A/N: Here it is, the very last chapter. It's pretty long, over double the length of any other. I was contemplating adding an epilogue, but there's nothing really to wrap up. So strap on your gears and get ready for fireworks.

I just wanted to thank everyone who reads this, even if you don't review. This has been my best project yet, and with the deletion of two other fanfics, I was feeling a little depressed. But this cheered me up, just thinking about your thoughts and feedback! So there's your mission: feed back! Author is hungry.

No One Noticed

By Mireekian

Saturday, 5:45pm

Had you told Hermione Granger one week ago that she'd be taking care of Draco Malfoy while he wore nothing more than a tight black shirt and his slacks – and a raging fever – in their shared bathtub, not only would she have personally signed you in to St. Mungo's mental ward – because she's nice like that – she would have marched right up to said Malfoy and insult him (badly) just to prove she would never, ever do something like that.

But no.

Here she was, not even twenty-four hours after she first found him lying forlornly in a heap in a corridor off the Great Hall, mopping his forehead and making sure he didn't slip under.

Though would anyone really miss him?

Hermione groaned and let the cloth drop back down into the water. She'd filled the tub back up again after Madame Pomfrey stopped in to run a few diagnostic spells and try out a few potions.

Unfortunately, the potions had a negative affect on his awareness. Apparently that was their purpose, though – to make him delirious so he wouldn't insult her. Surely he would have if he could see her, though – her eyes were baggy and her robes were atrociously wrinkled.

The unkemptness made her twitch.

Badly.

Badly enough, in fact, that Dumbledore insisted for her to wind down and simply watch over her patient, especially since the drugs would make it difficult to detect mini-seizures.

Worst of all, Pomfrey had enlisted the help of Susan Bones to do Hermione's job. Susan was nice, from what Hermione could tell from the few classes they shared, and she was definitely in the top ten academia-wise. In fact, if Hermione was the competitive type – which she would deny vehemently and then point out every way that possibility was flawed, and then continue to point it out every chance she had – she might be a little worried about her standing.

In the end it came down to the fact Hermione was Head and Susan was not. Ha! And she was so not competitive. Get it?!

Man, she needed sleep.

As it was, Susan now had Hermione's Headmaster-instructed job, and Hermione was stuck making sure Draco Malfoy didn't drown.

He was being so quiet it was eerie. His eyes were wide and dilated, and he was propped against the wall of the tub, just staring out into space. Every so often his mouth would open as though to say something, and he'd frown like a little child before he'd lose his focus.

It was… cute. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

It was like seeing Santa mwa-ha-ha and Voldemort giggle. Like a girl. It made him look creepy and wrong, devilishly angelic and so undeniably innocent. And if there were definite truths in the world, it was that two plus two equalled four, you can't put mascara on without opening your mouth, and Draco Malfoy was the farthest from innocent anyone could get.

"You're evil, Malfoy," she mumbled angrily, turning away for a second to retrieve another cloth, as she didn't want to reach into cool water up to her shoulder.

She turned back to the tub and jolted in surprise. Malfoy's face was tilted towards her, and he was looking at her with wide, vulnerable eyes.

Hermione winced at her thoughts the same time she snickered at them, imagining the clash if Malfoy ever found out she'd thought of him as vulnerable. He'd shriek like a spoiled toddler who missed out on their birthday cake.

"M' name's Draco," he said suddenly, and Hermione froze. "Not Malfoy. Malfoy's m' dad."

Hermione fished for something to say and came up blank. Had he somehow regressed into a child's state of mind? How much had those drugs screwed him up?

"Wha's yur name?"

"Hermione," she replied instinctively. Guardedly, she added, "Hermione Granger."

Malfoy frowned and his bottom lip thrust out in a pout. Hermione nearly cringed. "Her-mine-ee Her-mine-ee Granger. Tha's a weird name, Miss Miney Miney Grange."

She was thrown for another loop on that one. She dipped the cloth in the water to save time and wrung it out, thinking hard. Struck by inspiration, Hermione said "How old are you, Malfoy?"

His lip pouted again and she had to look away for fear of puking. As it was, her stomach jumped uncomfortably.

"M' name's not Malfoy!" he insisted mulishly.

"Well what do you want me to call you?"

"Draco! I's m' name. My Mum wanted Xavier too, so tha's my middle name."

Xavier, huh? Hermione would have to remember that one.

Whoa, whoa, whoa – wait.

"So now you want me to call you Draco!" The conversation was as exasperating as it was creeping her out. Seeing a nearly fully-grown teenage boy talking like a five- or six-year-old, staring at you with wide eyes so often narrowed in a sneer, and coming from a marble bathtub? It made her skin crawl and her need to figure out a reason for this made her itch for the library.

"Whaddya mean? Why wou'n't I?"

"Hardly a couple hours ago you were yelling at me not to call you by your name, as I'm not 'worthy.' So now you do, is that what you're telling me?"

His eyes, if possible, got wider. "I don' 'member that. Sorry."

Gasping, Hermione snapped, "Why?" and grimaced in distaste when he flinched away. His eyes got cloudy and Hermione quickly floundered for something to say. She wasn't sure what she would do if he started to cry. Probably puke. Her stomach already felt like it was in knots. "How old are you, Draco?"

He shrugged miserably. "Doesn't matter. I get it – you don' wanna talk to me. Sometimes Daddy's the same way when he's got his friends coming."

Shudder, twitch, twitch.

Daddy?

Shudder, shudder.

"No, I really want to know." And really, she did. The first chance she got she'd research things like this and figure out if she could be the first to cure a mental regression. Even though this was drug induced and would wear off, would the user have any recollection –

"M' six."

Hermione hid a grin as possibilities of finding out how Malfoy was raised ran through her mind. This was her chance of retribution – maybe she could ask Luna to get her dad to publish this entire interview. But then… the Quibbler was the Wizarding World's equivalent to the National Inquirer, and no one respectable actually believed any of that. Plus, Malfoy probably wouldn't even remember all this, and Hermione's reputation would probably end up ruined.

Still, it would be a great story for Ron and Harry after they got rid of those nasty rashes…

"What's your mother like, Draco?"

His wide, grey eyes lit up. "Mum? She's real nice. And pwetty. Pansy's Mum isn't as pretty as mine. And she's real smart, too. I bet she knows even more magic than Daddy!" He was getting excited and began to fidget, shifting around on the marble seat in the water.

Then he froze up, clutched his chest, and started coughing. His free hand smacked the water and it sloshed over the side of the tub, wetting her front from her blouse down to her crouched toes.

"Malfoy, you clumsy ferret!" Hermione fumed, jumping away to avoid the rest of the splash, but failed. She was wearing a white shirt, too. He'd probably acted out the whole thing, just to fulfil his stupid male urges and see through her shirt! "How infuriating can you get? Even when you're sick, you're impossible!"

His coughing calmed and he stared at her, looming over him, with a gaping mouth and terrified, hazy eyes.

In that moment, Hermione didn't see the boy who had just dumped water on her. She didn't see a seventeen-year-old, devilish, childish, petulant bully that had always antagonized her and her friends, made her life at Hogwarts miserable. All she saw was a childlike innocence, a panic that was set in his bones as he tried so hard to be strong even though he knew retribution would come like a swift arrow in the night and be ten times more painful, and a deep, sorrowful regret that showed he was, genuinely and truly, sorry for getting her wet.

"I'm sorry!" he cried. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to."

Biting her tongue, Hermione flicked the water off her hands and grabbed a towel. "It's okay," she said, hoping it didn't sound as stiff as her back felt after leaning over a sick Malfoy all day. How could he have gotten so much water flying with just one slap to the surface? Even when he didn't mean to, Draco had still done the worst he could to her.

Wryly, Hermione smiled. It was like he'd instilled a microchip in his mind that no matter where he was or what he was doing, if Hermione Granger was there, he had to make her miserable. Even if he didn't want to.

Pondering that, Hermione wondered if Lucius Malfoy would stoop so low. Nah… he still thought his son was capable of evil, regardless of whether or not a curse was placed on him. Then again…

"Is that why I'm evil?"

Startled, Hermione nearly slipped on the wet tile and flailed until she caught her balance on the sink. She didn't miss Draco's flinch when she stumbled.

"What? And what's the matter?"

"Before, you told me I'm evil. I know what evil is, but no one's never ever called me that before. Daddy just says I can't do nothing right. But maybe it's jus' cuz 'm evil?"

"You're father said that?" Hermione gasped, and was shocked when she felt anger welling up in defence for someone she thought she hated. She just chalked it off to her ingrained sense that what Draco was describing was emotional unacceptable.

Draco shrugged.

"Why?"

His eyes widened for a brief second, then he whispered conspiratorially, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes." Hermione crossed her finger the same time she thought, 'But I never said I would for you.'

"I still wet the bed. An' I sometimes wanna play with the muggle kids in the parks when Daddy takes me to London. An' once, I burped really loud when Daddy's friends were over, and he didn't like that very much."

Hermione nearly imploded from not even squeaking out a laugh, but she commended herself for not making a sound. But her face threatened to explode from the pressure. Finally, she strangled out, "Wetting the bed is perfectly normal for someone… around six." She was going to say 'your age,' but guessed rather accurately she wouldn't be able to win her internal laughing struggle.

Draco's face lit up. "Really? Daddy says I must be a Squib cuz I'm so stupid. But…" his face fell, "then if it's normal, does that mean I'm evil? I don' wanna be evil. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing… Draco."

"You're really pretty when you're all red. Like, angry or blushing. And you have really pretty lips."

"Urg…" she spluttered.

"Have we met before, cuz I think I remember you yelling at me before. And… and did you ever smack me? Because I think I remember that, too, and your face was especially red and pretty then. And I can see you sitting in a class, chewing on your lips, and now whenever I see you, all I can think about is…"

Hermione thought, in the way random and unexpected thoughts flit across minds, that Draco was beginning to talk a little more like an adult, and with a flash of realization that had her reeling, she knew the drugging potions were wearing off. Fast. She could only hope she could get him to stop talking before he realized it, too.

"Don't!" she shrieked, the same time he finished, "…Kissing you."

They both froze, and Hermione unconsciously started worrying her lips until she saw his eyes flit towards the movement and she stopped, mortified. She saw the dawning horror mirrored in his quicksilver eyes, saw the extra spurt of blood rush to his cheeks in a way that had nothing to do with the fever, and then saw him look up towards the heavens before he dunked himself in the water.

"Draco!" she screamed, lunging for his arm or hair or shirt to stop him, and she felt the black silk top clenched between her fingers before he jerked out of her grasp with a strength she didn't know he possessed. She barely registered the cool water enveloping her arm, but she knew with a knowledge she was afraid she had that he would rather drown than face the humiliation of seeing her after his confession.

She didn't even pause to take off her shoes before she leaped into the six-foot-deep bathtub filled with relatively cool water (like her pool in the summer, she'd mused as she had filled it up earlier) and fought with Draco, her claws out and lashing, to pull him up.

When they broke the surface, Hermione struggled to get them over to the stairs and they collapsed there, sprawled half-in and half-out of the tub, his hair plastered to his skin while hers had already begun to frizz again, his chest heaving as he recovered from the exertion and her chest…

…white shirt plus wet shirt equals…

But oh well, because she had landed on her front halfway on top of him and his eyes were staring bleakly at the ceiling, and Hermione was too frazzled from lack of sleep and loads of stress that she really didn't care anymore what (or where) he thought of her.

The silence was deafening and Hermione was still smarting from the fact her charge had just tried to drown himself, that she decided to be just a little evil. Besides, she was quite certain that his humiliation was so great this time that she was positive he wouldn't respond scathingly… he was too defeated… to… vulnerable.

The fact he might get a seizure completely escaped her train of thought. Really.

"So, Draco…"–and she ignored the way he stiffened–"…How old were you when you stopped wetting the bed?"

"Shut up, Granger."

"So you remember all of it? You do, don't you, Draco?"

"…Don't call me that."

"But you told me to."

"You know I wouldn't have if I knew what was happening."

"So how often did you burp at your father's parties?"

"Drop it, Granger."

"What happened to Miss Miney Miney Grange, huh, Draco?"

"I'm gonna kill Pomfrey for this."

"And what about how pretty I was, huh? Or mind explaining your private little fetish about playing with muggles? I was under the impression you hated them, thought they were dirt. So I guess you wanted to play with mud and get dirty back then, did you Draco? What changed? Did you forget? Or have you tried not to be such a mess-up and gain affection from your father?"

"I said drop it, Granger." There was a note of warning in his voice that told Hermione she'd gone too far, but she was on a roll and nothing was going to stop her. She was going to break the mystery of Draco Malfoy's layered personality, even if the fumes from the onion made her cry.

She pitched herself over to straddle him and leaned down, biting her bottom lip, but he determinedly kept his eyes trained on her own. It was only as she formed the words, "And to think, all this time perfect pureblooded Draco Malfoy has fancied the lips of a mudblood," that she realized just how far she'd gone.

Draco grabbed her shoulders and rolled them over so they were completely out of the water, and in one fluid motion pressed his lips on hers.

Hermione only heard the pounding of her heart in her throat and the roaring in her ears as her eyes slowly closed and her arms, acting on their own, snaked up to wrap around his neck.

And then the sound of someone clearing their throat reached through the haze around them, and Hermione all but shoved Draco off of her as she whipped her head around to the entrance, a mortified blush flushing her entire face the colour of a tomato. It was the kind of red Draco would probably like, an evil little voice in her head said.

"Feeling better, Mr. Malfoy?"

Hermione didn't move her gaze from Dumbledore's amused, twinkling blue eyes, but she didn't have to see Draco to know when his arms gave out and he collapsed onto her, his forehead to her collarbone. She gave a wriggling squeak, but made no other reaction.

"Just peachy, Headmaster," Draco rasped.

"I assumed so. The guilty students have been caught, Mr. Malfoy, and they were able to break the spell on sight."

Hermione felt a jolt of fear go through her, fearing for Ginny, but then realized Dumbledore had said 'students' and she wondered exactly who was behind it.

"Miss Bones said she'd overheard her classmates discussing some spells and began her search there, and within a few hours was able to determine exactly what occurred yesterday, and the hex that was used. Madame Pomfrey has already discerned that there will be no lasting effects from the curse, as it was taken care of earlier enough. You will be back to normal before classes begin on Monday, I'm sure, if you spend the remainder of tonight and tomorrow resting under Miss Granger's keen eye – if you deem it necessary, Miss Granger?"

Desperately, Hermione made to shake her head. She didn't think she'd be able to stand it if Draco advanced on her again, and if he was going to be regaining his strength – with no worries about epilepsy if he insulted her, and he could try to kiss her again, just to –

Then she remembered that flash of white, the roaring in her ears, the blissful feathery touch of his chapped lips on her own, and Hermione found herself worrying her bottom lip again.

Betraying her logic, Hermione squeaked, "Certainly, Professor."

"And Mr. Malfoy? Do you agree?"

He shifted his head and angled it to stare questioningly into Hermione's eyes, and with a moment's hesitation, nodded curtly.

"Alright then," Dumbledore exclaimed as he retreated from the bathroom. "If that's settled, I do believe I have other pressing matters to attend to… I'm out of lemon drops! Off to Hogsmead, then…"

---

Harry Potter was feeling especially cheerful after getting released from the Hospital Wing. It was an exciting feeling, really, to achieve freedom from that incessant itching that nearly drove him crazy. It was like having the Chicken Pox all over again, except ten times worse and all concentrated in… embarrassing areas.

He was just walking to the Great Hall after changing into a fresh set of robes in Gryffindor Tower when a shout made him freeze in his veritable skipping down the hall.

"Harry!"

He glanced up at the sound of his name and a grin split his face as he saw Ginny racing towards him. The smile slipped off his face when he saw the sheer terror written across her freckled cheeks.

"Ginny? What's the matter?"

"Where's Ron?"

"He's probably already at dinner. He got out earlier than me, so –"

"Don't care!" Ginny snapped, panting beside him.

Slightly hurt, Harry frowned. "Ginny, what's–"

"Was Hermione in the Hospital Wing?"

"No, I haven't seen her all day. I guess she got the day off, since Pomfrey found a good cure earlier today."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, but I haven't seen Hermione since lunch." Suddenly she grabbed Harry's sleeve and began dragging him through the hall. "I thought she went to the library or something, but then it clicked. Draco Malfoy's one of the only Slytherins not to get sick, and yet I haven't seen him all day."

Confused, Harry asked, "So? Who cares about Malfoy?"

"Harry!" Ginny grumbled, in a way that made Harry blush and all too aware that she was clutching his arm to her chest. "Both Hermione and Malfoy have been missing all day!"

A surge of anger and worry rose up in his chest. "Malfoy's done something to her."

Ginny nodded, grimly, quite the feat for someone running their fastest through the hall. They nearly collided with Colin Creevy, but Ginny swerved just in time.

"That's what I think, too. She looked terrified when I asked her about him at lunch today. He must have acted on a threat."

"We have to hurry!"

They made it all the way from Gryffindor Tower to the Head dorm in record time, and Harry shouted, "Chrysanthemum!" at the top of his lungs the moment they made it past the last bend. They barged in through the opened portrait, Hermione's name formed on their lips, and at the sight before them, Ginny screamed.

Draco Malfoy was there, all right.

And so was Hermione.

They were soaking wet.

Hermione's shirt was nearly transparent.

Malfoy's hand was around her neck.

Hermione's hands were around his.

They were staring at their intruders with open mouths and red splotched on their cheeks.

Before Harry and Ginny had arrived, they were kissing. Kissing!

Then Malfoy smirked and sat down lazily on the couch, pulling Hermione down to sit on his lap. Harry's hands curled into fists, but Hermione didn't even complain.

"Why do your friends always have to interrupt, Granger?"

Then Pansy Parkinson blasted in through the portrait, shoved both Ginny and Harry aside in one go, and stared just as Harry had at the couple on the loveseat.

Draco sighed, but Hermione smirked, mirroring (much to Harry's terror) the Malfoy smirk, turned her face towards Draco and planted her lips on his.

Pansy made a kind of gurgling noise then fainted dead away.

Draco turned to Pansy's prone form, then back to Hermione with a delighted smile. "I'm going to have to keep you around."

"You'd better," she countered playfully. "No one makes chicken soup quite like I do."

"Really?" Draco said wryly. "I hadn't noticed."

---

"This is your fault, you know," Pavarti groaned to her sister. The Headmaster had just stepped out of his main office to floo their parents.

"ACHOO!" Padma snapped, "How was I supposed to know the stupid illness was actually a real illness? All of the evidence pointed at Malfoy."

"So? Now you got us both in trouble!"

"You were the one who said no one would notice!"

"No one did notice! It was that girl from your House that figured it out. How could you talk about that stupid curse in front of her, anyway?!"

"I was proud of it!"

"You should have kept it quiet. That way, no one would have noticed when we used it."

"NO ONE NOTICED!"

---

fin

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