It didn't make sense. Why had he written a 'two' when the calculation clearly called for a 'four'? And his translation of that passage into runes was at best shaky. The last word was undoubtedly 'protection,' not 'defence.' With a sigh of frustration, Hermione set the parchment aside, her eyes heavy with fatigue. A quick charm confirmed that it was four in the morning. She had been toiling over this new parchment since midnight.

Ever since she had uncovered the torment Draco was enduring due to his research in this room, a fervent determination had ignited within her – a determination to aid him, to support him, and to furnish him with the solutions to his troubles, all of them. She yearned to demonstrate her usefulness to him, to convey that he could require her assistance, that he could rely upon her, and most importantly, that he could place his trust in her.

For several months, Hermione had been leading this double life: her daylight hours spent with her Gryffindor companions, while her nights, stretching into the early hours of dawn, were dedicated to him. She keenly missed the Time-Turner she had utilised in her third year, and the countless hours of rest that had metamorphosed into study sessions within the Room of Requirement.

But tonight was different. Tonight, she had managed to decipher and correct Draco's latest parchment. With fervour and emotion, she hastily wrote the final letters of her discoveries before setting down her quill. He would finally be able to find some relief.

Rolling up the parchment, she discreetly made her way to the Owlery, ensuring that the message would reach him the following day.

Chaos.

Ginny waking her up in a rush. All the Gryffindors gathering in the common room in their pyjamas, under the instructions of McGonagall.

Death Eaters had infiltrated Hogwarts.

She could barely hear Ron's voice, mixed in with all the others, asking her where Harry was. Reminding her that he was supposed to leave for the evening with Dumbledore. Wondering if they had returned yet. If they were safe.

She could only focus on one thing. Draco.

She had to find him. She had to protect him.

She wandered the corridors of Hogwarts, her soul in torment, observing the damage caused by the Death Eaters, watching the injured students heading towards the Hospital Wing. She was praying to find his face at the turn of a corridor, uninjured, safe.

Desperate pleas from frightened younger students went unanswered. Hermione moved forward mechanically, with a single goal in mind.

A young man with red hair, bathed in a pool of blood, surrounded by several familiar figures, their voices filled with agitation as they spoke of Greyback.

Greyback.

"Merlin, please keep Draco safe," she whispered fervently, her heart heavy with worry.

He was gone. Taken by Snape, according to Harry. She hadn't been able to follow him. He was so far away now that her heart ached in her chest. The panic attack was beginning to surface, but she had to be strong for him.

Almost against her will, her steps led her to the Black Lake, his favourite place to hide.

What had they done to him?

What had they asked him to do? He was just a child, like her. They had used him as a pawn. She was finally beginning to grasp the full extent of everything that had happened this year. Voldemort had entrusted him with an impossible mission. She had spent enough time deciphering the spells and runes in his research to deduce that he probably wouldn't have succeeded without her help. And she had lost count of the hours she had devoted to it.

She firmly believed that he wasn't supposed to succeed. He was meant to fail. And he could have faced the wrath of the other Death Eaters, of his aunt, of even Voldemort himself. He had been punished, and for what? For his father's failures?

Lost in her thoughts, she waded into the icy waters of the lake, still dressed in her pyjamas.

She had to stop thinking. Stop thinking about him, about others. Stop thinking about her own feelings.

The frigid water kept her awake, numbing her senses. The pain kept her alive. The paradox of something that felt both good and painful.