A/N. It seems a lot of you guys were confused by the last part in the previous chapter, with regard to Draco's realization. I'll try to clear that up in this chapter, and hopefully you guys understand what's happening. If after this, you still don't, feel free to tell me through reviews and I'll make changes as necessary. Once again, thank you to everyone who's reviewed me. Your compliments and critiques are much appreciated.

On to the chapter!

xxxxx

"Harry! Harry!" Draco hammered on the door to Harry's office in the Auror department at the Ministry. Office hours were ending, but Draco was familiar with Harry's workaholic nature. If Draco had to find him, this was the first place he would check. "I know you're in there, Potter. Open the damn door, I've got something to tell you!"

"Something wrong, Mr. Malfoy?" asked a young Auror, entering the office.

"Nothing, Fletcher. I just need a word with your boss." Draco banged a few more times. "Open up, you bloody prat!"

Draco made to bang on the door again, but it opened suddenly and he stumbled inside, crashing into someone. He looked up into the face of Kingsley Shacklebot, who raised his eyebrows. "Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. Is there a problem?"

Draco straightened, feeling quite flustered. "My apologies, Minister," he muttered, looking at the floor.

"It's quite all right," Kingsley said, his face impassive. "I, too, apologize for delaying your conversation with, er, this bloody prat." Draco looked up, sheepish, but saw the corners of Kingsley's mouth twitch. Behind him, Harry was looking rather shocked. "Good day, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy." Kingsley nodded at both of them and left.

"It's about time, you bloody prat," Draco said, relief making him laugh. Harry himself was still getting over his alarm, but soon he was laughing as well.

"What's so important that you'd call me a bloody prat in front of the Minister?" Harry asked, gesturing to a seat across his desk. Draco closed the door behind him and took the seat.

"I'd call you a bloody prat in front of Shacklebot any day, really, even if you'd actually done something good," Draco replied, still laughing. But as he sat down, Hermione's diary shifted in his pocket and his mood immediately grew somber. He was here for her.

"Really, though, what's wrong, mate?" Harry took a seat at his desk. "I'd expected that you'd stay at home for the rest of the day. I was going to check on you again after my last meeting."

"I'm not invalid, Harry. I can take care of myself without you checking up on me," Draco said, the corners of his mouth creeping into a smile.

"I'm just saying-"

"I've found something." Draco blurted it out before his nerve could get the better of him. His hands clenched around his robes.

Harry was momentarily floored. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, his green eyes wide. "You've- you've found something?" he finally managed to choke out.

"Well, nothing specific." Draco brought out the diary. "But she's given me an idea."

"What idea?"

Draco flipped the diary open to the page he'd last read and slid it over to Harry. "She mentions how my eyes are similar to a Pensieve."

Harry skimmed the page, looked up at Draco. "And? Your eyes are gray-" He stopped, stared down at the page. "Eyes like a Pensieve," he whispered. "You don't think-?"

"It's worth a shot." Draco had a hard time keeping the desperation out of his voice. "If her memories haven't been tampered by whatever's caused her insanity…"

"…then we could get them from her and try to see what happened to her." Harry's voice was strangled. "It's a small chance-"

"But it's still a chance." Draco hadn't noticed he was standing. He slammed his fist down on Harry's desk. "Don't you want to find out what happened to her?"

"But what if her memories are damaged? There's no telling what's wrong with her mind-"

"But what if they're not?" Draco yelled. "What if they're fine, and they're just locked away somewhere where she can't always access them? It's worth a shot, I know it is, but if you don't want her to get better-"

"I never said that!" Harry bellowed. Both of them stood there, glaring at each other, breathing heavily. Draco was the first to break eye contact. He stared at the diary lying between them, its pages being ruffled by the magical breeze in Harry's climate-controlled office. "I never said that," Harry continued, quieter now. "We both care deeply for Hermione, you know that. I just-" He sat down heavily, letting out an exasperated sigh. "I don't want my hopes raised only to have them crushed."

At Harry's words, the hope in Draco's heart flickered, as if it were a candle instead of a beating muscle. He knew the feeling Harry was talking about. It had happened often enough to them, in the early months of Hermione's confinement, when every visit to St. Mungo's made their hearts beat wildly with hope, or when every Healer's owl made their hands shake. Their hopes would go up, thoughts of a miraculous cure on their minds, but she had never gotten better. Slowly, hope changed to desperation, then to denial, then muted and disappointed acceptance. They still hoped, but it grew fainter each day. It had been so long.

"It's still a chance," Draco said quietly, his eyes fixed on his knuckles, which were white against the dark of his hastily-worn robes. "It's small, but it's a chance. And right now I'm willing to take any chance that I can get."

There was a pause. Draco was unwilling to look up, afraid of what he might see on Harry's face. Resignation, anger, despair… His hands tightened around the cloth of his robes; he bit his lips to stop from screaming, if only to break the silence.

"I'll arrange for a Pensieve." The words were almost inaudible. Draco wouldn't have heard them if he hadn't been hoping for them so fervently. He looked up at Harry, who was staring at him with a strange emotion in his eyes. "Draco…"

"I'll wait at home." He stood and picked up the diary, not wanting to hear the rest of Harry's sentence. But before he could shut the door, the rest of Harry's sentence caught up with him, stabbing into him like an icy knife.

"I hope this works."

Draco ran out of the Auror department. He barreled through the corridors, took the stairs instead of the agonizingly slow lifts. He waited until he got to his private office and had locked the door behind him before he sank to the floor, his back against the door, and surrendered to the fear and anguish in his heart. He was absolutely terrified of the tiny hope in his heart, the faint light in his surrounding darkness. He was terrified that it wouldn't work; that her memories were messed up from whatever she'd gone through, that they'd try and end up with nothing. But more than that, he found that here, alone in his office, surrounded by things that had nothing to do with her, enveloped in the growing darkness, he was terrified of the fact that the idea, softly pulsing in his mind, would work.

xxxxx

A/N. Short chapter is short, I know, but I felt like adding any more would be a little much. The chapter's rather crucial. I'll work in some Dramione into the next chapter or two, don't worry. Again, criticism will be much appreciated. R&R, please and thank you!