(Hermione)

'You know, Dear, I remember what it was like, being young, and being in love... Such a wonderful, yet confusing time…' Madame Pomfrey gave a distant smile as she looked down at Hermione, a glint in her cloudy eyes. She appeared to be reliving memories of more care free periods in her life.

Hermione quickly withdrew her hand, as if burned, from Draco's bed. She swivelled round in her chair, her mouth open in a gormless fashion, and started to gabble. 'I – not love – don't be silly! - Arithmancy project – working together – Harry and Ron – busy – wanted company – I…' She blushed desperately, and motioned to the neat array of notes on the otherwise empty bedside table next to her and the hefty book in her lap. The Matron nodded knowingly. 'You've been sat at the young man's side almost constantly for the past three days, Miss Granger… enquiring about his condition more times than the all of the Slytherin students who have swaggered in here, and believe me, there have been many… I know the signs, Dear, I know the signs…' The older woman patted Hermione's tense shoulder gently. Her short, wrinkled fingers and well-groomed nails pressed down into the girl's woollen jumper. Smiling down at Hermione, who was staring at the intriguing patterns in the floor tiles, she gave a tinkling little laugh and sauntered off to check on the other patients in the ward, one of whom – a young Ravenclaw with a thick bandage wrapped around his head – was groaning feebly and clutching his stomach.

More than a little disgruntled by her conversation with Madame Pomfrey, Hermione coughed awkwardly, picked up and re-shuffled her many Arithmancy notes, which were colour coded and ordered in a fastidious way that would be instantly recognisable as Hermione's handiwork to anyone who read them. She stole a glance at Draco and cautiously slid one of her slender hands back over to the spot where it had been previously, where there was a somewhat hand shaped dent in the duvet. The dip was still warm – her hand had been in the same place by his thin, stationary right arm for most of the weekend. She wouldn't dare place it any closer out of her fear of waking the Slytherin from his slumber; public humiliation would be a guaranteed result of getting caught in such a compromising position. There had very nearly been such an encounter with Pansy Parkinson, which had been barely avoided thanks to some quick thinking on Hermione's part. Draco was still – thankfully – unconscious and breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling in time to the old fashioned clock that hung on the wall opposite to Hermione.

Draco was still quite thin, but not as brutally so as he had been four nights ago. Neither did he look like somebody had tossed him off of the astronomy tower – the majority of his cuts and bruises had been healed in a joint effort by Madame Pomfrey and Hermione (Although said joint effort was not known to both parties). The great improvement was very reassuring to the concerned girl, who did not wish to have any more worries to add to her already high and teetering pile. Hermione had not known there was such a thing as a weight gain charm, but Madame Pomfrey was able to cast them expertly, and because of this Draco no longer looked like a human skeleton; his face had lost its angular, inhuman look and a little colour had returned to his skin, although his cheek bones were still slightly visible beneath his severe, pointed face. He had not been tossing and turning whilst he slept, indicating the presence of peaceful dreams, and had, once or twice, smiled weakly and twitched his fingers, as people so often do when they dream.

This new, quiet Draco, Hermione had decided, was vastly preferable to the snarky, foul boy he was when he was awake and she had become fiercely protective of him; she would scowl at anyone who stared at the odd pair on their way to visit friends or relatives, and tutted and made a fuss whenever Madame Pomfrey interfered with his bandages or came to change his linen. Those maternal emotions did still cause some niggling questions to rise in the back of Hermione's mind but she pushed them away – his silent company had been much comfort to her during the difficult time she had been going through in the current year. Ron was still as loved up with Lavender as ever – the two of them writhed around like eels together on their favourite armchair in the common room every evening, and even Ginny was rarely around to spend time with Hermione any more, due to a certain Dean Thomas. Harry had developed an unhealthy obsession with Lord Voldemort, the Half-Blood Prince and hunting down Horcruxes – in fact he rarely wanted to talk about anything else and Hermione felt like they were slowly starting to drift apart. When she had to leave Draco's side at the end of visiting hours she was either buried in a book or writing and rewriting NEWT coursework, receding more and more into her little shell.

*

The weekend had at last run its course, and Hermione took comfort in the fact that the routine of lessons and strict schedules were just a night's sleep away. Saturday and Sunday had been strained and unpleasant – at least the time not spent in the hospital wing had been – and she had retired to the confines of her empty dormitory for some peace and quiet. Questions were being asked by people (These came mainly from those who wished for help with essays and studies) who had noticed her familiar face had not been present in the common room, and Hermione would have given anything to avoid them. The pressure of the upcoming NEWT mock exams was beginning to set in and although it was not even Christmas, the seeds of Hermione's fabled pre-exam panic had been planted in her mind.

It had been comforting at first, the silence of the dormitory, and she spent a pleasant hour or so sitting by one of the small latticed windows by her bed, staring into the overcast, twilit winter sky, stroking a purring Crookshanks absentmindedly and reflecting on Thursday's enjoyable transfiguration class, in which she had perfected human to avian transfiguration on an unwilling Neville Longbottom. Hermione's brilliant brain, however, had become tired of gazing at the milky new moon and craved stimulation. She happily complied with the whim and pushed up from the cold floor, checking her watch as she did so. It was quarter to six. The hospital wing had been closed for fifteen minutes, but her sudden desire to see Draco's face was so all-encompassing that she disregarded her fondness for sticking to the rules, raced out of the common room and made her way to the fourth floor.

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Argh! I am so sorry I didn't upload this yesterday, the damn broadband went down and didn't come back up until today. I don't think this chapter was quite as good as it could have been, but it takes us to where we need to be for the next one, which I'm writing now and will *hopefully* have up for you by tomorrow evening. The Summer holidays start for me tomorrow, so I'll have lots more time to spend with Draco and Hermione. Sorry if this story seems like it's meandering along a little bit, there will be some action soon, I promise! c:

Reviews = EPIC love. Not as many as I'd hoped for for the last chapter, have I scared you off? I think 12 for chapter six has been the best so far, can we get to fifteen for this one? I love to hear from you, no matter what you have to say, and they really do get me in the right frame of mind for writing. *eyes sparkle* :D Just don't tell me this chapter's too short... the paragraphs are longer, that's all! ;)

Laura