This is the penultimate chapter everybody. We're in the home stretch. Enjoy.

Chapter Fourteen

The dagger proved to be the crucial piece of evidence that had been missing.

The moment Draco returned to the school with Potter in tow, Professor Flitwick took the offending item into a small room where he studied it for several hours. Emerging from there late in the evening with a smug little smile, he declared that the curse was an ancient one, obscure and almost unknown, but there were echoes of it within the blade. The Charms master thought he had isolated it well enough to develop a counter curse.

Potter and Draco were summarily dismissed from the hospital wing after that, the two finally going their separate ways. It was going to be a long night, and they were assured that Hermione would be in good hands.

The next morning, Draco was sitting on the cold stone floor just outside the hospital ward doors. He hadn't slept particularly well, both from worry and from the other thoughts swirling through his head and plaguing his dreams. He just wanted to see her. To know she was alright. To apologise for his part in it all and beg for her forgiveness.

Everything else could wait.

Eventually McGonagall emerged while he was in the middle of his hundredth yawn. She was looking tired but had a fairly upbeat gait to her steps.

"Headmistress!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

"Oh! Mister Malfoy, I certainly hope you haven't been sitting there all night, dear boy."

"No, I got here early-" he explained, waving away the question, "how is she?" he rushed to ask. McGonagall let out a weary smile then, the expression lifting his spirits already.

"She's doing just fine. Professor Flitwick's counter-curse is working marvellously, and she's already regaining some colour."

Draco closed his eyes for a second, letting out a gush of air that stilled the trembling in his fingers.

"Thank Merlin," he whispered. Then he felt the Headmistress's warm, bony hand on his shoulder. McGonagall gave it a squeeze, an approving look on her face.

"It wouldn't have been possible without your help, Draco," she told him in a sincere tone, "thank you."

He nodded, swallowing and feeling a bit emotional at the older witch's affectionate words and tone.

"Of course. Can I see her?"

She gestured for him to enter through the doors behind her.

"You may. Though she won't be much company, I'm afraid. Poppy says she'll probably keep her in a charmed sleep for a couple of days to let her body recover."

Draco nodded hurriedly, already moving towards the door.

"Thank you, Headmistress," he called back and heard her chuckle as he slipped inside the ward.

Once inside, he made his way towards the private room where Hermione had been sequestered, just off the main wing where one or two students lay snoring as they recovered from dragon flu. Madame Pomfrey was bustling around their beds preparing draughts but didn't do anything more than nod her permission as she watched him sidle into the witch's room.

Draco froze for a moment inside the doorway, his stomach clenching with nerves as he regarded the sight before him. Hermione still looked so pale and fragile lying there in the middle of the room, swaddled in crisp hospital sheets. The aroma of nerve tonic and other potions filled the room, as well as the scent of hydrangeas coming from a vase placed thoughtfully near the window.

Stepping closer towards the bed, the frail sight of Hermione's slender form became clearer. But Draco noticed other things now too.

Her chest was rising and falling steadily, and her cheeks and lips had a slight tinge of pink that had been missing the previous day when he'd returned with the dagger. She'd looked like a ghost back then, her complexion pallid and sunken. Now she just looked… asleep.

The most striking difference was almost imperceptible. She looked more… peaceful. Her face was relaxed and free from pain. She appeared younger almost, like the innocent, fresh faced girl who'd been so eager just to get an O on her latest homework assignment. He missed that look.

Licking his lips and trying vainly to swallow the lump in his throat, Draco sunk into a chair by her bedside. Hermione was fast asleep, but it didn't matter. He just wanted to sit here, close enough that he could reach out and touch her hand if he wanted to. Close enough to see the tangle of her curls as they wrapped around the pillow beneath her head. With a soft smirk he brushed one strand away from her cheek, trying to dislodge it when it wrapped itself around his finger.

She really did look better. It was breathtaking. Even now, with the counter curse only just starting to take its effect on her body.

Draco had spent so much time with her these last few months that he'd grown used to her serious demeanour, the crease between her brows, the exhaustion in her movements. It had seemed normal, a by-product of surviving a war.

But even now she appeared more vibrant. Like life had been breathed back into her tired soul.

Blinking back the wave of emotion and dread that had sat heavy inside him the last couple of days, Draco sat back in his chair in blessed relief. Maybe some of that radiance would touch his soul as well. Maybe he would feel alive again too.

And so he sat there for as long as they'd let him. Until the morning sun peaked high in the sky. Flitwick and Pomfrey came and went, and even Potter called in for a visit. But with Hermione still in a charmed coma of sorts, nobody stayed long.

Eventually it was the headmistress who evicted him once more. She'd ordered him to go to the Great Hall for dinner because he was looking thin apparently, and she grew sick of hearing his stomach grumbling in protest. Draco had reluctantly stalked off, agreeing to a quick meal to appease her.

That was where his mood began to turn sour.

As soon as he darted into the Great Hall, Draco because aware of a hush that fell over those in his immediate vicinity. Then a rumbling of mutters spread across the tables as numerous glares were directed his way. Draco blinked in surprise and kept his head down as he made his way to the Eighth-Year table. He was used to being mistrusted and despised, but not openly hissed about. Most people just ignored him these days.

When he sat down in his regular seat, Draco couldn't help but notice that the other Eighth-Year students were also giving him varying looks of hostility.

He looked around in confusion, not even touching the food in front of him.

"You have a lot of nerve showing your face here." It was that boy Timothy from Ravenclaw who broke the tension, his tone quiet but forceful.

"What is it now?" he replied belligerently, "what exactly is the problem this time?" Draco knew he was getting his hackles up, the back of his neck tingling as a sort of defensive mulishness settled over him.

"You know perfectly well what the problem is, Malfoy."

"Do I?"

"Don't play dumb!"

"Look, why don't you just tell me what the problem is, rather than getting your wand in a knot," he explained in a slow, snide tone of voice. One of the Hufflepuffs spoke up then, her voice shaking with anger.

"We know what you did to Hermione, alright?"

Draco stared at them in total bewilderment, his mouth open as he blinked at them stupidly.

"Uhhh… what the bloody hell are you talking about?"

Inside he was wondering if the rest of the students knew about their clandestine interactions in recent weeks. Maybe what he did to Hermione was take advantage of her or trick her into his bed or some other kind of ridiculous story they'd made up to explain the relationship. That might explain why they were all this upset about it. Did they really think him capable of such manipulation? Probably, he thought morosely.

But the answer surprised him. In a brittle tone the girl continued,

"We know it was you who was making her sick."

Draco was genuinely stunned by the comment, and he was sure it showed on his face.

"Making her sick?" he repeated in disbelief.

"My brother Jeremy saw her in the hospital wing last night. He was there overnight with the pox and he heard Pomfrey saying she was cursed."

Draco frowned and stared around the table, taking in the expressions of those around him. Some were openly accusing, others guarded and anxious.

"Hermione was cursed," he confirmed slowly, "But she's going to be fine. Flitwick performed the counter-curse last night."

"Yeh, no thanks to you."

"I don't-"

"We know you were involved, Malfoy. Jeremy told us he also heard McGonagall say she needed to question you about it."

Draco just continued to sit there in confusion. The story was all muddled, but clearly enough people believed it to have passed it around. It probably started off quite harmlessly, but the Hogwarts gossip mill had a way of twisting even the most innocent of tales.

"It happened during the war-" he started to explain, trying to keep his voice calm. Not that he owed anyone an explanation, but he had to say something.

No sooner had he started than another interruption came from Timothy again.

"When you and your family captured her. Yeh, we know. We've heard the stories. Ron told everyone what happened. And you've been trying to stay close to her all year. To keep her sick and to keep renewing the curse so she would just get worse and never recover."

"Seriously?" he asked, a look of incredulity on his face now. It would have almost been funny if it wasn't so depressing. It also ate into the guilt he was already feeling, since his family actually was responsible for her pain.

"Why else would you follow her around like a kicked puppy all the time? We all know you hate her. I mean, she's muggleborn, isn't she?"

Draco had heard enough. His gut was rolling so much he thought he would retch even though he still hadn't eaten a bite. His face white as a sheet, he rose to his feet suddenly, the scraping of the chair legs loud in the echoing hall. But just as he was about to spin around and stride out of the hall, a hand fell gently on his shoulder and stopped him. He almost flinched before realising who it was.

"What's going on here?" Longbottom asked, his normally jovial face set in a curious frown, still smudged with soil from the greenhouse. The boy had just arrived half-way through dinner and clearly didn't know what he'd just walked into.

"The coward was running away," Timothy spat, arms folded as he sat in righteous judgment.

"After what he did to Hermione, they should expel him."

"Or better yet, throw him in Azkaban where he belongs."

The voices were growing angrier, but Draco noticed that it was still the same few people talking. The others just sat there looking uncomfortable.

"What's going on here?" Longbottom demanded.

"Ask him! He's the one who's been making her sick!"

The Gryffindor looked confused for a moment, faced with the glares and open hostility of the other Eighth Year students. He opened his mouth a couple of times as though about to say something, trying to shake off his surprise. But the last thing Draco wanted was for Longbottom to start defending him against the mob of haters. It would only make him feel even worse than he already did.

"Wait… you think Malfoy did this to her? To Mione?" the Gryffindor asked, a derisive note in his voice. Draco shook his head, shrugging the other boy's hand off his shoulder and giving the whole table his best sneer.

"Don't bother," he muttered, "it's not worth it."

Then he put his head down and strode away, a similar wave of whispers passing over the four house tables as he went by. Clearly the malicious rumours had spread and taken root.

It wasn't until he was halfway up the grand staircase that Longbottom's familiar breezy voice flagged him down. The other boy raced up the stairs behind him, panting as he approached.

Draco lifted his gaze to the other wizard's face. Longbottom had an open, bemused expression.

"Listen, mate-" he began, but Draco just sighed and shrugged his shoulders in resignation, waving him off.

"Don't bother, Longbottom. It doesn't matter."

The other boy peered at him far too astutely.

"Seems like it does though."

He just frowned down at the ground, not sure what he was expected to say, until the Gryffindor huffed out a dry laugh.

"Seriously, where do they come up with this stuff?"

Draco almost snorted in agreement.

"Some first-year brat called Jeremy apparently."

The other boy really did laugh aloud this time.

"Jeremy Wiggins? The kid's a known fibber," Longbottom chuckled, "Last week he was telling everyone who'd listen that he had a pet dragon. The week before that he'd played Quidditch with the Harpies."

Draco's scowl darkened. It seemed even the most ludicrous of sources was to be believed when painting him as the villain.

"Yeh well… I guess blaming the big bad Death Eater isn't so far-fetched."

Longbottom waved a hand dismissively, still smiling good naturedly.

"Oh pish posh. Hermione's already getting better, anyway."

"Until I curse her again apparently."

The Gryffindor threw his hands out in a gesture of bewilderment.

"They're mad for believing that nonsense. Why would you curse her? You guys are friends now. And anyway, you're clearly mad about her."

Draco rolled his eyes. He personally thought he'd hidden his feelings quite well actually, but it was clearly the worst kept secret around. He clapped the other wizard on the back, grimacing and drawling to him.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Neville. But maybe you should just go back to your precious plants now. I'm good. Don't really care what they think."

Longbottom sighed and shook his head.

"Still… it's not right. You wouldn't hurt Mione, not like that. These tossers," he spoke loudly so that the few people passing them on the staircase would hear him, "are just trying to create drama. They need to get a life. Everybody with a brain in their heads can see as plain as day that you don't mean her any harm. And anyway, it's… wait… did you just call me Neville?"

Draco tensed, realising that he had indeed used the other boy's first name. With another self-conscious grimace he shook his head and started to stomp up the stairs once more.

"Nope, don't think so. Anyway, see you round-"

And with that he set himself in the direction of the second floor, hoping to grab his things and take a quick shower. Maybe he could get some food too, because he was still famished.

"So does that mean I can call you Draco?" he heard Longbottom calling behind him as he left, the boy's cheerful voice echoing laughingly across the Entrance Hall. This display from the Gryffindor only seemed to start a new wave of whispers from whoever was around. No doubt the entire student body was speculating about the role he played in Hermione' curse. Well, that was just great. Another stain on his reputation. Longbottom was clearly the anomaly. In everyone else's eyes, Draco suspected he would remain the villain of the story. Since when did the general population of Hogwarts ever care about something as trivial as the truth?

For the next three days Draco sat dutifully outside the hospital wing, burrowed away in an alcove near the entrance and lost in his own confused, sometimes morbid thoughts. Every now and then he managed to focus long enough to get some NEWT study done. But most of the time he just stared out the window and across the school grounds, waiting for any sign from inside the ward that Hermione had awoken.

He didn't want to go and sit by her bedside, not with the gossip mill going into overdrive. With most of the students believing he'd been continuously cursing her with Dark Magic, it was better if he was seen keeping his distance. If people thought he was still a danger… well, no doubt the angry letters from parents would start flooding in. The last thing he needed was the Ministry of Magic revoking their agreement to support his NEWT studies. A rumour-mongering Hogwarts where everyone despised him was still better than Azkaban.

So he sat pathetically in a secret little spot just outside the ward, hoping for any scrap of information.

And while he waited… his mind mostly just kept going over and over what Potter had told him.

I knew she had feelings for you.

That's what Potter had said. That she had feelings for him. Did that meant the two had spoken about him? Had Hermione spilled her feelings that day to her friend while they were in Hogsmeade? Did she actually like him? Would she want to be in a proper relationship with him? Let him call her his girlfriend?

All these questions were giving him a headache and Draco started to feel a bit silly just sitting there micro-analysing everything. The reality was he wouldn't know for sure until the witch woke up. If she even wanted to see him, that is.

That was the other thing occupying his thoughts. Draco kept thinking back to that terrible night when her arm had been exposed and he'd seen the curse wound. Just when he'd started to lose himself in the feel of her bare skin, it was all ripped away. He kept reliving the way she'd panicked, pushing him off her and fleeing from the room as fast as she could. The whole incident kept tying his stomach up in knots.

On a rational level Draco knew that it had all happened so suddenly and there wasn't really anything he could have done differently under the circumstances. He'd had no clue what was going on. But even so… the regret gnawed at him like a sore tooth. He should have gone slower. He should have made damn sure that she was one hundred percent comfortable before removing any of her clothes. He shouldn't have let himself get carried away. All these self-recriminations kept plaguing him.

In the end, Draco had no idea how the witch would feel once she woke up. She might not even want to see him.

As yet another day turned to dusk, Draco sighed and pushed himself to stand, leaving his little alcove behind. As he did, he cast a forlorn glance back at the hospital wing, wishing for Hermione to be well again and to return to him. The last time he'd seen her conscious, she'd fled from him. He had no right to sit by her bedside. He didn't want to alarm her upon regaining consciousness. And besides, Potter was sitting in there with her now. The other wizard had arrived earlier that afternoon. Draco would just be in the way.

Dragging his feet, he made his way back up to the second floor and to his room. It was a bit frigid that night, so he lit a quick fire then collapsed back on the bed, staring morosely at the ceiling. He was tired. Exhausted, really. Sleep had not come easily the last few days since he'd gone hunting for that dagger. It felt like being trapped in some kind of purgatory now.

He'd received yet another letter from his mother, but he'd ignored it. He couldn't be bothered to deal with all that tonight. At least he'd managed to avoid the other Eighth Years for the whole day.

Somewhere in the midst of all his brooding, Draco must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he was aware of was a soft knocking at his door jolting him awake. His eyes shot open, and he struggled to sit up in response to the noise. His head felt heavy from sleep, and his hair was a total mess.

Rubbing his hand over his face to rid himself of the fog of drowsiness, Draco clambered to his feet. The room was almost oppressively warm from the fire that had been crackling away in one corner.

Yawning and opening the door a crack, Draco's stomach did a series of uncomfortable flips.

"Hmmione?" he breathed in shock. His brain sluggishly tried to piece itself back together at the sight of the witch standing there, small and shivering, outside his room.

"Hey," she murmured, peering up at him shyly. Her hair was piled up messily on top of her head and she was wrapped in a white dressing gown from the hospital wing.

"You… you're awake! You're here!" he stammered unintelligibly, no doubt gaping at her like a fish.

"Yeh…I'm here," she confirmed a bit breathlessly, glancing up and down the hallway and then back up at him. She looked tired but… better. Much better.

"Shit… come in. Sorry." He stepped aside with an apologetic grimace, gesturing for her to pass him, "Should you be here? Madame Pomfrey-"

"She won't miss me for a while. And I needed a break from her fussing, as well intended as it is. Anyway, Ivy Grant got her nose broken by a bludger, so she'll be busy for a while."

Draco just stared at her in amazement. The last time he'd seen her she'd been in a magical coma. The time before that she'd been writhing in pain. He was almost lost for words. Then he shook his head and managed to get out the most pressing question.

"How are you feeling? Are you alright? Here, sit-"

He guided her over to his bed, gently steering her so she could perch on the edge. She smiled softly up at him, her brown eyes shimmering with something undefined that seemed to take his breath away.

"I'm doing okay," she mumbled, cocking her head to the side and examining him closely, "really as soon as the counter curse took root, it was like a huge weight had been lifted from my chest and I could suddenly breathe again. Even asleep, my subconscious was calmer, and my dreams were milder."

"I… that's good," he breathed, "thank Merlin."

Her eyes dropped to the floor now while he just stood there stupidly drinking her in.

"I'm sorry I kept it from you," she said quietly, frowning down at a spot on the carpet, "I should have told you-"

"No," he rushed to interject, "it's fine, I understand why you didn't."

"Do you?" she asked, her gaze now flicking up to his curiously.

"Hermione… my family did this to you. Why would you spill your secrets to someone who watched it happen and did nothing? I wasn't… if I could just go back and change that awful night, do something, anything to help you-"

"This is why I didn't tell you, Draco. Maybe not at first, but as I got to know you better, I realised I didn't want you to blame yourself."

"Not possible," he told her wryly, knowing it was no use repeating the same conversation over and over. They would never agree, and he would always feel partly responsible for what had happened to her.

"I'm the one who should be saying sorry," she argued, "I don't remember much about that night before I collapsed, but I must have hurt you when I ran off…"

"Stop," he ordered tightly, "You never need to apologise for that night. I should have seen you weren't feeling well, I should have slowed things down-"

"It wasn't your fault," she reassured him, "I thought I was okay too. I panicked when I thought you'd seen it… and after that it all just flared up so suddenly."

"It wasn't your fault either," he said firmly, willing her to believe him.

She sighed and shook her head, contemplating him steadily for a long moment. A silent pause fell between them, broken only by the tiny pops of several logs hissing and burning in the fireplace. Draco swallowed and tried to work up the courage to say something to her, to say anything and everything he had been thinking. But she beat him to it.

"Harry told me what happened."

Draco's eyes widened and he felt a little jump in his pulse.

"He did, did he?" he drawled slowly, watching her warily for any indication of what she was feeling.

"He told me it was you who found the dagger. The one that cursed me. And that Professor Flitwick only managed to develop a counter curse because you wouldn't rest until you'd brought him the blade that did it."

"Yeh, well…" he shuffled awkwardly, not quite able to meet her eye. Then he sensed her coming nearer and looked up to see that she had stood from the bed and was stepping in very close to him. He could have twitched his fingers and touched the front tie of her dressing gown. Draco's whole body was frozen, waves of hot and cold shivers passing through him. He didn't know what to do, how to stand, where to look…

Hermione's big brown eyes were so tender, looking up at him.

"You saved me, Draco. You know that, right? If you hadn't found it…"

Her voice tapered off and she exhaled slowly. Her gaze dropped to his lips. Draco's mouth went dry as she leaned towards him. He was so much taller than her. She stretched up high on her toes to reach him, tugging on his shirt to bring him even closer. Then she was pressing her lips softly against his and Draco almost whimpered. He closed his eyes for a split second to revel in her touch.

Then her words sunk in.

With gentle hands, Draco grasped her shoulders and pulled away. He was finding it a bit hard to breathe and was trying desperately to control the panicked drumming of his heart.

"Hermione…" he groaned, wanting nothing more than to let her thank him a hundred times in whatever way she desired.

"What's wrong?" she croaked, her face falling at his actions.

"I don't… I don't want this," he managed to stutter after a moment, his brows drawing together tightly as he tried to muster up his courage. Hermione stepped back as though she'd been slapped.

"Oh," she breathed in surprise, looking so crestfallen that it made something twinge deep beneath his ribcage.

"The thing is…" Draco paused for a moment, steeling his nerve with gritted teeth. He unconsciously began clenching and unclenching his hands into fists again and again as he tried to find the words. The words that had been burrowing inside him for longer than he cared to admit.

It was do or die. This was it. With a reckless wave of bravery, he powered on.

"I don't want a thank you kiss," he told her, steely eyes locked with brown. His voice was trembling but serious, "I don't want a Christmas snog or an experimental hook up or a pity shag. I don't want that anymore."

"Draco-" she began, her voice hurt and confused, but he stopped her with a steady, unblinking look and continued.

"I'm absolutely crazy about you, Hermione."

"You…you're… what?" she squeaked, her eyes widening almost comically.

"I don't want any of those things anymore. I don't want to just muck around with you, playing pretend until one or both of us leaves this place. I'm not saying I regret what's happened between us. It's been both the best and worst feeling in the world. But I'm done with it. I want more. I want all of you."

Hermione seemed stunned. Her cheeks had flushed pink from more than just the heat in the room. Her hands were twisting themselves into knots in front of her as she wrung them anxiously.

May as well put all your cards on the table, Draco, he thought to himself.

"If you don't want more, I'd understand. Really, I could hardly blame you given everything. You're healed now so you can sit your NEWTs and move on with your life. But I don't think I can just be your friend anymore… I'd always be waiting around either wanting more or dreading the end, and I don't-"

"Draco," the witch interrupted, leaning forwards and pressing her hand against his mouth to stop him from saying more. She looked up at him with those bottomless brown eyes, a shaky smile slowly forming on her lips.

"You're such an idiot," she told him in a humorous tone. He raised one eyebrow questioningly, confused by her words. Then she chuckled at him and continued, "I'm crazy about you too."

Draco let the shock settle for a moment then a smile spread across his lips as well, even though Hermione's hand was still covering them. She released him, but he grabbed her hand before she could draw away, tugging her closer.

"Really? You're not just… I mean… you are?"

She nodded, leaning in towards him, her smile widening.

"You didn't know?" she asked with a laugh.

"Of course not! I wouldn't let myself believe it. I was sure I was just making a complete fool of myself!"

"Really? I thought I was so obvious. I kept cringing thinking how sappy I was acting around you. My brain feels half broken when I'm talking to you sometimes, it's embarrassing," she confessed a bit breathlessly, pressing her forehead against his chest to hide her blush.

"You're joking," he snorted, his entire being infused with a stunned kind of joy, "well, even with half a brain you're still twice as smart as me."

"I doubt that."

"Don't. It's true. Anyway, your brain is sexy as hell. Even at half-capacity."

"Oh really?" she quipped, lifting her gaze to his once more with a wry smirk, "then how come I can't think of a clever way to get you to kiss me again?"

Draco didn't even pause to laugh at her comment or wonder how the hell his luck had turned so quickly. He just grasped her face gently in his hands, stooping down to kiss her thoroughly, like he'd been dying to do before.

The kiss felt different. Like he was finally free to explore the emotions behind it, let them melt through him and into the muscles and sinews of his body.

The only problem was, after only a minute or so of languid, wonderful kissing, Hermione drew back with a yawn. She tried to stifle it, but her face crumpled up and she couldn't seem to stop it.

"Oh god, I'm sorry," she slurred through the yawn, barely comprehensible as she tried to cover her mouth, "you'd think after sleeping for almost a week I wouldn't be so tired."

"Hey, don't apologise," he told her with a smirk, "your body is going through a lot right now and it's still healing. Frankly, I'm surprised you even got out of bed, let alone escaped from Pomfrey and broke out of the hospital wing just to hunt my sorry arse down."

"Nothing sorry about it," she quipped with a tired grin. Draco snorted and shook his head, turning her shoulders back towards the door.

"Okay, well now I know for sure that you should be back in your bed, coz you're clearly delirious."

Hermione protested as he tried to guide her towards the door, digging her heels in and looking up at him pleadingly.

"I don't want to go back there," she informed him sulkily.

"Tough luck, troll brains," he retorted, using her own insult against her with a smirk. But when he tried to move her again, she slipped from his grasp and moved a couple of steps closer to his bed.

"Can't I stay?" she asked solemnly, her smile dropping into something more sincere as she looked up at him with those damn brown eyes.

"Hermione, you really should-" he began to protest weakly, but she just reached down and grasped his hand, silencing him.

"I'm sick of lying in that hospital wing. Please, Draco. Can't I sleep here? With you?"

Draco clenched his jaw, knowing that he should return her to Pomfrey. She'd only just barely recovered from a traumatic dark curse. She'd been to hell and back again, and it was hardly a time to be flippant with her well-being. He didn't want to risk her health at all, not even if it meant keeping her close.

But then he looked down at her pleading expression. He felt the way her hand clung tightly to his, skin warm and vibrant against him.

Who was he kidding? He could never deny her. And the thought of keeping her close… sleeping in his bed together…

No contest really.

"You weren't even conscious the last few days. How can you get sick of a place you're not even aware of?" he grumbled in a low voice, brushing past her and muttering to himself as he tossed one of the spare pillows onto the ground and tugged the blankets down on the other side of the bed.

"I've been awake a day and a half actually," she corrected him primly, moving to the other side of the bed, "during which time a certain someone never even visited me, not even once."

"Yeh well…it's complicated," he murmured, sliding into bed before pausing and looking up at her. With a trembling hand, Draco held back the covers and motioned for her to join him. Hermione did so with a triumphant smile, launching herself onto the bed and wriggling under the blanket next to him. There was an awkward moment as they both tried to figure out a good position. Eventually they lay on their sides facing each other, wrapped up in blankets and surrounded by the shared warmth of two bodies.

"Harry told me about that as well," she explained in barely more than a whisper as Draco murmured the incantation to turn off the light. Now their faces were lit only by the orange glow of the fireplace.

"About what?" he asked warily. Hermione lifted her hand and brushed an errant strand of hair off his forehead. He shivered, noticing as he did how her arm was still bandaged tightly from her elbow down to her wrist.

"About the rumour going around. The one the whole school's talking about apparently. It seems you've been renewing the curse all year and that's the only reason you even befriended me in the first place." Her tone was dry and mocking, clearly conveying how ridiculous she thought the whole story sounded.

"Oh…right," he acknowledged with a frown, not really sure what to say about it. He looked down, not meeting her eye for a moment. Then he felt the same hand move and her finger stroke down his forehead, smoothing out the crease in his skin caused by the expression.

"Is that why you stayed away from the hospital wing?" she asked quietly. Draco sighed, not sure what to say.

"Seemed like the right thing to do, given the circumstances," he finally mumbled, noting the stubborn gleam in her eye in response. Even though she was clearly exhausted, Hermione still carried that fighting spirit with her.

"I don't care what they think, Draco. You and I both know the truth. And Harry of course. And the Headmistress too I suppose."

"Longbottom seemed to think it was all rather funny," he remembered with a slight twitch of his lip.

"Of course he did. He likes you."

Malfoy gave her a derisive look, but she just shook her head with a smile.

"No really!" she protested, "he thinks you're a good sort. And that's a direct quote."

"Oh terrific," he drawled sarcastically, "well as long as Neville Longbottom approves, then I guess we're set for life."

"Oh be nice," she scolded gently, "and besides, he can convince some of the others, if it really matters to you. Dean and a few of the Hufflepuffs would listen to him. I couldn't care less of course, but then I'm not the one being slandered here."

Draco sighed, reaching forwards to tuck a stray curl behind her ear that had escaped from where she'd wrestled it earlier.

"It would be nice not to have every single bloody student in the whole castle think I'm trying to murder my girlfriend," he remarked with a wry smirk.

Hermione's eyes widened slightly in reaction to his words, and she peered at him almost hopefully. Her fingers gripped the pillow tighter as she shuffled forwards slightly.

"Your girlfriend huh?" she asked him, and Draco froze, thinking back over his last statement. Shit, he had called her that hadn't he? Way to get carried away, he thought, swallowing and wondering how to backtrack now. But then Hermione was smiling at him, a pleased flush spreading over her cheeks. And he figured he'd risk it all just to let this night continue forever, just to keep seeing that smile.

"Well…" he mumbled, embarrassed but determined, "I mean… we're sort of already together anyway, aren't we?" he challenged her, a wry meaning in his tone. Just like when she'd insisted all those weeks ago that they may as well make their friendship official because they were already kind of friends anyway.

"Okay. Fair enough."

At that moment she couldn't seem to stifle a fairly extensive yawn. Draco chuckled softly, reaching out to stroke her cheek before tracing the slight dark tinge under her eyes.

"Get some sleep," he told her gently, "Everything else can wait."

"You sure?" she mumbled, already starting to close her eyes and snuggle deeper into the below beneath them.

"Positive. Unless Madame Pomfrey comes banging on my door. Then I'm giving you up."

She gave him a dozy smile, tugging the blanket higher under her chin. Draco smiled and kept stroking her hairline, soothing the creases on her forehead until she drifted off. He wanted to stay awake as long as possible, watching her steady breaths and peaceful expression. But the fireplace was warm, and the bed was soft. He was running on limited sleep as it was, so it wasn't long before he joined her.

It was the first time he slept beside another person. And for the first time in what felt like years, his sleep was deep and calm and wonderful.

Aw there we go. Resolutions all round! Only one more chapter to go now. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think.