Mon ange gardien

by virgules

We all know what Harry went through during his years at Hogwarts. But what happened where he wasn't looking? A love affair between his best friend and his nemesis...? Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, from first to seventh year, gradually fall in love during the real books. Chapter every Sunday evening!

83. 83 : the visionaries

Hello everybody! I'm sorry for the delay, the site was down for a few days and has changed its layout interface, they no longer take the italics in my text so I have to put them back one by one and it's taking up an awful lot of time in my already busy week! But here's the chapter, all clean and beautiful! Thank you all for your comments, which motivate me to keep writing every day!

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Draco

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Draco spent the rest of the night wide awake, his eyes glued to the curtain above his head. He knew Pansy was doing the same and that she wouldn't be able to sleep after what had just happened. He could see her pale hand slowly stroking Eris' fur, perhaps to calm herself.

Blaise still hadn't returned. Draco had no idea where he could be. Theo had suggested he had gone to the hospital wing, but Draco seriously doubted he could be there. He rarely, if ever, sought help from an adult at Hogwarts. If there was a problem, he was always the one to deal with it. When Leo Hills had called Pansy a junkie, it was he who had dislocated his jaw. When Theo had come home bloodied and unconscious, it was he who had looked after him and taken him into his home. When the Death Eaters had invaded the lawn during the Quidditch World Cup, it was he who had stood in front of Theo and Draco to protect them from Nott Sr.

Whenever there was a problem, everyone automatically turned to Blaise, the wisest and bravest of the four.

But when Blaise had a problem, who did he turn to?

Draco realised bitterly that he hadn't the faintest idea. The thought was so distracting that he forgot how happy he'd been after his date with Granger in the Astronomy Tower. Even after hours, he could still feel the adrenaline of waking up coursing through his veins, Blaise's screams against his eardrums like echoes in the silent dormitory. His palm was still burning, despite running it under the cold tap for twenty minutes and casting every cooling spell he knew.

When it was time for breakfast, it was clear that none of the three had managed to get back to sleep. Theo's eyes were red with exhaustion and Draco had to look away, it reminded him of Blaise's black, faded pupils.

None of the three spoke during breakfast. Draco chewed bits of apple, but his stomach was too squeezed to swallow anything substantial. For the first time in five years, Theo didn't pour himself a glass of milk.

When Blaise's owl landed on the table, looking for its master, Pansy gave him a coin and put the newspaper in her bag without a word.

"Potter's not here."

Draco lifted his head sharply at Crabbe's voice and inspected the Gryffindor table. It really must be the end of the world if Crabbe and Goyle were more observant than he was.

Potter wasn't there, but he wasn't the only one missing: there were no redheads, leaving an odd hole in the middle of the red and gold table. The Gryffindors who were there looked as if they'd spent the same night as Draco, they were all horribly pale and Longbottom's head, which he held awkwardly in the palm of his hand, bobbed and almost fell into his cereal bowl.

Draco looked around for Granger and found her at the other end of the table, head down. He couldn't really see her from where he was, but he had the impression that she had been crying. Her shoulders were slumped, her back hunched, as if she was carrying the world's problems and struggling to bear the weight. It was a strange sight to see her alone; she was usually surrounded by a dozen people at any given time, happily chatting away. It reminded him of first year, when Granger didn't have many friends and would eat lunch alone, with a textbook in front of her to keep her occupied.

Draco's brain was far too foggy with fatigue to make sense of the scene, so it took him a while to remember the conversation he'd overheard in the corridors between McGonagall and Umbridge. He couldn't remember the details, only that Potter had been sent to Dumbledore's office, without remembering why...

He turned his head towards the teachers' table and saw Umbridge, her face puffy with anger. She was fulminating. Her malevolent eyes were fixed on the empty seat at the Gryffindor table, as if hoping that Potter would appear from underneath so she could curse him. McGonagall, six seats away, wore nothing but a blasé expression. She was reading the paper and didn't seem to mind the absence of Potter and the gang of redheads he was constantly flanked by.

Draco wanted to ask the questions in his head aloud (Where was Potter? Was it something to do with the discussion he'd overheard the day before? Was Granger all right?) But before he could decide what to ask first, Blaise sat down next to him. Pansy, Theo and Draco immediately tore their eyes from the Gryffindor table to their best friend.

"Blaise?" Pansy called in a scared voice, as if she was afraid he was going to have another seizure in the middle of the Great Hall.

Despite the fact that he'd been fighting like crazy a few hours earlier, Blaise's appearance didn't show it. He'd changed, he was now wearing his perfectly tailored uniform and he was acting normal, calm, collected. But Draco knew him by heart. He could see that his eyelids were more swollen than usual and that his hand was shaking as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He could see that he avoided their gaze. He could even see a burn at the base of his neck, hidden by the collar of his cloak, just like the one on the palm of Draco's hand.

"Is everything all right?" asked Theo in a low voice.

Crabbe and Goyle leaned over to listen. Blaise caught their glances and muttered:

"Later."

The silence was unbearable. Usually Draco loved the fact that Blaise was so quiet. There was never any need to fill in the blanks with him and it was restful. But on this day, Draco didn't like the silence at all. It made his thoughts wander and he felt like he was drowning in fear. He wondered if that was what Granger felt all the time. If that was why she kept talking.

After a long moment, when Draco's apple was nothing more than a pile of mushy chunks between his fingers, Blaise stood up. Draco, Theo and Pansy jumped up from the bench to accompany him, and Crabbe and Goyle watched them go blankly. They crossed the Great Hall and Draco couldn't help but glance at her, and from there he could clearly see the sadness that hung over every one of her features, as if etched on her face. She hadn't eaten much either: her porridge was untouched and the cup of coffee in her hands looked cold. Her eyes were lost somewhere between the floor and the bench in front of her. She was unrecognisable, so much so that it seemed to Draco that their broomstick escapade was weeks old, not the day before. What had happened to her since? Perhaps Potter had had the same nightmare as Blaise.

They reached the Transfiguration courtyard and Draco knew the situation was serious when Theo made no comment about the falling snow. The fountain was frozen and the benches were all icy. So the four of them sat down under Blaise's favourite tree and Pansy cast a warming spell around them. Draco was sure it was for Theo.

"Well?" he asked as soon as he sat down on the ground.

Blaise ran a hand over his face and Draco saw how exhausted he looked. It was as if he'd been wearing a mask and was finally letting go of his emotions.

"I've written to my mother." he announced in a deep, weary voice.

Pansy and Theo nodded. Draco, for his part, jumped slightly when he heard this.

He'd never understood Blaise's relationship with his mother.

He knew they were close, much closer than any Slytherin could be with their parents. He knew they communicated a lot, because Blaise would often give them news, like "my mum is in Italy", or "my mum has written a novel", or "my mum went to the Carson the Clover concert last week." But Draco had never actually seen him read one of her letters. When his owl brought in the mail each morning, there was only the Prophet, or his subscriptions to every Quidditch magazine in the world. Never a sealed envelope. Never a parcel of sweets. Never anything that would show they wrote to each other often.

Draco couldn't imagine asking his mother for advice if he had a problem. It would never have occurred to him. Maybe because he associated his mother too much with his father, he'd be afraid she'd show him his letter. He couldn't talk to her about his weaknesses without fearing it would backfire.

"What did you write?" asked Theo.

Blaise sighed and turned his head towards the Owlery. Draco could see the outline of the tower through the winter mist, and a few owls flitting in and out. He realised that this was where Blaise had gone that night without even asking him.

"I wrote that I needed her." he replied, overwhelmed. "I couldn't really go into details in case the letter was intercepted by Umbridge or anyone else... I just told her that I had..."

He fell awkwardly silent, plunging his hands into the snow to occupy them.

"That you'd had what?" asked Pansy with unexpected kindness.

"A vision." Blaise finished, lifting his head to look at his friends, as if daring them to laugh at him. None of them did. "Because it wasn't just a nightmare." he said, almost pleadingly. "I know it looked like one, but I wasn't dreaming. I was asleep and suddenly... I was over there. My body may have stayed in the dormitory, but I swear I was in there. I... I was surrounded by flames."

He must have realised how nonsensical what he was saying was, because he lowered his head.

"I was over there." he murmured, as much to himself as to the others. "I swear."

Draco felt his insides clench. Deep down, he knew that Blaise hadn't just had a nightmare. His pupils, his inflamed skin, his convulsions... Draco had suffered from night terrors all his life, but never like this.

Theo shared a look with him and he realised they were thinking the same thing. That if it wasn't a nightmare Blaise had had last night, it had to be something much more serious, much darker.

Draco shuddered.

Blaise had fallen victim to dark magic.

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Pansy and Theo insisted all morning that Blaise should skip class and go back to bed, but Blaise kept saying he didn't need to. Draco, however, could see that he was holding back from closing his eyes in Charms class. Every five minutes he would suddenly sit up in his seat and twirl his wand in his hand, pretending to be working.

"They're right, you know." Draco whispered as Blaise jerked awake again at their Defence Against the Dark Arts desk. Umbridge was at her desk, watching the students with a sadistic smile on her thin lips. "You should leave, go to the hospital wing. You don't look well."

That was the understatement of the year. Blaise was in such a state of exhaustion that Draco wouldn't be surprised if he passed out before lunch. It was worse than after the Occlumency sessions. His nightmare, or vision as he wanted to call it, had drained him of all his energy.

"No, I'm fine." Blaise lied. "By the way, do we know why Potter and the Weasleys aren't here today?"

Draco was taken aback by the question; he'd never thought Blaise would have noticed, given the state he was in. But it had to be said that their absence was noticeable. Not hearing Potter's cheeky remarks during an Umbridge class was a whole new experience.

"Er, no, not really." Draco replied.

Just then, Umbridge's shrill voice broke the concentrated silence of the classroom:

"Miss Granger?"

Granger raised her head from her textbook. She was sitting next to Longbottom, who not-so-subtly straightened in his chair when he saw Umbridge looking in their direction.

"Yes, Professor?" Granger replied in an emotionless voice.

"I couldn't help but notice that it's been exactly seventeen minutes since you turned the page of your textbook. Umbridge said gently, with a smile she had to imagine was maternal, but which turned out to be more like a nervous tic. She tapped the blackboard gently with her wand. "Yet I thought I'd asked you to finish chapter twenty-eight?"

Draco and Blaise both leaned over to look at Crabbe and Goyle, who were fast asleep at their desks. Umbridge didn't even have the decency to pretend she wasn't showing favouritism.

"I've finished it, Professor." Granger replied. "As I told you, I finished the whole book. Twice."

"Then I suggest you rewrite the chapter on parchment. Word for word." Umbridge said in a low whisper.

Hearing this, the Gryffindors leaned forward and pretended to read. Granger, on the other hand, shrugged, took out a parchment, dipped her quill and began to write lazily. Umbridge may have been at the school for three months, but she still hadn't quite figured her out. This girl was capable of writing essays in a matter of hours without the slightest wrist cramp, rewriting an entire chapter of a textbook was child's play.

Seeing the Gryffindor's distant reaction, Umbridge added:

"Oh, and of course you'll pass on my sincere apologies to your friend, Miss Granger."

A leaden silence fell over the room, so loud that Draco could almost feel it against his shoulders, sinking him into his seat.

Granger's face changed completely, going from a vague disinterest to a hateful expression that Draco had never seen on her features before, and yet he thought he held the record for who had annoyed Granger the most in her life. She looked at Umbridge as if she were thinking of all the ways she could murder her on the spot, and Draco was sure she had plenty of ideas running through her far too sharp brain.

Draco didn't understand the insinuation. What had Potter suffered to deserve the pity of that viper Umbridge?

For a full minute the two women stared at each other: one furious, the other rather perky. Finally, Granger muttered through clenched teeth:

"Of course, Professor. I'll tell him."

Umbridge made a satisfied little sound with her tongue that made Draco's hand twitch. The rest of the class proceeded as usual, which was to say, in long minutes of pretending to read a text, then Umbridge dismissed the class for lunch.

In the Great Hall, Blaise had great difficulty keeping his head upright enough to eat anything. After his fifth attempt to get a piece of cake into his mouth, Pansy declared:

"That's enough. Blaise, go back to bed."

"I can't." he grumbled.

"Yes, you can!" Theo interrupted in an annoyed tone. "You've got Divination and Potions this afternoon, you're still skipping Divination and Snape won't say anything, you know that."

"No." Blaise grumbled without looking at them. "I can't."

And suddenly, Draco understood.

"Oh." he whispered. "You can't sleep."

Blaise sighed and nodded.

"You're afraid it's going to happen again, aren't you? Your... your vision?" he asked.

Blaise nodded a second time. Draco saw that he was having trouble swallowing and wondered if he was going to cry. He didn't think he'd ever seen Blaise cry before, not even when they were little.

"Why didn't you say so before?" exclaimed Theo, suddenly rising from the table. "Come on."

He spoke to Blaise only, but Draco and Pansy followed. They walked out of the Great Hall, down the stairs, then Theo stopped in front of Snape's potions storeroom and looked down both sides of the dungeon corridor.

"Pansy, keep a lookout on that side, Draco, stand outside his office." he ordered, pulling his wand from his cloak pocket.

"You're going to steal from his storeroom?" asked Blaise with a slowness that showed his fatigue.

"I'm going to borrow something from his storeroom." Theo corrected. "I promise I'll give it back to him after the break. Ανοιξε τον εαυτο σας!"

Snape's storeroom door opened with a small "click!" Theo hurried to open it, ignoring the three confused looks his friends shot in his direction.

"What the hell was that spell?!" asked Draco, baffled.

"It's the counter-spell to the incantation Snape invented to protect his Potions Room, of course." the boy replied, his head hidden by the jars on the shelves. "I think he took it badly that everyone was helping themselves to it last year, so he invented a more powerful locking spell than Colloportus."

He found the potion he was looking for, a small crimson vial that Draco immediately recognised as the Dreamless Sleep Potion he had used many times during his nightmares.

"And how the hell did you manage to find the counter spell?" asked Blaise.

"Simple." Theo said with a shrug that many would have found pretentious, but to him was nothing more than a banal explanation. "He just translated the locking spell into Greek. σκάσε!"

The door locked.

"And since when do you speak Greek?" asked Pansy, impressed and offended that she didn't know.

Theo gave her a funny look:

"Well, since always. Didn't you have private Greek lessons before Hogwarts?"

He walked towards the Common Room before he could get an answer, but Draco heard Pansy mumble an "er, no" behind his back.

The walk to the dormitories was slow and painful for Blaise, as if every gesture took the last of his strength. When he finally lay down in his bed, he let out a death rattle that made Pansy shiver.

"Here, drink this." Theo said, handing him the bottle. "I'll make you some more after Christmas, all right?"

"Thanks, Theo." Blaise hissed as he took the potion. He tilted his head back and drank a big gulp, then leaned back more comfortably. "Thanks, all three of you. I'll..."

But they didn't have time to hear what Blaise was going to say, because he fell asleep with a snap of his fingers. When his head rested on the pillow, his features were more relaxed than they had been since the night before. Pansy and Theo breathed the same sigh of relief.

"I'll stay with him." Theo decided, and Draco wondered what strange world he'd fallen into, where Crabbe and Goyle were observers and Theodore Nott was skipping a class.

"I can stay if you want to go to Arithmantics." Pansy offered.

And a strange world where Pansy Parkinson was willing to skip Divination. Where had Draco landed?

"Arithmancy." Theo corrected and Pansy rolled her eyes. "No, it'll look suspicious if you're not there, and Draco can tell Professor Vector that I've caught a cold."

"Or I'll stay and you go." Draco said as he sat down on his bed with a perfect view of Blaise, who was fast asleep. "I know how much you don't want to miss class..."

"... but staying with him is more important." Theo stated firmly. "Go on, don't worry about us. Blaise will sleep like a baby and I'll read a novel."

The bell for the resumption of classes rang in the Common Room and Theo showed them the door with a wave of his hand. Draco looked at Blaise for a second, then at Theo, then at Pansy and surrendered. He stood up and let Pansy pass in front of him, but just before he stepped through the door, Theo called out in a low voice:

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"What was that spell you used again? To... you know, wake him?"

His heart clenched painfully at the memory. He had a flash of black pupils, a shuddering body, his own fear of losing his best friend.

"Aguamenti." he replied in a steady voice.

"That's it. Have a good Arithmetics. And take notes!"

Draco smiled pale and closed the door.

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Hermione

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Ron's father was attacked by a snake.

Ron's father was attacked by a snake.

Ron's father was attacked by a snake.

Hermione didn't sleep all night, or at least the rest of the night. She watched the sun rise slowly through the window of the Common Room as she turned this sentence over and over in her mind.

Ron's father had been attacked by a snake.

No one came to join her on the sofa. She half expected to hear Harry's footsteps on the stairs. That he would be sitting next to her, yawning and complaining of another bout of insomnia. She thought she heard the Weasley twins plotting something and stopped dead in their tracks when they saw her. Surely they would be sharing a cup of tea in front of the fireplace. Hermione almost recognised Ron's drowsy voice complaining about the hour, although he always came down to check that everything was all right. Hermione imagined Ginny's footsteps approaching, Crookshanks in one arm and her radio in the other, playing rock music far too loud for the late hour.

But no one came. Neville, Seamus and Dean had gone back to bed when McGonagall didn't return with any news. The whole room had emptied and no one came back downstairs, no one came to join Hermione who was waiting on the sofa. Waiting for what, she didn't know.

Ron's father had been attacked by a snake.

No matter how many times Hermione turned that sentence over in her mind, she still couldn't quite grasp its meaning. How could Ron's father have been attacked by a snake? It had to have happened during an Order of the Phoenix mission; she couldn't see how it could have happened anywhere else. Who had sent the snake? And why? Was it guarding something? Was it in the wrong place at the wrong time?

But a more pressing question invaded Hermione's mind and she couldn't get rid of it. How could Harry have known?

"Harry was very ill, he said he'd had a nightmare, that he'd seen..." Seamus had said when she'd returned.

Had Harry had a vision? Had he been possessed? Had he had a premonitory dream? He said he suffered from nightmares where he saw the graveyard again, where he saw Cedric dying without being able to stop it. How could he have seen an event from the future? Or, rather, an event in the present, taking place at the very moment of the dream?

Another question, more nagging, even more painful than the one about Harry's dream, rose to the surface, and a feeling of guilt, the same one that had been gnawing at her since last summer, gripped her gut and almost made her vomit her tea.

"And where were you when he had his nightmare?"

She hadn't been there. Ron, Ginny and the twins had learned that their father had been attacked, wounded, somewhere between life and death, and she hadn't been there to comfort them, to support them. They might have lost their father and she hadn't been there. Harry had had a vision, a nightmare, he had been possessed, and Hermione hadn't been there. She hadn't taken him to Dumbledore's office, she hadn't reassured him.

Because she was on a broom, far away from everything, in her bubble with Draco.

She didn't know if it was God, Merlin or a force of the universe, but she hated this little personal attack. Like a divine punishment to remind her that what she was doing wasn't right. She felt stupid and disloyal. She kept wondering if she could have seen something in Harry's behaviour, something abnormal, something she could have cured? Before he'd had this... vision? Had she been so infatuated with Draco that she hadn't seen that her best friend was suffering? She tried to remember their conversation the day before... Cho had kissed him, he had been... lost, confused, but happy deep down, hadn't he? Had there been signs that she hadn't seen?

Hermione sat in the Great Hall, not even remembering that she had come down from Gryffindor Tower. She poured herself a bowl of porridge she wouldn't eat. There was no Ginny in front of her. There was no Fred or George on either side of their sister. Harry and Ron didn't come and sit next to her, taunting her for coming down so early.

Where had they been? How was Arthur? All these unanswered questions were giving her a headache.

"Hey."

Hermione raised her head, ready to send a scathing reply to the person who dared to sit opposite her, but was taken aback when she saw Luna Lovegood.

She sat down quietly on the bench and took a banana from one of the salad bowls.

"Hey." Hermione replied a little late. "Sorry, I..."

"Oh, don't worry about it. No need to make conversation if you don't want to. I just wanted to sit there." Luna said, in her floating voice that often annoyed Hermione, but was an excellent remedy for the headache that was pounding at her temples this morning. She watched as Luna carefully cut her banana into small pieces.

"Actually, I wanted to apologise to you." Hermione blurted out without thinking. She desperately needed to talk, to hear Luna's floating voice again. "You once said you wanted to say hello to the Thestrals, and I told you there weren't any at Hogwarts, and... Hagrid told us about them last time, and you were right, I can't see them. I'm sorry I doubted you, you can obviously see them, so..." She lowered her head to her porridge, blushing with shame as she realised what she was implying. "I'm sorry, it was insensitive of me, I didn't mean..."

"It's all right." Luna replied, brushing away Hermione's discomfort with a wave of her hand. "I didn't blame you for doubting their existence. My father always says that doubt is a wizard's strength, because doubt is temporary, unlike intolerance, which is eternal."

She glanced towards the staff table and Hermione realised she was looking at Umbridge.

"Your father's right." Hermione replied. "But it was insensitive of me, I shouldn't have..."

"The fact that you apologise to me is proof enough of the goodness of your soul, Hermione." Luna said, dipping her banana pieces into her yoghurt. "Not many people do. So you couldn't see the Thestrals?"

"No." Hermione replied in a low voice.

"They're a very misunderstood species, the Thestrals." Luna said. "I think they're frowned upon by wizards who might see them because of their appearance or their behaviour. But they're very interesting. I've made friends with Hagrid's and they're very nice to me. I just think they're different. Tea?"

She handed a cup to Hermione, who took it and thanked her gently. She couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Luna. Her description of the Thestrals sounded like what the other students said about her: strange, different, loopy.

"I see them because of my mother." Luna explained in a distant voice. "She died when I was nine. She was an extraordinary witch. My father told me that she loved to make spells, that she did all sorts of experiments at home to test them. One day, one of her spells backfired and killed her instantly".

"Oh Luna, I'm so sorry."

"Thank you." she replied quietly. "I'm still very sad about her, but it's not like I'll never see her again. She often visits me in the form of the Forest rabbits."

She smiled tenderly and Hermione imitated her, touched by the story.

"Harry can see the Thestrals too." Luna commented. "He came to see them last time while I was feeding them. I told him about Dad and I believed him. About You-Know-Who and the Ministry trying to frame him."

"That's nice." Hermione said. "I think Harry needs to hear it."

"I think so too. I don't know him very well, but I got the impression he was lonely."

Hermione felt the timeless guilt clinging to her. She took a sip of tea to drive it away. Jasmine. She savoured the scent, but the guilt still lay deep in her gut.

"I told him he wasn't." Luna continued, unaware of Hermione's discomfort. "That he had plenty of people to rely on, but that he didn't think about them because that's what He-Who-Shall-not-Be-Named wanted. To make him lonely. Isolated. Don't you think?"

Hermione nodded. It was the same analysis as Ron's at the beginning of the year, when he'd told her that Harry would probably distance himself from them because he'd feel left out. She felt the urge to talk to Harry, to reassure him. It was terribly frustrating to know that he was with the Weasleys and that she was forced to remain trapped in the Castle without any news. She hated not knowing.

"He's not here this morning." Luna pointed out, without turning her head to the spot on the bench where Harry usually sat. "How is he?"

Being best friends with the famous Harry Potter, Hermione was often entitled to questions. "How did he do it?" "Where is he?" "Did he tell you what happened?" "Is he telling the truth?" Hermione had learned to ignore them, to brush them off. No one asked these questions for Harry's sake, just out of interest, misplaced curiosity.

She wasn't sure if it was the fact that Luna reminded her a little of him, or that Hermione just really wanted to confide in someone, but she heard herself answer:

"Not very well, I think."

Luna showed no surprise. She listened in silence as Hermione put her head in her hands, almost knocking over her tea.

"Ron's father, he was... attacked last night, he's badly hurt and I... I wasn't there to help them, to support them, I was... absent. I should have been there, I feel terrible..."

Her voice broke and Hermione had to fight hard not to cry. She still had her head in her hands, her eyes fixed on the wood of the table, when Luna's dreamy voice interrupted her dismay:

"It's not your fault, Hermione."

Hermione lifted her head, her eyes so misty with tears that the Ravenclaw's face was a blur.

"Wh-what?"

"You shouldn't feel bad about being away. I'm sure Harry and Ron won't hold it against you. It wasn't you who attacked Ron's father, your absence was just a combination of circumstances. The important thing is that you'll be there for them when they need you."

Luna's tone was peaceful, almost crooning, and it soothed Hermione far more than she would have liked to admit.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her question trembling.

"When my mother died, I didn't care who was there." Luna explained calmly, the opposite of the seriousness of her words. "I didn't care about other people's unhappiness or their presence. I just didn't think about it. It was only afterwards that I needed them. I needed my father. I needed someone to be there, not necessarily to help or comfort me, but to support me. To believe in me. And I think that's what Harry and Ron are going to need. Don't blame yourself for not being there when they find out. Be there when they need you."

For the first time since Neville had uttered that phrase, the one embedded in Hermione's head that wouldn't go away, the guilt went away. Just a little, but enough for her to see the situation in a more pragmatic light.

Harry had had a vision of Ron's father being attacked.

The important thing was not to dwell on her presence at that time.

The important thing was to join them. Now.

"Luna, you're... you're right, I'll... I'll talk to Dumbledore, I have to..." Hermione stammered as she got up from the bench.

Luna grinned at her:

"Okay, see you later Hermione. Say hello to Harry, Ron and Ginny for me."

Hermione nodded mechanically and left the Great Hall. She climbed the stairs, skipping every other step as Ron did, and arrived at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower. Trying not to think of the memories that inhabited the walls of the stairwell or the platform, she climbed up to the entrance of Dumbledore's office.

When she reached the gargoyle, however, Hermione stopped. She didn't have the password. She looked up at the sculpture, a huge stone griffin with its wings outstretched and its beak raised, as if inspecting whoever tried to enter from above. Hermione remembered Harry telling her that Dumbledore's passwords were always a sweet name, so she listed the ones she knew:

"Um... Chocolate Frog? Canary Creams? Sugar Quill? Acid Pop? Cauldron Cakes? Fizzing Whizzbees? Pumpkin Pasty?"

Suddenly, the gargoyle came to life and spun around with a loud noise, startling Hermione, who barely had time to jump onto the first step before the staircase to the office climbed up.

Standing in front of the massive door, Hermione realised that she had never actually been in the Headmaster's office. She didn't even know if he was there. She'd been so worried that she hadn't even thought to look at the teachers' table in the Great Hall. Perhaps Dumbledore was quietly eating his breakfast and she was standing like an idiot outside his office door?

She turned hesitantly towards the stairs and thought she saw the gargoyle's head pointing at the door with its beak. She blinked several times, sure she'd imagined it. Maybe the tiredness was going to her head. The door flew open and Hermione suddenly found herself face to face with Professor Snape.

"Miss Granger?" he said, surprised to see her there. "What are..."

"Leave us, Severus." Dumbledore's voice ordered from behind him.

Snape didn't seem thrilled by the request, but he obeyed. He took the stairs in the opposite direction, not without giving Hermione an unfriendly look as he passed, and disappeared from her sight.

"Come in, please." Dumbledore said from his study.

Hermione stepped timidly through the door. For a second she was caught up in the beauty of the room. Dumbledore's office was the same shape as the Astronomy platform, with shelves along the walls filled with books, globes and silver instruments Hermione had never seen before. Her fingers tingled at the thought of leafing through the ancient books. Her eyes were drawn to the Sorting Hat, resting on the largest shelf, and to the magnificent phoenix Harry and Ron had told her about, Fawkes. He sat on a huge golden perch next to the Headmaster's desk, his scarlet feathers showing that he was in his prime.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, wearing a long, deep midnight blue cloak. Behind him, dozens of portraits of elderly men and women watched them, or slept soundly in their frames. Hermione guessed that they were the former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts and instinctively straightened.

"I suspected I'd have the pleasure of your company this morning, Miss Granger." Dumbledore said with a smile hidden by his thick white beard. "Do sit down."

Hermione obeyed and took a seat in the chair opposite him.

"Toffee?" the Headmaster offered, handing her a large golden bowl. "They're not tricked, have no fear."

Hermione refused. Dumbledore put the bowl down without taking his eyes off Hermione. His sky-blue gaze was penetrating; she felt he could read her like a book on his shelves.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, that I wasn't able to inform you of yesterday's events sooner." Dumbledore announced in a calm voice. "I had to remain discreet, lest Professor Umbridge find anything suspicious in my behaviour. I assume you've come to hear news of your friends, Mr Weasley and Mr Potter?"

Hearing their names, Hermione forgot she was intimidated and leaned back in her chair to ask:

"How are they? How is Mr Weasley? Have they gone back to London? Are they..."

She paused because she was speaking too fast, but Dumbledore didn't seem to mind.

"Mr Potter and the Weasley family are well, under the circumstances. I understand Arthur was rescued at the last minute. He has been taken into care at St Mungo's and Molly is there as we speak. If the Healers can remove the venom, he'll live."

Hermione couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped her lips at the news. He wasn't out of the woods yet, but at least he was alive. Barely.

"I sent Mr Potter and the Weasleys to London via Portkey." Dumbledore continued. "They're at headquarters with Sirius. They're waiting for news."

"And how is Harry?" asked Hermione with a touch of panic.

Something flashed in Dumbledore's eyes, but Hermione would not have been able to tell what it was. A glimmer of interest perhaps? In any case, the Headmaster rested his chin on his folded hands and analysed Hermione as if she had just recited a particularly difficult riddle.

"So you're aware of Mr Potter's involvement in this?" he asked.

"Yes, Seamus and Neville told me..." Hermione began, unsure of how to form her sentence. "That he had been ill, that he had seen... that it was he who had warned everyone of Mr Weasley's attack."

"Hmm." Dumbledore said, his piercing eyes still fixed on Hermione, who felt a blush creep into her cheeks. "Has Mr Potter, to your knowledge, ever... suffered such a vision?"

Her brain shot an alarm at the question, an alarm that sounded suspiciously like Mad-Eye's voice screaming in her ear, "constant vigilance!" For a second she almost hesitated to say what she knew. She thought of Draco, who had said that Dumbledore was untrustworthy. She thought of Theo, who had winced when she'd told him about the army they'd created in his honour.

But Hermione forced herself. She could trust Dumbledore with anything, he was the one who had founded the Order of the Phoenix, the most powerful wizard in the world, who defeated darkness to let light reign. He'd always had Harry's best interests at heart, she was sure of that.

"Yes." she finally replied. "Yes, in Divination last year he... dreamt that He-Who... er, Voldemort, was torturing Pettigrew for failing in his task..."

Dumbledore smiled slightly as he heard her utter the cursed name, and Hermione felt a surge of pride at the thought of impressing Albus Dumbledore.

"Do you know of any other visions I don't know about?"

"Um, well, he also suffers from insomnia, he relives scenes... he relives Cedric Diggory dying, in the cemetery..."

Dumbledore nodded, and Hermione thought to herself that he didn't seem worried about his night terrors. Yet when Harry told them to Hermione in the half-light of the Common Room, she felt almost nauseous.

"I see. And what are your theories about these visions, Miss Granger?"

Hermione stopped herself from widening her eyes:

"M-my theories?"

"Yes, your theories." Dumbledore repeated, as if it were a perfectly normal conversation over tea. "I've heard nothing but good things about you, Miss Granger. Academically, from many of your teachers, but also from a human point of view. I understand you're particularly close to Mr Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes." Hermione replied in a small, squeaky voice. "Yes, he's my best friend."

"I imagine you've already theorised about these visions. After all, it remains a mystery, and I understand you like to unravel mysteries. I'd be very interested to hear your opinion."

His head still resting on his hands, Dumbledore looked at Hermione calmly, clearly waiting for an answer. Hermione concentrated on the question, vaguely wondering how he could have gone from Arthur's condition to Harry's visions so quickly.

"Well... I don't think they're nightmares or prophecies of the kind Professor Trelawney might make. I think it's a unique connection, one that would link Voldemort to Harry... That he could almost... possess him? Probably through a magical transference that took place that night when Harry's parents..."

Hermione's throat suddenly tightened and she stopped, afraid she'd burst into tears in the middle of the Headmaster's office.

"Excellent, Miss Granger, excellent..." Dumbledore muttered after a few seconds, as if she'd answered a question in class. "Yes, truly excellent... We are of the same opinion... And so does Professor Snape..."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, surprised that Snape had an opinion on the matter. Dumbledore's eyes fell on a closed cupboard and for long seconds, neither spoke.

"Um... Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione called out as the silence stretched.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" replied the Headmaster, his eyes still far away, lost in thought.

"Would it be possible for me to join the others in Grimmauld Square? If Mrs Weasley and Sirius agree, of course."

Dumbledore turned to her again.

"Oh, well, I don't mind, quite the contrary. I don't know Mr. Potter as well as you, but I'm sure he'll feel... guilty about witnessing such a scene. I think your presence at his side will do him a world of good. I will inform Mrs. Weasley once she has returned to her children."

"Thank you, Headmaster." Hermione said sincerely.

"I can't take you there now, unfortunately, though." he continued, predicting her future question even before she asked it. "The abrupt departure of Mr. Potter and the Weasleys has already caused enough of a stir, I wouldn't want to attract suspicion. I'll ask Professor McGonagall to take you there as discreetly as possible as soon as possible. For the rest of the school, you'll have to be with your parents, is that understood?"

"Understood." replied Hermione.

Dumbledore suddenly rose from his chair to stand with his back to her. For a moment, Hermione thought he was going to speak to the paintings, but he didn't. After several seconds, Hermione realized he was looking out of the window at the sky. She realized the conversation was over and stood up awkwardly from her chair, feeling as if she'd answered more questions than she'd asked.

"Thank you for receiving me, Professor." said Hermione as she moved backwards towards the door.

He emitted a "hmm" that she imagined was an invitation to take her leave.

But as she reached for the door handle, the principal said softly behind her back:

"He's lucky to have you."

Hermione turned to watch Dumbledore, who hadn't changed his position: he was still looking at the sky, and Hermione had the strange impression that he wasn't talking about Harry.

.

For the rest of the day, Hermione felt... detached. Drifting. She was in class, taking notes, walking the halls, but it was as if someone else had taken over her body and she was watching the hours go by from the outside. All her thoughts were on Harry and Ron, mostly because she was worried about them, but also to keep Draco Malfoy out of her mind. She didn't want to think about the previous day's date. She couldn't feel any joy if Ginny, Fred, George and Ron were about to lose their father.

After her talk with Dumbledore, she arrived late for Charms class, but Flitwick made no comment. Hermione didn't participate, but no one blamed her. Besides, it was a study session on the Cheering Charm, and not only was Hermione more than capable of casting it, she had no desire to feel the slightest elation.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was not so forgiving. When she sat down at the desk she always shared with Ron or Harry, she had to stop herself from running off to the dormitories to cry herself to sleep.

Fortunately, Neville understood her plight without her having to tell him. He sat down next to her without saying a word.

Umbridge, of course, immediately noticed her lack of investment. When she scolded her, Hermione didn't even have the strength to argue. Harry would have. He couldn't stand it when she provoked him. But Hermione was unmoved. When Umbridge told her to rewrite the chapter, Hermione complied.

But when Umbridge said in her whistling voice:

"Oh, and of course you'll pass on my sincere apologies to your friend, Miss Granger."

Anger surged through her, half blinding her. Her nails dug into the wood of the desk. She could feel the taste of blood on her tongue. She stared at Umbridge, thinking of all the ways she could murder her, right there in the middle of the classroom. She could throw a Diffindo at the chain holding the giant dinosaur skeleton above her head, watch it slam into her, hear her give one last scream of terror before her skull was crushed by...

"Mione." Dean called in one breath, right behind her.

She blinked. Umbridge was waiting for a response, an almost obscene smile on her lips. She was pleased to see her angry. So Hermione put her mask back on, the one she'd borrowed from Draco, and replied as calmly as she could:

"Of course, Professor. I'll tell him."

.

Hermione ate lunch with Hagrid. She didn't feel like sitting at that table where the empty seats represented her friends who were far away. Hagrid briefly asked her what had happened, but from her reaction he quickly understood that she didn't feel like talking about it. He poured her a large cinnamon tea and peeled carrots beside her in silence, and Hermione was so grateful for his presence that she almost smiled into her cup.

In the afternoon, Hermione spent the longest Rune Study and Arithmancy classes since she'd been at Hogwarts. It was on her way to Potions class that she realised something. Every time she thought of Ron's flushed face, Harry's terror, Ginny's worry, Fred and George's anger, the ball of guilt that had been in the pit of her stomach ever since she'd spent time with Draco had grown a little more since that morning. Now it was in her throat. No matter how much she coughed, drank, took deep breaths, it stayed there, pressing against her oesophagus and preventing her from breathing properly.

The dampness of the dungeons didn't help. By the end of Potions class, after a frankly mediocre Babbling Beverage, Hermione was panting.

She skipped dinner and went to bed fully dressed. She'd hated Grimmauld Square all summer, but today she wanted to be there more than anything else in the world. She hated being far away, away from everyone, she felt ignorant and the guilt rose, rose, rose. Hermione felt alone, terrorised and most of all excluded. It reminded her of the summer when she was back in the Muggle world, cut off from the world, cut off from the news, cut off from the war. Ironic, when she was at Hogwarts and they were all in London.

She was afraid for Ron. She was scared for Ginny, for the twins, for Molly. If Arthur died, how would Harry ever get over it? How would he forgive himself for warning "too late", for not being there in time? Ron would never be the Ron she knew. He'd be switched off. He would no longer have the giggles, he would no longer have that almost naive innocence that was often annoying, but most of all endearing.

Hermione lay in bed for a long time, tossing and turning, her stomach tugging at the hunger she ignored. She thought she heard Lavender and Parvati come and go, but she didn't look up to check. The guilt kept growing, like a tumour in her throat. She kept seeing Ron's face, Harry's face, Ginny's face. Luna's reassuring words were far behind her, the comfort of Hagrid's hut forgotten. All she could hear was her own voice whispering about what a bad friend she was, how she only thought of herself, how she didn't deserve anyone.

She'd felt this way before, this summer, after she'd been so overwhelmed by Draco's letters that she'd forgotten all about Harry, alone in the house he hated. She'd felt this guilt before, and she'd promised herself she'd never put love before friendship again, but her promise had been swept away, erased, the moment Draco had spoken to her again. She had no one to blame but herself now.

Idiot, she repeated to herself. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

She'd spent her night enjoying the boy she was in love with, trying to convince him to go back to the way things were, to love each other as if there were no consequences, but the consequences always came back, like a slap in the face.

Hermione didn't know what she was waiting for in that bed. In the back of her mind she was hoping McGonagall would appear and lead her to the nearest chimney so she could be taken to Grimmauld Square. Or better still, that her mother would appear and lull her to sleep, telling her that all was well. These were absurd wishes, of course. No one would come looking for her.

The guilt was so huge she could feel it tickling the back of her tongue. Hermione was panting, her breathing erratic, punctuated by short, painful gasps. Her head was foggy. Her skin was burning, she was scratching at the sleeve of her jumper like a tic, her legs were tingling. When she opened the curtain of her bed, she saw that the sky was black. Parvati was asleep.

Without realising what she was doing, Hermione got up and left the dormitory.

She needed some air.

.

.

---

Draco

---

.

.

Blaise was still sleeping after dinner. Draco took over from Theo so he could go and eat, and Pansy went to take Eris outside.

Draco was a dozen homework assignments behind, but he spent the hour staring at Blaise as he slept, his fingers wrapped around his wand, ready to draw it at the slightest tremor. But Blaise didn't move. He slept peacefully, his chest heaving at regular intervals, without the faintest sign of discomfort on his features.

When Theo returned, he brought a large tray of food that the kitchen elves had prepared especially for Blaise when he would wake up. He placed it on the bedside table and cast a spell over it, presumably to keep the food from getting cold, then sat down in his armchair, legs over the armrest in his usual reading posture. Pansy returned about ten minutes later, her hair covered in snow, but Eris's coat intact. She took off his jumper and the dog jumped onto Blaise's bed to curl up in a ball on his chest.

"I'm going for a walk." Draco announced.

He got up to stretch and Pansy whispered:

"You should go to the grounds. Get some fresh air."

Draco arched an eyebrow in her direction.

"Why?"

"Just... because." she replied with a shrug.

"Do you want him to freeze to death?" asked Theo, buried in his book.

Draco was too tired to decipher Pansy's words, so he walked aimlessly out of the Common Room.

For once, Draco didn't really have a plan for sneaking off to see Granger. But he really wanted to. He desperately wanted to know what was bothering her. She'd had the same look on her face at breakfast all day, a kind of constant sadness that had twisted her features into a guilty expression he couldn't understand. Every time he'd looked at her, Draco's heart had ached. He hated seeing her like this, and even more he hated not knowing the reason for her unhappiness. And not knowing for another three weeks was driving him crazy.

He went into the Library to see if she was at the secluded table, but it was empty. He went straight back out, getting a suspicious look from Madam Pince on his way out. Draco then waited for the last of the students to return at curfew before going outside. He wondered vaguely if she hadn't gone to Hagrid's when he saw her. He recognised her hair in the dim light. She was pacing around the bench, looking agitated, and Draco smiled as he approached. It had been a long time since their paths had crossed there. Maybe she was waiting for him?

But as he reached the path leading to the courtyard, his smile faded.

Something was wrong. He didn't know how he knew, he couldn't even see her face from where he was, but he saw it immediately. Granger wasn't herself. She was fidgeting, more than usual, circling the bench without stopping, her hands on her forehead, her hair ruffled by the wind.

It wasn't until Draco was only a few steps away that he realised she was crying. He stopped dead in his tracks. An image appeared in his mind, perhaps from one of the books in his library, perhaps a memory that had come back to him. An image of Granger, younger, in first year. Her hair was shorter, her features more childlike. She was sitting on the same bench, crying her eyes out at some bullshit Weasley had told her. He remembered her red eyes and trembling voice, his own anger when she'd pushed him away. He'd been so surprised to find her crying that he'd preferred to run away rather than ask her what was wrong.

The current Draco, on the other hand, lunged at her without hesitation.

"Granger?! What's going on?"

He froze a second time when she turned her head towards him. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She had the same dark circles under her eyes as Blaise, almost purple, her eyes were blood red and Draco couldn't tell if it was from exhaustion or from crying so much. His blood ran cold with horror.

"Hermione, what..."

Reflexively, without thinking, he took her face in his hands, but she pushed him away violently, sending him crashing into the bench behind him.

"I shouldn't... I shouldn't be... here." she said, her sentence interrupted by sobs.

She walked around him to return to the Castle, so quickly that Draco barely had time to turn around. He grabbed her wrist to hold her back, another instinctive reflex, which she jerked away abruptly as if she couldn't bear his touch. She stopped and pressed her palms to her eyelids in a desperate attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" asked Draco, trying his best to hide the panic in his question. "Tell me, please..."

"No!" she cried.

"Has anyone hurt you?" he asked, his own questioning sending a shiver down his arms. If someone had laid a hand on her...

But Granger shook her head:

"No, it's me, I can't... I can't, it's too... it's my fault, I..."

She choked and wrapped her fingers around her throat, her sentence dying on her tongue. Draco approached her, but she took a step back, stretching her arm out towards him as if to put some distance between them:

"Stop!" she shouted.

Draco had to hold on to the back of the bench to keep from moving forward. Granger avoided his gaze, turning her back to him and sobbing into the palm of her hand, not simple tears but real sobs that tore at her throat and pierced Draco's chest. Her cries echoed around them. Draco felt his heart quicken with panic.

"Granger, tell me..."

"I can't!" she screamed. She was crying so hard he couldn't understand half the words she was saying. "I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have, it's my fault, I was with you and I... I..."

She stopped and let out a pained whimper. He didn't know what to do. Granger had her back to him and she was crying and he couldn't touch her and he didn't know what to do.

"Talk to me, Granger, what's your fault?" he asked, trying to pick up the pieces of her incoherent ramblings.

Granger gave a humourless, cold laugh that made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand up.

"Everything!" she said, spreading her arms out to show the vastness of the Hogwarts courtyard. "It's all my fault! Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, it's all my fault, and it's your fault!"

"My fault?" repeated Draco, completely lost.

"Yes, your fault! Why did you insult them? How dare you, how could you, when you know nothing about them? They're the... the bravest people I've ever met, they love beyond all measure, despite the hardships, despite the war, despite the losses they've suffered, they love me and they love... Harry, and they welcome us into their home as members of their family, and I feel like I belong, your family could never have done that, they would never have accepted me because of my... impure blood, and my family, and my heritage, but the Weasleys have never, never questioned my belonging to this world, to Hogwarts!"

Draco had no idea what she was talking about, but he didn't dare interrupt her for fear she'd get angry and run away. She spoke as she circled the bench, again and again, without stopping, her eyes fixed on the ground:

"Every day they put their lives on the line to protect us, to protect me, to protect you, and you insult them! They fight for your safety and you insult them! He was attacked, and Harry, Harry couldn't do anything... And I spent my evening with you, and I was so captivated by you, your words, your love, and I didn't even think... I wasn't even there..."

Granger choked on her tears and put one hand over her mouth and the other over her stomach. Draco broke his resolve and approached her cautiously, as if she were a frightened animal, and gently took her arm:

"Sit down, please..."

She let him and cried against her hands. Her back jerked violently, every breath seemed painful. Draco tried not to give in to the fear that tried to imprison his head.

"Breathe, breathe for me, please..."

But she was crying too much, she couldn't take big gulps of air without choking. Her face turned an alarming shade of red as the minutes ticked by, and her sobs echoed around them. He sat down beside her and ran a hand through her snow-covered hair, trying to calm her. She didn't push his hand away, but her sobs intensified.

Draco was lost. He slipped off the bench without noticing and faced her, on his knees.

"Hermione, I'm begging you, explain to me..."

He put a hand on her thigh and noticed how cold she was. Merlin, how long had she been there? How long had she been crying?

Granger pulled the sleeve of her jumper over her face and looked down at Draco. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke:

"Ron's father was attacked last night, he's... he's between life and death."

Her sentence had the effect of an icy shower. He clung to the bench for balance.

"Oh." he said, unable to think of anything to say to such news.

"And you... you laughed at him, so often, and I... I stay with you..." she wailed.

She grabbed her throat again. Draco couldn't understand why she was doing this; it was as if she was holding back words, as if she was afraid of revealing too much. Suddenly she rose from the bench, so abruptly that Draco thought the wood had burned her, and took a few steps away:

"I shouldn't be here." she said, putting her head in her hands. "I don't... Harry needs me, it's Harry I should be with, and Ron, and the Weasleys, and I'm talking to you when you insulted them, it's... unfair! YOU INSULTED THEM, AND NOW HE'S GOING TO DIE!"

Draco stood up worriedly:

"Hermione, calm down, please, I need you to breathe, please..."

"I can't breathe!" she screamed, so loudly that Draco looked towards the Castle, half expecting to see Filch bursting through the darkness. "I... My throat, I can't... the guilt is choking me, I can't breathe!"

She clutched two handfuls of hair in her trembling hands, head down, making a raspy sound full of despair and grief.

"Hermione, you're having a panic attack." Draco said, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible so as not to scare her. "Concentrate on your breathing, all right, can you do that for me? One, two, three."

Draco took a breath and she mimicked it, but halfway through she coughed and automatically put her hands back around her throat, as if something was bothering her and she was choking. He could see the veins on her neck. Her legs were shaking. Her breathing had become a series of jerky gasps. Draco felt panic rising. The first thing that crossed his mind was to call Pansy. She always knew what to do in these situations, always had an advice to give, always had a way to distract...

The idea struck him.

"Come here." he said, taking her arm. "We're going to look at the stars."

"Excu-excuse me?" Granger whimpered in surprise.

"Pansy taught me that." he explained, gently leading her to a patch of snowy grass. "When I used to have anxiety attacks, she'd tell me to lie down and look at the stars, and it works every time, you think of something else and manage to breathe better." He took out his wand and pointed it at the ground: "Calefacere!"

"I'm not going to lie on the ground and look at the stars." Granger said, in a voice that would have been high-pitched had it not been covered by her sobs. "It's... it's stupid."

"Try, at least. Please."

"No, it's stupid!" she repeated, panting.

"Hermione Granger, if you're not on the ground in the next ten seconds, I swear I'll take you to the hospital wing, even if I have to carry you on my shoulder all the way!" he warned.

She glared at him, but Draco meant it. He wouldn't hesitate for a second to throw her over his shoulder and take her to Pomfrey. Granger must have known it too, because she finally sighed under her breath and reluctantly lay down on the grass.

Draco lay down beside her and pointed to a random constellation:

"Which one is that?"

But she wasn't looking at the sky, she was staring at him, almost jaded. She had one hand on her throat and the other on her chest.

"Draco, I'm not here to study my Astronomy, in case you haven't noticed, I'm in the middle of a crisis..."

"I know, Granger, that's why I'm diverting your attention!" he shouted, his voice rising to an uncontrolled high notes. "Now tell me what fucking constellation it is!"

She sighed again, not as majestically as usual, and glanced quickly in the direction he was pointing.

"Circinus." she replied immediately. "The constellation of Compas."

"Compas? What's that?" he asked, feigning curiosity.

"Draco, I don't..."

"What's a compas?" he interrupted.

Granger sighed again and turned her head to the sky.

"It's a French word. A compass, the object for drawing circles."

"And?"

"I have nothing else." she said, her breath still mixed with nervous sobs.

"Liar." Draco retorted. "You know more about this constellation than Sinistra herself."

"Nonsense." said Granger sharply. "We haven't even... studied it yet. All I know is that its main star is Alpha Circini, and that it's surrounded by Centaurus, Musca, Alpus, Triangulum... Australe, Norma and Lupus."

Draco smiled slightly at such a detailed explanation of a star she was supposed to know nothing about. He turned his head to look at her in profile: he could see the tears rolling down her cheeks and falling into the snow.

"Centaurus, which one is it?" he asked more softly.

"That one." Granger hiccupped, pointing to the cluster of stars just beyond. "With Centauri, the main star, just to the left... of the compass point."

"I don't see it."

"What? Yes, you do, right there!" exclaimed Granger, pointing he finger straight up into the black sky. "There, that's his hooves, that's his shoulder, and he's holding a spear, next to Lupus, see? We studied it in the second year! It's one of the biggest constellations in the sky, discovered by the magical astronomer Eudoxus. Some say it represents Chiron, from the myth of Achilles... Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"No, nothing at all." Draco lied. "Who's Chiron?"

"He's a very important figure in Greek mythology!" she said, still pointing at the constellation, perhaps hoping that he'd see who she meant by looking at the star in question. Her tone was full of judgement for his limited culture on the matter, it would have almost made him laugh if he wasn't so paralysed with fear. "He is a Centaur, considered the wisest of them all. He's the one we owe the discovery of herbology and herbal medicine to, Professor Sprout mentioned him when we were working on medicinal plants, and he's the one who taught a whole bunch of Greek heroes, including Achilles in particular... Do you see who he is now?"

"I don't know about Chiron, Granger..." Draco said, turning his head to look at her. "But you seem to be breathing a lot better."

Granger's eyes widened and she put her hand to her chest.

"Oh, that's right, you... it worked." she stammered in shock.

"See? Pansy's advice works. This technique has saved me many times."

Granger remained silent and Draco let her sort out her thoughts without disturbing her. He could feel the melting snow on his back, but he didn't care about the cold. If Granger wanted to stay here all night looking at the sky, he'd be happy to stay here with her.

Draco looked up at the sky with its thousands of silver points. When he saw a shooting star, he made a wish, the same one he'd made since he was eleven, and which had come true the day Granger had told him she was in love with him.

"She's the one who taught me how to knit." Granger said suddenly, pulling Draco out of his thoughts to focus on her. She was quieter, though he could still see the tear streaks on her cheeks.

"Who?"

"Molly. Mrs Weasley," she replied with a small smile on her lips. "It was one evening this summer. She was crying because she was afraid. Afraid of the war, of seeing someone in her family die... To take her mind off it, I asked her to teach me to knit, and she did. Without hesitation. She taught me for two hours, using both muggle and magical techniques. She's the one who sends me Christmas jumpers with my initial on them. The last time I thanked her, she told me it was normal, that she did it for all her children. Her children. She just said it, without thinking."

Draco frowned. He didn't understand why she was talking about the Weasleys' mother right now.

"Arthur, Mr Weasley, was the first and only wizard to go to my parents to greet them." she continued. "They were still intimidated by this world they knew nothing about, and still know nothing about, actually. He chatted with them, asked them questions about their lives, which he found fascinating, and listened to them talk for hours about their dentist's practice and my aunt who lives near Dijon. When they shared their doubts about letting me go to Hogwarts, Arthur told them that I was too bright to pass up the opportunity. That I was too important. That I would light up the wizarding world with my presence."

"Granger..."

"Mr and Mrs Weasley took me into their home during the Quidditch World Cup. Did you know that?" she asked, ignoring his interruption. "They offered me a place to stay for the rest of the summer, and they offered me my tickets, a place to sleep, they made me food. You keep saying they're poor, but they're the most generous people I know. When the Death Eaters attacked, when your father attacked, Arthur protected me, as much as his children. He looked after my safety and Harry's as much as he would have done for Ginny or Ron.

Granger turned her head towards him and they shared their first glance of the evening. Hers was faded. Gone was that little spark that always made her chocolate eyes light up. Her gaze was empty and inexpressive, and it scared him as much as it had when it was Blaise's dark eyes the night before.

"They're good people, Draco." Granger continued in a tearful whisper. "It wasn't just Ron's parents you insulted on the Quidditch pitch. To insult Mr and Mrs Weasley is to insult my family too."

Draco remembered the Weasley mother hugging Granger on the platform every time they came home from school. The unpleasant sting of jealousy when he'd realised that this woman showed more affection for Granger than his own mother for him. He'd noticed that the jumpers she wore were hand-knitted with her initials. He had never realised that it was this woman who had made them for her. Draco had never received a handmade present. His mother always bought him presents in Diagon Alley, or in luxury boutiques in Paris.

"When I tell you that you can't hate Harry and Ron and love me, that's what I mean. You can't insult Ron's mother without hurting me." Granger said.

Draco winced. In truth, he hadn't really meant to insult the Weasley parents, but he had been so angry that he'd done the first thing that might set them off. In retrospect, he thought it was completely stupid.

"I... I'm sorry, Granger." he whispered, as if afraid the stars might hear his sincerity. "I was angry, I wanted to lash out, and I took Weasley's parents to hit a nerve, but I didn't mean it, not really. I think it's mostly repressed jealousy... seeing such loving parents when mine are... cold".

Granger raised an eyebrow at the admission. It was rare for him to talk about his parents, especially to belittle them in such a way.

"Hearing you describe them, I'd almost say they sound... nice." Draco confessed, looking away to avoid the questioning gaze of the girl next to him. "And if you like them, there must be a good reason. I shouldn't have insulted them, it was mean and stupid. I'm sorry, Hermione."

She was still crying, but her breathing had returned to a more or less regular rhythm. She didn't answer, turning her head to look at the stars. Draco knew she wasn't ready to forgive him yet. He knew that insulting Potter and Weasley and their families had hurt her and he knew that it would be a long time before she accepted his apology.

"How is he?" asked Draco after a few minutes of silence, gazing at the Centaurus constellation. "The Weasleys' father."

"I wasn't supposed to tell you that," Granger sighed, running a hand over her eyelids. "It was confidential."

"That's why I learned Occlumency, Granger." Draco said with all his Slytherin confidence. "To keep your secrets. I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Granger turned her head back to him.

"I hope you won't. Draco, if you tell anyone, I'll never speak to you again. And I'm not just talking, I will never speak to you again. Is that clear?"

Draco held back a smile as passion replaced despondency on her features. When he was slow to reply, she pointed an accusing finger at him, her eyes full of defiance, and Draco huffed:

"Have I ever revealed the slightest thing you've confided in me, Granger? Malfoy's word, I won't say anything, Merlin."

She held her gaze for a few more seconds, then rested her arm at her side.

"He's in St Mungo's." she replied in a vacant voice. "We don't know yet if he's going to recover."

"Why is it taking so long?" asked Draco, not quite understanding. With magic, it was possible to diagnose and determine the severity of injuries in a matter of minutes.

"I don't know, Dumbledore hasn't told me anything more."

Draco stared at Granger's profile, trying to determine if she was lying or not, but he couldn't tell.

"Is that why Potter and Weasley aren't here today?"

"Would it kill you to call them by their first names?" she asked with an exasperated sigh.

Draco was taken aback by this request.

"Why should I call them by their first names when I call you by your last name all the time?"

"You called me Hermione tonight. Several times." she pointed out.

He was surprised to see her smile. A weak smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Do you like it when I call you Hermione?" asked Draco, both curious and relieved to find her after that terrifying panic attack.

She shrugged, still smiling.

"It's a change."

Which wasn't much of an answer, but Draco could live with it.

Silence enveloped them again. Every time he exhaled, a small cloud of icy smoke came out of his mouth, reminding him of Pansy with her cigarettes. When he turned his head, Granger's eyes were still fixed on the sky.

"Why did you say it was your fault?" he asked quietly, hoping his question wouldn't trigger another crying fit.

"What?" she asked, distracted.

"Just now, when you... You said it was your fault."

The memory swept across her face like a shadow of sadness and her mouth tightened nervously.

"When Ron's father was attacked, I wasn't... I wasn't there." she explained in a low voice, as if ashamed.

"Well, that's normal, isn't it? You were at Hogwarts. You couldn't have known. Do you really think Dumbledore expected you to rush in and save him?" he asked ironically, though he was half convinced the old man might have blamed her for her absence.

"No, of course not." she said, shaking her head. "But when Ron found out, and Ginny and Fred and George and... and Harry, I wasn't there. I was with you."

And suddenly Draco understood. It had taken him a while, probably because of the sleepless night that had left his head foggy and his eyelids drooping against his will. He'd been so worried when he'd arrived at Granger's that he'd preferred to calm her down rather than try to decipher her sobs, but now he understood better why she'd had that look on her face since that morning, why she'd snapped tonight. She was blaming herself.

"You are not responsible for their father's attack, Granger." he said, a fact.

"No. But I wasn't there for them when it happened. I was kissing their enemy in the stars."

Draco remained silent long enough to think of what he could say to comfort her. He knew it wouldn't help to try and convince her that it wasn't her fault. He'd probably never be able to take away the guilt that kept her from breathing. Draco suffered the same way, in the form of paranoia about his parents and the Dark Lord, and if he didn't know how to get rid of it himself, he didn't know how to get rid of Granger's either.

It crossed his mind to ask her if she wanted to stop this, them, but he didn't dare ask out loud. Selfishly. He was terrified she'd say yes.

So he preferred to offer:

"Do you want to tell them? About Potter and Weasley? About... us?"

He didn't really know what to call the bond between them. They'd gone from enemies, to acquaintances, to friends, to... Draco found it hard to place them in any category: secret lovers? forbidden couple? two particularly stubborn people who couldn't keep their hands off each other despite the whole world being against them?

"I don't think that would be a good idea." Granger replied. "They'd never speak to me again if they found out."

Draco thought of Pansy, who knew about his bond with Granger and kept talking to him. If Potter and Weasley were so vehement about it, maybe they weren't such good friends. Draco didn't say anything for fear of upsetting Granger. Besides, Potter and Weasley certainly had more reason to hate him than Pansy did with Granger.

"Will you have time to visit Arthur Weasley at St Mungo's before you leave for the Alps?" he asked.

Granger bit her lip automatically, which intrigued Draco greatly.

"I... I don't think I'll be going to the Alps after all." she confessed.

Her sentence sent a small cloud of icy vapour into the air.

"Really? Why?"

"I'll probably be spending Christmas with the Weasleys."

"What?"

"I asked Dumbledore this morning and he said he wouldn't mind. For me to be with them during this difficult time, to be there for Harry and Ron and his family."

Draco frowned. He didn't really understand why she kept including Potter, it wasn't his father who was in hospital.

"What about your parents?" he asked a little too accusingly.

Granger sighed and he could hear the shudder of guilt that made her breath quiver:

"They'll be disappointed, I suppose, but they'll understand. They only want what's best for me. Besides, I don't really like skiing, remember?"

She turned to him with a small smile.

"Why do you have to be there the whole holiday?" he insisted, feeling that she was hiding something from him and he hated that. "Can't you go to the Burrow, then take the Knight Bus when you're sure Father Weasley is better and join your parents in the Alps?"

"Why are you so keen for me to go skiing all of a sudden?" she asked.

She was asking a question to avoid answering his, which was extremely annoying, but also a little flattering because he was sure she'd picked up the habit from him.

"I don't know, I thought it might be good for you to spend some time with your parents..." Seeing the guilt in her features and her hands clutching the snowy grass impulsively, he added: "But if you feel you belong there, I'm sure they'll understand. You shouldn't feel bad about being where you belong."

His words seemed to reassure her. She put her head back down to look at the stars and took a deep breath. She wasn't crying anymore, but she hadn't wiped the tears from her cheeks, which must have been freezing cold. Draco forced himself not to do it for her.

The feeling of annoyance remained, though. He was sure that Granger was leaving out elements of her explanation, probably to keep him from getting angry or because she didn't trust him completely.

"Why are you so worried about Potter?" asked Draco, wondering how long it had been since they'd exchanged roles of curious and vague answers.

"I can't tell you that." she said, which had the effect of increasing the boy's impatience:

"Why? I told you, I won't tell!"

"It's not my secret. It's Harry's. And I can't tell his secrets to the boy who insults him all the time, what kind of friend would I be if I did?" she asked rhetorically.

Draco grumbled a little, but he had to admit that Granger's answer was predictable. He couldn't really expect her to tell him all of Potter's problems when he had just said the day before that he didn't give a damn about him. That didn't make it any less unpleasant, however.

"I hate this. Not knowing where you are during the break." he grumbled, his eyes fixed on Menket. "I spend all my time brooding in my Manor, wondering how you are. How do I know you won't be attacked too? Will I only find out when school starts and there's an empty seat on the Gryffindor bench?"

Granger turned her head towards him, but he continued to stare stubbornly at the sky. He didn't want to meet her eyes full of sweetness and comfort; he wanted to be irritated and for her to retaliate with the same intensity as he did.

"I can be attacked anywhere, Draco, and so can you." she said, as wisely as Blaise. "It's better that I'm with them, isn't it?"

Draco clenched his jaw. He wasn't sure if she meant the Weasleys or the war side in general. With them. With Dumbledore and his army of "impure bloods", as his parents liked to say. With the dangerous Sirius Black, the werewolf Remus Lupin, the half-giant Hagrid? The prospect didn't reassure him at all.

Noticing his lack of reaction, Granger sighed without taking her eyes off him:

"I have to go, Draco. This is where I need to be. You said it yourself, it's where I belong."

"The Burrow?" he asked, almost managing to hide the contempt as he pronounced the name of the place.

She shrugged limply:

"With the Weasleys and Harry."

So she wasn't going to the Burrow. Draco could already see the sleepless nights in his room, wondering where she could be, and he let out an unintentionally annoyed growl.

"If you heard that Pansy's father had been attacked, wouldn't you want to be with her to comfort her?" she asked, in a voice full of empathy that reminded him of the one you'd use to talk to a petulant child.

He almost laughed at this dubious example.

"Not really. I don't think Pansy would need comforting if her father were attacked, I think we'd all be toasting in the Common Room. And even if her father was decent and Pansy really did need me, I don't see why I should feel obliged to be there for Theo or Blaise too. He's not their father. Why do you insist on being there for Potter?"

"I saw you together last time." Granger accused, and her blunt tone managed to distract Draco enough that he didn't realise she had just cleverly changed the subject.

"Who?"

"You and Parkinson. Over there."

She pointed to the outline of the greenhouses at the far end of the park. A shiver of apprehension ran down Draco's neck as he remembered the anger written all over Granger's face that day.

"Yes, she often spends time there..."

"And you often accompany her?" she hissed.

"What does it matter?" he asked, genuinely confused.

Granger frowned in that expression of half-controlled rage that threatened to boil over at any moment.

"Do you smoke with her often?"

Draco was completely taken aback by the question. He stupidly opened and closed his mouth several times. Granger's face was filled with unfamiliar disgust, her lips curled, one eyebrow arched, and she reminded him of Pansy for the first time in his life.

"Er... No, I mean, it happens when... when I need it, I don't know? Why does it put you in such a state?"

The Gryffindor's upper lip curled even more.

"I hate cigarettes."

"Why?"

"My parents are dentists." she replied dryly.

Draco had no idea what that had to do with anything, but he preferred not to ask. A particularly strong wind swept over them, but the Warmth Spell prevented them from fully feeling it. Several strands of Granger's hair were scattered across the snow, but she did nothing to tuck them back behind her ears. She had turned her head to the left and Draco feared she was going to tell him about Pansy's greenhouses again, but her voice was much softer when she spoke again after long minutes:

"We can see your constellation."

She showed him the part of the sky covered by clouds. Draco watched the alignment of the stars she showed him, and his chest warmed at the thought that she might have been looking for it after their tumultuous conversation. It reminded him of one of the sentences she'd written in her letters, which he'd learnt by heart from rereading them. "I don't want you to give me your constellation. It's yours. And I think that's why I like it."

"Will you think of me when you look at it, when you're over there at Christmas?" he asked quietly.

"I shouldn't." she replied hesitantly.

"Who cares? If it makes you happy, do it. A particularly stubborn but bloody beautiful witch once told me that I shouldn't waste the best thing that had ever happened to me on something that was beyond me."

He saw her blush as she heard him repeat her own words.

"You're always there for others, you're entitled to your secrets too, Granger." Draco assured her. "You have the right to enjoy what gives you pleasure. It doesn't take away from your loyalty to your friends."

Granger wriggled through the snow to nestle her head on his shoulder, right up against his neck. He could smell the strawberry in her hair, despite the wind, and breathed it in, trying to imprint it on his mind as much as possible before he couldn't for three long weeks.

"Will you still be Draco in January?" she whispered, so close to his ear that he felt a shiver run down his jaw.

"I will still be your Draco, Granger." he promised. "Malfoy's word."