Hermione barley registered the voice at first, her mind too clouded with panic to process anything beyond the tightness in her chest and the burning in her lungs. Her hands trembled violently as she gripped the strap of her bag, her fingers numb with cold despite the warmth in the air. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the dizziness to subside, but the pressure in her head only grew stronger.
"Granger?" The voice came again, firmer this time.
She forced herself to look up, blinking rapidly as her vision swam. Malfoy stood near the window; his pale brows drawn together in what almost resembled concern. He was out of his tie and robe, his sleeves rolled up, revealing the sharp angles of his forearms. His usual smirk was nowhere to be seen.
Hermione opened her mouth to say something – anything – but the words caught in her throat, chocked by the spiralling panic constricting her chest. She took a sharp, uneven breath, but it wasn't enough. The air felt too thin, too fleeting, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out everything else. Her body refused to listed to reason, to logic, to the internal pleas screaming at her to calm down.
Not here. Not in front of him.
Malfoy's expression shifted, his grey eyes flickering with something unreadable. "Hey–" he started, stepping forward hesitantly. "What's wrong?"
Hermione shook her head rapidly, pressing a hand against her chest as though she could physically force herself to breathe normally. Her vision narrowed, her limbs tingling like they weren't entirely her own. She could hear the ragged, desperate gasps escaping her lips, the way her breath hitched and stuttered. It was humiliating.
"Fuck, you're having a panic attack," Malfoy observed as he moved closer to her. Hermione swallowed deeply and tried to push past him. But then, suddenly, there was a hand on her wrist, her left wrist – gentle but firm. Hermione stiffened, expecting the pain in her arm to intensify. But it didn't. "Breathe, Granger," he said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically even. "In for four, out for four."
Hermione wanted to snap at him, to tell him she knew how breathing worked, but her lungs weren't cooperating, and the words wouldn't come. Her knees buckled slightly, and before she could even process what was happening, Malfoy had guided her down onto the edge of the nearest lounge. His hand hadn't left her arm and Hermione was struck by an inconceivable coldness radiating through her skin. It was soothing – almost pleasant.
"Here, copy me," Malfoy instructed, inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. "Come on, try." Her pride resisted but her body had no choice. She followed his lead, though her breaths were shaky and uneven. She looked to her arm, to where his fingers lay gently on top and furrowed her brows in confusion. "Again," he ordered, softer this time. "In for four, out for four."
It took several rounds, but eventually, the crushing weight in her chest loosened, the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat slowing. The world stopped spinning. Hermione let out a shaky breath. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. She couldn't bring herself to meet Malfoy's gaze, mortified that he had witnessed her in such a vulnerable state.
After several silent moments had passed and Hermione's panic was under control, Malfoy stood. His hand brushed the length of her arm and she felt a strange sense of loss at the they broke contact. Hermione watched as Malfoy crossed the room and put his green tie and robe back on.
"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, her voice shallow and hoarse.
"We have potions," Malfoy responded and he headed for the door. "I'll tell Slughorn you're not well."
"Okay," she replied.
"Take a shower and have a nap. I'll see you back here for rounds," he added, reaching for the handle. Hermione nodded and watched him leave. She released a heavy sigh and pressed her palms to her face, still recovering from the embarrassment of having a panic attack in front of Draco Malfoy.
Hoping to distract herself from the lingering embarrassment, Hermione focused her attention on her arm instead. The cooling sensation had faded but the constant ache was gone. With careful hands, she pulled back her sleeve and began unwrapping the bandage. The moment her eyes fell on the wound, she drew in a sharp breath.
Her arm looked better than it had in weeks. And nothing about that made sense.
When Hermione woke, darkness had settled outside, the faint glow of moonlight barely seeping through the window. She hadn't realised just how much she needed that nap until now, the lingering weight of sleep still tugging at her limbs. Muffled voices drifted through the door – Malfoy and Theo had returned. With a quiet sigh, she pushed herself up, reluctantly leaving the warmth of her bed before making her way towards to common area, where the soft flicker of firelight beckoned.
"Dinner?" Theo greeted through a mouthful of potato as she exited her room.
"You slept through it," Malfoy added.
Hermione turned her attention to the dining table where plates full of delicacies from the Great Hall lay. A common sight for the two Slytherins but now with enough food for a third.
"Thanks," Hermione smiled, walking over to join the pair. She took a piece of buttered bread from the side of the plate and began picking at it. While the pain in her arm had subsided considerably, the lingering nausea from her panic attack was still affecting her appetite.
"Feeling okay?" Theo questioned genuinely, taking note of her lack of interest in the food.
"Yeah," Hermione nodded. "Just tired."
"I can do prefect duty with Draco tonight if you want," Theo offered. And while Hermione desperately wanted to agree, she couldn't let herself accept yet another generous offer from him. Theo had already been going out of his way for her – without expectation or reason.
"I'll be fine," Hermione lied.
It was then that the soft rustle of parchment caught her attention. A moment later, several neatly stacked sheets slid toward her. "Potions notes," Malfoy said neutrally.
Hermione blinked, glancing down at the notes before shifting her gaze to Malfoy. His expression was impassive, but there was something unreadable in his eyes – something almost hesitant, as if he wasn't quite sure why he was doing this himself.
She hesitated for only a second before reaching for the pages, her fingers brushing the crisp parchment. A quick scan of the meticulous handwriting confirmed what she already knew – his notes were flawless, every ingredient and brewing instruction detailed with precision.
"Why are you giving me these?" she asked, keeping her voice even as she studied him.
Malfoy leaned back in his chair; arms crossed over his chest. "You missed class," he said simply, as if that explanation should be enough.
Hermione frowned. "I could have copied them from Theo,"
Malfoy let out a short breath, almost like a scoff. "Theo's handwriting is atrocious. You'd have spent more time deciphering it that actually studying."
Hermione looked to Theo who shrugged knowingly. She felt the corner of her mouth twitch – he wasn't wrong.
Still, the gesture – this unexpected, unspoken offering of help – unsettled her more than she cared to admit. Especially after the strange reaction she'd had to him during her panic attack. Hermione studies him for a moment longer but his mask of indifference remained firmly in place.
Finally, she exhaled and pulled the notes towards her. "Thank you," she said quietly.
Malfoy only gave a small nod before turning his attention back to his food, as if nothing had happened at all. But Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, it had.
Prefect duty was as boring as ever. With each round, they caught fewer students out past curfew, leaving them with little more to do than wander the corridors in tedious silence. Hermione was desperate to question Malfoy about his unexpected help earlier in the day but his quiet state prevented her from doing so.
Eventually, Hermione found herself yawing so much that she thought she might fall asleep right there in the middle of the hallway.
"Want to call it a night?" Malfoy asked upon noticing her sleepy state.
"We haven't checked the East Wing," Hermione sighed.
He shrugged. "I won't tell if you won't."
Hermione rolled her eyes, ready to argue but her exhaustion and the thought of trudging up twice as many stairs gave her pause. "Fine," she relented. "Just this once."
Malfoy chuckled, turning back towards the dormitory. The silence persisted as the flickering torchlight cast long shadows along the stone walls. Hermione stole a glance at Malfoy, his usual smirk absent, replaced by something unreadable. The words had been lingering on the tip of her tongue all night but now, with nothing but the soft echo of their footsteps between them, she finally spoke. "Why did you help me earlier?"
Malfoy didn't falter, but she noticed the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides. "What do you mean?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.
"You know what I mean," Hermione pressed. "You could have ignored me. But you didn't."
Malfoy exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if the answer should have been obvious. "You helped me," he said simply. "I was just returning the favour."
"You remember that?" she asked, surprised. Hermione had long assumed that Malfoy didn't recall a thing from that night in the bathroom.
Malfoy scoffed. "I remember that I was naked. So, your situation today was far less embarrassing." Hermione averted her gaze in hopes of concealing her blush. She had forgotten that detail – too consumed with the dreadful state he had been in when she found him. When she didn't respond, he continued "I don't make a habit of being in debt to people, Granger."
"So, this was about repaying a debt?" She questioned. Of course it was.
"You could say that," he replied cryptically. They reached the entrance to their dormitory and Malfoy recited the password.
"Not going outside?" Hermione observed, assuming he would retreat to the balcony for a cigarette before bed.
Malfoy shook his head, "Don't need one."
Hermione studied him for a moment. Malfoy not needing a cigarette was as unusual as him willingly helping her. She wasn't sure what to make of it. "Well," she said slowly, stepping inside. "Good night, then."
Malfoy nodded. "Night, Granger."
She turned towards her bedroom in thought. Something about his words, his tone – it didn't sit right. It was like there was something unspoken lingering beneath the surface. And despite her persistent exhaustion, the very thought of that made it hard to sleep.