Disclaimer: Di dunia ahli sihir yang indah dan watak-watak (selain daripada orang-orang yang asal) milik J.K. Rowling.

"I say there are spots that don't come off, spots that never come off, d'you know what I mean?" – Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Hermione hurried down the corridor towards the library, a pale envelope clutched in her left hand. An owl had tapped on the window of her Arithmancy class, the last class of the day for her, to deliver it to her personally. It was dinner now, and most of the students were headed in the opposite direction towards the Great Hall for their meal. Ron and Harry would wonder where she was, as they usually ate together, but Hermione wanted to be alone when she read the letter. She had recognised the type of envelope used from her previous visits to St Mungo's, and a glance at the writing on the front confirmed her suspicions – it was a letter from her mother.

In the time since she had admitted them for healing, Hermione had written to her parents many times, but had come not to expect a reply. Majority of the time they failed to remember their only daughter, and, therefore, did not usually remember to reply to her. This was a rare occurrence, and Hermione expected that it would be an emotional one as well. Taking a seat on a sofa at the back of the library, Hermione carefully opened the letter and began to read.

Darling Hermione,

It's so nice to hear from you! I'm very glad that you have settled back into school well – I seem to remember that the building was damaged during the war. Have the restorations been well done?

You are correct, I don't remember that you previously did Muggle Studies as a subject at Hogwarts, but it sounds interesting. However, I do remember you telling me about Draco Malfoy! Was he not that mindless bully that infuriated you so much when you were younger? It makes me happy to hear that he has changed during the war, and that you two are getting along better now.

Hermione – though I still cannot remember so much of your childhood, your father and I are both making progress. I can recall your first day at kindergarten quite vividly now – you were dressed in a yellow sundress and could not stop crying when I left you, but when I returned, you had the biggest smile on your face. You told me, then, for the first time, that you loved school, a phrase I know I have heard many times from you in the following years. I have faith that I will recall more soon, and am holding these dear memories close to me in the meantime.

It is pleasant here, much better than any normal hospital, and the 'Healers' are very nice to us both. I, too, wish you could have told us more during the war, but I understand why you had to do what you did, and I forgive you. Your father sends his regards, and we eagerly await your next visit.

Love from your mother,
Monica Wilkins

Hermione winced slightly as she reached the end of the letter – it was obvious from the name that her mother had used to sign off that the memory spell had not been fully lifted yet, but this was a definite improvement from the last time she had seen her parents. She felt a little better now, her confidence in her parents' recovery boosted, and wiped the tears that had fallen from her cheeks. She cast her eyes down to read the letter again, but as she did so, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she was faced with the figure of Draco Malfoy looming over, a vaguely concerned look on his face.

'I noticed that you were crying – are you alright?' he asked, shifting awkwardly.

Hermione nodded and looked away, brushing away any remaining wetness from her face, slightly embarrassed that he, of all people, had caught her crying.

'Skipping dinner again? Yeah, I'll be okay,' she replied. 'I just got a letter from my mother, that's all.' Draco looked at her quizzically, moving to sit next to her and tentatively putting a hand on her shoulder. Hermione looked up at the gesture, surprised but grateful. She continued her explanation.

'During the war I had to put a memory spell on my parents and send them away – to keep them safe from the Death Eaters.' Draco but his lip and glanced away at that, but Hermione did not take any notice, and went on. 'After the war, I went to Australia to find them and lift the spell, but there were complications and it didn't work fully. They've been at St Mungo's, and most of the time they can't quite remember who I am.'

'That's tough.' Draco said, his voice warmer than Hermione had ever remembered it to be. She smiled sadly, but shrugged.

'Yeah, but at least they survived the war,' she said. 'I can't imagine losing them entirely.'

At that, Draco stiffened beside her and he stood up abruptly. His face, far from being the warm one it had been just moments before, was hidden behind his icy mask. Hermione blinked, startled at the sudden change.

'I've got to go,' he said roughly before turning and walking away quickly, leaving her there, still seated, stunned, letter still her hand. Folding it up carefully and putting it in her robe, Hermione stood, wondering what could have caused the abrupt change in the Slytherin's demeanor.

Oh, of course.

She wished she could bury herself in a hole. How insensitive she had been! The very next day – the tenth of September, the execution of Lucius Malfoy – Draco would be losing his own father. She got up quickly, following his path out of the library, but the icy blonde had escaped her, and was nowhere in sight.

Sighing, she considered going back to the Eastern Tower to apologise, then resigned to do so the next day as she doubted that he would be waiting around in the common area for her. Instead, she walked in the direction of the kitchens, resolving to grab a quick bite before joining her friends on the Quidditch pitch to watch their usual Wednesday night practice.

It was past midnight, but Harry lay awake in bed, sleep evading him once again. His nightmares had become slightly less frequent since the war had ended, but they still affected him more than he was willing to admit. The dormitory was dark, all of the other boys having already gone to bed. Even Ron, who usually stayed up and chatted with Harry until the early hours of the morning to keep him company, had managed to fall into a deep slumber, his occasional snores loud in the otherwise silent room.

There was no use trying to sleep, Harry thought, since his mind was still wide awake. Sitting up and sipping out from under the covers, he took his wand and cast a weak Lumos, the faint glow illuminating the room and pushing away the darkness. As he reached for the most recent copy of Quidditch Weekly, he heard a whimper from across the room. He paused, listening closely for the sound. Silence, then another whimper.

It was not news to him that he was not the only one who had night terrors, many of his dormitory mates had revealed this since their return, but this did not stop him from being curious as to who it was that particular night – only so that he could look out for them the next morning, of course. Silently, he swung his legs off of the bed and padded quietly across the room in his socks, following the sounds, which were becoming more frequent now. When he found the source, however, he could not believe his eyes.

Buried under a duvet of a characteristic dark green, Draco Malfoy tossed and turned.

It made sense that Malfoy had nightmares too, Harry supposed, he had surely suffered during the war, too. Having Voldemort and all of the Death Eaters congregated in your home surely could not have been pleasant. Still, Harry found the sight hard to comprehend – Malfoy had seemed so distant, so unaffected when he had returned. Had that all been an act? It had been a well-executed one, that's for sure. The Slytherin Prince was not as strong and without feeling as he made out to be, then.

Standing at the foot of the bed, wand still illuminated dimly, Harry did not know what to do other than observe. The pale blonde's eyebrows were furrowed deeply and he was curled in on himself, tremors jerking through his body at irregular intervals. Harry found that he had the strange urge to lean over and give the boy some form of comfort, but restrained himself, remembering that they had only been sworn enemies until recently, and could hardly be considered acquaintances, and far less so friends.

Feeling helpless, Harry returned to his bed and ended the Lumos charm on his wand, climbing back into bed. As he lay down and pulled his own red duvet up to his chin, the whimpers continuing through the night. Soon enough, after pondering over his most recent discovery, Harry fell into a light sleep, resolved to keep an eye out for Draco Malfoy.

A/N: Sorry again for the delay in the update – alas, N.E.W.T.s are fast approaching for me, it's been so hectic. Thanks again for all of your reviews, favourites, and follows! They're so encouraging, and mean a lot to me!