This wasn't the start of her 'two days' she had hoped for. They lay in silence for almost an hour without talking to each other. She wanted to initiate a conversation with him but felt scared. She was scared to delve into her care-worry-free weekend. She felt like she wouldn't be able to control herself and actually enjoy being carefree. She was scared of being happy and in peace.

When had she come to such a low point?

Why was she scared of being happy? It made no sense…

Maybe she didn't know what true happiness was anymore because the war had emptied and blocked the flow of serotonin in her mind. Maybe being in constant stress and sorrow led her to be in this place.

How could one even restore their serotonin levels? She could take some muggle pills but was too stubborn to do so. She didn't want to depend on a pill. She would rather fix it herself. Then she felt like she couldn't get credit for healing herself, it would have been the result of a partnership, but she didn't want that. Also, it would mean that she would be doing well as long as she took her meds. What if she ran out? Would she went back to her old self by skipping her meds?

She didn't want to take the risk but didn't know what would happen if this lack of serotonin went on for longer. How long could she function without it?

Or maybe she would just need to allow herself two days every month to recharge her serotonin levels and use her storage wisely.

But what if all of her planning was useless, and the two-day approach wouldn't work in the first place?

What would she do then?

She couldn't feel her serotonin levels hanging onto a last thread that they might let go of any time now.

Suddenly, she was hit by a wave of panic. She felt her chest compress, her heart pounding uncontrollably, and her breath shortening. It felt like her lungs had given up on her and wouldn't let air enter them. She felt so anxious and worried, and her mind was going insane with all her worries, and she could feel her serotonin levels finally let go of the thread.

All hope was lost.

Her hands shook uncontrollably, and little black dots started clouding her vision.

Her shaking caught his eyes. Noticing her distress, he rushed to her side, his eyes filled with concern.

She blinked slowly. Her vision had completely blurred before a flash of striking blonde hair appeared, sending a sudden jolt through her eyes, and she slowly started gaining her vision back.

The sight in front of his eyes was painfully familiar to him. He knew exactly what she was going through. He had experienced from a young age what a panic attack looked like from his mother since he would always be the one at her side, panting in fear, praying for her not to die in his arms while he tried to calm her down.

Then the same started happening to him in his sixth year, but the only difference was they couldn't reverse the roles with her being tortured at the Manor, so he had to go through them alone, with no one by his side—almost every night.

He still experienced anxiety attacks every now and then, but he had mastered controlling them. It was one of those things he didn't feel proud of mastering, along with others, like pushing people away.

He was excellent at that.

The master of masters.

Every time he would manage to calm his mother down, he would find himself collapsing from the amount of stress that would mount on him. It wasn't easy when it happened to the person he loved the most—especially considering how often it would occur. While he prayed for her not to leave him, he would also try to savor what could also be his last moments with her. Trying to lock every single thing about her appearance, her hair, the warming scent of her perfume, how her hand felt against his. It was all too much for him, especially when he was as little as five, and he felt the same anxiety dawn on him while he tried to calm the brunette before his eyes.

He quickly learned that asking the person if they were okay over and over again was a big no. It always made everything worse. The most important thing was for him to remain as calm as possible. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders, "Granger, breathe. It's okay," Hermione struggled to focus on Draco's words, her breaths still coming in short gasps. She felt like she was suffocating, and her chest was on fire.

He sat beside her, for her to not grow anxious over him towering over her. He watched her carefully and took her hand, gently rubbing circles on her palm, "It's okay… You're safe here," he said, his voice soft and reassuring.

"Focus on your breathing. Can you do that for me?" He continued, his voice as steady as a heartbeat.

She held onto his arm, and he let her grip him as tightly as she needed to, just like he had done at the lake. He started rubbing the top of her forearm, slowly making her release her grip on him, and he held onto her other hand as well, "You're doing great. Breathe. Inhale through your nose, and exhale through your mouth."

This was the only time she would let Draco Malfoy dictate what she should do slide…

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing, the sound of Draco's voice guiding her. She tried to feel the air enter her lungs and then let go, but her haunting thoughts forcefully got a hold of the steering wheel, and she found herself incapable of inhaling, "Hey. Hey," he leaned in closer, extending a hand to her cheek, and stroking it softly with the back of two of his fingers. He then started doing the same to her hair. His hand moved up and down her curls in the most gentle fashion possible, and the sensation took her back to her childhood. She felt a rush of nostalgia since her mother would do the same whenever she had these episodes.

Draco noticed the sudden shift in her breathing when he started stroking her hair, so he pushed himself to her bed frame and gently lifted her back to position her head on top of his thighs. She complied with him, and once the back of her head touched his lap, he resumed running his hands through her hair, feeling the soft strands between his fingers.

She felt a sense of warmth and safety wash over her. Sensing her mother in a way was so comforting to her. Hot tears were still pouring out of her eyes, but she didn't know if it was because of how overwhelmed she was or because she missed her mother so dearly, "Shh. You're safe. There's nothing to worry about," he gently wiped her tears away and laid the back of his head on the wall.

Draco could see the tension in her body easing but wouldn't let himself relax, not yet. Not until he knew she was hundred percent okay and alive. She was still shaking, but it had subsided a lot compared to five minutes ago.

Gradually, her breathing began to slow, and the pain in her chest began to ease. Her shaking had stopped completely, but she still struggled with her breathing.

But as she lay there, she felt her body begin to relax. Her muscles slowly began to unwind, and her breathing started to regulate.

Her mind began to focus on his strokes, their pattern, and how incredibly relaxing it felt. This was kind of hilarious, actually. He was willingly stroking the hair that he thought was enchanted with dark magic for half his life. The memory of it only amused her.

She felt her muscles grow heavy and sink deeper into her bed. Her mind was finally quiet, and her body was at ease, which caused her vision to darken slowly, and she felt herself falling asleep.

Draco tutored his head forward to look at her eyes, which were fully shut, and he started panicking and quickly checked her pulse.

He released a breath of relief when he realized she had simply fallen asleep. He didn't dare move, afraid that he might wake her. Instead, he sat as still as possible, watching out the window as she slept.

He heard footsteps advancing towards them and found himself face to face with Mme. Pomfrey looked very much so at a loss for words. She opened her mouth to say something, then sealed it shut.

She pressed her lips for a moment, then walked away, letting out an awkward laugh.

That shit was so fucking awkward, he thought. But for some odd reason, he found it funny but buried his laughter inside of him to avoid disturbing her.

He wondered what triggered her attack. For all he knew, she looked completely fine, almost at peace, while they lay in silence for two hours. One second she was lying completely still, the next it looked like the ground her bed stood on was experiencing an earthquake.

The intensity she shook at was concerning. He experienced reaching such a high level of shaking only a handful of times, and that said a lot since he'd probably suffered from hundreds of them.

He couldn't grasp what thought would lead her to such a horrifying point. Draco had watched her fight against a herd of death eaters, get tortured by his aunt, and chased, but she had never reacted in such an extreme, almost out-of-body way. Of course, the adrenaline rush could have covered up or suppressed such a high-intensity anxiety attack, but he didn't think so.

Fuck.

He realized that this woman had power over him.

She made him feel so many opposing emotions in the span of an hour.

First, she hurt him by saying that she would never attempt to hug him again, which also made him feel regretful in some way. Then he was angry when she kept feeling bad for that fucking Weasel, and now he was worried about her.

What the fuck.

It wasn't easy getting emotion out of him or even making him feel something, but she was doing it almost naturally by being herself when he only thought that she had the ability to annoy the hell out of him.

Well, he was wrong.

Hermione Granger was fucking powerful, and no, he couldn't even deny it.

But he wondered how someone this powerful could be so broken at the same time. It looked like she was walking at the edge of both extremes, and he didn't know if he should be fascinated or extremely concerned about it.

Just then, he heard another set of footsteps approaching.

Potter, whose jaw was practically an inch away from the floor, and Theo, who had an almost sadistic grin, stood before his bed frame. Draco was about to leap off the bed when he remembered that she was sleeping and that he could at least do her the decency of not waking her up from a much-needed sleep session.

Draco cast a quick silencing charm around her before Theo was about to say something. He experienced a mini heart attack, fearing that he wouldn't be able to cast the silencing charm before Theo spoke, but thankfully he did.

"If you make this much progress every three hours, I doubt we'll find you here the next time we visit," Theo's lips spread in a wide smirk, and Harry felt himself gulp on nothing, casting his eyes on the floor.

"Maybe," Draco was definitely not helping with Harry's embarrassment. The scarhead looked at the blonde with widened eyes, then at Theo, who smiled back at him.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you didn't see this coming," Theo snickered, and Harry shook his head slowly, looking semi-clueless.

"No—not really," Harry glanced back at Draco.

"See what coming? She's just sleeping on my lap." Draco looked to the side, watching Mme. Pomfrey playing around with some concoctions.

"Oh yeah?" Theo raised a brow, "how did," he aimed his index finger at the pair lying on the bed, "that happen then?"

"It just did," Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair, and shifted his frame ever so slightly to not wake her up.

"It just did, huh…." Theo pondered, pausing in between each word. He looked everything but convinced. Harry remained silent and wondered how this happened. But for some odd reason, he didn't feel mad or frustrated. He didn't feel anything because it was the first time in a long time he had seen his best friend in such a peaceful state.

"I choose the right to remain silent," Draco said matter-of-factly.

"Of course you do, honey," Theo teased, smiling like a madman.

But what surprised them both was what Harry had to say, "It doesn't matter how or what happened, she looks peaceful, and that's all I could ever want," both boys shot him a surprised, almost quizzical look. It felt as if they were getting the blessing of a father before marriage, and Draco hated that feeling because what fucking marriage?

He and Granger? He almost laughed but managed to keep his composure. It felt super uncomfortable but not as horrible to imagine such a thing. What was going on?

Theo's visage turned from possibly shocked, to proud, as if he had a child who came running home telling him he had passed the bar exam. He smiled at Harry for indirectly approving the possibility of a, much needed in Theo's opinion, companionship among his favorite idiots.

Oh, how incredibly fun and engaging it would be watching them as a couple. He could picture them debating endlessly about anything, no matter how explicit or extreme situations they would find themselves in. Theo could literally imagine them having a heated debate arguing about how ethically correct it would be to sentence a house elf who was condemned to imprisonment for stealing two tea bags from their rightful master while Hermione was in labor giving birth to their firstborn.

Draco snapped his fingers a couple of times to catch his attention, but Theo was still in dreamland.

Harry watched a movie of emotions play out on his face and watched him in fascination with furrowed brows, wondering what he could be possibly thinking at this moment. On a second thought, he took that short-lived desire back. He didn't want to know, since he was pretty sure it had something to do with a certain blonde and his best friend.

Draco stopped trying to snap him out of whatever he was imagining, and his gaze fell on Potter instead. He watched him as he watched Theo and couldn't decipher why he was looking at him in that way.

He already noticed how weirdly close they were, but what was this look on him now? He had watched and been exposed to his irritating face more than he wanted through the years and thought he had mastered the knowledge of the limited few facial expressions he would conjure, but this right now, the way he watched the person who he called a brother, he had never seen such an expression.

He didn't know if he should be getting to the bottom of this or just letting it be and seeing what would happen. Already having to tolerate his presence due to the two people he spent the most time with being friends with him was more than enough, so he just left the thought at that.

Theo started smiling at his brief vision of what he imagined their infant would look like. He wondered what a mix of an egotistical asshole, know-it-all, sarcastic prat, and a corporate lawyer, know-it-all, hero, and activist would look like combined.

He definitely wouldn't want to get into a debate with such a kid, but he knew damn well in his heart that he would spoil the fuck out of that kid and be the best uncle Theo out there.

When the fuck did he get so old and develop such a crafty imagination?

The things his favorite idiots did to him…

"Sorry, what?" Theo looked at both of them, but they shook their heads, saying, "Nothing," simultaneously. The childhood nemesis shot each other a narrowing glance, then looked back at Theo.

"Okay, well, I think we should leave these two alone now," Theo shot a wink over at the blonde, and he sighed in response, "Just leave a note if you decide to take your," he thought about what word would be the most accurate or correct to use for a moment, "activities, " he conjured a proud smirk at the word, "elsewhere. Okay?"

Draco threw a pillow at him, but Harry froze it halfway in the air out of reflex. Theo, who had bent down, covering his face in a swift motion, slowly straightened back up when he noticed nothing had touched him, then looked at Harry, who had his wand up. The second Harry felt Theo's stare, he stopped the charm, making the pillow drop to the floor.

Draco was watching him with a raised brow before Harry blurted, "Reflex," and shoved his wand into his pocket, "See you, Malfoy," and started walking away.

Theo lifted the pillow from the floor and dragged it to Draco's bed with the aid of his wand, "Ha, now I got the Golden Girl and the Golden Boy at my rescue," he bragged in a childish but joking manner, "So beware you bitch," he pursed his lips.

"I don't know about that. She doesn't seem at your service when I'm around," he shrugged, carrying a smug look on his face.

"That's the only time I'll allow it to be that way. You know…since I love you too much," Draco opened his mouth to say something, but Theo cut him off, "it's okay. You don't have to thank me for my incredible generosity. I know I'm an amazing friend," he smiled, "Okay bye now," he blew him a kiss, then walked away.

The blonde shook his head, smiling, and mumbled, "Fucking Theo man," under his breath.

…

Mme. Pomfrey lent him a book to read, considering he was stuck underneath her, and he was kind of surprised at her act of kindness towards him. Already putting her prejudices aside and healing him was one thing, but giving him a book to read, was just…

He felt sort of uncomfortable, not knowing how to handle someone being kind to him. But above that, he generally did not like receiving gifts from people. It always made him feel weird, and it being from the fucking school nurse reached the maximum level of discomfort for his limits.

Through the years, he had developed some sort of acceptance towards receiving gifts from his closest inner circle, but whenever it happened from people beyond it, it would trigger him.

He felt weirded out and felt like he had to give back ten times what she had given him to pay her back. He felt like he had to empty half the Malfoy medicine vault in the Manor and give it to her.

If he did, he would definitely do it anonymously because he didn't want to bring that type of attention to him and make people think that he was trying to pay his way for forgiveness.

Around five hours later, he could feel his body completely stiffen, and he couldn't feel his legs from being in the same position for that long. On top of that, his stomach started growling since he hadn't eaten yet in more than two days, and he felt his vision get blurry.

Any sudden tilt of his head would make everything go white for a bit, and it made him grow tired, and now he was yawning every five minutes and could feel himself drift to sleep.

…

Hermione slowly fluttered her eyelids, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Her chest still felt tight with the remnants of her anxiety attack. A sharp pain shot through her head as she attempted to sit up, causing her to wince. She reached up to rub her forehead when she felt something soft and warm positioned underneath her head. Curious, she looked up and found herself staring directly at his face.

At first, Hermione was confused. How did she end up on his lap? Then, everything that had happened who knows how many hours ago, considering the infirmary was pitch black, came rushing down on her. All the words he spoke that she hadn't registered at the time were reminded to her by her subconscious that had registered it. She remembered how professionally he had dealt with her, and there was no way that he could've executed calming her down so effortlessly without any experience beforehand.

If he told her that he had a certificate in treating anxiety patients, she would believe him without a doubt. But she didn't think the possibility of it was very likely, which made a sudden weight of sadness weigh down on her, creating an apologetic look that mustered on her features.

As she gazed at him, she couldn't help but notice how different he looked when he was asleep. He seemed peaceful, almost vulnerable, without his usual sneer and haughty expression. He was completely defenseless, with no guard in sight, and she felt drawn to this version of him.

As she studied his face, she made a note of how his high cheekbones were softened, and his sharp jawline seemed less defined. The only hint of his usual arrogance was in the slight pout of his lips.

She watched as his chest rose and fell with each steady breath. His breathing was calm and even, and she strangely felt comforted as she watched him sleep.

As her eyes moved to his hair, she noticed a few strands had fallen out of place and were resting against his forehead. She wasn't used to the sight of him with messy hair, but she honestly preferred it more than his usual more put-together look.

She wondered how long he had been sitting there, watching over her.

As she shifted slightly to the right, Draco stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked down to find her staring up at him. For a moment, neither of them said anything. They simply looked at each other, and Hermione felt a strange sense of intimacy between them.

Finally, Draco cleared his throat. "You're awake," he said, his voice low and husky from sleep.

Hermione nodded, feeling suddenly self-conscious. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts, and asked softly, "How long have you been here?" she asked.

Draco's unwavering gaze bore into hers as he spoke in a strained voice, "A while." She felt his hesitant finger twirl a strand of her hair, and

she couldn't help but feel the weight of all that was left unspoken.