"You've been surprisingly even-keel considering you've been living with the witch you tormented. What gives?"

It was the first thing of substance Blaise had said since they'd retreated to Draco's room Saturday night to drink Firewhiskey and have a much needed tête-à-tête. In fact, this was the first time they'd had the opportunity to speak privately since Draco had returned to school after his release from the Ministry. This conversation was long overdue.

"And you're being surprisingly chatty considering how unhelpful you were the Sunday I turned myself in, Zabini. What gives indeed," Draco said cooly.

Blaise sighed and took a long swig of his drink before responding, "I didn't expect Pansy to become a liability this quickly, but here we are. Turns out she's been shagging Nott for the past three weeks. I decided to sit back and observe, see what other information I could gather. She still thinks I'm a neutral party, you know. They all do."

"And are you neutral, Blaise?" Draco queried softly. He was surprised to hear that Pansy and Nott were an item, but didn't let the news distract him just yet.

"Not anymore," Blaise muttered.

Draco rolled his eyes and took a deep swig of Firewhiskey, appreciating the cinnamon heat that bled into his stomach as he stared moodily out his room's lone window.

At length, Blaise continued, "You can't blame me for not helping last week, mate. If any of us steps one foot out of line with this lot, that's it for us, it's off to Azkaban. I wasn't about to stick my neck out for you without being sure you were telling the truth, much less without knowing what the bloody hell was going on... Merlin's balls, it's Hermione Granger—you don't fuck with her."

Of course, Draco understood Blaise perfectly. It didn't change the fact that in some small way, it still grated to know he hadn't been willing to stand up for him when it mattered. Not that he would ever admit it.

"No, you don't," Draco agreed, "Selwyn and Mulciber are proof of that."

"So's Nott, except he didn't get his arse handed to him by her like those other two idiots did. Instead, he skipped to the part where he languishes in Azkaban for a few years," Blaise said with a smirk.

Draco's mind diverged in a direction it had gone often lately. A warm feeling of pride filled his chest upon remembering just how effectively Granger had undone the two older Death Eaters. Even when she'd been beaten down, and even when the odds had seemed impossible, she'd maintained a cool enough head to take advantage of an opportunity when she'd seen one. Draco had developed an even deeper respect for her upon viewing Selwyn's memory of that night from McGonagall's office. Granger would have died if not for her fortitude and cunning.

It was a stark departure from his thoughts when he'd first seen her standing outside Obscurus Books in Diagon Alley what seemed like a lifetime ago. She'd looked so out of sorts then, weighed down by the gravity of her situation and whittled away by her plight. Yet he now knew that somewhere within that diminutive body she concealed considerable power along with the impressive mind she'd always been known for.

You were born a fighter, Granger. And you fought for me.

"Look, mate," Blaise said with a sigh, "The point is, I'm with you now. Whatever my hesitations were before, they're gone. I've chosen a side, and it's definitely not with the Sons of Salazar, much as Pansy wishes it were otherwise. She can be her own bloody spy."

A flurry of questions formed in Draco's mind at Blaise's latest words, but a set of conclusions also formed from them. Having made up his mind, he went in for the kill.

"You've clearly known more than you let on during the past few weeks of school. How am I supposed to trust you now?" Draco asked slyly.

Blaise sighed, "I had no idea any of it was going to happen, you have to believe that."

Draco considered his words and compared them against what he knew about the friend sitting across from him. He finished the rest of his drink and stood to pour himself another. When he was done, he walked over to a small bureau by his bed and fished a small glass vial from within its top drawer. He walked back to their sitting area and held it out to Blaise casually.

"That's not enough. Tell it to me on truth serum," he demanded, holding Blaise's gaze.

Blaise gaped at him, "Have you gone mad? What for? Where did you even get this?!"

Draco raised an eyebrow, and with a mocking edge in his voice asked, "Don't you trust me?"

Blaise's eyes narrowed, clearly weighing his options, "What for?" he repeated obstinately with hard eyes.

"It saves me the trouble of having to invade your mind to ensure I'm not being had," Draco shrugged.

Blaise rolled his eyes, "Veritaserum? You realize how unreasonable you sound?"

"Take it or get out," Draco said simply, staring down at him dispassionately with an outstretched hand.

He could tell Blaise seriously considered leaving for a moment. However, he could also tell that Blaise's curiosity was now piqued too; immensely so. Draco just hoped Blaise was smart enough to read between the lines. He must have realized they hadn't reached the meat of the conversation yet. Draco had said little so far, and he'd done so on purpose.

Blaise's eyes narrowed, "Don't make me regret this, Draco. On Merlin..."

He briskly took the proffered vial and paused to give Draco a scathing glare, adding, "You've gone mental."

Draco raised a brow, "Can you blame me?"

Blaise didn't have an answer for him, so he uncorked the Veritaserum, drew out the dropper, and placed three drops on his tongue. Draco didn't waste any time once he'd closed the stopper and handed the vial back.

"Tell me what you know about the Sons of Salazar."

Blaise's response was immediate despite the mutinous look in his eyes, "It's a secret society that was formed last year as a contingency plan in case Voldemort was defeated. It includes fugitive Death Eaters, a handful of other Pureblood families, and around 10 Slytherin students including Nott, Montague, Warrington, and Burton. You weren't recruited because everyone sees you as a blood traitor and didn't expect you to survive the war.

"Their hit on Granger seems to have originally been planned as a hit on the Golden Trio before they realized Potter and Weasley chose not to come back this year. And before you ask, no, I still can't tell if Pansy's a member or not. She claimed she wanted me to join as an infiltrator. Nott recruited me the day before he asked you, and to buy myself some time I told him I'd think about it, but I had no intention of joining."

Draco cut in sharply, "He didn't ask me."

Blaise's resentful expression slackened somewhat.

"I was never asked to do anything," Draco spat with cold fury, enraged at the reminder that he only knew about his debasement second-hand. "I was coerced, Blaise. I was Imperio'd, tortured, and Obliviated into being their stupid puppet. Don't you ever fucking forget it."

Blaise remained silent.

Draco took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to work past his anger to continue his impromptu interrogation.

"Why don't you want to join the Sons of Salazar?"

Blaise answered crisply, "Because I'm not a bloody sheep is why. If Voldemort wasn't able to get to me over the course of years, then these amateur secret society sons of bitches certainly won't either. I'm better than that.

"What's more, I have nothing left to lose in this country, and barely anything left to lose on this continent. I may be many things—including an unapologetic elitist, but I'm not morally bankrupt. It's not socially advantageous right now," Blaise sniffed.

This came as no surprise to Draco, as he knew that the majority of Blaise's family had been driven out of Italy and the rest of Europe by Voldemort's followers during the second war. He also knew that Blaise had an ego the size of London. Still, it provided a semblance of comfort to hear these things confirmed under Veritaserum. One could never be sure, especially not now. At least some things still held up after the rest of the school year seemed to be going to shite.

"What role do you really think Pansy's played in all this Sons of Salazar nonsense?" Draco asked.

"I'm not sure. Half the time I'm convinced she's just in over her head with Nott—a girlish crush taken too far under the guise of investigation... but the rest of the time I wonder if she's just that good of a manipulator. I wouldn't put it past her to be in on all of this somehow, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's just sleeping with Nott for shits and giggles either," Blaise answered, clearly miffed that he couldn't read Pansy even now, after so many years of friendship in the same House together.

It was much the same way Draco felt about Pansy these days. He was sure she was up to something—he just wasn't sure if that something was beneficial or detrimental to the Dark cause. Draco filed his mounting suspicions about her away for later and asked Blaise perhaps the most personal question of the night yet.

"Would you ever betray me, Blaise?"

Blaise answered unapologetically, "You have to know I would. If the trade-offs were stacked high enough against you and against my best interests, then yes I'd betray you in a heartbeat, mate. But you have to know I'd do the same to my own mother if push came to shove. Lucky for both of you I have yet to encounter any situation that would justify anything near such a brutal cost-benefit analysis. We don't live in a world where I see that happening anytime soon."

Draco raised a brow, "Can't say I'm surprised. The feeling's mutual, by the way."

Blaise shrugged, "I would expect nothing less. By the way, I trust your intellectual faculties are intact enough to realize what I've implied by saying that. I had no idea you were going to be ambushed, and I would have told you if I'd known—if I'd had any hint that you were walking towards anything other than the type of conversation Nott had had with me the day before he attacked you. You have to believe that."

Done with this line of questioning for the moment, Draco considered Blaise's words silently before changing course, choosing to ignore the defense Blaise had presented, "Let's test that threshold for loyalty tonight, shall we Blaise?"

Blaise looked at him curiously.

"If given the chance, would you help to eliminate the Sons of Salazar?"

Thrown for a loop but still compelled to answer, Blaise cocked his head, still wearing a curious expression, "It would depend on a variety of factors, including what I stand to gain from it, but I would consider it. Why?"

Draco disregarded Blaise's question, "I'm asking the questions, Zabini. Why would you be willing to bring down the Sons of Salazar at all when I know you still believe in the pureblood ideology? What would you gain from it? You didn't even pick a side during the war."

Blaise answered, "The magical majority has spoken. Definitively. Just because I'd never go as low as marrying a blood traitor doesn't mean I can't read the room. I missed my chance to gain esteem at the end of the war like you did, but I've seen the good it's done you.

"Bringing down those inbred idiots wouldn't be a half bad consolation prize, much as I detest the thought of coming in second to you at anything. Might as well make a good name for myself if I plan to stay in magical Britain," Blaise added.

Draco chuckled dryly, "Slytherin to the core."

Blaise looked unconcerned, "Don't think I haven't noticed you doing the same. You're no better than I am. And yet both of us are sitting here cozy at Hogwarts while that idiot Nott is miserable in Azkaban until further notice. Clearly one of you had the right idea."

Satisfied with what he'd heard so far, even though he disagreed with Blaise's comparison of their motivations, Draco decided to place some trust in the wizard sitting across from him. He revealed what had been weighing on his mind all week.

"And yet that imbecile was only the tip of the iceberg. Much as it pleases me to see him imprisoned for the role he's played in all of this, the Sons of Salazar won't collapse just because three of their middling members are out of the picture. So I'm going to root the rest of the rot out of Hogwarts... with help," he added as an afterthought.

All remaining ire bled from Blaise's expression, only to be replaced by intrigue, "With whose help?"

"The Ministry's and my mother's," Draco responded bluntly.

Blaise looked taken aback.

"As of a few days ago, I'm a Ministry informant for the official Auror investigation into the Sons of Salazar," Draco said finally.

He could see a million questions forming behind Blaise's eyes.

"How the bloody hell did you come up with that arrangement?" Blaise asked incredulously, clearly taken off guard.

Draco's gaze darkened, "To prove my innocence, I was interrogated repeatedly by Aurors after I turned myself in. Guess they mindfucked me enough to trust me now. I'm not surprised considering how deep those tossers got—it wasn't pretty. Granger's press conference didn't hurt either."

Blaise gave him a thoughtful look, seeming to know Draco was underplaying the agony such mental interrogation techniques must have caused him. He quickly came to the conclusion Draco had been waiting for him to arrive at.

"You want me to help you," Blaise said deadpan.

Draco shrugged, glad he hadn't had to ask outright, "You said you're no longer neutral."

Blaise shook his head, "Right, so you get me alone for a few drinks, add some Veritaserum to the mix, maybe a dash of emotional blackmail, and we end up here. Is that it? You want me to play sidekick while you pretend to be hero?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "Oh please, we both know your sanctimony is a pathetic ruse, Blaise. Let's cut to the part where you tell me what the fuck you need to gain from this arrangement so we can nip this stupid pity party in the bud. What would it take to convince you to help take down the Sons of Salazar?"

Blaise's answer was immediate, and of course reliably honest, "I'd want legal immunity for any crimes I commit for the sake of the case. After the investigation, I'd want a statement from the Ministry celebrating my good name, along with positive media attention, invitations to the biggest society events, and maybe an award or two for good deeds and dashing good looks. Oh and a few thousand galleons wouldn't hurt."

"You don't ask for much, hmm?" Draco asked drolly, clearly unimpressed and unsurprised, "Lucky for you I know what a greedy bastard you are, which means that by extension, the Ministry knows now too. Surprise of all surprises, they're willing to humor an egotist like yourself if you're willing to make some concessions as well. Are you interested?"

There was the smallest hint of suspicion in Blaise's gaze, but curiosity and Veritaserum extinguished it upon hearing Draco's latest question.

"Yes, alright of course I'm interested. How could I not be? I'm half convinced it's a trap of its own, but you've sold me on the idea enough to pique my curiosity. I won't turn down a shortcut to a shiny new reputation when it's packaged nice and neat like this for me."

Draco smirked, "Excellent. In that case, go to the Hog's Head tomorrow morning around 8. Look for the blond wizard wearing a houndstooth cloak and green leather boots, and tell him 'transit umbra.' His name's Auror Prather, and he'll be waiting for you with a response of 'lux permanet.' If he doesn't say that exact phrase in return, don't trust him. If everything proceeds normally, then he'll be your main point of contact for the investigation aside from me."

Here Draco paused and said more seriously, "If you try to mess around in any way you'll be fucked, Blaise. Should you change your mind tomorrow just owl me, but know we'll be keeping an eye on you regardless."

Blaise shook his head, "Whatever. I still can't believe they're entrusting something like this to you of all people. And by extension, to me."

"Do you plan to tell anyone anything we've spoken about tonight?" Draco asked, his tone doing nothing to mask the implied warning in his question.

Although the Veritaserum would wear off soon, Blaise was still compelled to answer truthfully.

"I had planned to mention it to my cousin Silas in my next letter to him, but that was before you dragged me into it. Beyond that, there's no one in Slytherin house I would want to tell—Pansy's out for obvious reasons. And I would never in a million years tell my mother anything. Theoretically, the only time I might divulge any of this is if I were trying to ingratiate myself further into certain social groups for the sake of the investigation."

Satisfied with what he'd heard, Draco nodded and responded, "Prather will brief you more on that last part tomorrow if you decide you're in. There are some... hoops you'll have to jump through to ensure your loyalty first."

Blaise's eyes narrowed, "Like what?"

Draco smirked, "That's for me to know, and you to find out, Zabini."

Hermione had found herself spending more time in the Gryffindor common room than ever since her talk with Malfoy last week. It was easier to avoid him (and thus her confusing emotions) this way, and the company of her housemates distracted her from the dark paths her mind would meander down if left untended.

Now that she was on a better regimen of potions to manage her psychological and physical symptoms thanks to Healer Donovan's revised prescription, all she wanted to do when she wasn't studying was crawl into bed and sleep the evenings away. However, Ginny had been adamant that one could only do that for so long, and Hermione felt inclined to agree.

They were both sprawled out near the fire where it was warmest in the room, each working on their respective assignments before dinner. They'd spent a girl's weekend with Luna pampering themselves and taking it easy, and it had done wonders for Hermione's state of mind and physical sense of ease. Although that good mood was flagging now that it was Tuesday night, she clung to the remnants of peace it had provided. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for her friend at the moment.

The redheaded witch was hunched over her Transfiguration textbook with a furrowed brow, clutching her quill within an inch of its life as she read and re-read the same paragraph over and over again. Hermione chuckled softly at the image Ginny painted in front of her.

"Take it easy, Gin, don't hurt yourself thinking too hard," she teased lightly.

Ginny's brow smoothed and she gave Hermione a sheepish grin, "Transfiguration I tell ya, never been my strong suit. Can't make heads or tails of it sometimes."

Hermione's grin turned sad, "For once, I really know what you mean."

Noticing the shift in mood, Ginny dropped her quill and sighed, "Don't beat yourself up over all of this, Hermione. Just try to be patient with yourself, you've been through a lot."

Hermione nodded dejectedly and decided to give up on her work for the moment. For the first time in her school career, she was barely on track with her studies instead of far ahead of them. It was an unfamiliar position to be in, and it only added to the anxiety that seemed to be her constant companion these days. Irrationally, it made her feel like a failure. Things she used to find easy seemed to take an inordinate amount of effort now.

These feelings of inadequacy were perhaps the most perplexing part of Hermione's recovery so far. Logically, she knew there was no reason to feel insecure about anything. If anything she knew she was probably taking things a little too quickly. Rationally speaking, she knew her recovery couldn't be rushed.

Her emotions were another story, though. They didn't care about things like reason or rationality, didn't care how many different ways Hermione framed the need to go easy on herself. Instead, they overwhelmed her constantly, vibrating with the ripples of pain that extended out from the night when she'd been robbed of her sense of safety and security. And in the center of it all was the yawning black hole where many of her best and happiest memories used to reside.

Hermione may have ultimately gotten the last laugh with Mulciber, but he'd wrought a considerable amount damage before she'd fought back. She was only now coming to terms with the broader implications of that destruction. It was hard to quantify what was no longer there, but Hermione suspected anywhere from a quarter to a third of her happiest memories had been annihilated in Mulciber's mental assault. She still felt mostly numb about it.

Her Mind Healer had recommended she take a little more time off, but Hermione had shuddered at the thought of having so much free time to ruminate on her circumstances. Yet the insecurity trailed after her through the school hallways, taunting her every time she failed to answer a question in class or forgot something she'd learned just the other day.

I feel stupid.

For someone who took pride in her mental prowess, it was extremely discouraging, but it was also humbling. Academic performance and intelligence had long been the only metrics Hermione had used to measure her self-worth, but the war had shown her there was so much more to value about herself than her intellect. Still, she'd learned that lesson under extenuating circumstances. It was harder to keep it in mind now that she wasn't on the run, now that she was supposed to be leading a normal life—whatever that meant.

However, as ridiculous as it sounded, Hermione was determined to find a silver lining to her situation. If that silver lining came in the form of developing a better sense of self-worth so that hers wasn't overly predicated on academic performance, then so be it.

I'm more than my grades.

Although her internal affirmations lacked conviction, they were something she could work with, and quite frankly she could use all the help she could get right now.

Ginny's voice snapped her out of her musings, and deciding they were both done battling with their homework for the night, they decided to head down to the Great Hall. Hermione gathered her things and they proceeded to make their way down to dinner together.

Surrounded by the quotidian sounds of students gossiping and griping about their school day, Hermione focused on remaining present throughout dinner by engaging with the ebb and flow of the various conversations that took place around her. She had taken to lightly flicking her arm to re-center herself every time she felt her mind taking her out of the present moment. It was a technique Healer Donovan had shown her earlier in the day during what had been their second ever therapy session.

Despite the deceptively simple nature of some of the coping strategies Healer Donovan had shown her earlier during their appointment, Hermione already felt some small measure of improvement, even after only a few hours back at Hogwarts. It felt empowering to regain some modicum of control over her life again, but it wasn't easy work. In fact, it felt like she was expending an inordinate amount of energy just to keep up with the bare minimum of daily life.

Well, that's to be expected, isn't it? It's not every day you get ambushed by extremists, she thought wryly, One doesn't exactly bounce back from that immediately.

Having eaten as much as she could stomach for the night, Hermione bid Ginny and the rest of her Gryffindor friends farewell, and heaved herself up with a sigh. She tried to ignore the many sets of eyes that surreptitiously followed her as she made her way out of the Great Hall. The attention on her had been at an all-time high when she'd returned to Hogwarts after the attack, and it was only just beginning to abate. Quite frankly though, any amount of attention felt disconcerting right now.

Lost in thought, Hermione started when she heard a familiar voice call her name from a few meters behind her as she began climbing the first set of stairs back to the Heads' quarters.

"Granger, mind if I walk back with you?"

Hermione stopped and looked behind her curiously, surprised to find Malfoy jogging lightly to catch up with her.

"Er, sure. I suppose that would be alright," she responded awkwardly, her left foot frozen in the air.

It only took a few moments for him to reach her side before they wordlessly began their winding ascent up the various staircases and down the myriad hallways that led back to their rooms. Hermione kept stealing furtive glances at him, unwilling to admit to herself just how confused she was.

What's he playing at?

Seeming to sense her silent question, Malfoy spoke casually while shifting his gaze towards hers, "I see you've joined the world of the living again this week. Obviously I'm delighted to know my extremities will live to see another day unbroken."

She snorted lightly despite herself, "Well look at that. Who knew you have three humerus bones in your body."

Malfoy stopped short and turned to face her completely, a cross between mild disgust and incredulity crossing his face.

"A pun, Granger? Really? You have a terrible sense of humor. Simply terrible."

Unable to help herself, she smiled slightly and shrugged, "Malfoy, I didn't even realize you possessed the capacity for humor, so let's call it even, shall we?"

Rolling his eyes, he scoffed but remained silent for the next few minutes as they continued walking, until they'd reached the hallway leading to the portrait guarding their quarters.

Once inside, Malfoy made a beeline for the largest sofa in their common room, while Hermione walked over to Crookshanks' nook to check his water bowl. When she was finished, she glanced over at Malfoy where he lay sprawled out in front of a newly roaring fire. She considered sitting with him and continuing the conversation they'd started a few nights ago. On second thought, she shook her head and decided she didn't have the energy for it tonight.

She made her way towards her bedroom, and right as her hand had reached out to grasp the doorknob, Malfoy spoke up from behind her.

"Granger," he cleared his throat as she turned turned to face him wearing a curious expression. Was that a sliver of nervousness in his voice?

He pushed himself up to peer at her over the back of the sofa, "Look, I know you can take care of yourself just fine—you've more than proved that, but... I don't think it's a good idea for you to be wandering the school alone at night. Not right now, anyway."

In another time and place, Hermione might have been more offended at the implication of his words. Perhaps in an alternate universe, she would have been indignant, self-righteous, or self-assured enough to dismiss his suggestion that she needed anyone to help fight her battles.

Yet in this time and place, the world had shown Hermione that it cared little for her sanctimony, and even less for her bravery. She stopped to consider what Malfoy was saying, and what he wasn't saying. He'd worded his message as advice, as a suggestion—a gentle warning as opposed to a sinister threat, and an offer of help, too.

She cocked her head to the side as she considered his words. She assumed it was why he'd scrambled to catch up with her tonight—he didn't want her to walk back to their rooms alone. All things considered, it made sense. If anything, Hermione was surprised at her lack of indignance. Then again, she felt more emotionally unstable than ever before in her life, so perhaps it wasn't all that strange that her emotions even at the meta-emotional level were off-kilter. But she couldn't completely let it go.

Malfoy continued speaking, this time in a more stilted manner, "If you'd like... that is, if you're interested... I wouldn't mind walking you back to our rooms after dinner anytime you need it."

What, so you can ambush me again?!

Hermione was surprised at her inner outburst. She hadn't realized just how much resentment she still held towards Malfoy. Although her feelings were understandable, they felt at odds with the parts of herself that wanted to give Malfoy a chance after all. Lately the latter seemed to outweigh the former, as illogical as that seemed.

She responded pointedly, "Shouldn't the offer go both ways, Malfoy? You were just as much a damsel in distress as I was when it came down to it."

She was half-serious and half pointing out the sexist assumption he'd made.

A slow smirk spread across Malfoy's face, "Sure it can go both ways, Granger. As long as we walk back here together, you can call it whatever you want."

She nearly choked on her next words.

Just take the help, she gritted to herself.

"f we do happen to be at dinner at the same time, I'd certainly appreciate that," she said hesitantly, adding, "I'd say the same for you, of course. I'm not the only one who needs to watch my back—you have just as much a need to remain vigilant as I do. If you ever want company walking anywhere in Hogwarts at night just let me know."

What she didn't voice were the other retorts that arose in her mind at the veiled implication in his words, nor did she mention the sundry exceptions she planned to make in the process. She understood that Malfoy had good intentions, but she took exception to the idea that her life was somehow more valuable than that of any other student who might escort her back to her dorms late at night. She was Head Girl for Merlin's sake, and she could take care of herself just fine. If anything she was the one who should be escorting other students back to their rooms, not the other way around.

As per usual though, she was too tired to further argue any of these points tonight.

Malfoy's shoulders seemed to relax in relief at her response, and his head fell back to the sofa.

"It's settled, then," he responded simply, sounding slightly muffled amidst the cushions. Despite that, she could tell he sounded as if he hadn't been sure if she'd trust him enough to agree—as if he'd been expecting more of a fight.

Feeling too tired to spend any more time contemplating Malfoy's behavior and her oddly trusting disposition tonight, Hermione bid him goodnight and headed into her room.

She changed into her pajamas, brushed her teeth, and took her dose of potions in a daze. Healer Donovan had helped her adjust both her dosage and sourcing for her potions regimen during their correspondence in the days before today's appointment, and it had done wonders. Hermione now looked forward to getting some rest again. She knew she'd still need to take breaks occasionally, but it felt amazing to get even 5 solid hours of sleep after she'd spent so much time tossing and turning.

That night, as her eyes drifted shut, Hermione saw Draco in her mind's eye, the vision of him hazy on the threshold that separated sleep from wakefulness. For the first time ever, the sight of his visage in her sleep-suffused thoughts felt comforting instead of threatening.

A/N: The response to last chapter was amazing, thanks for your thoughts & support!