AN: Thank you to the readers still sticking with this story. Hoepfully, I shall have more time in the near future to dedicate to writing and posting more chapters!

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Song Suggestion: R U Crazy, Conor Maynard.

Chapter Twenty One: Following Instruction.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Malfoy!" A feminine shriek interrupted his sleep. Groaning quietly, he lifted his head and glared at the red haired Gryffindor. One of the rare nights he could actually sleep and Weaslette had to ruin it. Normally, he couldn't sleep for the nightmares and he tended to avoid sleeping as a result.

"Sleeping." He snapped irritably. Realising his hands were still clasped over Hermione's, he released her and stood up. Flickering his gaze over the witch, he looked for signs of distress. Now and then, her fingers twitched before she could be pulled back under, into the depths of unconsciousness. Setting a mental reminder to make more sleeping draught once a cauldron was free, he turned to the fiery redhead.

"There are dorms for that!" She scowled and he didn't miss her hand grasping her wand tightly. Although, for once, it wasn't pointed straight at his jugular, "Godric knows what you were doing to Hermione." Ginny's thoughts were a chaos of confused thoughts. Surely she had not witness Malfoy holding the curly haired witch's hand. Malfoy wouldn't have a tender emotion if it hit him over the head with an ogre's bat.

Her mistrust made him want to rant. Considering all he had done, all he had given up for the Light side, everyone questioned his motives. He'd rescued their precious princess and her dumb duo but all anyone could see was the father-parroting bully from years ago. He thought Slytherins were supposed to be the ones notorious for grudges, not the 'forgive and forget' and 'peace be to the world' Gryffindors.

"Taking care of her, something of which is not in anyone else's capabilities." Draco sneered, finally having something to lord over the 'better than you' brigade. Glancing at his potions, he was thankful that nothing had gone wrong while he was napping. With the wary Weasley girl watching on, he strode over to the potions and began working on a new one for something to do, "Is there something you need?"

"I was sent to watch Hermione." And the job title also seemed to involve irritating him out of sleep and looking disdainfully, much to his annoyance. The snarky response on the edge of his tongue would not be held.

"Good for you." Her superior tone grated on him and he rolled his eyes, "But if you must be here, at least make yourself useful." Pointing to a potion bubbling to his left, he eyed her carefully, "You can store potions correctly, I assume?"

"Of course." The girl rolled her eyes and seemed to be biting back a retort. But her sad eyes as she obeyed made him wonder what was possibly plaguing her mind. She was only packing up potions for Salazar's sake! How could such an activity cause such a depressing emotion to capture her face? Not that he cared as he worked on healing Granger.

Pouring a gooey brown potion into a bottle, she sighed reminiscently. Only a few days ago she had been doing the same thing for Hermione. Clenching her jaw against the sadness, she glanced at her best friend, who remained almost lifeless. Thankfully, whimpers occasionally escaped the unconscious witch, but Ginny had to have faith that Malfoy would do something if Hermione suffered too much. She was just grateful her best friend was still alive even if she wouldn't be awake any time soon. And if he didn't, her wraith would descend like a dragon, making Voldemort look like a playful child pigmy puff.

The Death Eaters' sudden change of heart made her suspicious. How could only yesterday, or so it seemed, they had been cursing them all and now they were working together. It didn't seem right but stranger things had happened.

No, she was not ready to fully accept the Slytherins as new members but she would tolerate them. How else would Hermione be cured? Ginny imagined herself, and everyone else under this house, would bargain with Merlin himself if only to get Hermione better. Now she found herself side by side with Malfoy. But with the rigorously studious aura he emanated, he could have been Hermione if she closed her eyes.

"Three batches of sleeping draught need making." The younger witch looked at him as if to say 'excuse me?' She would not take orders off him or anyone. When she didn't immediately jump to his demanded height, he quirked at brow at her, "You can make sleeping draught?" His tone made her bristle. How dare he insinuate she was unable to make such a basic potion, she was not stupid just because her family were not rich!

"It depends, are you asking or telling?" She folded her arms and glared. But, apparently, Slytherin boys were immune to the stare most other people ran from. Hermione used to joke it was Molly's scary stare that she had inherited. Normally, she would have grinned and imitated her mother further but now the thought of Hermione's teasing only served to make her all too aware of the dire situation only seven feet away.

"It depends; do you want Granger to get better or not?" He retorted simply. His eyes swept over her stern and expectant expression and sneered, "I've lived with Voldemort for three years, it'll take more than that to bend me to your will." If she thought she could glare him into submission she was sorely mistaken.

"Insufferable arse." Ginny muttered but got on with setting up the first batch. For Hermione, she told herself, she'd put up with his arrogant attitude. When he suddenly set a potion into a column of flames, she jumped and he sniggered.

"Scared Weaslette?" The line usually saved for intimidating Harry made her scowl. It didn't work on Harry and she'd be damned if it worked on her. Rolling her eyes, she put four springs of lavender into a mortar. She'd put up with him until Hermione was herself again, then she'd cast an extremely painful bat bogey curse on the prat.