A/N: I'm doing my best to update when I can and appreciate the patience of my readers while I'm dealing with school, my health issues, and the pandemic.

I hope you're all staying safe and well, and have a wonderful new year!

That Draco was nervous was an understatement. For starters, Astoria had let slip that he was involved. And okay, sure, Hermione had mostly figured that out on her own, but it wasn't as though her knowing would make this all any easier.

No. This will not be easy. At all.

Draco glanced into the mirror of his bathroom and studied his reflection.

He looked tired, the way he usually did. His light skin was translucent enough to showcase brilliantly the deep purple staining under the skin of his eyes, and even tired, thread-like veins on his lids. A closer look revealed that his stubble was dangerously close to lending him a scruffy look, but he wasn't sure he could bring himself to care.

Draco had just bumped into his friends on the way into the Great Hall and wasn't paying attention to the conversation happening around him when he agreed to something Pansy asked without thinking about it. It wasn't until they were in the Great Hall and he was being dragged to a table where Hermione was sitting that he realized just what he had agreed to.

How could I be so stupid?

Thankfully, she was seated on the opposite end of the table. Less thankfully, though, she was seated on the opposite side, which meant that any glance her way wouldn't be missed. Which meant that Draco had to be careful.

He turned his attention back to Blaise, only to find that the man was leaning on one elbow so he could eye Hermione quite openly.

"Can you not?" Draco snapped quietly.

"Why not?"

"Because she's— I—"

"She's what, Draco?" Theo teased just as quietly.

"Lovely," Blaise answered with a sigh.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Draco hissed and clenched his jaw.

Of course, it was his outburst that drew her attention. Hermione frowned at him, then locked eyes with Blaise, who seemed to lick his lips without realizing it.

A harsh laugh erupted from the Gryffindor, resulting in the most crushed look Draco had ever seen on his friend's face.

"That's rough, mate," Theo offered and elbowed the scorned man in the side lightly.

"Bloody abnormal," Blaise muttered to himself.

Draco couldn't help the smile that spread across his lips, and if he wasn't mistaken, caught the ghost of one on her lips as well.

Wednesday morning came and went, and with it, no word from Luna— which was a good thing, Hermione had to constantly remind herself. The fact that the half-fae was wandering around London and dosing herself with Polyjuice Potion was the only reason that Hermione was truly panicking.

Rather than lose her mind, she turned her attention back to Transfiguration. If someone had told Hermione Granger, even two years ago that she would struggle to concentrate during a lesson, she would have thought them well and entirely mad.

Most of her schoolmates thought the only thing she truly cared about was school, but the truth was, Hermione was devoted to knowledge, in whatever form that might take. The only good thing to come out of the nearly two years she spent on the run with her friends was the vast amount of knowledge she had acquired.

School was important, yes…but when there was nothing new to learn, Hermione had found it increasingly difficult to hang on to the words of her professors. In fact, she had even gone so far as to reevaluate the importance of her education in her life.

The trouble today, however, was when she wasn't focused on helping her new friend and finally tuned back into class, her would be treated to flashes of Malfoy sitting one table away from her in the corner of her eye. Worse yet, neither had partners at their tables, and should Professor Bertram move beyond theory and into practical application, they would surely be paired off.

Hermione held her breath as the end of class neared, hoping against hope that the usually chatty professor was up to snuff today. And yes, there it was, with Pansy Parkinson kicking off a round of panicked questions, along with handfuls of others, it was clear they were going to end the class with discussion.

Professor Bertram wheeled up and down the aisles, looking over students' notes before answering their questions to figure out where they were at in the process. Truly, the Muggleborn wizard was one of the most thorough professors to join Hogwarts in the entire time Hermione had attended the school.

He was lovely, with bright blue eyes and tousled dark hair that reminded her so much of Harry; if Harry were in his twenties and in a wheelchair. The professor had been very open about his disability— "Yes, disability. I am not differently-abled. I am disabled. Disability isn't a bad word. If you think it is, you should ask yourself why you think that. If the society we live in shapes our perceptions of disability, what might you be taking away from that narrative? What might you contribute to future discussions on the subject, now that you're aware the problem isn't in the language, but by what people think of disabled people?"— and truly, Hermione couldn't have been more thrilled to have him teaching the class.

For all her years apart of this world, the lack of disability inclusion was still one of the more troubling issues, but fell behind defeating a Dark Lord and keeping her friends alive for some time. But seeing a disabled person that wasn't "fixed" by magic, that didn't feel the need to hide his "shameful" condition was doing loads of good for others in her school.

Not that he had to be anyone's teachable moment, but that was something Professor Bertram had taken upon himself. He was an advocate, just like she, and as nervous as she had been to see McGonagall transition to Headmistress, Hermione truly couldn't have been happier.

She had never once taken the chance to look, but out of curiosity, she watched Draco's reaction as the professor wheeled by. Instead of the smirk, or grimace of disgust she might have once expected, Hermione was surprised to see the Pureblood offer a whispered 'thanks' to the man when he clarified a note Draco had made during class.

Hermione wasn't entirely prepared to view Draco as a fellow human being, let alone a considerate one at that. But she was trying. Every singe day she tried. Especially now that it seemed he wouldn't be removed from the Astoria Equation anytime soon.

And truly, she hoped she could see him that way. Someday.

Draco watched as Hermione— or Mia, as Astoria kept calling her for whatever reason— bolted from Transfiguration class the moment they were excused. She had spent almost an hour hunched over parchment she had clearly enchanted to be unreadable by prying eyes, and the remaining fifteen minutes sitting so rigidly in her seat that Draco was sure she had been petrified.

Her flight, however, discredited his outlandish theory, and he was forced to accept that it had once again been his presence that set her so on edge.

Draco couldn't blame her. Not in the slightest. If the situation was reversed and he had to experience the things he was forced to watch happen to her, while she watched on, he wouldn't want to be around her either.

And that's what hurt the most.

That after all the years he had spent dying to know her, dying to share a back and forth with her absolutely brilliant mind, dying to tell her everything he could never tell her, never admit to feeling, she almost had died.

He had to sit, frozen, watching while his aunt carved at Hermione's soft, beautiful flesh, placing the most heinous word she could think of on a place where the girl would never be able to escape it so long as she lived. He had to sit, frozen, and unable to even tell Hermione he was sorry with the emotions that begged to be released from his eyes. He had to sit, frozen, and helpless.

The world almost lost her that day.

And he would never have her.

That's just how it would be.

Draco didn't know how or when his feet had taken him to the library, but it's where he found himself some time after leaving class. He certainly didn't mind— with his light schedule leaving hours to go until dinner, the library had become a safe-haven for him.

As beneficial as having his own quarters was in terms of avoiding scaring roommates when he woke up screaming from his nightmares was, Draco had no desire to spend any more time than he had to in that space.

It reminded him of how much had changed, of how very real everything had been when all he wanted to do was forget it all, it reminded him that he had every reason to be plagued by horrifying visions whenever he closed his eyes.

Draco gave a friendly nod in Madame Pince's direction who flashed him the smallest of smiles. It wasn't that she didn't wish to smile at him, but that she so seldom smiled at all, that even the tiny acknowledgement was kind of her.

Out of everyone in the school that had reason to hate him, she did. There was more than a little amount of information, unable to be found anywhere else, that had been lost forever during the Battle of Hogwarts. That she didn't personally blame Draco was a wonder in and of itself.

Possibly it had to do with the fact that the library had been every much his second home as it had been Granger's— not that she ever noticed.

His hands were automatically pulling the familiar ancient tomes from the Restricted Section. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere in the pages of some five-hundred books of the subject had to be the answer. It had to be there. It just had to be.

Hermione watched the expression on Astoria's face change from one of excitement to one of overwhelm in a few short minutes. The impressive lists the brightest witch of their age compiled was more than a little much, it would seem.

"I think just picking out the things that are important or worrisome to you right now would be wise, and we can go in sections from there."

Astoria nodded at the sound advice but kept her eyes downcast.

"I know it's a lot," Hermione said in what she hoped was a soothing voice, "but it's going to be okay Astoria. You aren't the first pregnant witch and you won't be the last…and you aren't alone."

Astoria laughed roughly and leaned back in her seat. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears and she needed to take a moment to compose herself. "That, I am not. Between you, Draco, and Luna, I'm confident we can pull all of this off."

Hermione studied her with concern, then, trying to figure out what was wrong. "Even so, you seem, erm—"

"It's the damn hormones," Astoria said and waved her off. Then, she erupted into tears, pulled her legs up off the floor, and tried to wrap her arms around her knees. Unfortunately, it was at that moment that Astoria realized the swell of her stomach was finally starting to make that pose difficult. "I just wish he were here," she sobbed. "I don't want to do all of this without him! He should be looking at these lists with me, making decisions with me. I don't know— I don't know if I can do all of this without him!"

It wasn't the enormity of things she had yet to do, Hermione realized suddenly. Help or no help from her friends, Astoria needed her partner to get through this physically and mentally.

And for a single moment, Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy. Not for the fact that Astoria was pregnant, as Hermione was relatively certain she would never want to, nor be able to, but for the fact that even though he wasn't there, Astoria had someone out there that could help her feel secure.

Hermione joined Astoria on the couch-like bench that ran the length of the far wall in Study Room #9 and placed a hesitant arm around the girl's shoulders.

Astoria clung to her side immediately, and after a few moments of uncertainty, Hermione gently ran her hand down Astoria's head. A minute or two passed in which the pregnant woman slowly began to calm.

When she finally cried herself out, Hermione risked speaking. "As much as you fear discovery, I think it's important for both your health and the health of your baby that you speak to Neville over the holidays, Tori."

Astoria sniffled and nodded against Hermione's jumper. "I know. I just— I'm so afraid that—"

"I know," Hermione whispered as her friend began to sniffle again. "I'm going to spend as much time as I can trying to find a way to help keep you all safe, okay?"

Astoria nodded once more, and remained where she was, taking all the comfort she could get.

Hermione wasn't as sickened by touch as she thought she might be after everything that had happened, unless, of course, her mind didn't register a pregnant witch as a threat, but still. Today might actually be considered progress.

Draco replaced the three books he had removed from the shelves and began to wander the library. For years, had he ever not known where to turn when he was feeling frustrated or lost, all he had to do was walk through the rows aimlessly until a book stood out to him.

Whether it was that the library was sentient, he subconsciously knew what he needed and made for the proper section, or that the "intuition" his grandmother assured him was normal for their family was actually real, the act of seeking a book had never failed him.

Something whizzed right over the top of his head, far more quickly than he was comfortable with. Draco drew his wand and was on his guard immediately when he saw another projectile a few shelves to his left emerge from the shelves.

He was startled to find it was, in fact, a book. This one was moved far more slowly than its fellow, and Draco decided that following the thick tome might just be the most exciting thing he had done all week.

The book floated through the air ahead of him and made a bee-line for the back of the library. It was entirely possible that the library was simply re-organizing itself, but it typically waited until night to do so…no, this was something more.

He passed the final row of books and found himself face to face with Study Room #9. Inside was Hermione Granger with the curled up form of Astoria Greengrass pressed against her. If Draco wasn't mistaken, the pregnant witch appeared to be napping.

In the single second of time between Hermione looking at the text in her hands, and flicking her eyes up to him, Draco imagined roughly fifty different scenarios that would immediately play out but three stuck out in his mind.

The worst: Hermione jumping up and screaming at him for sneaking up on her and jostling Astoria awake and causing a massive scene that would surely cause Pince to ban him from stepping foot inside the room again.

Less awful but not good: Hermione sending a barrage of hexes that would send him straight into the shelves at his back and refusing to work with Astoria from that point on.

Better, but less likely than the former: Hermione slamming the door shut with her wand.

But out of everything that could have happened, Draco hadn't expected her to simply freeze. She didn't look terrified. She didn't look mad. She didn't look…anything.

"I— sorry, I was reading and then the book—"

"You followed a floating book through the library?"

Draco was so shocked she had spoken to him that he stuttered again, "I— yes."

"What made you think it wasn't a cursed book meant to lure you to your death?"

Draco didn't know whether to laugh or not, considering that may well have crossed her mind a time or two for it to burst so readily from her lips.

"Well, all things considered, that might not be the worst thing to happen to me all year."

He immediately regretted his choice of words and was surprised to see the corner of her lips quirk ever so slightly as she battled a smile.

"Careful, there's another month, yet."

Draco's stomach dropped at what was quite likely a threat. Though, the moment she said it, Hermione frowned and looked down at the sleeping Astoria.

"I— do you think we can ta—"

"No," Hermione cut him off firmly. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to."

"Then what do we do?"

She studied him with softer eyes than she had before and frowned in thought. "I propose a truce of sorts. We work together for Astoria's sake and nothing more. We stay on task."

Draco nodded quickly in agreement— it was far more than he had ever allowed himself to hope for.

Hermione roused Astoria for dinner and was pleased to note that Draco had either already eaten by the time they arrived, or was dining on his own elsewhere. Either way, it was better than having to see his face again.

She felt slightly guilty at the notion— obviously, he had every right to eat food in the Great Hall…but she had every right to feel comfortable. She had every right to need space after the unexpected meeting.

Mulling over the incident while she finished off a small slice of baklava— a delicious delicacy the house-elves produced only around the holiday season— Hermione was able to process the interaction. The way she handled herself was something she was feeling a little proud of, actually. The fact that she hadn't wanted to harm him and also hadn't woken Astoria was a sign that she was making progress in terms of her triggers.

Hermione left the Great Hall and made her way to her chambers in a much lighter mood than she had upon entering it. Sure, she was tired after such a rollercoaster of a day, but somehow better than before. Perhaps having pushed at her boundaries a little helped her to reevaluate how far she had come.

She was surprised to find an unopened scroll on her bed, however, and her cautious nature took over once more. She leaned against one of the stone walls in her chambers and began to count her breaths, extending the time in between them to bring her pulse back into a mostly-normal range.

When Hermione felt calm enough to proceed, she took a seat on the bed and noticed a small piece of parchment next to it.

Owl came while Mitsy was doing cleanings for Miss Mia and made such racket, Mitsy had no choice but to allow her in.

Apparently, Ophelia had taken it upon herself to ensure the letter was delivered promptly. Hands trembling, Hermione broke the seal and sighed with relief as the parchment glowed before unraveling. The charm was one that Luna had perfected after Mia's insistence that their messages me protected, so it was safe to assume her friend was the sender.

M,

I will indeed be staying another night in Muggle London. I had no idea how truly large and complex the shopping centers were and might have gotten a little lost, a little distracted, and a little explorative.

With my return to shopping tomorrow, is there anything else you and our friend need added to the list?

L

Hermione grinned at the thought of Luna running around London and could easily see how the ever-curious half-fae could easily find the city interesting.

She jotted down a quick reply with a list of films or television series she might want picked up if they could be found, along with a few suggestions should the girl wish to do some sight-seeing.

It was only when the letter was finished that Ophelia made her presence known by hopping onto Hermione's bed.

"Merlin's beard!"

The owl looked at her balefully, as if to convey it wasn't her fault Hermione hadn't been as observant as usual.

"Yes, yes," the girl muttered and walked over to her desk where she knew she could find Ophelia's treats. She grabbed a few and rejoined the owl on her bed to feed them to her. "Have you had any troubles in the Owlery lately?"

Ophelia seemed to understand her question, as she always did, and shook her head in the negative.

"Good. I know it hasn't been easy for you to go back smelling like me." Hermione heaved a sigh and settled back into her bedding. "It isn't your fault they're afraid of me now."

More than once upon her return to classes, Hermione had snuck out of her chambers and ran to the Owlery to send panicked letters to her friends. But the moment she got to the open-aired resting chamber, she would fall apart, her keening wails sending each and every one of them away from the tower.

Eventually, they began to take flight prematurely, the moment they heard her footsteps, it would seem, for they had nearly all cleared out by the time she arrived, rolled parchment clutched in her hand.

Her overwhelm, her panic, her pain, had cost her the trust of the animals, and the fact Ophelia hadn't abandoned her since socializing with the other owls was not lost on Hermione. Especially when Hermione still woke up screaming or ready to attack if the bird startled her awake in the night.

No, Ophelia had a job to do, and she was damn well going to do it.

"You really are wonderful, you know that?"

Draco woke to find himself laying in sweat-drenched bedsheets and after taking a few moments to catch his breath and orient himself to his private chambers, he removed himself from his bed. He had long since avoided covering his body in any way, simply due to the way his legs and arms would become tangled and increase his panic.

How he managed to actually sweat every night, even without coverings, in the cold castle was beyond him.

With a wave of his wand, the sheets were dried and freshened, but the thought of taking an actual shower to clean himself was too appealing. Thankfully, a quick tempus check revealed it was reasonably near enough to his usual waking time and he allowed himself the luxury of cool water to spray down upon his overheated flesh.

Draco was set on autopilot as he moved through his showering routine, washing his hair and face in the colder temperatures, before cleaning his body in warmer water. He always finished with the tap so close to the maximum heat that it nearly scalded him. It was, however, the only thing that helped ease some of the tension that he held in his body from the moment he woke until the moment he fell asleep at night. If he was lucky.

He let the water pelt against his back, lashing areas of raised, scarred flesh with hot strikes. That slight pain against his healed wounds was the first thing that, after everything, reminded him he was still alive. And not for the first time, he wondered if Hermione had to do the same with the marks on her arm caused by the very same blade.

That his thoughts could still drift to her, could still make his heart flutter, could still bring a surge of warmth— that had nothing to do with the shower— to his broken body was nothing short of amazing.

His breath caught in his throat as flashes of the day before washed over his mind. She hadn't killed him, and that was a start. It was better than he deserved for how little he had been able to help her. When all he could do was make himself watch.

Shuddering at the memory, he turned off the taps and leaned his arms against the wall of his shower to calm himself back down. He gulped down the fear, the shame, the agony that was always trying to creep back in.

Hermione woke with such a jolt of terror, she was sure she had actually been struck by lightning for a moment. She jumped from her bed and darted to her desk. There, in a charmed box, lay a vial. With shaking hands, she freed it from under the sentimental trinkets the small chest contained. In a few seconds, the vial was dumped unceremoniously into a stone bowl.

Hermione stared down into her Pensieve. It was holding a memory. The memory.

Early on in her recovery, Hermione's nightmares were relatively straightforward: she was either running, never able to stop for even a breath with Harry and Ron. Other times, her dreams were of Bellatrix torturing her with both wand and knife.

After three weeks of these dreams, and turning down Dreamless Sleep Potions every single night of them, the nightmares finally changed.

Hermione was being tortured, just as she was before, but instead of looking at Bellatrix for most of the nightmare, she watched Draco. Some nights he laughed, some he taunted her, some his face vanished entirely, was nothing but a lump of flesh, and in others yet it grotesque and misshapen, elongated and stretched away from his skull like something out of Muggle horror movies.

Hermione would have no other option but to watch the memory to remind herself what really happened.

She watched it in the early morning hours after waking from twisted nightmares. She watched it every time one of those scenarios played out in her head during her waking hours. She watched it over and over, and let herself fall apart. She watched it until it didn't make her cry.

Until it didn't make her feel anything other than sad for the memory Hermione laying on the floor.

And that's when Hermione became Mia.

It wasn't a dissociative thing, but every time she heard her name, she flinched at the sound, remembering the way Draco had been demanded to identify herself and Harry.

"Well, is she or isn't she Hermione Granger?!"

'I…I can't be sure.'

"You can't be sure? You can't be sure if she's the filthy little mudblood or not? Is she Hermione Granger?!"

The way the voice screamed her name into the boy's face made her tremble and shudder for him, for the pain it promised he would be subjected to later for failing to answer.

And so, between rounds of facial-musical-chairs and the way her name sounded in that foul mouth, "Hermione" was ruined for her. She could no longer hear it without hearing that voice, without imagining what would happen to Draco at the hands of that voice.

The swirling silver, vapor-like fluid always reminded her of liquid mercury used in older Muggle thermometers, and the instinct to pull away was a strong one. Still, Hermione plunged her face into the Pensieve and let the memory claim her for the first time in weeks.

All she did was watch Draco. He sat on the couch, back straight, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on her, no expression on his face.

For months, Hermione was convinced he simply hadn't cared. That given the atrocities he had witnessed, seeing his classmate and the ease with which he mercilessly bullied others, perhaps watching Hermione, bloodied and writhing on the floor of his family home was simply nothing special.

This time, her eyes didn't leave him. She moved closer and closer, until finally, she was no more than a foot away from the Draco of her memory. He didn't move at all. Not a single twitch. He didn't even blink to let his tears fall.

It hit Hermione like a million stunning spells and caused her to fall back onto her bedroom floor. She scooted away from the memory, horrified by what she had discovered.

You can't scream, you can't help, you can't cry when you're petrified.

By never taking his eyes from her, the one thing he could control if he had so wished, Draco Malfoy had done his best to make sure she knew she wasn't alone.