbottom wouldn't stop watching him with guarded suspicion. Around noon, Abbot kept her arms folded across her chest and followed him around with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Worse, Weaselette sat beside her and the way she looked at him was nothing short of hostile. He was certain that if he weren't a Hogwarts professor, she would have hexed him on the spot, as tightly as she gripped her wand.

Jones hadn't showed up at all that day. Draco supposed McGonagall had something to do with that.

Draco sighed as his evening class filed out the room and waited at his desk. He knew what was coming. It was always the same with these self-righteous types. Acting first and thinking later. He didn't have to wait long.

Just as he expected, not even fifteen minutes later, a fuming Girl-Weasel, followed by disapproving She-Puff and a bumbling Gryffindork came barging into his classroom like they owned the place. Draco frowned. Those insults needed work. He made a mental note to come up with new ones later. "Need something, Weaselette?"

"Fess up," the redhead demanded. "I know that you know where she is."

Draco sighed. So, they still want him to be the bad guy. That mask slipped effortlessly on him.

"Who?" He drawled. "You've got to be a bit more specific."

"Don't play with me," the Girl-Weasel hissed.

Draco raised his eyebrows, pulling out the sneer he knew they all still associated him with. "Maybe if you actually took some notes instead of daydreaming about your secondhand quidditch clout..."

All Draco had to do was lean back slightly when Weaselette lunged. Just as he knew they would, Longbottom and Abbot each grabbed an arm to hold her back. He counted on her friends' loyalty, and it worked. They wouldn't want her to get expelled on her last year. Especially over the likes of him. "...then you'd understand it when someone is trying to ask you a question," he finished.

"At least I'm not the one with the Dark Mark on my arm," Weaselette hissed.

"Ginny, I think we need to go," Longbottom wisely suggested.

It was Abbot who spoke up next. Even while restraining the She-Weasel, she met Draco with a steady but firm gaze. He admired that in a person. She might shape up to be something after all. "Malfoy, where's Hermione? You were with her last night. Then you showed up at her dorm and went into her room for something. She's been missing all day. If you know something, please, just tell us. We're worried about her."

Spot on, Abbot. But, alas, the show has to go on.

"Maybe you should be talking to that Huffleprick that practically drools all over her face. For as much as he tries to inhale her every time she so much as looks at him, he might have swallowed her at this point. That is, if you can understand him around all the hairballs he's liable to cough up."

Draco desperately tried not to laugh at all their ridiculous faces as Longbottom and Abbot had to drag Weaselette out of his classroom.

"Was that really necessary, Mister Malfoy?"

Draco instantly sobered. He didn't even bother to turn around. It was impossible to mistake the Headmistress for anyone else.

"It was. If Granger wanted anyone to know, she would have said something the moment she read those letters."

"It's times like these where you remind me a lot of your godfather, Draco."

"Oh yeah?" His eyebrows nearly shot into his hairline. "How so?"

"You, too, seem to have an aversion to letting anyone see the best in you."

Draco shrugged. "No one wants to see the best in me, Professor." It was only then that he turned to see a look on McGonagall that he never thought would be directed at him: concern. He didn't quite know what to do with that. "I'm the bad guy in this story, remember? I put myself in this role, and I'm good at it."

He turned away from her then. He couldn't stand to see that look on her face. "As long as it gets the job done, then who cares?"

The ragged, heavy sigh that came from behind him had no place coming from the most feared and respected witch in this school. "Miss Granger would, and between you and me... I do too." Draco's hands balled into fists at his side at the word would. "Don't talk about Granger like she isn't here anymore."

"If you are as much a villain as you claim, Mister Malfoy, then why do you care so much about what happens to her?"

Draco felt like Professor McGonagall had just dropped him in the Black Lake.

"She saved my life. You know that," he muttered. "Once I repay the favor, we'll be even."

"Then I suggest you get started," McGonagall said. A little too cheerfully, if you asked him.

Out of the corner of Draco's eye, he spotted the massive stack of books he'd forgotten to ask Winky to put away the night before, still innocently stacked in the corner. Damn it all.