Hermione pulled her robes closer as she rushed out of the library and down the stairs toward the Great Hall. No matter how many fires were burning in the castle, the cold always found a way to seep into her bones. She heard the clicking and clacking of shoes on the stone floor and faint whispers as the last couple of students made their way toward their common rooms.

"You're late, Granger," Draco noted with a suspicious glance in his eyes, leaning against the stone wall in front of the Great Hall, arms crossed in front of his body. After the war, he wasn't exactly a first-class citizen at Hogwarts anymore, much to the contrary, but Slughorn forced him to take on the role of a prefect in a misguided attempt to restore Draco's reputation.

As if such a thing were ever possible. He chose to fight on their side during the final battle, true, but none of the students trusted him anymore, not even his fellow housemates.

"Excellent observation Malfoy, 10 Points to Slytherin." Usually, she wouldn't have teased him, but she felt on edge tonight.

Draco rolled his eyes and they started their night patrol shift. They always met up in front of the Great Hall and picked a different route every time, so as not to give mischievous students a chance to predict their whereabouts. At first, spending time with him had been uncomfortable, but it turned out that much of his famous temper had receded after he was barely allowed to return to school.

"Did you already finish the arithmancy essay due next Friday?" He asked while making an act of inspecting a broom closet. The night had been quiet so far. "Not that I am interested, but these shifts aren't exactly the highlight of my day."

"No? Doesn't look like you are enjoying yourself any time of the day. Not when you glare at everyone while picking on your breakfast, nor when you hide in the library while your friends are practicing for the next quidditch match."

If looks could kill Hermione would surely have been reduced to a pile of ashes. "Look, I don't like this arrangement more than you. I simply try to make it suck less. No idea why you felt the need to take pity on me and take the shift with the fucked up death eater, but it seems we are stuck together. You don't have to make this harder than it already is!"

He was right. She had no idea why she had said it. She didn't like him, but there was no reason to treat him as shabbily as she did tonight. The apology on her lips died when the portrait of a famous 18th-century witch shushed them, irritated about the fact that they had disturbed her sleep.

They passed the transfiguration classrooms and walked down the dimly lit hallway toward the laboratories. As they turned around the corner, the hall was suddenly filled with a flash of green light and a loud burst made her ears ring. She vaguely noticed that Draco started running after a figure at the end of the hallway, but she couldn't see anything else before the world began to spin. Her heart was beating as if she had just raced the entire way from Hogsmeade to the castle and she couldn't breathe. Tumbling backward, she collided with the cold wall.

What was happening? Her entire body was prickling as if tiny needles were prodding her skin. The only thought that occupied her mind was that she was going to die if she didn't start breathing.

"Granger, what's wrong with you?"

Draco had come back. He was speaking to her, and yet she couldn't derive any meaning from his words. Cold sweat prickled on her forehead and she gasped for air.

"Shit!" Draco cursed. He yanked loose her Gryffindor-colored tie and looked around.

"Come with me!" Draco led her into a nearby classroom. He made her sit on the ground next to the door and had her lean on the wall; kneeling down before her.

"Listen to me Granger, you are having a panic attack. You need to breathe. Slowly."

She focused on Draco's green eyes. They were strangely beautiful, something she had never noticed before. He looked a little bedazzled, but mostly composed and calm.

"Breathe in... Breathe out. Slowly. Follow what I am doing," Draco told her while keeping eye contact. Something warm squeezed her hand, anchoring her. "Good, don't stop. It was just a bratty third year with a firecracker, you are safe. I didn't catch him, but I could see that it was Cowen."

There were voices in the halls outside. Her breathing was still uneven and shallow, but she managed to get some air into her lungs. She mimicked Draco's breathing for a while longer, before finally calming down a bit. Eventually, some sense crept back into her fingers.

"Let's do an exercise, you like those, remember? Can you name five objects that you see in this room?"

She turned her head and looked around. The only light came from the moon right outside the window. All the chairs and tables had been pushed back to the far side of the room; perhaps so the students could practice spells. She could make out some common objects. Speaking was still difficult, but she tried.

"Chair, hourglass, blackboard, chandelier, and... bookshelf"

"That's right, how about things you can hear? Listen around you."

She focused on her hearing for a moment.

"There are voices outside. McGonagall?"

"Good, what else?"

"Your voice."

"Good. Now name three things you can touch."

"Uhm... My robes, the floor." She swallowed. "Your hand."

That's when he realized that he was still touching her. He quickly let go of her hand.

"You should drink something. Wait here, I will go to the kitchen and get you some milk."

"Wait! Please don't go."

He hesitated, but then sat down next to her.

"At least eat this." He produced a chocolate frog from his robes and held it out to her. "It will help."

She did as he suggested and was surprised to find that the intense sweet taste indeed helped, a tiny bit at least. She felt utterly exhausted, but some of the tension in her muscles had eased and she could breathe freely again.

"I am tired." She wasn't just talking about her physical condition. Sleep didn't come easy to her ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, although she felt exhausted on a deeper level than that. The halls that once felt so familiar and safe still bore the scars of war; scorch marks of curses that had missed their marks, stone guardians with only one arm, and blocked-off staircases that hadn't been fixed yet. They all constantly reminded her of everything she wanted to forget. Some days the pain of memory hit her right in the face.

Draco snorted. "This war has us all royally fucked up, even the famous war heroes of this world. What irony."

"Where did you learn how to deal with a panic attack?"

He didn't answer immediately. "Theo. The idiot always got them in the middle of the night and kept me awake. I had to learn or I would have never closed a sodding eye." Theodore Nott and Draco had been best buddies from the first year until Theo had mysteriously died at the end of their sixth year.

"Will this happen again?" The thought made her stomach churn.

"Likely."

Great.

For a long time, they just sat there, staring into nothingness. Neither of them felt the need to fill the silence. It was freeing, actually. Not having to pretend that she was alright for a moment.

"Why did you do it?"

"Combed my hair to the left side today? Didn't think anyone would notice, but if you must now, I wanted a change."

"You know what I mean. Why did you change sides in the end?"

Everyone wanted to know, but one could only speculate. The Prophet mused that it was an attempt to turn into an undercover agent for Voldemort, but she didn't believe that. His insider information helped them slow down the Death Eater invasion and saved many lives.

"You ask too many questions, Granger."

She didn't prod any further.

"You are right. The war fucked us all up, hasn't it? I pretend to be fine, every day. I try so damn hard. But I am not, and I know it." Tears burned in Hermione's eyes. "I picked more courses than anyone else this year, but I can't make myself care about any of them. I just occupy myself and hope that I can keep going long enough to finish school. And to stop thinking about how broken I am." Her throat hurt as she stifled a sob.

For a long while he didn't say anything.

"Theo died, everyone knows that. But do you know how? His piece of trash father killed him. Voldemort personally requested Theo's services. I am sure his father was elated when he got the news." Draco snorted. "He didn't expect his son to refuse, however. Theo never believed in all that shit, pureblood superiority and the cleansing of the wizarding world. He was in love with Penny Haywood and her half-blood status didn't mix with Voldemort's agenda. In the end, Voldemort ordered his execution, to be performed in front of all the Death Eater children. His father had the audacity to smile while casting the killing curse." Draco's voice was pressed and angry, but he continued. "It took a while to settle in, but in the end I understood. Theo was right." Hermione glanced over to him and saw his throat bobbing. "I have never told anyone that."

What he said made sense. Seeing your friends die in front of you... she knew from personal experience that it changed everything.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Draco glancing at her.

"I know I was a bastard to you over the years. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

She met his eyes and looked at him in disbelief.

"Don't interpret too much into it." He curled his lips and turned away.

There was more silence. Eventually, she just put her head on his shoulder. She was so sick of being alone and for an unfathomable reason, the feeling wasn't quite so oppressing for the first time since returning to Hogwarts. Draco jerked a little, but then he let her do it. His muscles were tense, but he was also radiating a comforting warmth and she noticed a calming, herbal scent on him.

"Maybe in a different life we could have been... well, it doesn't really matter," Draco said.

"If I learned one thing through all of this, it is that sentiments from the past shouldn't dictate our future."

He lay his head on top of her head. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped onto his shirt.

"Take this. Smell it when you feel overwhelmed," he said as he placed a small pouch into her lap.

"What's in it?" She raised the pouch to her nose and smelled it. It reminded her of the herbal scent that clung to him. "Lavender? Did you dowse it in a calming draught?"

"It's just lavender, Granger," he said, and he sounded just as tired as she felt.

They were two lonely souls, snapped in half by a terrible war. And yet, by leaning onto each other, being broken didn't quite hurt so bad.