Chapter 3::
Midnight Stroll

The door to the infirmary was unlocked, the room dark and empty. At first, Hermione wasn't sure whether or not Madam Pomphrey was even there. The beds were made and the curtains pulled back. It was almost as if the room was just waiting for an injured or sick student to arrive. The only thing that was missing in the room was Poppy Pomphrey. Perhaps she had already gone down to bed for the night. After all, seeing a student in her hospital on the first day practically never happened. Generally students didn't hurt themselves until Quidditch started; or classes for that matter. Getting off of the train or the boats? Not so much.

Hermione walked into the center of the dark room, using her wand to light her way. Stumbling over a loose stone in the floor, she called out. "Madam Pomphrey? Are you in here?"

Silence followed her voice, not even an echo of her words filling in the space. It was almost creepy in the infirmary at night. Sighing, she decided that the Mediwitch had already gone to bed for the night. That thought troubled Hermione. It took a great deal of courage to even walk into the room. The possibility of her doing it again tomorrow was slim at best. It was hard enough telling people she was going to die; the attempt was almost impossible to build up to. Hermione was strong, yes, but she didn't think she was strong enough to do this again tomorrow.

A shuffle of feet caught Hermione's attention as she turned to leave the room. Turning her head, she saw the light in Madam Pomphreys office turn on; followed by the witch walking into the room in her bed robes. Hermione felt bad suddenly. It turns out that the witch was in bed after all.

"Miss Granger?" Surprise lit Pomphrey's eyes. "Hermione Granger, what are you doing here when you should be in your common room? Are you injured? Do you need a Sleeping Draught??"

Hermione smiled as the witch's voice went from scolding to concern. "No, I'm not injured, Madam Pomphrey."

"Then what are you doing here?" She folded her arms across her chest, trying to look stern and failing miserably. The woman was far too caring to look stern.

Taking in a deep breath, Hermione prepared herself for what she was about to say. "There's actually something I need to tell you. I need your help in case something happens."

The concern won out over Pomphrey's face. "What is it, Dear? Are you ill?"

Swallowing over the lump in her throat, Hermione nodded her head. "Yes, Madam Pomphrey, I am." Closing her eyes against the tears, she took in a deep breath. "I have leukemia."

Hermione opened her eyes as the silence continued. Madam Pomphrey looked petrified, standing completely still with a glazed over look in her eyes. Hermione could feel the dread circulating through her heart. She knew this would happen. It was hard enough for her to believe at first, how could she expect anyone else to understand?

The silence began making her feel uneasy. Even her tears had dried up as the time passed. "Madam Pomphrey?" Her voice shook slightly. "Please, can you say something?"

She watched as Poppy snapped herself out of it and quickly signaled for Hermione to take a seat, "Oh my, dear, I am so sorry! Here, please sit down!"

Hermione did so and felt Pomphrey sit next to her. "How long have you known, dear?"

"About a year. I found out a few weeks after the war. My parents took me to a muggle doctor for a routine checkup. He ordered a blood test and when the results came back he broke the news to us." Her mind washed over that painful day where her world was ripped out from underneath her.

Poppy was silent for a few moments before she asked, "If you don't mind me asking, what type of leukemia do you have?"

Hermione tried to remember the name. "The doctors called it Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia. It attacks the body slowly and lasts longer then other leukemia." At least, that's exactly how the doctors put it.

Pomphrey nodded, "So you needed me to know so I could give you your potions. That won't be a problem, we'll just set up a time everyday for you to come see me."

Hermione shook her head and looked at the old witch sadly, "No. That won't be necessary."

Pomphrey raised an eyebrow, "Why not?"

This was always the worse part for her to say. So, she sighed and bit her tongue. "Because I've stopped responding to treatments."

The horror that crossed the Mediwitch's eyes was enough to make Hermione look away and onto the floor. She'd seen that look before. It was the same look her mother had when the doctors brought them the terrible news a few months back. Pomphrey stood up and started pacing. It was obvious to Hermione that the wheels were turning in the woman's mind.

"That's not possible! There must be something you can do. I'm certain I can whip up a few potions for you to try." Her voice was hurried, causing her to speak really fast.

Hermione just shook her head, "I've gone to St. Mungo's and just about every other muggle and wizarding hospital in the world. They've all said the same thing. All there is for me to do now is except it and try to make peace with it."

"But, dear," Poppy sat down again and grabbed her hands, "You can't just allow them to say that. You mustn't give up! There has to a be miracle floating around out there meant for a spectacular woman like you!"

Hermione felt her heart clench at the woman's words. She recognized this look too. It was the denial look. Hermione experienced that herself. "Thank you, Madam Pomphrey."

That's when Hermione surprised the witch. Instead of just holding her hand like she was doing a moment ago, she hugged her tightly. It's only so often that a person can find people that care as much as her friends and family do. Hugging was the best way to show how much you appreciate them without trying awkwardly to put it into words. Poppy didn't freeze or comment on the inappropriate affection. She just hugged the girl back, her heart crying for her. There were only so many students that Poppy could honestly say she liked. Hermione Granger was one of them and it was almost impossible for her to believe that such a magnificent person would be given a death sentence. Especially when she had so many years in front of her.

They pulled away a moment later, Poppy wiping tears from her eyes. "What did you need me to do, Miss Granger?"

Hermione shrugged, "I just need you to know, just in case I have an episode."

"What kind of an episode?"

"Sometimes I'll collapse, pass out, or get really sick for a short period of time. I just need you to make sure no one suspects anything."

The old witch looked at her suspiciously, "What do you mean suspects?"

Hermione began to fidget, "You see," she scratched her head and averted her eyes, "No one knows I have cancer except for my parents and you."

Pomphrey couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Miss Granger!"

Hermione didn't like the way Pomphrey said her name. "I know, Madam Pomphrey. I should tell them." Tears refilled her eyes, "But, I can't. They're all so happy and care-free now that the war is over. I don't want to take away the peace they all feel."

"Hermione." Poppy shook her head, "It won't take away their peace. Yes, it'll worry them and possibly break their hearts. But, how do you think they will feel when they find out farther down the road? When you aren't even able to do anything but lay there and die?"

Hermione looked away, knowing she was right.

"Now," Pomphrey crossed her arms and looked stern again, "Tell me the real reason."

Hermione looked up, her eyes wide and confused.

"Don't give me that look." Pomphrey stared into Hermione's far too innocent eyes.

"You know just as well as I do that there is another reason you don't want them to know."

Hermione had to look away again. Yes, there was another reason, but she never told anyone. To be honest, she barely liked thinking of it herself.

"Hermione?" Pomphrey was all business.

Sighing, she mumbled. "I don't want to be a victim."

"Sorry?" Pomphrey tilted her head, "I don't believe I heard that, can you say it a little louder please?"

"I don't want to be a victim." Hermione said, a little too loud.

Pomphrey looked surprised. "Hermione, you being a cancer patient does not make you a victim."

"That's not how I see it." She touched her Black Magic. "I can't even fight what's killing me. All I can do is sit around and let it happen. That makes me a victim."

"No, that makes you brave." Pomphrey shook her head and stood, "From the moment they hear they have cancer, most people just lay around at home until they die. What did you do? You traveled the world looking for answers. And, even after you're told there is no hope, you return to school. You went back to your life and that takes courage."

Hermione believed the woman's words, but she still wasn't sure if she'd be able to tell her friends yet. That much is going to take time. Standing, she gave the old witch one more hug. "Thank you again, Madam Pomphrey."

Poppy hugged her back. "Of course, dear. Come to me if you ever need to talk to someone."

Breaking away, Hermione walked to the doors and threw a sad smile over her shoulder. As she reached the door and opened it wide, she heard Poppy ask, "How long, dear?"

Shrugging, Hermione replied, "Six months to two years. They say it varies with every person." And with that, she shut the door behind her and headed to her common room.

Poppy, on the other hand, thought to herself. 'Six months to two years. Alright, that gives me two years to come up with a cure.'

The Slytherin common room had not changed since the war.

Draco Malfoy sat on one of the green couches, staring at the fire. His mind was lost amongst the flickering flames and withering smoke. No one else in the common room payed him any mind and he liked it that way. As far as they were concerned he was bad news. He was the guy who no one could trust. He was the monster. After he was arrested, along with his father, he lost all of the respect he had worked to gain at this school. None of the younger students were afraid of him and all of his so called 'friends' hated his guts. The only one that didn't was Blaise Zabini and he had decided to not return to Hogwarts. Instead, finishing his education at Durmstrang.

If given the option, Draco would have gone with him. But, Minister Kingsley wouldn't allow that to happen. No, the Order member wanted him to prove himself. Malfoy's never had to prove themselves. They had always been on top and that was the way it was supposed to always be. Now, after the war and the Dark Lord had dragged their name through the dirt, Draco was the one who had to fix it. His mother couldn't care less. Ever since the war she'd been volunteering for charities and war victims. What self respecting Malfoy did such a thing?

His mother, that's who and he loved her for it. She, at least, was able to pick up the pieces and do something good with her life for a change. And while Draco didn't understand that, he was proud of her. It takes a lot of courage to face the world but she was doing just fine. Her son, however, preferred to sit on the sidelines and not have to face the world. He valued his pretty little face too much.

The hours trickled by and before Draco even realized the room was empty and silent, the clock above the fireplace struck midnight. Startled from his thoughts, Draco looked around and let out a sigh of relief. He didn't have to worry about younger children making fun of his obvious discomfort. Flopping backwards, he seriously considered going to bed—though, he didn't feel the least bit tired. The room started to feel uneasy, like it was judging him. He needed to get out of there. Now.

Cold air hit her legs, causing Hermione to jump up in her bed. Her body was trembling as she completely awoke from her fitful sleep. Blinking her eyes rapidly, she looked around at the darkened room. All of the beds were full of sleeping girls and the light of the moon was shining bright into their windows. Judging from where the moon was now sitting, Hermione deduced it was around one in the morning. Looking down at herself, she groaned and got out of the bed, trying to not trip over the blankets weaving themselves around her legs in the process.

She nearly squeaked as the cold wooden floor touched her bare toes as she walked across the floor towards the lou. Switching on the light, she quietly shut the door behind her and walked to the mirrors. Just like every night in the past year, Hermione was drenched in sweat. Her tank top and shorts clinging to her every curve. She really hated waking up every night in such a state. Even her hair was damp with moisture. Sighing, she pulled a hair tie from around her wrist and tied her long curly hair into a knot on top of her head, loose wet curls falling down into her face. Luckily, she had thought ahead and placed two outfits next to the sink before she went to bed a few hours prior. One new set of pajamas and one pair of jeans and a sweater.

A symptom of her diagnosis, Hermione woke up in reoccurring night sweats almost every night. It was bad enough that she could never get much sleep; tack on the fact that when she does sleep her cold night sweats would wake her back up. It was one of the few symptoms that she was having a hard time living with. That and the constant feel of exhaustion.

Washing her face off, she tried to look at her options. At home, she would normally get new pajamas and just go back to bed. She didn't think she could so that here. It just didn't feel the same. So, instead of trying to tackle the impossible, Hermione came up with a plan. When she was first diagnosed, she had made a list. It was a simple list of what she wanted to do before her time was up. Tonight felt like the best night to do one of those things.

Sliding on her jeans and white sweater, Hermione tip-toed out of the dorm and headed down the stairs to the common room. Her boots were sitting next to the couch, so as she was sliding them on she tried to think of the best next course of action. The tools she would need tonight were up in the boys' dormitory. There was no doubt that if she walked up there one of the boys would wake up and rumors would spread immediately. Besides, what she needed was in Harry's trunk and she didn't think Ginny would appreciate her best friend sneaking around her boyfriend's bed at night.

So, wand in hand, she whispered, "Accio Marauder's Map."

Silently praying it would be quiet and not awaken the boys, she smiled as the map came flying down the stairs and into her hand—no sound following it. Opening the map, she said the required, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The words appeared, followed by little pictures of names. According to the map, Filch was at the other side of the castle. If she hurried, she could make it out without him catching her. Now, all she needed was the broom.

"Accio Firebolt." The fast flying Firebolt came soaring down the stairs. She barely managed to catch it before it flew straight into the fire. Hermione was certain Harry wouldn't forgive her if she trashed his favorite broom.

Satisfied, she gave one last good look at the map before closing it and heading out the portrait hole. Making her way through the darkened corridors, she tried to stay calm. It was no secret Hermione Granger hated flying. It was one of her worse fears. And it was the one she would try to tackle tonight.

'Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.' Hermione kept chanting to herself as she stood in the middle of the Quidditch pitch with the map in her pocket and broom in her hand. She remembered how to mount it and get it hovering, she was suddenly realizing she didn't know how to accelerate or stop.

'I can't do this! What if I fall!' Her legs started shaking as she held the broom out in front of her.

"What the bloody hell are you doing out here?"

She screamed, a hand clamping over her mouth from behind. "Bloody hell, Granger! Did you want to wake the whole castle?"

Her heart started to return to it's normal rhythm. It was just Malfoy. Shaking her head, she let out a sigh of relief as his hand moved away from her mouth. Turning his direction, she noted he too had his broom with him. It looked like she wasn't the only person out for a midnight stroll.

"I repeat," he said, crossing his arms. "What are you doing out here?"

She shrugged and leaned against the broom, "Same reason you are, I imagine."

He rose an eyebrow, "Flying?"

She nodded.

"You hate to fly."

He sounded so a-matter-of-fact that Hermione was surprised, "How did you know that?"

He chuckled slightly, "We're in the same year. We were in the same first year flying lessons as kids. You hate flying. Besides, it's not like it's a secret."

Hermione nodded her head at that. Whenever Harry, Ron, or Ginny would fly she would adamantly put her foot down and go to the library. "Fair enough."

Draco watched her turn her back on him and examine the broom. He smirked in her direction. "You have no idea what you're doing do you?"

She didn't say anything, didn't respond. She just kept looking at the broom, almost like she was expecting it to fly itself.

He knew what he was going to say even before he said it, but that didn't stop him from being shocked at his own words. "Do you need help?"

Her back jerked upright, her head whipping around his direction. "Are you offering?"

He wanted to say no, that it was just a joke. But, he didn't. Hell, he didn't even think he could. "Why not?"

Hermione placed her hand on her hip and pretended to think of reasons why he wouldn't help her. "Well, let's see. You hate me, for one."

He nodded. This was true.

"We've never been civil."

Again, he nodded.

"I'm a Gryffindor and you're a Slytherin."

Another valid point; he nodded.

"Oh yea, and I'm a muggleborn."

That was such an obvious fact he didn't even pause before he nodded his head.

Hermione looked at him confused. "So, why are you offering?"

"Does it look like I have anything better to do, Granger?"

She thought about that and eventually just shook her head. He looked down right bored, to be honest.

Draco shrugged, "So, do you want help or not?"

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