Pale glimmers of moonlight timidly peeked through the window of a cold and unfeeling hospital room. The woman inside watched as the vanilla rays got comfortable, tiptoeing past the curtain until it stretched across bare and sterile walls that were a mockery of its likeness. Soon enough, both she and the ceramic tile beneath her were discovered by the animated infiltration of the moon.

Hermione rolled onto her back, turning the days' events over in her head. Wild and untamed chestnut curls narrowed her view to tiled ceilings that were no more interesting than the rest of her surroundings, but that was alright. Now that her mind was sharp and clear once more, she couldn't believe all that she had said and done. Even as promises of escape whispered to her with a poisoned tongue, Hermione's mind felt like her own again. She was finally seeing the world in color.

Harry and Ron did, eventually, come back. It was a bittersweet relief when the trio held one another tightly and cried together. Long overdue apologies were made, grim confessions were finally spoken, and promises were made that all three of them intended to keep. When Hermione practically shoved the boys out the door, a Hungarian Horntail sized weight fell off her chest. Some would call it closure, but she called it taking a necessary step. One that she should have taken sooner instead of letting her own fear and guilt control her.

How on earth did she not realize sooner she was being potioned? Robert? Seriously? Hermione would likely spend the next six months beating herself up for that one. She should have realized she was being drugged the moment those blasted sugar quills replaced her regular potion stash.

On top of that, she questioned her truce with Malfoy. Several times, at that! It wasn't like her to be so erratic and indecisive. The man has shown her on multiple occasions he was trying to be a better person, and Hermione practically dismissed it. An aggravated puff of air heaved forcefully through her lips. One can't possibly change their ways if they are constantly questioned, doubted, and having their past thrown up in their face. Now she is guilty of being a hypocrite due to her own naivety. Though Hermione never thought she would feel guilty for not showing Malfoy kindness and understanding, she refused to be ashamed. Life was too short not to amends, especially when the olive branch had already been extended.

Robert Jones had never been interesting to her beyond just being a study partner. Sure, he was awfully pretty to look at, but that has never been the most important thing in her book. Robert has always been too proud and full of himself, with hardly anything substantial underneath. He was funny and could be kind and thoughtful when he wanted to. Before he drugged her, she considered him great friend material. For her, there was never anything more.

Perhaps that's why he resorted to laced sugar quills.

That explained the Twilight Moonbeams, but it didn't explain everything else in them. If he was infatuated with her, why would he want to kill her? That didn't make any sense at all. She's certainly never done anything to him. Before this, they were on friendly terms. She thought so, anyway. Hermione rolled her eyes at the tile above her. Well, what's done is done. The Aurors will simply have to take it from here. Perhaps Harry could get some answers out of him.

One thing that lingered in the rush of clear thoughts she was now able to have was a potential option Lavender presented. It was an experimental route; one with only a single prior success case, but intriguing, nonetheless.

Could she live with having her magical core bound?

It wasn't so very long ago when Hermione herself thought of walking away from the wizarding world. If she went through with this, she would essentially become a muggle. Rather, a squib, but the principle was the same.

She will have spent a better part of her life working to become the top student at a school for witchcraft and wizardry, going on to be one third of the group that saved the wizarding world... just to lose the ability to do magic. Could she do that?

Would she be able to stay at Hogwarts or would she be kicked out? Would she lose her ability to see the things that wizards saw? Would she still be able to live with the boys, or would she lose access to Grimmauld Place? Not that the boys would kick her out or anything. It takes magical means to get to the building, and the boys aren't even at home.

If she needed to, would she be able to hitch a ride on the Knight Bus, or would Magic not recognize her anymore? Would she have to go to Kingsley and get paperwork forged to live in the muggle world?

That wouldn't be worst thing that could happen, she supposed. She could always go back to her parent's house. Maybe Gringotts would convert her earnings from the shop into muggle money. If the procedure is successful, she could go to a muggle university and completely immerse herself in her parent's world. It is the way her life would have gone, otherwise. One thing was certain: she would not become a dentist.

The theory behind binding her core is simple, but sound. By stopping the flow of magic, they could stop the spread of the curse. By extension, stopping the growth of the tumor and buying her more time. It would also allow them to explore more options for a cure.

Idly, Hermione wondered what the effect of phoenix tears would have on a tumor. Could it at least reduce the size? It worked well enough when Harry got stabbed with a basilisk fang. Another slightly unrelated thought occurred to Hermione then. One that nearly made her jump out of bed before she realized her books weren't here. In muggle medicine, a vaccine is made from a dead strand of the disease itself. Though the purpose of a vaccine is entirely irrelevant, could it be possible to fight curse magic with curse magic?

A thousand rambunctious cornish pixies swarmed in her veins at the thought. Hermione quickly rolled, her first instinct to reach for the Twinned Quill within her bag. She wanted to share her excitement with someone, and there was only one person she knew would be up at this hour. The moment she got past the cloak, textbooks, tent, cauldron, and several other items she had been meaning to put away somewhere, she finally found her goal.

The tip of the quill hovered just above the parchment.

She'd been the one to cut off their communications. Would Ink want to talk to her after that?

With that thought in mind, Hermione laid her quill down, flopped backwards onto the bed and crossed her ankles with a sigh. Her efforts to isolate herself had worked perfectly. She would simply wait until Lavender came back in the morning. Her bed had been made. Now she would have to lie in it. As she counted the tiles on the ceiling, she made a mental note to request that someone gather the assignments she had surely missed back at the castle.

Maybe it would be Ginny that came by to bring it to her. It would be a good opportunity to apologize to her for being distant lately. She imagined Ginny in the Gryffindor common room, surrounded by rumors that were definitely spreading like wildfire, and not having anyone to confirm or deny them. The thought caused a pang of guilt in her chest. Hermione would definitely be asking to borrow an owl in the morning.

Then there was Neville and Hannah. Hermione hadn't expected them all to band together as they had, but it was a welcome change for her. Before this year, she liked them well enough, but she didn't see them hanging out or anything just because they could. Now Hermione missed them terribly. Their study dates and plotting sessions had become a highlight for her. She could genuinely say she looked forward to Hogsmeade weekend so their group could crowd a table at the Three Broomsticks. She wanted to know how they were doing, and worried that they might be angry with her.

With that in mind, Lavender obviously didn't want her location to be revealed. How would Hermione get them off her trail without revealing that she knew where their "fallen" classmate was? Would they remain close without that common factor, or would it all crumble? She prayed it would be the former.

Then again, knowing Ron, he would be likely to tell half the wizarding world by accident. She hoped Lavender would be cautious enough to not get them caught by The Prophet. It would be just Ron's luck to try and take the girl out on a date, only to find their faces on the front page tomorrow. The two of them wound up there more times than a few, and all they had been trying to do was get a cup of coffee. Hermione rolled her eyes at the ceiling. She, herself, wound up on the front page simply by answering an owl.

The runaway train of thoughts in her mind came to a screeching stop when a brilliant yellow light shot across the tiles on the ceiling. Hermione pushed down the side of her hair and angled her head towards the doorway. If Lavender was here again instead of being either out with Ron or at home, she was going to give her a right talking to.

Hermione could appreciate hard work and dedication more than anyone else, but her apprenticing Mediwitch worked far too hard. Even by her standards! Lavender had been in this room every hour on the dot since the boys left. She checked her vitals, checked to see if there were any changes in Hermione's mental or physical state, was constantly in the lab running tests, and even volunteered to do menial things such as bring her a glass of ice. If Lavender's face turning a shade of scarlet that would be impressive to Godric was any indication, the last place she should be is here. "Lavender, I thought you had a..." Hermione froze. "...date."

It was one hundred thousand percent not Lavender Brown standing in her doorway.

Several things ran through Hermione's mind simultaneously. First, she realized she missed the banter they shared before. It had been something of a break from the weight she regularly carried. He never once treated her as one third of the Golden Trio, sidekick of the Chosen One, or put her on a pedestal. She quite liked the fact that to Malfoy, she was just Granger.

She also noticed that platinum blonde hair was actually quite lovely—when it wasn't bogged down with five hundred pounds of product.

Next, she wondered how it was possible to look confident and self-assured when doing something as ordinary as leaning against a doorframe. She also wondered what was so hypnotizing about it. Could the reason be that he lacked the pompous arrogance that used to be a trademark point of his personality? And why were his hands always in his pockets?

Malfoy certainly looked more like himself without those professor's robes. He seemed... happier. More relaxed. It suited him.

Finally, she realized that she quite liked the lazy smirk that pulled up on the right side of his mouth. Without the malicious intent, arrogance, and general nastiness spewing out of him like sewage, he was actually quite handsome. Of course, she also supposed that most people could be when they didn't wear a perpetual sneer.

In Hermione's mind, it was acceptable to objectively acknowledge that someone is handsome, so long as that knowledge didn't turn them into a blushing Third Year. Even if that someone is Draco Malfoy. Ron, Harry, and Neville were also handsome individuals, objectively speaking, in their own rights. Why couldn't Malfoy be, too?

What on earth was Malfoy doing here, anyway? Shouldn't he be preparing for class tomorrow?

"Granger, I'm hurt. I'm far too attractive be Brown. But, by all means, keep staring. I tend to have that effect on women."

Thank you, Malfoy. That inflated ego of his was exactly what she needed to get her mind off that ridiculous train of thought. She might have to talk to Lavender in the morning about her current medications. That is, if she could get the words out without her apprenticing Mediwitch probing her with a thousand personal questions. The war did nothing to curb her insatiable need to be a hopeless romantic. Nor did it do anything about her love of gossip.

Hermione felt a lot more like herself as she crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. "I am not staring. Merely wondering when you're going to realize you've wandered into the wrong building. This is a hospital, not a school, in case you haven't noticed."

For the life of her, she wanted to chastise herself for softening at the way Malfoy scoffed. It was so... normal. Normal was something she craved like the air she breathed. "But since you managed to apparate to the completely wrong part of the world, you might as well take a seat."

The deadpan look on his face was worth all the gold in Gringotts.

"Charming. Your uncanny ability to overlook the obvious must be how you snagged the Weasel," Malfoy muttered sarcastically.

"Oh?" Hermione said, working to hide her mirth. "I'm sure if we were to ask Buckbeak, he would agree that, between the two of us, I'm much more charming." Malfoy came alive, stalking into the room animatedly with a single finger pointed in her direction. "That bloody chicken was a menace! It really could have taken off my arm!"

Chestnut curls fell around Hermione's face as she quite literally doubled over. Her eyes squeezed shut, joy splitting her face in two. She wrapped her arms around her middle, unable to stop the flow of laughter that shook her body. "Forgive me," she wheezed, "for not exactly sympathizing!"

"I could have been disabled!" Malfoy blurted. "For life! Don't you understand? I would have been ruined! By a bloody chicken!"

For the next several minutes, every time she thought she had herself back under control, she'd make the mistake of peeking at him through the curtain of her hair. Every single time, she'd find him muttering something unintelligible while his face would be twisted in a disgruntled pout. The sight was so comical, she'd lose it all over again.

"What..." Hermione finally managed to say while catching her breath, "are you... doing here?"

"Well, now that you're done laughing at my expense," Malfoy grumbled. He languidly took the seat beside her bed, propping his ankle on top of his knee. With his elbows resting on the arms of the chair and his fingers threaded together, he looked comfortable. Too comfortable, as though it were his chair. "Winky!"

The following pop might as well have been a Confringo. Hermione jumped, automatically reaching for a wand that wasn't there. Her empty hand flexed in the light of new moon; spells of times past rang in her ears.

All of that was easily pushed aside when she saw a house elf standing in her room wearing a pastel pink dress.

The former house elf rights activist leaned forward, astonished by the sight before her. Her eyes darted between the elf who carried a bag larger than she was, back to a smug looking Malfoy, and back again before she heard, "Master Draco summons Winky, and Winky brings the bag Master Draco requested!"

Hermione stopped leaning before she could make a spectacle of herself. She paused, taking in the most unusual scene. A single finger found her bottom lip as she drank it all in; Malfoy offered the little thing a kind smile. He gently took the bag from her hands, saying, "Thank you, Winky." The house elf's ears stood straight and twitched with pride. "Is there anything else Winky can do for Master Draco?"

She didn't miss the way his eyes flickered between the elf and back in her direction. "No, I think that will be all. I'm sure you're busy." Hermione's mouth nearly fell open when Winky's cheeks turned pink. "Winky is never too busy to tend to Master Draco! Mistress Cissy insists that Winky make sure her only son is..."

Malfoy coughed loudly, causing Winky to shuffle her feet and Hermione's lips to curve upward. Malfoy? Embarrassed? By his house elf, no less? This was priceless.

"Yes, yes. Thank you, Winky."

This time, Hermione was prepared for the apparition.

The silence that followed was deafening. Neither rival-turned-acquaintance knew what to do with it.

"So," Malfoy said, determinedly looking inside the bag he was opening.

"You're good to her," Hermione stated simply.

Malfoy's head shot up, surprise coloring his features. "Of course. Dobby was the exception, not the rule." His face darkened a bit when he muttered, "Father's exception."

Hermione quietly watched him for a few more moments while he gathered a large stack of papers in his hands. Something was different about him, though she couldn't quite place what it was. He seemed calmer, somehow. Not as angry or malicious as the Malfoy she'd become accustomed to.

He seemed more like the boy she met by accident on her eighth birthday.

"Thank you, Draco," Hermione whispered.

His entire stack of papers fell through his fingers. "What?"

Without thinking, Hermione grabbed the wand that rested on the small end table and floated the papers into a neat stack on her bed. Neither of them processed exactly what she'd done until it was returned to its place.

"Here," she said meekly, offering the blonde wizard his wand back. His Adam's Apple bobbed as he tentatively laid it back onto the nightstand. She squared her shoulders, ready to defend her use of his first name. Mahogany met smoke. "Your name is Draco, is it not?"

Would this create something new or become a disaster?

"Last time I checked. What are you thanking me for?"

Hermione suppressed a sigh of relief. Progress.

"For getting me to the hospital. If it weren't for that, I'd probably be dead."

Something shifted in that moment that neither witch nor wizard could place. When Draco's eyes dropped to the floor, his mouth curved up into a genuine smile that lit Hermione's world brighter than any spell. He definitely needed to smile more. "Yeah, well if you hadn't turned that temper of yours onto the entire Wizengamot, I would be, too."

Hermione's cheeks burned. "Yes, well, it needed to be done." Draco shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "You know you didn't have to. It's not like I gave you any reason to." Hermione's eyes flashed in warning. "It was the right thing to do. None of us should pay for the sins of those who were charged with protecting us and failed." Draco sighed heavily. "Thank you... Hermione."

One more secret she vowed to take to the grave: she liked the sound of her name on his lips.

"Right," she said, fighting the smile that threatened to split her face in two. "Have you decided you're grading papers here, or...?"

"Nope," Malfoy announced, leaning back in his chair. He put his hands behind his head, watching her with hidden mirth. "Those are all yours."

Understanding dawned on Hermione quickly. "You gathered all my assignments?"

He nodded smugly.

Hermione beamed. "If I didn't know any better, Malfoy, I'd say you cared."

He tipped his head towards her and smirked. "And here I thought we were on a first name basis, Granger."

"I don't know," Hermione said slyly. "Are we?"

Draco stared at the ceiling for a long moment before he finally said, "I think we could try it."

Hermione stretched across her bed, taking care not to jostle the gift of her busywork, and matched Draco in staring at the ceiling above them. "Hey, Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Are we friends?"

A pause followed. Just when Hermione was regretting asking the question, she heard him say, "Yeah. I think we're friends."

She tried to keep the immense contentment that knowledge made her feel to herself. When she was certain she could control her voice, she spoke again.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"It depends on what you're asking."

"If given the choice between living as a muggle, and in turn prolonging your life, or continuing to live life as you know it, but infinitely shortening your lifespan, what would you do?"

For the first time, a comfortable silence fell between them. The pair stared at the ceiling tiles, each lost in thought. Neither of them knew how long they stayed like this; both unwilling to break the spell that was a first step into unknown territory.

Finally, a single blue paintbrush floated into view above her. Hermione's eyes grew wide as saucers and her jaw dropped in shock. She reached out with a timid hand toward the nondescript object that signified one of her deepest secrets; the part of her she'd buried alive years before.

A part of her she only told one person about.

"It's a bit different for me, but I would tell the rest of the world to fuck off and do what made me happy."

Hermione promptly turned toward Draco as another puzzle piece fell into place.

"Ink," she breathed.

Draco smirked bitterly. "I couldn't look at twenty-four inch parchment with your name and sloppy scrawl on it and not figure out that you're Blood."

Hermione turned her sights back upward, idly examining the paintbrush Draco gave her. "I thought you didn't want to reveal our identities?" She rolled her eyes at his not-so-subtle snort. "Technically, that became null and void when you decided to cut me off."

"I'd been drugged!" Hermione groaned. "Sue me."

"Do what to you?"

Another round of quite embarrassing giggles permeated the room. "Forget it. It's a muggle figure of speech."

"You could teach those."

"What?"

"Muggle things. Hogwarts does have a whole class dedicated to that."

Another avenue Hermione hadn't considered before instantly opened itself up to her.

"You know, I may consider that."

Another silence settled between them.

"Hey, Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

"Sure, Hermione."