Part I

Natural and Automatic

-1 September 1998, Tuesday-

Draco scrutinized the long, scarlet, steam engine in front of him, debating whether to board it. He'd been grappling with the decision all summer, and at the last minute that morning he had thought it best to come, but once again he was doubting himself. Just as he had presumed, he was the least welcome person on the platform- the disapproving stares from students and parents alike told him that. The alternative, however, was an adjoining cell in Azkaban with his father, surrounded by dementors and other war criminals.

It had been nearly four months since the the Battle of Hogwarts, and less than three since his family had been put on trial for their part in it; and his allegiance to the Dark Lord, though found to be mostly compulsory, was not merely forgotten about due to his juvenility. He was granted instead what he was told muggles referred to as "community service", and the very next day he was sent to live in a tent on the Hogwarts grounds to help rebuild the castle. It was only the first part of his sentence, the second being that he would have to complete his final year of study, and the third being a return to restoration efforts for another five years. Much too lenient of a sentence, if you had asked his opinion, but he was grateful nonetheless.

Draco stepped onto the last carriage and headed to the furthest compartment, hoping it would keep him from being noticed during the trip, but it and every other one he had passed was already taken. He said nothing as he glanced at each compartment's occupants just long enough for them to either sneer, glare, or turn pale at the sight of him, followed by low whispers.

He finally settled on a booth closer to the center of the train and set his things down, plopping himself next to the window and sighing heavily. He took a look at his wristwatch and saw that there was still another twenty minutes before the train would even leave the station. His morning had already felt like a lifetime and now there was a seven-hour journey ahead of him, and then a whole nine months of school. Maybe Azkaban wouldn't have been so terrible, he thought.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the compartment door opening abruptly, and his heart stopped at the sight of the one person he wasn't sure he wanted to see. As his and Hermione Granger's eyes met they seemed to stay fixed on each other, as if not sure what to think. She looked the same, though that shouldn't have been a surprise as it had only been four months since they'd last seen each other- at least in person. He'd lost count of how many times he'd seen her in his sleep over the past summer.

The dreams had presented slowly, only twice a week at the start, but they had become more frequent as of late and were nearly nightly occurrences. For a fortnight it had only been dreams connected to the one where he was on a boat, but then there came others, each one starring him and a woman who bore more than just a striking resemblance to the one currently staring at him. They weren't merely acquaintances either, they were always lovers, in fact he was positive they were husband and wife. This caused him the most conflict, for while he was dreaming he felt everything these versions of him did for her: the joy, the longing, the lust, the love. It was hard to reconcile after harboring nothing but ill will toward her the past seven years.

Even now, with her standing right before him, he was torn between getting up and shutting the compartment door in her face, or simply smiling at her like a fool and asking to join him.

"Is it free 'Mione?" The voice of none other than Ron Weasley spoke from behind her, and it worked in tearing their gaze away from each other. Draco instead brought his focus to the window, suddenly wishing he were still outside and not in a train compartment that suddenly felt much too hot.

"Yeah, it's getting a little crowded back here," he heard Harry Potter chime in.

"No, this one's occupied." Hermione said, closing the sliding door shut, and a feeling Draco could only describe as disappointment and loss came over him.

He groaned angrily, holding his headin his hands. Why am I feeling this way? It plagued him more than he wanted to admit, and once again he wondered if Hogwarts over Azkaban had been the correct choice.

"You alright there, mate?"

Blaise Zabini had entered, followed by Pansy Parkinson, and the Greengrass sisters, Daphne and Astoria. "I heard Granger say that you were in here."

"I'm fine." Draco lied as he rubbed his temples. Even hearing her name was causing a reaction in him where he suddenly had the urge to go find her, but he kept himself still.

Each of the new occupants settled into a seat, with Blaise next to him and the girls across. He looked up to see Astoria Greengrass smiling at him. "Hello, Draco," she said.

He had never had much interaction with her since she was two years below them in school, and this was probably the first time she had actually spoken to him. She was pretty, with dark hair and features that contrasted with those of her blonde older sister.

"Hi," he replied curtly before returning to staring out the window. The train slowly began to move, and the people outside on the platform started waving goodbye, their bodies becoming blurrier as it picked up speed. Soon they were out of the station and traversing the countryside.

Only seven hours and nine months to go, Draco thought, slinking into his seat and closing his eyes to block out the world.

Excitement was in the air when the train reached Hogsmeade Station, and the students hurriedly disembarked. Draco decidedly took his time, even though he had been ready to be off the train the moment he got on it. The less people saw of him the better, and if he was lucky he'd even get a carriage all to himself.

He was surprised to see Astoria waiting for him on the platform, and even looked behind him to see if Daphne was still on the train and he hadn't noticed.

"The three of them went up ahead," Astoria explained, her face reddening slightly. "I told them I'd wait for you."

"Er, thanks," Draco said, trying not to show his discomfort with what her actions insinuated. They walked silently to the carriages, and Draco's stomach fell slightly as he noticed for the first time the creatures that were pulling them. He knew of thestrals, but of course had never seen one. Their skeletal forms made his spine tingle with unease.

"I suppose you can see them now?" Astoria asked, and Draco gave a short nod before helping her into the carriage and then getting in himself, sitting across from her as they had done on the train.

"I think its brave of you to be coming back here after everything," she spoke up again only a couple minutes after the ride had begun. "I don't think I'd be able to do it."

"It's not bravery," Draco said, not looking at her. "It's this or a cell next to my father."

"Still… it can't be easy, and I just wanted you to know that you still have friends. Blaise, Daphne, Pansy…me. We're all here for you."

"You hardly know me," Draco scoffed.

"But I want to," she said, her voice softened enough that she may have not meant for him to hear.

Thankfully, the carriage had just stopped in front of the castle, for Draco had no response to her forwardness. "We're here," he simply said, quickly stepping out onto the cobblestones beneath him. He took in a deep breath of air and started on his way, not caring how far Astoria was behind him.

Almost all of the students had already gone inside, and Draco picked up his pace, not wanting everyone to already be seated once he walked in, for that would surely bring their attention to him. He was making his way up the front steps when he noticed a small folded card lying on the ground, a dusty footprint marring the calligraphy on it. He bent down to pick it up, and against his better judgment read its contents.

Our Dearest Daughter,

Good luck on your final year of school. We know you'll do well and are very proud of you.

Love,

Mum and Dad

"I believe that's mine."

A familiar voice came from above him, and he looked up to see Hermione standing there with her hand outstretched. Her face wasn't turned away, but her eyes were focusing anywhere but on him. Closing the card he handed it to her, and as she took hold of it their fingers brushed against each other.

Draco felt as if a ripple of electricity had gone through him, and he jerked away, nearly stumbling down the steps behind him.

Hermione quickly turned back towards the castle doors and went inside. Draco wasn't sure if he had just imagined it, but he swore that when they had touched she had jerked away, too.

Blaise had saved a seat for Draco at the Slytherin table along with one for Astoria, who showed up as soon as he did and sat herself next to him. He tried to put some space between them, but she seemed to scoot closer any time he did.

He did his best to ignore the whispers that had followed him, coupled with the peering eyes, and was grateful when Professor McGonagall stood to start the feast, bringing all attention to herself. He took the opportunity to glance over at the Gryffindor table where Hermione was sandwiched between Ron and Harry. His hand was still tingling from when they had touched. He flexed it to rid himself of the feeling, and he again wondered if it was only in his mind that she had reacted in kind.

McGongall finished, and the room was soon filled with the noises of people eating and chattering away, though Draco really only joined in on the former. Astoria tried to engage him in conversation, but after his first couple of answers made no room for continuation she gave up.

Finally, the tables were cleared, and Professor McGonagall once again stood to give the usual closing remarks. Draco anticipated being able to lie down in his usual four-poster bed in the dungeons and sleep away the rest of the night.

"As you have noticed," McGonagall said. "There are not as many of us this year as there has been previously; however, we have an extra class of students that, due to extenuating circumstances, were not able to complete their seventh year of Hogwarts as planned and are joining us again. Myself and the rest of the faculty agreed that these eighth year students, as they will be called, should have a space of their own as to not cause changes to the house quarters that already exist. Therefore, I now ask that all other years retire to their usual houses, and I will need the eighth years to remain so they can follow me to their new quarters."

There was enthusiastic murmuring as the younger students stood up from their seats and vacated the room.

"So we won't be staying in the dungeons anymore?" Pansy asked. "We'll have to share a living space with Gryffindors?"

"That's what McGonagall said Pans, and with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs too," Blaise answered as if speaking to a toddler. " I wonder where it is? Hopefully somewhere central so it'll be closer to everything. What do you think Draco?"

"I think McGonagall forgot to take her pills this morning," Draco drawled. The new living arrangements were certainly not going to make this year any easier for him.

Apparently he wasn't the only who thought it wasn't a grand idea, for he could hear Ron Weasley huffing over at the Gryffindor table.

"This is outrageous," Ron said. "How do they expect us to be able to live together with Slytherins?"

"It'll be fine, Ron," Harry said, though he didn't look so positive.

"I'm sure we'll make it work," Hermione added. "And if it doesn't McGonagall will change it. We have to at least try."

It had yet to occur to Draco that this meant he'd be closer to Hermione than ever before; the idea filled him simultaneously with excitement and apprehension.

Soon there was only about twenty of them left in the hall, with the Slytherins having the least amount in their number. Only four of us have returned, he thought sadly, remembering the friend he had lost and the ones who didn't want to come back.

"I know this is odd for you," McGonagall said as she led them away. "But we're hoping that your age and maturity will keep this from being a disaster."

She took them to the fourth floor and stopped in front of a large painting of what looked like nine men walking in a line through a countryside, though one man looked like an elf, another a dwarf, and four of them were much shorter than the others. The leader had a tall pointed hat and a long grey beard, and was clearly a wizard.

"The password is 'tinu galad'." The painting slid up the wall, revealing the entrance to their new common room. It was fairly large, with four couches and two fireplaces, along with four tables for them to do any work. There were four hallways, each with a floor runner colored to match their corresponding houses. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw corridors were to the right and left, while the Gryffindor and Slytherins's were next to each other between the fireplaces.

"I'll leave you to it then," McGonagall said with a hopeful smile, and she went back through the entrance.

The mixed group was silent as they took in their surroundings and each other, unsure of their next actions.

"Well," Seamus Finnigan said, clapping his hands together. "Shall we play a game to get to know each other?"

The Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws collectively groaned, while Draco heard Pansy scoff. Everyone began heading their separate directions, and those on friendly terms bid each other goodnight. Draco watched as Hermione followed her fellow Gryffindors down their hall, before joining Blaise down theirs.

He was exhausted, and completely ready to let sleep take him the moment he hit his covers.

The night had other plans for him.

-2 September 1998, Wednesday-

They were sitting in the meadow next to her family's house, enjoying the day surrounded by fresh air and fragrant flowers. His head was resting in her lap, and she was softly stroking his hair, humming as she did so. It was peaceful, something they didn't get to experience very much these days. The war still raged on around them, but if they were lucky it would be over soon. His commander of the militia had instructed everyone to go home and rest before they made their way to the next battle, wanting them to have what could possibly be their final moments with their loved ones.

"What do you think about finally moving out of your parents house once this blasted war is over?" He asked her. "I could build a home just the way you like."

"I'd like two levels and a spiral staircase," she answered with a grin. "And a turret if you can manage it."

"I think I can manage four turrets."

Their conversation was halted by sound of guns firing, and he shot up to look around.

"What was that?" Lydia asked, also frantically searching for the source.

"Gun shots, get down!" He yelled as the noise got closer, pushing her to the ground. "We need to get out of here. On my word, we need to run to the tree line!"

He waited until there was the silence of men reloading their muskets, and then yelled "Go!" pulling Lydia up and holding onto her hand as he sprinted to the trees. They made it just on time before the shots sounded again.

"I think we'll be safe here," he said, taking a breath and seeing if anyone was coming at them.

"Henry..." Lydia gasped.

He turned to her and felt as if he had gone cold. Blood was seeping out through the fabric of her dress in the spot where her heart would be. She was leaning against a tree, but it was only a moment before she slumped to the ground.

Draco awoke, tangled in his comforter and bed sheets which were damp with sweat. He grabbed the small analog clock sitting on the bed stand next to him and groaned when he saw it only a quarter to four in the morning. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised though, since he'd been waking up at nearly the same time since his birthday. Extricating himself from his bed, he grabbed a fresh set of clothes and his towel before heading to the bathroom for a shower.

This hadn't been a new dream, but it was the first time it had gotten to that point. In the previous ones he had experienced Henry and Lydia meeting and falling in love, and then getting married and making plans to start a family. It hadn't mattered though; she still perished at the end, just like in the others.

He could count three different versions of dreams he was having. They were like three different novels he had to read through, except the chapters in each one were out of order, and he had to focus on the details to determine which plot belonged to which story. It was easy to spot when a new narrative emerged, for each began with the climax of Hermione's death, and then succeeding dreams would be what led to it. This most recent dream was the only iteration that was almost sequential, and he had hoped that when he did reach its conclusion it would be the two of them dying after growing old and grey together. That of course had been wishful thinking.

He actually enjoyed the dreams where it would be just he and Hermione (or whoever she was supposed to be) going about their daily lives- talking, laughing, loving. At the same time, these particular ones troubled him even more, because they solidified something he didn't want to admit: these weren't ordinary dreams. If he wanted, he could write them down and stitch them together, creating linear histories of these men who weren't him and these women who weren't Hermione. He was pretty sure most people didn't dream like this.

Fully awake with no hope of being able to fall back asleep, he ventured into the common room to make himself a cup of tea. As if fate were toying with him, there, sitting in one of the seats in the window, was Hermione. The room was fairly dark, the only light coming from the lone fireplace that had remained lit, but he knew it was her. She turned at the sounds of his footsteps, then quickly went back to staring outdoors.

Just go back to your room, Draco thought to himself. Just make the cup of tea and then go back.

Or you could stay, another voice said.

It was like the shoulder angel and devil he'd heard people reference, and Draco knew which one he'd always follow.

He made his way to the small kitchenette that had graciously been built into one of the corners and began to make his drink, all the while keeping his eyes on the task and nowhere else. He then took a seat on the couch that would have his back to her, so as to not be awkwardly facing her direction.

They stayed in their places till dawn, at which point Hermione got up and went back to her dorm without a glance, and Draco followed suit a minute later.

Draco was burying himself in his studies. He hadn't been much of a student before, but now it seemed to be the best way to occupy his time and steer clear of any socializing. He spent a lot of his time tucked away in a corner in the library where no one could see him, sans the occasional passerby. Once in a while he would notice Hermione walk passed, causing his heart to flutter, but she never looked his way.

They surprisingly came upon each other quite often. Even though there were twenty-three other people sharing their living space, he was sure he'd only seen some of them once or twice outside of class and evening meal times. But Hermione he saw multiple times a day just from walking down the halls.

They always avoided acknowledging each other though, especially at four in the morning, when they'd both be sitting awake in the common room. It was like clockwork: Draco would fall asleep, dream, wake up, and then head to the common room, where she would be sitting in the window. He would make his cup of tea and then sit in the same chair he had that first night, and then they'd both leave at the first sign of light.

There were moments where he almost got up the courage to ask her why she was there, but he never did. He feared it would cause her to find another place to be awake, and he didn't want her to. So he let it lie.

-19 September 1998, Saturday-

Apparently it was Hermione's nineteenth birthday. He knew this because a couple of house elves had appeared with a cake, some new tradition Hogwarts was trying out to be more accommodating. Her fellow Gryffindors had donned party hats and were spinning annoying noisemakers to celebrate, before breaking out into an offtune rendition of "Happy Birthday". She looked radiant and only slightly embarrassed as they sang to her, and then clapped joyously after she blew out the candles.

It had been decided that in the name of inter-house unity, each class year would have to participate in a monthly activity. Today would be the first one of nine throughout the year, and as Draco gathered with the rest of the eighth years onto the Quidditch pitch, very few looked excited for it. Smaller white boxes had been drawn onto the field, and Draco wondered what they would be getting into.

"Alrighty ladies and gents," Seamus Finnegan began too animatedly. He had volunteered to be the eighth year representative, along with Hannah Abbot of Hufflepuff. "Welcome to our first ever Inter-house Mixer!"

"Today we're going to be engaging in a game we've named Wandpaint war," Hannah said, pulling her wand out of her pocket. She went on to explain that they'd be broken up into teams and assigned a side of the pitch; they'd then have to try and hit the other team with splotches of paint, while attempting to deflect any that would be coming their way. If you were hit, you were out of the game, and the last team standing would be the winner and receive some sort of prize at the end.

Draco was designated to the 'violet' team with Parvati Patil and Dean Thomas of Gryffindor, Su Li of Ravenclaw, and Justin Finch-Fletchley and Zacharias Smith of Hufflepuff. They all reluctantly shook hands, as was instructed by Seamus, before being guided to the box they'd be occupying. Draco looked over to the team they'd be facing and noticed that Hermione wasn't on it. He found her on the opposite side of the field in a group with Pansy.

"On my count of three we'll begin," Seamus said, and everybody readied their wands. "One, two, three!"

Draco didn't know why he'd decided to be a teamplayer and go along with the game. He could've simply let someone from the opposing team hit him and he would've been free to stand around until the next battle. Maybe it was because he actually thought it could fun, or maybe there was a part of him that wanted to show his peers he wasn't the disagreeable Slytherin they saw him as, but he found himself aiming his wand and shooting bursts of color across the line that separated them and blocking any that were heading towards him.

He was able to successfully knock out Blaise, and Padma Patil, and he managed to dodge a few that flew at him, though he couldn't tell who they'd originated from. There was only him and Zacharias left on their side, and Seamus and Susan Bones remaining from the other team, when he was unfortunately struck in the chest with a bright orange glob, marking him as out. Luckily, Zacharias struck Susan Bones with a splat of purple, and was able to duck under the paint Seamus had sent before also getting him. There were cheers from the others in Draco's group as they realized their team had won and would be facing the winner of the other battle that was still going on on the other side of the pitch.

There were only two people left on each team, but it soon dwindled down to one each, and then Lisa Turpin claimed the victory for the 'cerulean' team.

"We will now have our final match between Violet and Cerulean!" Hannah announced, having the teams once again gather into adjacent boxes. Draco's stomache gave a jolt as he realized Hermione was a part of the Cerulean team, and he tried not to look at her.

Seamus counted off again, and the war began. Draco was immediately being assaulted by no less than two shots of paint, which he was able to dodge and hurl back some of his own. One met its mark on Neville Longbottom, and another on Michael Corner, bringing their ranks down to four, but someone had taken out Parvati and Justin, making them even. Su Li was the next to go, followed by Pansy on their end; then in quick succession fellow Violet members Zacharias and Dean were struck, along with Hannah and Wayne Hopkins of Cerulean.

There were only two players left in play: Draco and Hermione.

They both stopped, just leveling each other with their wands raised. At least one of them should've been taking the opportunity to cast color onto their opponent, but Draco couldn't seem to think. What did come to his mind was the memory of seeing deep red spread across her top while all other color left her body. He knew it wouldn't look the same if her were to hit her with purple paint from his wand, but it still gave him pause.

He watched her blink, and then shout "Cerufarbe!" coating his shirt in blue.

-23 September 1998, Tuesday-

Draco swirled his cereal around the milk in his bowl, contemplating skipping classes that day. The dream he'd had the night before had been grim: his love beheaded in an uprising against nobility. The scene hadn't left his mind since he woke up, and when he saw Hermione in the common room it took everything in his power not to go to her and make sure her head was firmly attached to her body.

Now he'd have to see her again in combined Charms, and as much as trying to get some dreamless sleep appealed to him, he knew missing one of Flitwick's lessons wasn't a good idea.

"I think you're done with that slush, Draco," Blaise chuckled, taking the bowl away from his friend. "Let's go, we only have five minutes."

They made it with only a minute to spare, though they weren't the last ones to enter. Harry and Ron sprinted in behind them, and Draco noticed Hermione scowl at their near tardiness. He made his way to his third row seat next to Astoria Greengrass, who on their first day of class had confidently stated that she had saved him a spot. Not wanting to embarrass her he resigned himself to the arrangement, even though it brought him right across the aisle from Hermione.

Professor Flitwick stood on the stool behind his desk, and began. "Today we will be taking upon us the fun task of making portkeys!" He announced. "Now first, you'll need your objects, so if one person from each pair would come and select two things from this box we can get started.

"I'll go get them," Astoria offered, and Draco nodded at her. She came back with some clear plastic muggle contraption with water in it and a dragon paper weight, which she set down in front of him. He looked over at Hermione and Ron, the latter of whom was flipping through a slim paper book.

"It's called a notebook, Ron," Hermione giggled. "It's not that exciting, it's just lined paper for you to write in."

"So, muggles don't have scrolls?" The redhead said in awe.

"Only if they want to be fancy," Hermione continued to giggle.

What does she see in this guy? Draco thought. He should be wearing a dunce cap.

"Alright," Flitwick started again. "If you turn to page forty-two in your texts you will find the correct wand movement and incantation for this charm. This charm is not for a lazy hand, it requires precise movement, pausing at the correct moment, and saying the incantation at the proper times. Observe:"

He brought their attention to the women's shoe he had on his desk. He swung his wand in front of him and held it at chest level, pointing it at the shoe, before quickly moving it up and then back down in a curved motion to his right, as if making the shape of a sail. He paused for a split second and then did a spiral back to the center, ending with a jabbing move. At each step he had said one part from the charm phrase, 'Ut me hinc'. The shoe glowed gold for a moment and then went back to normal, as if nothing had happened to it.

"Now, it is not yet a complete portkey for it hasn't been told where it has to go. For that you need a potion containing the essence of the destination. In your next potions lesson you will learn how to make this concoction yourself, however in the meantime, Professor Slughorn has already provided a couple of cauldrons containing the essence of the classroom next door. You will charm your objects, carefully dip them in the potion, and cover them in one of these cloths in order to return to your seat and not be transported yet. On my instruction you will uncover your portkey and touch it, and if you have charmed it correctly you will be taken away to the adjacent room and then you will walk back to this one. Are there any questions?" No one raised their hands, so he waved them on to begin.

Draco watched as Hermione expertly charmed the music box she had, its brilliant golden glow shining onto part of his desk. It took him two tries for the same thing to happen to his dragon.

"I think I'm doing something wrong," Astoria sighed next to him. she attempted the charm again and he caught her making her down line too straight.

"It needs to be curved," he said, thinking nothing of it as he took her hand in his to show her the correct motion. It was only when he saw her face go red that he quickly let go. He turned to look away from her just in time to lock eyes with Hermione, who it appeared had been watching his instruction. She blinked and then hurriedly grabbed her music box to bring it to be dipped.

"Thank you," Astoria said, touching his arm.

They both went up to Flitwick's desk to dip their portkeys, and carefully covered them with the cloths before returning to their seats. It was only a couple of more minutes before everyone was ready for their transportation.

"We'll start with the students in the front row and then make our way to the back. If you would please stand," he gestured to the first set of students. They did so and then on his mark removed the cloths over their objects before pressing their fingers to them. There was a collective gasp as their classmates disappeared with a flash of light. Unfortunately, Neville Longbottom and another poor bloke remained.

"Well we'll see where you two went wrong once everybody else has gone," Flitwick said. He then instructed the second row to use their portkeys, followed by the third row.

Draco stood and lifted the cloth off the paper weight and then brought a couple of his fingers to it. He was immediately overcome with uncomfortable sensation of flying. It lasted merely a second before his feet touched ground again in a room with his fellow classmates. There was a pop next to him, and Hermione appeared. She looked disoriented and very off balance, her body swaying in his direction. He held out his arms and caught her before she could hit the floor.

Just like when they had brushed against each other that day on the steps, it felt like a current passed through him, and he abruptly loosened his grip, dropping her. She winced, but didn't make any other sounds or agitated remarks like he might've expected her to.

"You alright 'Mione?" Ron said, lifting her up and sending Draco a glare. "I see you didn't learn any chivalry over the summer Malfoy."

He was about to retort when he felt a hand on his chest, and turned to see Astoria lightly shaking her head.

"I'm fine, Ron," Hermione said also putting her hand to his chest to stop him from remarking further.

Draco clenched his fist, wanting to punch Ron in the face, but thought better of it. Astoria was right, he didn't need that kind of attention.

"Come on Draco," she said, taking his arm. "We should get back to Flitwick's room."

He obliged and headed back with her, his body still tingling and his heart racing.

-24 September 1998, Wednesday-

Hermione wasn't there in the common room that night.

-28 September 1998, Monday-

He was in a manor eating breakfast, a full spread set before him on the table. His beloved, Clara, was sat perpendicular to him as always. He never understood how in other households the lord and lady would sit at opposite ends from each other, though he supposed not many of them were in love like he and Clara were.

"Did you manage to get any sleep last night?" He asked her. She had awoken coughing, and it seemed as if it would never cease, but he eventually fell back asleep which means it must have stopped at some point.

"A little bit," Clara answered quietly in between the small sips of tea she was taking. She didn't eat much these days, and it was starting to show. Her skin, fair enough on its own, was getting more gray and sallow as the days passed. His heart sunk as he realized she most likely wouldn't finish the summer.

The consumption had entered their manor naught but three or four months ago, a maid passing it on from a visit to her family. He luckily had been spared, but his darling Clara had caught it swiftly and acutely. The disease took with it their first child, which had been growing in her womb for only a couple of months, and the loss sunk Clara into a depression that she was still trying to climb out of. He did his best to lift her spirits and tend to her every way he could, but she had always been an independent spirit who wanted to conquer things on her own.

"I thought it would be nice if we took a walk through the park this afternoon," he said, wrapping her hand in his.

"I think that would be wonde-" she began to say, but she was cut off by another round of coughing, more uncontrollable than any he'd witnessed before. She grasped onto his hand and the edge of the table, and he watched in horror as each time she heaved a large sputum of blood would emerge, covering her plate in front of her, and dribbling down her front. She looked at him wide eyed in fear as she reached out and clasped onto his shirt.

He called loudly for someone to come help him as she began to slip from her hold on him, her hands too weak. She sought out the table to steady herself, but only managed to pull the table cloth and all the china and cutlery to the floor with her, causing a loud clatter that echoed through the room. One of the manservants arrived and helped him lay her onto her side, wanting to keep her from choking to death. The blood from her mouth spilled over and to the floor, already slick with what she had spat out before.

"Fetch the doctor, now!" He ordered.

But it was too late. She ceased coughing, and convulsing, and her eyes remained open. She was gone.

"No," he said to himself as he touched her pallid face, shaking his head. "No!"

Draco awoke, his breath heavy, and his heart beating in rapid spasms. He ran to the bathroom to run his head under the faucet, allowing the cold water to calm his mind. This dream had been different than the others; never before had he seen her die in such a drawn out, excruciating way.

Her blood had been everywhere. All over her, all over him, and all over the floor. A deep red covered everything, and it was hers.

Draco dry heaved into the sink and then let the water pour over him some more.

Feeling less shaken and like he could breathe again, he went out to the common room, hoping, that she would be there. It had been nearly a week since the last time she'd come, but he hoped. He knew the dream wasn't real, but he still needed to see her in person. It was probably the only way to ease his nerves at the moment.

His breath hitched as he saw her there in her usual spot, gazing out the window, but when she turned to look at him she didn't quickly turn back as she had so many times before. Instead, their eyes met and stayed.

He could tell she'd been crying by the way the moonlight reflected her tears, and he could see her body slightly shivering; and in that moment he knew. They were there for the same reason and they had been since the beginning.

"This is the seventh time," Hermione said turning away to look out the window, a slight crack in her voice.

"The seventh time for what?" Draco said softly, though he knew full well the answer.

"That you've seen me die, Draco."

It was strange hearing her say it out loud, acknowledging this connection they had. Confirming it.

"It must be a relief," she continued. "Knowing that every time you'll be the one that lives. Probably less painful too."

Draco heard her sniff and cautiously made his way over to her. The window seat wasn't too large, and she had her legs propped up on it close to her chest, but he sat in the empty space as best he could and leaned against the glass.

Until now it hadn't occurred to him that her experience would feel just as tangible as his; even when he began to have a hunch that they were having the same dreams it hadn't entered his mind. He realized now that what she went through probably felt ten times worse than what he did.

"It's a different sort of pain," he said. "More emotional than physical. They may be just dreams, but when I'm in them, every action, thought, and sense is real. Especially when it comes to you or whatever it is you represent."

Draco waited for her to say something again, but after she was silent for a couple minutes, save for the sniffles she would make every once in a while, he decided to ask the question that had niggling at him since he got in the room.

"How did you know I was having them too?"

Hermione gave a small laugh and then sniffed again. "We've been waking up at the exact same time ever since our first night here, Draco. Did you really think I was just having trouble sleeping?"

"Well, no. I did have my suspicions. I just thought maybe there had been a definitive give away."

She surprised him by grabbing his hand and placing their palms together. Just like when they had touched on the steps their first day back, he felt as if a surge of electricity had slid through him. He would've jerked away as he had done before, but their fingers were intertwined and Hermione had a strong hold on him, as if she knew what he would have done. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing in deeply, letting the tingling he could feel coursing through his own body take over hers. He did the same.

It was an odd sensation, but it triggered the same thoughts and emotions he felt when he was dreaming, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and consume her.

Hermione let go of his hand, and he opened his eyes. He gulped as he remembered what he had had just been thinking of doing a second ago.

"That's how it felt when you brushed my hand as you handed me the note from my parents. When you showed up that night... that's when I knew I wasn't alone."

"Any idea what it means?"

"None, whatsoever," she huffed lightly. "I've probably read all the books regarding dreams there are in the library, but there's not much about people who've shared dreams. What about you?"

"For a while I thought it was because of what happened at the manor. You nearly died at the hands of my aunt, and since I did nothing, my penance was to dream of you and watch you die. I thought maybe I was supposed to try and save you."

"I don't think saving me is an option," Hermione said, a haunted look in her eyes.

"Maybe they'll just eventually go away."

"Possibly."

Draco could tell by her tone that she didn't believe that.

Having nothing more constructive to say to each other, they sat there on the cushioned bench in silence, until the sun began to peek from behind the lake, causing it to shimmer slightly. Even though the window was closed you could still hear the faint whistling of the birds awakening and singing to each other. Hermione simply stated that she was going back to her quarters, and Draco nodded and stood to do the same.

It seemed as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders, knowing that it hadn't all been one sided; though it was really only a step in the right direction. Neither of them knew why they were having these dreams, but maybe together they could figure it out.