Friday, After Dinner…

Hermione wondered what she should do first. She had a Potions essay due Monday, but she wasn't really in the mood to do any potions because she had to look forward to spending all of Saturday morning with Madame Pomfrey researching and discussing potions to cure the flu, so she supposed she could do the essay after that.

Or… she could head to the library first and check out a book on healing potions so she could brainstorm ideas for the meeting tomorrow. She did have an overdue book she needed to hand in…

But then, she had promised Ginny and Luna that they could sleep over that night, since she was pretty sure she would get the dorm. She could believe she had to resort to this, though… making up rules just so she and the Head Boy wouldn't breathe down each other's necks.

And in front of the professors, they'd agreed they would act like they were getting along! Now all her teachers thought that she and Malfoy, Head Girl and Head Boy, would be perfect together for assignments. It was degrading, having to work with him!

Even with the Friday rule up, she and Malfoy had acted almost upon some sort of unspoken agreement that they would operate sort of by turn. Last week, the dorm had been his, so naturally the day before, she'd promised Ginny and Luna that they could sleep over.

Then it all had to change when Luna got sick.

But she still had plans with Ginny!

With a gasp, she remembered she hadn't told her friend whether or not she could come. Rolling her eyes at her forgetfulness, Hermione turned heel back down the private corridor with determined intent to bring back her friend, and if Malfoy got there first, she would just have to tell him too bad; she was there first. Besides, it wasn't as if Malfoy had anyone left in his House to have plans with anyways…

"EEEEEEEK!"

With a shriek, Hermione tumbled head over heels, her books cascading everywhere, and she landed with a thump on her backside, her ankles trapped somewhere behind her and her bushy hair in a whirlwind above her.

It felt like someone had put a tripping jinx or something on her…

Malfoy.

With a growl, she tossed her hair out of her face and tried, unsuccessfully, to pat it down. When it didn't settle anyways, she whipped out her wand and, with her eyes looking down the empty corridor until she scanned right to the door, cast, "Finite Incantum…"

…

…And nothing happened.

Her feet, still firmly stuck, were obviously not a victim of the average tripping hex.

Hesitantly, a stone forming in her stomach, Hermione turned around.

There, lying in front of her, completely prone and completely unconscious, was Draco Malfoy.

"Professor McGonagaaaaaallllll!!!!" Hermione yelled, still staring. "Help!"

---

"So what you're saying is that the hospital wing is completely full?" Hermione asked dazedly.

McGonagall sighed. "Yes, Miss Granger. And as you are Head Girl and Mr. Malfoy here is Head Boy, I'm sure you're familiar enough with him to treat him. Don't worry, you're exempt from your weekend lesson with Madame Promfrey, on the condition that you help get your dorm-mate back up to health."

Was that supposed to cheer Hermione up? It didn't.

"I'll also be sure to get the prefects… what's remaining of them, anyway… to take up your nightly patrols. We simply cannot have our Student Heads out of commission, Miss Granger. It is highly unethical, as you two promise to be excellent graduates and we simply cannot have either of you fall behind in your studies."

With an apologetic smile, the first sign of any emotion the Gryffindor Head of House had shown since escorting the two Student Heads up to their dorm, Professor McGonagall quietly backed out of the room, shutting the door quietly.

Inside, Hermione stared with growing horror at the boy… no, creature… lying down on their tan leather sofa beside their grand fire. He seemed almost lost among the gold and silver blankets that had been thrown over him.

Gulping, Hermione cautiously set down her bag and approached the couch curiously.

It could leap up at her at any moment. Claws out, jaws snapping. Deranged, like.

Malfoy's brows were knitted and a thin sheen of perspiration stood out on his pale forehead, once Hermione had ventured close enough to get a good look at him. He still hadn't woken up, and judging from his unruly hair and flushed cheeks, the most colour she could ever remember seeing on him, Hermione thought he wasn't faking it.

He was sick.

She had to take care of him.

That was that.

With a groan, Hermione sank to sit on what little space was left above Malfoy's head on the sofa, rubbing her temple agitatedly. Now she couldn't have her sleepover with Ginny, she couldn't research potions, which would be a huge part of her post-Hogwarts studies as a Medicines Researcher, and she couldn't just settle down and relax on the weekend.

No, instead she was babysitting poor, sick, little Malfoy until he got better. So said McGonagall, who carried the message straight from Dumbledore.

When a clammy hand closed around her wrist, Hermione jolted with a terrified "Eep!" and ripped her hand out of his grasp, darting to her room.

Even if Dumbledore had ordered it, there was no way she was playing "Mommy" to Draco Malfoy.

No way.

Besides, who would notice? Exactly. No one would.