You don't have to do this.

It was the refrain that had been bouncing around in Hermione's head for the past four days as she'd contemplated whether she could really stomach returning to Hogwarts after what had happened there only one week ago. This was on top of what she'd already been fielding in the aftermath of the war.

What a mess.

The part of her that was motivated by spite wanted to return to school just to prove a point. The stubborn part of her agreed. The traumatized part of her was terrified at the thought, while the valiant part of her insisted the only way she could move beyond this was to face her fears head-on. Begrudgingly, most parts of her psyche agreed with that.

It was the logical part of her that made the most compelling argument, though. Her parents had always emphasized the importance of earning an education, whether magical or Muggle. How could she possibly start adulthood properly without the credentials that proved she'd earned a fine magical education, and all without having to rely on her exalted status as a war hero? How could she possibly build a legacy her parents could be proud of, even if they never became aware of it?

The wizarding world was similar to the Muggle world in that way. OWLs, NEWTs, and other forms of standardized testing carried an immense amount of weight in magical society, and Hermione desperately wanted to make sure she gave herself the best possible chance of succeeding as an adult—without having to rely on her fame. She was so close after 7 years, and she didn't want to accept that a violent ambush would be the thing to derail her educational aspirations once and for all. It would mean hatred had won, and there was no way she could allow that to happen. Not if she had a choice.

Ultimately, it was this sense of conviction which had convinced her to not only return to Hogwarts, but also to speak with McGonagall about ensuring nothing untoward happened to Malfoy because of his role in the assault. Her suspicion that his position as Head Boy could also be in jeopardy was proven correct when she spoke with the Headmistress, and she was grateful Minerva had been willing to listen to what she had to say.

It wasn't that Hermione wanted to have to face Malfoy day after day in their quarters, where it had all began—the space she was supposed to feel safest next to her bedroom. She just thought it was rather like ripping the bandage off quickly as opposed to drawing it out pointlessly. Would she spend the rest of her life running from the forces that sought to destroy her, or would she turn around and face them the way she'd done every time when faced with the choice so far?

Was she so scared of the blond wizard that she'd allow his very presence to dictate how she proceeded in life? Would she always be controlled by her fear?

No.

The Headmistress had written to her yesterday to let her know that Malfoy had passed both contingency requirements upon returning to Hogwarts, and would remain Head Boy at Hogwarts. Hermione was relieved that her actions had measurably improved Malfoy's outcome, but a small part of her was still scared at the thought of being in the same room as him.

She knew it wasn't all that irrational of a fear. He had tortured her for Merlin's sake.

But...

But he hadn't been in control of his actions. He may as well have been Selwyn's and Mulciber's sock puppet for all the control Malfoy had over his behavior when he'd kidnapped and harmed her. Yet it had been his face hovering over her along with theirs, his hands which had cast some of the spells whose psychological stains remained even now.

When all was said and done, how could she really hold any of that against him, though?

Then again, how could she not?

She thought back to the argument she'd had with herself on the Hogwarts Express on their way to the castle. Only two weeks ago she'd quibbled about his trustworthiness and the likelihood that his kindness was a ruse. Yet except for the day he'd attacked her while under the Imperius, he'd done nothing to indicate his change of heart was anything but genuine.

Hermione just couldn't figure out why she was finding it so easy to let go of so much of her resentment towards him now after he'd spent so many years being a smarmy antagonistic git not just to her, but to the world at large.

When it came down to it, sometimes she was simply tired of taking the high road. She wished she were petty enough to rage at Malfoy, to take all her anger and helplessness out on him as punishment. She wished she could let those emotions consume her, wished she could want to hurt him like he'd hurt her. But she didn't have it in her to be so vindictive, didn't have the energy to let such destructive negativity fester within her when it was all she could do to keep herself afloat.

You really don't have to do this.

It was Sunday night, and she was just leaving her meeting with McGonagall upon returning to Hogwarts earlier in the evening. Their meeting had thankfully taken place during dinner time when most of the castle's inhabitants were occupied. Although she hadn't been expected to return until the next morning, she'd decided to give herself a little more time to adjust to being back at Hogwarts before being thrust back into her class schedule.

It would have been ambitious to say Hermione was in a good state of mind. She'd concealed the darkest of what was going through her head from everyone save the Mind Healer who'd been assigned to her case. Even then, she'd only met with Healer Donovan once so far. Still, she wasn't sure what she would have done without the support of the Mind Healer. Although Hermione had never been to therapy of any kind before, she was quickly able to find her rhythm with Healer Donovan, and had found it easy enough to confide in the older woman during the two hours they'd spent together. They would be meeting every week for at least the next few months on Tuesdays after Hermione's classes.

For now, a regimen of carefully dosed Dreamless Sleep potion had kept her somewhat sane during the hours when she'd huddled in Ginny's room in the Burrow, terrified of what the night might bring. She'd spent the rest of her time with Harry, Ron and a few of the other Weasleys reading, cooking, playing games, and crying in fits when the urge overtook her. Despite her well-founded fears, two out of her four nights had resulted in uninterrupted sleep, and only one of the nights had resulted in any nightmares containing Malfoy.

Not bad, all things considered, Hermione thought glumly.

But she couldn't rely on Dreamless Sleep for much longer before she'd need to take a break for a few days. Potion dependence was the last thing she needed on top of everything else right now. Healer Donovan and Madam Pomfrey would be keeping a close eye on her in this regard, she was sure of it.

She sighed and came to a stop in front of the portrait of a larger than life, fluffy kneazle that led into the Heads' quarters. As she stared up at the painted feline as it prowled around its mountainous habitat, she wondered how she would ever be able to get back to normal. The prospect of graduating suddenly seemed like such a faraway goal.

Suddenly, the painting of the magical creature preening before her sparked a reminder that sent horror and immense guilt flooding through her veins.

Crookshanks!

She'd been so distracted by the attack and by her recovery during the past few days that she'd completely forgotten about her beloved pet! She frantically murmured the password and rushed into the Heads' common room feeling like a terrible person only to abruptly stop short in surprise. As the portrait door swung shut behind her, she studied the scene before her with wide eyes, rendered speechless.

Malfoy was kneeling next to the nook that contained Crookshanks' food and water bowls, looking just as surprised as she felt. His right hand was extended in the process of filling one of the bowls with cat food, while his left hand was occupied rubbing said cat-kneazle's freely exposed belly as the feline appreciatively eyed the kibble Malfoy was pouring. He'd clearly been cooing at Crookshanks before she barged in.

Both wizard and pet froze at her entrance, and for a few moments, no one in the common room moved. At length, Malfoy finished pouring the rest of the cat food and then slowly stood to fully face Hermione. Seemingly at a loss for words, his gaze swung from her, then down to the creature now happily gorging on food, and then back to her again.

"He didn't go hungry," he said simply, a thousand emotions seeming to pass through his eyes before they disappeared beneath a poor attempt at a neutral expression.

Despite the avalanche of emotions that was also cascading through Hermione at their odd and sudden encounter, an overriding sense of relief allowed her to move her limbs and take a small step towards Malfoy and her oblivious pet.

Although she'd never known him to be a nervous talker, Malfoy fumbled with his next words, "When I found out what happened—on Sunday, when I was taken in... I asked McGonagall to make sure your cat was fed."

It took a few seconds for his words to catch up to her. She felt a rush of gratitude towards him in that moment, and it was hard to hold on to her fear and anxiety in the face of it. As tears of relief filled her eyes, she thought that perhaps she could set those negative feelings aside for just a moment to thank the gods that Malfoy had thought to look out for Crookshanks when she hadn't been able to. He was still a terrifying wizard in his own right, and she had good reason to be wary of him, but the consideration he'd shown through such a small yet important gesture was hard to ignore.

"Thank you," she choked out with tears beginning to stream down her face, "Sorry, I'm just so relieved to know he's okay. I feel terrible for having forgotten about him until just now. I don't know what I would do if I l-lost Crooks, too."

An unspoken question quickly formed and disappeared on his face before his expression settled into one of stolid determination.

"You don't need to apologize to me, Granger. For anything. Ever," he said quietly with an intense glint in his eyes.

He dragged his hand through his hair, and his gaze briefly lost focus before he zeroed in on her again, "In fact, I'm the one who should be begging for your forgiveness. All I seem good for lately are apologies, but... gods Granger, I'm so sorry."

Hermione nodded, wanting to respond but the words kept getting stuck in her throat, and she was unsure how best to express her feelings. She didn't even know what she was feeling.

After a few tries she responded tremulously, "I accept your apology. I really do... But I'm going to need s-some time to myself... away from you. This is all a bit much right now."

Malfoy held his hands up at chest height and began to walk backwards towards his room, "Of course, that's only natural. If you need anything—if there's anything I can do to help you, just knock on my door. I'll be in my room for the rest of the night."

He quickly made his way to his bedroom door and had turned to walk through his doorway when she called out.

"Wait, Malfoy."

He froze and turned to face her with a question in his eyes.

Trying to gather her courage, Hermione said, "I'd like to... I'd like for us to talk about what happened at some point, if you're... okay with that."

She could tell she'd caught him by surprise again, but Malfoy nodded slowly, "If that's what you really want, then yes, of course."

Hermione held his gaze briefly before diverting her eyes, "I think it will be for the best if we try to speak frankly about it—to help clear the air."

Malfoy hummed in hesitant agreement, "Whenever you're ready to talk about it, you know where to find me. Good night, Granger."

With that, he disappeared into his room and quietly closed the door behind him. Hermione stood staring after him for a minute before she shook herself from her thoughts and made her way over to Crookshanks, who was still happily munching away at his dinner.

He almost seems scared of me.

But that wasn't right. Draco Malfoy, scared of Hermione Granger? Shouldn't she be the one who was terrified of him right now? Then again, when she tried to put herself in his shoes, she realized how difficult of a position he must be in. To feel guilty for something you couldn't remember doing—something you'd been completely coerced into doing. She shuddered at the thought.

Between the two, she'd rather remember that it had happened, as painful as the memory was. Obliviation after the fact felt too much like a last insult, an invitation to play endless guessing games about what had transpired. It was why she'd insisted Malfoy watch a memory of that night. As painful as she knew it must have been for him to watch it, she figured it would have eventually eaten him alive inside otherwise—the not knowing would have been terrible. She'd assumed they'd be similar in that respect.

She walked over to Crookshanks' nook and knelt near the spot Malfoy had inhabited only a few minutes ago. By now her pet had eaten his fill, and he finally seemed ready to acknowledge that Hermione had returned after her extended absence. He purred loudly and rubbed up against her a few times before rolling himself onto his back for more belly scratches, almost as if demanding payment for her unexpected disappearance. She of course obliged, smiling softly at her pet's huffy attitude. She let her gaze wander back to her fellow Head Boy's bedroom door.

His behavior just now showed exactly how shaken he must feel about everything that had happened between them. If his demeanor had surprised her on the train to Hogwarts just last week, it was nothing compared to the difference she'd noticed in him tonight. Gone was any semblance of the arrogant tilt to his mouth, the calculating look in his eye, and the self-satisfied body language.

There had only been remorse and endless self-recrimination in the tightness of his eyes tonight, and in the slump of his shoulders. It might as well have been someone else in a Draco Malfoy disguise for all his behavior reminded her of the person she'd previously gone to school with for years.

In what she recognized was perhaps a controversial turn of thought, she found herself feeling morbidly glad to have someone who understood some of what she was going through, even if it was Malfoy, and even if it involved his trauma too. She didn't need to explain anything to him, he knew what had happened, he'd seen the memory and had suffered that night, too. In fact, he'd suffered the previous night, too based on the memories that had been extracted from Selwyn's mind.

What's more, she cared enough to recognize what hadn't been apparent to her before his trial.

Aside from his mother, who was hundreds of kilometers away, and perhaps Minerva McGonagall, there was no one else who seemed to give enough of a damn about Draco Malfoy to ensure he wasn't treated like dirt after having been violated. Sure, Hermione had suffered greatly that night—no one could deny that. And indeed, she'd suffered greatly before, a few times. So had he. The difference between them lay in the support systems that were there to catch them when they fell.

Hermione had left St. Mungo's a few days ago amidst the clamor and din of a worried Weasely family, and a horde of worried friends. Malfoy had in turn probably left the Ministry and returned to Malfoy Manor to be greeted by his mother and perhaps a house elf or two, if the family still employed any. Last she'd heard, his father had received the Dementor's Kiss. He'd be one of the last to receive it if Minister Shacklebolt had his way.

If she extrapolated backwards in time, she realized the only support system Malfoy had most likely ever known had collapsed with the start of the second war—and it hadn't been a great support system to begin with. She knew it wasn't an excuse for his downright terrible behavior at times, but she found sympathy welling up for the wizard who'd greeted her while buttering up her cat just now when he thought no one was watching. She could hardly reconcile him with the churlish boy who had antagonized her for so many years. Perhaps she would have to get to know this new version of him.

Intrigued to meet you again, Draco Malfoy.

"...er, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's anxious gaze swung up to face Professor Flitwick, who was standing near the front of the class.

She was silent for a few more seconds before responding hesitantly, "I—I... actually... I don't know the answer, Professor."

Someone may have gasped near the back of the class, but she was too busy berating herself to know for sure. She'd raised her hand just now, sure in the knowledge that she could answer the question Professor Flitwick had just posed. She'd read about this subject just last night before going to bed, after all.

Flitwick seemed to stumble for a moment before regaining his composure.

"Not to worry, not to worry at all, Miss Granger," he said briskly.

His nervous eyes frantically searched the classroom and alighted on another student to ask, "Who else? Can anyone tell me when and where Homenum Revelio was first documented in magical literature?"

Professor Flitwick seemed eager to take the attention off Hermione so no one would focus on her gaffe. She wished she could say it was a one-off, but she'd been having problems like this all week. Not only was she finding it extremely difficult to keep her mind on her studies, she also wasn't retaining what little information she did manage to take in. Her reflexive decision to offer an answer just now had been more muscle memory than anything else.

Lately the two things she usually loved to do—reading and studying, held little interest for her. Her eyes would drift and lose focus after a few minutes. Her mind would wander, and her limbs would fidget incessantly when she was supposed to be concentrating.

Last night, Madam Pince had even had to ask her to please stop tapping the end of her wand on the library table she'd claimed. She hadn't even realized she'd been doing it, much less loudly enough to attract so much attention. She'd sheepishly apologized and gathered her things before fleeing to her quarters.

Hermione was tired of those, too. The luster of staying in the Head Girl's rooms had worn off completely, and instead the four walls had begun to close in on her at times. It was only Thursday, yet it seemed like she'd already spent countless hours holed up in her room at night, barely managing the darkest tangents her thoughts would take.

Lately, she'd been experiencing more of the psychological and physiological ramifications of the torture she'd undergone. She'd begun to feel the phantom sensation of bugs tickling their way up her arms and trailing along her legs on and off throughout the day, invisibly intruding upon her already strained hold on stability. Along with that disturbing symptom, she'd begun to experience small muscle spasms throughout her body, especially concentrated in her hands and feet. Combined with the arthritic pain that had started creeping into her joints as the year transitioned into colder weather, the act of going about her day felt nearly impossible at times. Sometimes it was all she could do to keep her mind off the hopeless spiral she was tempted to fall down. She knew she'd eventually have to visit the Hospital Wing, but for a little while longer she wanted to pretend things hadn't grown so dire.

She was grateful for the large window in her room facing the lake and the scenery beyond it. She had been avoiding Malfoy this week, so when she needed to take her mind off things while he was lounging in their common room, she would sit in the plush window seat she'd transfigured, and she'd lose herself in the beautiful nighttime landscape while wrapped in as many blankets as possible. She had also taken to enjoying long, hot bubble baths late in the evening, but had decided to scale them back after she'd fallen asleep in the tub for the second night in a row only to be woken up both times by nightmares featuring Bellatrix or Selwyn.

She was frustrated that she didn't seem to be able to get through a single night without contending with the echoes of what she'd gone through. It was discomfiting how reliant she'd become on Dreamless Sleep to even function in the past few days. It was even more discomfiting to realize that the same dose of the potion wasn't working as effectively for her anymore.

Last night had been the first time she'd abstained from her dosage this week, and she hadn't slept a wink. However, even the dosage she'd taken during the two nights before that hadn't been enough to fully overcome her debilitating nightmares along with the side-effects of her assault. Lately when she took Dreamless Sleep, she would wake terrified in the middle of the night, groggy and unsure of what had scared her in the nightmare from which she'd awoken. It was better than waking feeling like she was still stuck in her own personal form of hell, but only slightly. She was too scared to take more of the potion, though.

As she collapsed into the sofa in her common room after dinner (which she'd chosen to spend in the library), she figured that something would eventually have to give. Thankfully, Malfoy had reassigned her patrols to himself and some Prefects until further notice. This meant she had a few predictable windows of time during which she had free reign over their quarters when he was guaranteed to be gone. Now was one of those times, and not a moment too soon. She muttered an Incendio and watched the dancing flames in the fireplace as she contemplated why she was avoiding him.

With every passing day since she'd returned to Hogwarts, Hermione had grown increasingly confused about her feelings towards Malfoy. Sure, the onslaught of anxiety and paranoia that came to the fore at the sight of his face were to be expected after a week back at school. But the curiosity, the desire to get to know the wizard whose vulnerability had been laid brutally bare before her very eyes? Well, those were certainly new feelings to contend with.

And so she remained wary of him, suspicious of the empathy and camaraderie towards him that had also taken root in her heart. She wasn't exactly sure why this particular cocktail of emotions had only crystallized now, nearly a week after all was said and done, even after she'd chosen to publicly defend him.

She suspected it might have something to do with being in such close proximity to him again. His very presence overwhelmed her now. The sight of him reminded her of all of the unknowns that remained about what had happened to her. It bothered her that whatever transpired between the time when Malfoy kidnapped her and the time he brought her to the secret room would probably forever remain unknown. It was terrifying to think about, yet much as she tried to put it in the back of her mind, it slithered into her awareness at the most inopportune moments—like now.

And yet... Hermione simultaneously found herself intrigued by him, and resentfully attracted to him in some small way. Even without his entitled and arrogant attitude, Malfoy filled the room and sucked up all of the air when he was nearby. It was as if some morbid sense of fascination drew her attention to him, and she felt helpless to stop it. That lack of mental control bothered and confused her, so she stayed away from him, reluctant to add yet another bundle of emotions she didn't understand to the bonfire that was her life. She had enough on her plate as it was.

Hermione spent awhile lazily playing with Crookshanks on the sofa, teasing him by projecting a point of light from her wand and waving it around, which he chased. It felt good to chuckle again—it was something she'd had so little reason to do lately. She'd taken a break to stare at the fire, lost in thought, when the portrait door swung open to admit Malfoy's lithe form.

At some point on his way to their quarters he'd removed his robes, unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. His mouth was set in a hard line and he looked preoccupied. Hermione's mouth went dry, and she tensed when he closed the door and walked towards the desk closest to him. He stopped when he noticed her lounging on the sofa by the fireplace.

"Granger, didn't see you there. Hello," he said cautiously.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a patrol with Engelbart right now?" she asked, uncaring of the accusatory note in her voice.

His expression grew confused, and he dropped his things on the table before fully facing her, "That is where I've been. It's past 9:30, we just finished handing off to Weasley and Harris."

Her heart stuttered for a second. I can't have been sitting here for that long! It felt like less than an hour!

A hint of concern crept into Malfoy's voice, "Did something happen? Are you alright?"

After nearly a minute of silence Hermione responded, "I—no, it's nothing."

He continued to stare at her, clearly fighting an internal battle with himself as he considered what to say next. Wanting to escape from the situation, she jumped up from the sofa and made a beeline for her door.

Malfoy scoffed nearly imperceptibly from behind her, and at the sound of it she came to a stop only a few paces away from her bedroom door. An unexpected lick of anger shot up her spine at the sound of his derision. She spun to face him.

"Did you just scoff at me?"

A spike of frustration shot across the sharp planes of his face before disappearing behind an impassive expression.

"And if I did?" he asked cooly, an undercurrent of challenge in his tone.

Her ire only grew at his feigned nonchalance.

She threw her hands up and bit out, "It would be par for the course for you," she accused, adding, "What is your problem?!"

His sharp response took her by surprise, "My problem is you! Why are you doing this to yourself?!"

She stopped short, "Pardon, what?"

He began to pace to the door and back, messing with his hair and shaking his head while gesturing at her.

"It's obvious you're not sleeping. You've been spending more time alone than ever, even skipping meals in favor of hiding in the library. I've seen you struggling in class. You've refused the help of your friends. And you missed your Mind Healing appointment this week. Screw walking on eggshells. Someone needs to tell it to you straight," he shot back.

She stared at him slackjawed, stunned by the words that were coming out of his mouth. She'd barely seen him all week—on purpose. How the hell does he know all of this?!

Malfoy continued to rant while pacing, seemingly on a roll now.

"And don't even get me started on this fucked up living situation. Why didn't you just let me rot away in Azkaban?! My presence is clearly bothering you. Otherwise you wouldn't be holed up in your room all the time, terrified to breathe the same air as me."

He seemed nearly out of breath by the time he was done, his cheeks pink and his eyes gleaming with a strange look she'd never seen in them before.

Shocked, she ignored his questions and sputtered, "Have you been watching me?"

Malfoy scoffed more loudly this time, "If that's what you call it when someone looks out for your wellbeing, then sure, I've been watching you, Granger," he drawled. "So has Weasley. So have Longbottom, and Lovegood, and the rest of the sickeningly sweet assortment of students here who call you their friend."

She shook her head incredulously, staring at him as if he'd grown tentacles for brains. Malfoy concerned for her wellbeing? Flobberworms would sooner turn into sea serpents! Despite the cordial détente they'd held at Hogwarts so far this year, despite his plea for her to run when they'd been attacked, he'd never said it so plainly to her before.

If that's what you call it when someone looks out for your wellbeing, then sure, I've been watching you, Granger.

The fight drained from Hermione's body and her shoulders slumped. It would be pointless to argue against her best interests, and she knew it. She was so tired, and definitely not looking for another fight right now.

It was the last thing she would have ever expected to hear from the likes of him, though.

Will wonders never cease?

In a softer tone, he said, "It doesn't have to be with me. It doesn't even have to be with your friends. But you don't have to bear this weight alone. In fact, you shouldn't. It's obviously starting to wear on you. Accept some bloody help, Granger—you clearly need it."

Choosing not to take that as an insult, she considered his words. Hesitantly, she made her way back to the sofa and sat perched on its edge.

Maybe he's right.

Truth be told, she'd been afraid to go back to Healer Donovan's office. It had started as subconscious avoidance, and had developed into a full-blown panic attack the day she was supposed to go after classes. She'd owled the Mind Healer and said she wasn't feeling well, but she knew she couldn't do that every week, nor did she want to. She'd only be hurting herself.

Hermione saw the irony in her current situation. Only a few days ago she'd been ruminating on Malfoy's lack of a support system in his time of need. Yet here she was, eschewing her own available support system when she arguably needed it most. What's more, now he was the one reminding her to accept some help. Draco fucking Malfoy was giving her mental health advice and Hermione felt compelled to pinch herself to make sure she hadn't actually slipped into some lucid dream.

"Much as it pains me to admit you could be right about something," she said in an attempt at wry humor, "You do have a point."

He exhaled loudly and made his way to the love seat across from her, "Of course I do."

"Except..." she trailed off as she stared at him oddly, trying to gather her thoughts. "Except you're wrong about some things. You don't deserve to be in Azkaban, and your presence doesn't bother me... that much."

He looked at her strangely, "Granger, you don't have to lie."

Stubbornly, she replied, "I'm not lying."

He covered his face with one hand and groaned, leaning back into his seat, "Much as I'm loathe to bring it up, I kidnapped and tortured you–"

She cut in, "While under an insane version of the Imperius curse."

He scoffed, still covering his face with his hand, "I should have been able to resist it regardless. Potter was able to resist the Imperius as a student, wasn't he? What kind of a wizard am I to have just followed someone's orders like that? And oh yes, in case you'd already forgotten, I also bullied you for years. Not exactly Wizard of the Year material, am I?"

She straightened in her seat, "Are you, or are you not a different person now? A better one? Was everything you told me on the train a load of bollocks, then? Just a bunch of pretty words?"

He dropped his hand abruptly and his bright gray eyes sought hers. "No, it was all true," he replied mulishly.

She nodded decisively, "Well then, there you go. You can't sanctimoniously preach to me about accepting help while sitting there refusing to accept any advice yourself."

He chuckled darkly and shook his head, "Well, when you put it that way..."

They sat in silence for a few moments, their respective trains of thought interrupted only by the crackling of the fire and by Crookshanks' incessant desire for attention. Something Malfoy had mentioned earlier occurred to her.

"Have you—hold on, have you been talking with my friends about me, then?" she asked him curiously.

Malfoy gave her a side-eyed glance while rubbing his chin, "Talking would be a generous way to interpret the confrontation Ginny Weasley and I had last week, but yes, you could say we have been talking in a fashion since then."

Her eyes filled with mirth, imagining the fury Ginny must have unleashed on Malfoy for the part he played in her attack, however unwitting. She should feel sorry for him, and she felt slightly hypocritical for not feeling bad, but she just found the thought too humorous.

He noticed the small curve of her lips, "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Weasley's a lot stronger than she looks, you know."

Hermione couldn't help herself. Her lips curved up higher, "You seem to have a penchant for getting punched by Gryffindor girls."

He raised a pale eyebrow, "I've hexed lesser wizards for pointing that out."

She shrugged, "Well, I'm not lesser wizards, am I?"

Malfoy gave her a thoughtful look, the mirth in his eyes disappearing, only to be replaced by that familiar look of intensity.

"No, you're not. You're..." he trailed off, seemingly lost in thought despite the fact that he was staring right at her.

"Er, Malfoy?" she asked tentatively.

He blinked, and after a few moments murmured, "You're incredible."

Hermione wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly, "Come again?"

Malfoy sat up a little straighter and looked her in the eye, "Truly. You spoke up for me. Me of all people. You arguably saved me from years of imprisonment despite what I was forced to do to you. You didn't have to help me at all, yet you chose to do it anyway. So thanks, Granger."

Taken aback, all she could think to say was, "You're welcome, but it's what anyone should have done."

"Not everyone's willing to defend a Malfoy these days," he said quietly, "For good reason."

With that, he heaved himself up from the love seat and made his way over to the table where he'd dropped his things.

"I believe you have a certain red-haired friend who would appreciate a word or two with you tomorrow morning as reassurance that you haven't fallen off the face of the planet," he suggested casually as he pulled out some parchment and a quill.

"She was quite adamant I pass that message along to you tonight since you've been ignoring her owls and avoiding her in person. I rather like having an unbroken nose, you know, so I suggest you get on with it."

Hermione nodded sheepishly, "I'll speak with Ginny first thing tomorrow," she paused before adding, "Thanks, Malfoy."

I've been thanking him far too much this week, she groused.

He hummed in response, and made his way towards his room, calling out over his shoulder, "Don't mention it. Night, Granger."

As she walked to her room to get ready for some light reading before bed, Hermione could only wonder where else this year would take her. She hoped it would be somewhere good for a change.

A/N: Your feedback has been wonderful. Thanks for your attention & your thoughts!