A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows after last chapter! Huge thanks to lanamarymack for alpha/beta reading this chapter as well! You can find me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions!

Please let me know what you thought of chapter thirty-five and be on the lookout for chapter thirty-six soon!


It was not normal for Hermione to arrive to Arithmancy and not find Rabastan already waiting in his seat, conveniently next to her. Arithmancy seemed to be one of the classes that Rabastan genuinely enjoyed, so he always arrived early, so that if he should need to ask the Professor about some little topic that he wanted clarification on, he could do so before the lesson. It was one of the traits that Hermione admired about the wizard. Harry and Ron had seemed almost chronically averse to schooling, while the Slytherin boys she knew now wanted only to do the bare minimum to get through the class with a passing mark.

It was even more unusual for the class to begin without Rabastan slipping into his open chair. But, when class had finished and there was still no sign of the wizard who'd become a nearly constant presence in her life, Hermione began to be worried. Anxiety twisted in her belly and she wondered what was wrong and what could have held him up.

She hurried to her next lesson of Herbology, hoping that she would find him there, but to her dismay, he did not attend that class either. She barely registered one word while Professor Sprout droned on and on about dittany. Once they finally were able to begin their practical work, Hermione nearly sprinted over to Angus's side, hoping to figure out what was going on.

"Angus!" she called out to him when she got to his side. "Have you seen Rabastan today? He wasn't in Arithmancy, either, and I just thought that was odd."

Angus looked at her with a bittersweet sort of smile. "He's in the Infirmary, I'm afraid," he explained.

"The Infirmary?" Hermione repeated, feeling her stomach drop out from under her. Perhaps she had been right to worry about Rabastan after all. "Whatever for?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but he apparently went at some point in the middle of the night," he explained, shrugging his shoulders. "It must be halfway serious if Pomfrey has kept him this long. Sorry, Hermione, I wish that I knew more."

Hermione nodded and thanked him for what he was able to share, even though it wasn't much. She went through the motions for the rest of class, meanwhile, her mind could think of little else than Rabastan. After class, she trudged through the snow back to the castle, determined to go and see him if she could.

The Infirmary was surprisingly full when Hermione entered it, with Madame Pomfrey bustling between two beds, taking care of some Ravenclaw first years, by the looks of it. Hermione cleared her throat and the matron stood straighter when she saw there was a new visitor.

"Miss Black? What are you doing here?" she asked, looking at her owlishly.

"Is Rabastan Lestrange here?" she asked, hesitantly. "I'd like to see him."

"He is, dear," Pomfrey said, looking at her sadly. "But, I'm afraid that you can't see him at the moment. Far too contagious."

"Contagious? With what?" she demanded, needing to see with her own two eyes that Rabastan was okay — needing to hear what was actually wrong with him.

"Dragon pox, I'm afraid," Pomfrey said with a tut.

Hermione was surprised to hear about that. Most wizards and witches got dragon pox when they were very young children and it usually didn't phase them much. It was said that if you got it when you were older it was worse, in particular the elderly. She found it hard to believe that Rabastan had never had it before.

Jutting her chin in the air, Hermione decided that she simply had to see him anyway. "I've already had dragon pox," she said. It was true — she'd gotten it in her third year, but it was fairly short lasting. She'd just needed a potion for two days and the spots and the fever were gone. She hadn't even missed class (though, if she was honest, that was thanks to her time turner). "And, in any case, I'm not sure if you've heard—" she dropped her voice very low so that the other students wouldn't hear "—but Rabastan and I are betrothed, so I really must see him."

Madame Pomfrey raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I was... unaware of that. Fine, you can see him if you really want to, but I must warn you, he's quite feverish," she said, tutting. She led Hermione to the very last bed, which was shielded by a curtain. "And, since you are here, you can help me give him his potions. He hasn't been very cooperative and I need to handle the others. I always hate when it's Bubotuber pus time in Potions class."

To be honest, Hermione wasn't really listening to the other witch, once she rounded the privacy curtain and found Rabastan laying on one of the hospital beds. His eyes were closed and in sleep he looked so boyish and handsome. Hermione immediately felt her heart skip a beat and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Don't worry, Madame Pomfrey, he's in good hands with me," she said, already her attention returning to Rabastan.

Unable to stop herself, she pressed a hand to his cheek, glad to see that he didn't have any of the itchy pox on his face. Her thumb traced the sharp edge of his cheek bone and she was tempted to lean over and press a kiss to his brow. She could feel just how feverish he was and conjured a cool, wet rag to place on his forehead.

He sighed in relief at the feeling, his eyes slowly fluttering open to reveal the pretty green color of his irises. He didn't totally focus on her, still feeling the effects of his high fever. "Come to put more of that awful paste on me, Pomfrey?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep. "If you keep this up, I will smell like oatmeal for the rest of my days."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "Whatever she is doing is working, so you should just listen to her, oatmeal smell notwithstanding," she playfully scolded.

"Do I have a new nursemaid?" he asked, a goofy smile on his face.

"For a while," Hermione said, unable to stop a grin. "It's Hermione. Pomfrey has relinquished your care to me for a time."

He breathed in deeply, a pleasant smile coming over his face. "I'd recognize that scent anywhere. So Hermione. It even haunts my dreams," he admitted, only to have the smile slowly fall. "Only, that must be what this is. A fever dream. Hermione would not play nursemaid with me."

She frowned, realizing that he thought that she was some hallucination that he conjured up. "Why wouldn't I—I mean, why wouldn't Hermione come be your nursemaid?" she asked, wondering what sort of information she could get out of him while he was sick. It felt a bit wrong to use his condition to her benefit, but she also knew that she might not have another opportunity when he was so open with her.

Rabastan shrugged his shoulders, his eyes drifting shut. "I don't know, just, she wouldn't," he said, his eyebrows drawn together. "I don't know what I've done to upset her. I've been patient with her, never pushing too hard, but Salazar, it's difficult."

"I don't think that she is mad at you, Rabastan," she admitted, even though she felt like a horrible coward to be having this conversation with him when he might not recall it. Ha, she thought to herself, some Gryffindor you turned out to be. "I think it's just that the situation you've found yourself in is difficult to accept."

"Of course it is," he said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "I'm having to clean up for Rodolphus once again, aren't I? But it is what it is and now I'll have a wife who can barely look at me."

Hermione swallowed, using her hands to brush his hair off of his brow. He immediately melted into the touch, appreciating the bit of human connection while he was so ill. She nibbled at her lower lip, wondering how much she should share with Rabastan. Maybe this was a conversation better had when they were both of clear mind. But, wanting to know his actual thoughts was too tempting to pass up.

"I think that Hermione worries that... you are only making such efforts with her because of the betrothal," she whispered, wondering what he would make of it. "That if you weren't going to be married you wouldn't give her a second look. That's a difficult prospect for a witch to accept."

His sea-glass coloured eyes shot open at that. "How could she think that? I've been..." he trailed off, looking more and more confused as the moments went on. "From the first moment I saw her on the train, I knew that she was special."

Unable to help herself, Hermione snorted. "Oh, love at first sight was it?" she asked. If he agreed, she would know that he was too fever-addled to think clearly.

"No," he answered quickly, with a smirk. "I thought that she was being a bit of a bitch if I'm honest."

She gasped, outraged on her own behalf, but then she remembered their disastrous first meeting on the train. "What changed your mind, then?" she asked.

A crooked sort of grin came over his face as he was clearly lost in the memories. "Got to know her a bit better. She is an amazing witch — spectacular, intelligent, cunning. Ambitious — Salazar, is she ambitious. She makes me want to study more, to even attempt to keep up with her," he admitted. "She makes me want to be a better wizard."

Hermione sucked in a breath at that pronouncement. She wondered just what being a better wizard entailed to him. Did that mean turning away from Voldemort and his principles and ideals? Or did he just mean that he wanted to be more proficient in magic?

"And, it certainly doesn't hurt that I find her beautiful," he added, with a contented smile.

"You do?" Hermione asked, running a hand through her hair. She knew that she was pretty, but to hear that a wizard truly found her beautiful was enough to have her heart beating wildly out of control.

"'Course," he admitted freely, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Seeing her all dressed up last year for her date with Ansel was a punch in the gut. I knew that it should have been me taking her instead of that Quidditch obsessed twat."

"Hey! Ansel is your friend," Hermione reminded him with a giggle.

"I know, but he doesn't deserve her," Rabastan said, sounding surly. "And I suppose I don't either. But, I'll spend the rest of my life proving to her that I do. If she'll let me."

Hermione swallowed thickly, trying to conjure up something to say to him — some way to make it right. But, she didn't really know how. She didn't know what it was that was holding her back from just taking a leap with Rabastan, when he was trying so hard.

"Hermione is... she is stubborn," she answered, after a minute. "She doesn't like being told what to do. She is trying." It was so easy to talk to him in the third person, like it wasn't really her that she was talking about. But, it also was hard to verbalize her feelings.

Rabastan reached up a hand, slipping his fingertips down her neck and into her blouse. She wanted to bat his hands away, wondering what he was thinking touching her there, but when he caught the Lestrange ring that she wore around her neck, she stilled.

"Then for now, I will be content to know that she keeps me close to her heart," he said, sounding wounded, but hopeful underneath.

Before she could respond, Madame Pomfrey was pulling the curtain back. "Miss Black!" she said, sounding rather surprised. "You're still here? And you didn't give him his potion."

Hermione felt her cheeks go bright red. She grabbed Rabastan's hand and placed it back down on the starchy bed. "I'm sorry, Madame Pomfrey," she said, apologetically. "We got to talking and well, I must have lost track of time a bit."

The mediwitch bustled around the table, pouring a spoonful of potion out of the glass vial, before instructing her to put some pillows behind his back. "Very stubborn this fever of his," she said with a tut. "We must keep on top of the potion or he will never get better."

She frowned, hoping that she hadn't unintentionally hurt him. "I thought that dragon pox was usually cleared up pretty quickly in a wizard of Rabastan's age," she said, thinking it was odd that he was still struggling so much.

"Yes, well, he must be a bit unlucky. I haven't gotten his fever to break yet, so I will just have to let his body clear the infection," she said. "Mr. Lestrange is a healthy, young wizard, though. He'll get better soon, I'm sure. It's just a matter of time."

Once he'd taken the dose of his potion, Hermione helped settle him back down on the pillow and watched as his eyes fluttered shut and his breathing evened out with sleep. "He seems exhausted," she said, her heart squeezing tight at the sight. She didn't know what she would do if something happened to Rabastan. And, it didn't even have anything to do with the betrothal at all. He was right, they were friends and somewhere along the way, she'd come to care deeply for him.

"It's a good sign," Madame Pomfrey said, though her face remained serious. "We just have to let him rest."

"May I come back again tomorrow? I'll bring him our class notes," she said, wondering what the matron made of her request.

Madame Pomfrey looked at her severely. "I suppose that I can't actually keep you away," she said, after a beat of silence. "But I won't have you setting back his progress. I can't have a repeat of tonight."

Hermione blushed a second time, thinking about how she'd let him miss his potions dose. "Of course not. It won't happen again," she promised. Then, she turned to face Rabastan, safely nestled in his bed, and cupped his cheek in her hand once again. Maybe it was time for her to...to take a leap with him. She said she accepted the betrothal — maybe it was time to start acting like it.

She thought about pressing a kiss to his brow, but changed course at the last moment. Instead, she pressed her lips near his ear. "Rest well, Rabastan," she whispered. "I'll be here for you when you get better."