"What did you see?"
It was dark, so he couldn't see her, but she averted her eyes anyway. "Nothing. Just — just the smoke."
Silence. He clearly didn't believe her. She felt him shift in the bed beside her. "I saw the smoke, too," he said eventually. "It looked like… me."
Hermione shrugged, an odd motion to do when lying down.
"You heard voices, too, didn't you?"
"Did you?" Had he heard the Horcrux taunting her in his own voice?
"No," he said. "I just… I just want to know what happened." She felt his arm slither beneath the sheets until it wrapped around her middle. "That you're okay."
"I told you I'm okay." She snuggled closer, burying her nose in his chest. He was wearing a shirt tonight, much to her dismay. His back had healed enough to tolerate it and he insisted it was too cold to go shirtless. "See? I'm fine."
Draco pulled her close. "It's the same thing, isn't it? That happened with the Vanishing Cabinet. It felt the same…"
Hermione nodded against his chest. "Yes. It's the same."
"Horcrux," he said, as though trying out the word. "Still have no idea what it is."
"Good. You don't want to."
He hummed thoughtfully; one of his hands made its way beneath her shirt, splaying against the warm skin of her lower back. The peaceful silence stretched out, and Hermione wondered if he was finally falling asleep. He'd been restless all day, since the locket had turned her into a sobbing, frightened animal. Hermione wondered what he thought had happened, and what it would take for him to believe her when she said she was fine.
Because she was. Mostly.
"You know how I feel, don't you?" he murmured into the milky darkness.
"W-what?" Hermione pulled back to look at him, alarmed, and felt heat race up her cheeks.
"I mean — you know what I mean. Just that — well, this is war, isn't it?" He swallowed. "And it occurred to me earlier that I've — never told you —"
"Stop." Hermione put her fingers on his lips which she could barely make out in the darkness. "Stop. Don't."
"You… you don't want me to tell you?" he said slowly.
"No." Hermione shook her head, rustling the bedding. "I don't. Because then you'll make it sound like — like we're dying" — her voice hitched — "and we're not, so — so don't."
He blinked at her, his huge pupils swallowing the paleness of his irises. "Do you really think I'd only tell you how I feel because we're about to die?"
"Well, you haven't done it before today, and you seem convinced that the locket nearly did me in," she pointed out as she rolled over, facing away from him, slotting her hips against his, "and I refuse to entertain such morbid possibilities."
She felt him smile into her hair. "Alright, then. If you say so. I won't say a thing."
"Good."
"In fact, I think I'll call you a swotty know-it-all with hair that looks like a bird's nest."
Hermione swatted the hand that was wrapped around her waist, but he only squeezed her tighter, laughing into her hair.
"Good night, Granger."
She didn't know how long they slept. It mustn't have been very long; the darkness was still the same shade when the sound woke her. For a second, she thought it must have been a dream, but then it happened again and she bolted from the bed, wand in hand, and ran out the door.
Draco was right behind her, fear in his voice as he asked, "What is it with people screaming in this house?"
They raced up the stairs, Hermione already with a list of spells on the tip of her tongue and half a dozen contingency plans when they barged into Harry's bedroom. The door was already open; Ron had made it there first and had his lit wand aimed at Harry's bed.
"Lumos!"
The extra light from Hermione and Draco's wands revealed Harry thrashing on his mattress, covered in shining sweat, his face contorted in pain and his teeth gritted as he grunted and screamed.
"Ron — Ron, wake him up!" Hermione begged. She'd never seen him have a nightmare this bad before; she had no idea what to do.
"Oi — Harry — mate, wake up." Ron crept closer, leaning over the bed, but Harry gave no indication of waking. "Harry — it's just a dream, yeah? Harry!"
He only thrashed harder, screaming, his arms now flying about, nearly hitting Ron in the face.
"Right. That's it," Ron swore, jumped on the bed, and straddled him. "HARRY! WAKE UP!"
It worked; Ron went flying backwards in a rush of physical and magical force as Harry sat upright, snarling. Hermione screamed and barely managed to save Ron with a swift Cushioning Charm before he hit the ground.
Harry was breathing heavily, staring at the three of them with eyes that didn't look like his own. Then, just like that, it passed. Hermione saw the shock and confusion as he registered the three of them in his bedroom, wands out, and then the heartbreaking disappointment that followed.
"Harry," began Hermione slowly, "are you alright?"
He opened his mouth and closed it again, perhaps re-evaluating how honestly he wished to answer. "It was just a dream," he said eventually.
"Potter," said Draco exasperatedly, "people generally don't send their friends flying across the room when they're just dreaming."
Harry looked alarmed. Ron sheepishly smiled. "I'm fine, mate."
"Harry — in the dream — what did you see?"
"Hermione, it's not like that —"
"But —"
"It was just flashes of — emotion, okay? Nothing useful." He spat the last bit, like it personally offended him.
"Harry, you should really keep up your Occlumency —"
"Just let me go back to sleep, Hermione!"
"No! This is important! You can't let You-Know-Who in your head, Harry!"
"Wait — his dream was from You-Know-Who?"
"Fuck off, Malfoy."
"I'm with Granger on this one, Potter," said Draco, sounding a little hysterical. "I don't want You-Know-Who anywhere near your head, because if he knows why I'm here — "
"He doesn't, alright? Just let me go back to sleep!"
"But Harry, if —"
"Hermione," said Ron carefully, "maybe we should just go —"
"No! This is important, and none of you are listening to me!" The last part came out as a shrill cry. Harry's mouth was open, ready to retort, but the echo of her voice left behind only shocked silence.
Then, very quietly, "Hermione, I've tried it. It doesn't work, remember? I'm just — I'm not good enough at it."
Hermione was ready to persuade him to try again, to even reach out to Professor Snape, when an idea struck. "Draco can teach you."
"What?"
She turned to him. "You know Occlumency, don't you?"
Uncomfortably aware of the three sets of eyes evaluating him, Draco said, "Well, a little, but —"
"Perfect."
"I don't know how to teach it!"
"I'm not letting Malfoy teach me!"
"Too bad," said Hermione happily. "You can work it out. Can't you?"
Draco worked his jaw. "I guess I can show him the exercises I learned," he relented eventually.
"And Harry? Will you try?"
Harry glared in the darkness, his inflamed scar contrasting sharply against his skin. "Fine. But — but don't get your hopes up, Hermione."
"I won't. I promise. Good night."
And then she left the room.
Harry was exhausted at breakfast. The shadows of the Horcrux were fading, but the bad dream still lingered, and Harry had never been particularly good at missing sleep. It was perhaps not the ideal time to try and relearn Occlumency, but Hermione knew they couldn't afford to waste time, not if Harry was having dreams like that. Regardless of the potential security risk, she wasn't about to tolerate being woken by Harry's screams every night.
When he'd finished his toast, Harry sat back in his seat, eyes heavy. "Alright, then. Let's get this over with, Malfoy."
"Can I watch?" Hermione asked keenly.
Draco raised his eyebrows. "It's really not that interesting."
"I've always wanted to learn, though. I'll just sit quietly."
Harry snorted, halfway out of his seat. "You'll be sitting in the corner taking notes, Hermione. Sure. Come on. Can we go to the sitting room with the big sofa? I want to be comfortable."
They all followed him, leaving behind the clinking sound of Kreacher tidying up.
"You can show me your 'exercises,' Malfoy, but I'm not letting you in my head."
"You don't need Legilimency to learn Occlumency," said Draco with a frown. "Who told you that?"
"Snape."
They entered the sitting room, then. Draco picked up an embroidered cushion, tossed it on the rug, and sat on it whilst Harry dropped himself onto the aforementioned sofa. Hermione and Ron chose armchairs out of their way. A fire sprang to life in the hearth behind Draco's back.
"Occlumency is about —"
"— clearing your mind. I know that, Malfoy."
"Well, clearly not well enough, if you're having this much trouble with it."
Harry scowled.
"What did Snape teach you?"
"Just — you know. Not to let him in. 'Discipline your mind.'"
Draco stared at Harry and Harry stared back, squirming.
"That's it."
"Merlin, no wonder you're crap."
"Oi! I'm not — "
"Harry!"
He looked at Hermione, half-risen from her seat, and closed his mouth with another scowl.
"Fine," he said shortly.
Hermione sat back down.
"I'm not going anywhere near your head, Potter," said Draco, "so calm down. Just… calm down. Did you do any visualisation?"
Harry shook his head.
"Alright. Let's start there. Pretend you don't hate the sound of my voice and close your eyes."
Hermione watched keenly as Harry did as he was told.
"Let's start with water. That's what worked for me. Just think of an ocean, and let it take on characteristics of however you're feeling. Like, if you're upset, there might be a storm. Understand?"
Harry made a grunt of affirmation.
"So, once you've got it in your head, just focus on the waves… calming them down…"
Hermione watched, fascinated, as Draco described soothing the tempest. She couldn't see his face, but she imagined his eyes closed, his face pleasantly blank as he sat cross-legged on the cushion. They went on like this for several minutes, until Hermione was feeling quite mellow and serene herself.
Harry's eyebrows were still drawn together, though, and eventually his eyes opened. "It's not working."
"Merlin, Potter, you're impossible."
"I told you: I'm not good at this. I can't do it."
"You have a head, Potter. It is possible to empty it. You just haven't found the right way yet. It took me ages to learn." Draco thought for a second. "What's something that usually calms you down?"
"Flying," said Harry without thinking.
"Flying…" repeated Draco, and Hermione got the impression they were both reminiscing about better days, when they'd had access to the Quidditch pitch. The thought struck Hermione with an oddly tender emotion.
Draco shifted closer to Harry. "Close your eyes again. You know when a match has been going on forever, Bludgers flying all over the place, and you haven't seen the Snitch in ages?"
Harry nodded eagerly.
"So, you fly up, above the pitch, above everyone else, and you look down and watch the match happening without you…"
It was like flipping a switch: Suddenly, Harry's brow was smooth, his expression blank.
"That's it," breathed Draco, "that's the feeling. All the chaos is there, but you're flying above it…"
The quiet in the room was beautiful, entirely without tension. Hermione would never enjoy Quidditch, not like that, but she couldn't help but close her eyes and fly, too.
