Night 6-7

She hadn't even thought to be paranoid when she first saw him. She'd been too fixated on her curiosity to consider the fact that if he was roaming the halls on a regular basis, which she sincerely hoped he wasn't, he might eventually run into her during one of her moments.

But now that she'd realized this was a possibility, it made her want to hide in her room, consume an ungodly amount of caffeine, and never sleep again. Because if she slept, she would undoubtedly end up back there, wandering aimlessly through the abandoned wings of Hogwarts as she dreamt, possibly running into Draco sodding Malfoy during one of her most vulnerable moments.

She was able to hold off for two whole nights before she well and truly began to feel like she was going mad.

Night 8

She'd had to sleep. She'd just had to. No amount of studying, of coffee and strong-willed determination could keep that need at bay forever.

And when she woke up, finding herself curled into a ball on the dusty cushions of what was once the divination room, her first thought was: oh God, I hope he isn't lurking about, I hope he didn't see me.

She got up and looked around the ashen space, feeling jumpy and uncertain, before peeking her head out the door and checking to make sure the coast was clear.

Then she tiptoed all the way back to her dorm, her ears pricked and ready for any signs of life. When she made it back safely she let out a large sigh of relief and then collapsed on her bed, waiting for the remaining hours to tick by until her classes started.

Night 9

She was still doing well in school, which was a miracle given the fact that her mind was wholly preoccupied with other things. Or perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps it was simple; now that Harry and Ron weren't here she could cut out all of her time for socializing and replace it with doing her homework.

And in the moments that she suddenly felt overburdened by it all, to the point where her chest felt as if it was contracting, she committed herself to a painfully uneven sleep schedule to make up for it.

One night she wouldn't sleep at all and use the time to get her work done, the next she'd let herself rest. Then the next she wouldn't sleep, and the next she would, and on and on. She'd continue like this, back and forth, no sleep then sleep, until she felt comfortably assured that she wouldn't be swallowed by the tide of her responsibilities.

It was terribly unsustainable. Especially given the fact that when she could sleep, it only lasted a few short hours. Plus, her body had decided that on top of all this, it should spend that time more often than not doing some strange, strenuous activity she wouldn't even be aware of, until she came to in the middle of doing it, or woke up to find her muscles incredibly stiff and tired from overuse.

Tonight was another sleepless night. Tomorrow, she'd let herself go back to normal, if she could even call it that.

She was quietly thankful that this meant no restless dreams, no strange behaviors manifesting in her sleep.

And absolutely no chance that she would see him again.

Night 10-11

She had been hoping it was a singularity. A one off event. Maybe Malfoy just got curious that night and decided to take a peak at the damaged parts of the castle. It didn't mean he was ever going to do it again.

But, as the entire world seemed poised against her, she supposed it was almost fitting that she'd be wrong. Of course he'd made a habit out of it. And of course she'd catch sight of him, not once, but twice more in the nights that follow.

The second time it happened was much like the first; just a glance of his frame as he shifted into an abandoned room. The third, well, that one gave her pause for concern. It was, for lack of better words, strikingly odd.

She had been trying to make a swift escape back to her dorm when she heard a loud bang- the kind of sound that comes from a large metal object striking something with significant impact. The shock of the noise made her whole body go stiff, and rigid. The second bang had spurred her into action.

Taking hold of her wand she leapt to the wall of the empty corridor, pressing her back so firmly against it that it almost hurt. She was shaking, and all of her senses were on high alert, preparing her for what her mind was certain was danger.

She crept along the side of the wall, her wand arm shakily at the ready.

Another loud bang made her go still again, then after a moment of waiting, she was back to her cautious approach.

Then, peering into a half blown away door frame, she saw him.

He was kneeling on the ground, one arm slung over his propped up knee and the other holding what appeared to be something small and silver, which he was turning over and appraising. With a quick flick of his wrist the object was tossed behind him, making a sharp clatter against the wall before it fell to a pile of other like items- a graveyard of things he had discarded in a similar manner.

Hermione ducked back against the wall, afraid that he would catch sight of her if she continued to watch him.

She waited a moment, completely still and quiet. After a few seconds, another series of sharp clattering followed. Her brow furrowed, and she had just worked up the courage to take another peak, when she heard the distinct sounds of him rising to his feet and taking a few slow steps.

Without a second thought she turned and fled.

Night 11-12

The Malfoy problem, as she liked to call it in the privacy of her own mind, was beginning to become both worrisome and consuming. Hermione was not unaccustomed to paranoia; she'd come to terms with the fact that it was now a solid part of her psychology ever since the war. The edginess from lack of sleep also didn't help.

But, though she knew this about herself, she couldn't help but feel as if her concerns were justified. After all, Malfoy was the one who'd cooked up the plan that got the death eaters into Hogwarts in the first place. Clearly he was both capable and willing to orchestrate something nefarious.

Seeing him crouched over in an abandoned wing of the castle, rifling through what she now was certain was old potions supplies, had propelled her mind into a state of frenzy. He was most certainly up to something.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye in the moments she could be covert; during shared classes or in the great hall. Her shrewd alertness however only seemed apt to pick up on the fact that he was very quiet, and very reserved. Studious as well. Almost too studious.

But this wasn't nearly enough to form an accusation. And an accusation of what? That part worried Hermione the most. Walking around the castle at night, her thoughts began to drift almost exclusively to this end.

Was it a dark revival he hoped for? A return of the Death Eaters? Revenge?

Her fearful curiosity and genuine need for answers had her behaving in ways she would never have expected of herself.

Rather than avoid him, she began to look for him.

Creeping through the halls on high alert, Hermione watched and waited for any signs of life. At any hint of rustling or quiet disturbances she would go stalk still and keep her ears pricked, her wand raised and ready.

Of course, in these moments he was nowhere to be found, and she felt silly and slightly nervous tiptoe-ing through the abandoned wings.

Still, she wasn't going to put her guard down, as much as that was possible.

Night 19

It had been so stupid, and really, that's what bothered her the most. Stupid she thought bitterly to herself, stupid stupid stupid. A word she hadn't used against herself since she was 11, since the time she was relentlessly cramming in everything she could get her hands on about magic, knowing that if she didn't she'd be hopelessly behind all her peers who'd grown up with spells whizzing by them since the time they could crawl. But that's what it was, and that's what she whispered to herself, clutching her pounding heart, her head pressed against the outside of the library.

Stupid.

It was twilight when she went to the library, looking for any book that could serve as a distraction. It was the weekend, and hardly anyone was ever in the library at twilight on the weekend, and even fewer still were the chances that someone would be all the way in the back, in one of the alcoves she frequented.

But he was there. It was staggering really, now that she'd decided to notice him he was popping up everywhere. She knew because a full week had gone by since she'd decided to keep her eye on him, spying on him for any tells about what he could be up to.

He was wearing a grey turtleneck (and wasn't it a little ratty? Just a little bit scruffier than what was usually up to Malfoy-snuff? These were the things she noticed now), and he was sitting with his legs outstretched in a dark armchair, an anonymous leather bound book pressed tight to his face.

She was startled at first, almost jumped back and skittered away like some frightened animal, but then thought: here is an opportunity. He hadn't seen her, she was just shielded enough by the row of books that encased him, and he was too engrossed in whatever book he was reading. Hermione craned her neck, that familiar suspicious whirl of thoughts sparking to life.

There was no title on it, just a boundless red leather book, old from the looks of it. She didn't recognize it, which made her even more curious. Perhaps it was something dark, something to do with whatever he'd been planning. She leaned forward and squinted her eyes- if she could just see the side of it, maybe she could catch a word from off its spine.

She leaned too forward. That's what was so stupid. She stumbled a step, and the slight impact of her foot was enough for him to look up, to find her just staring at him, hawk eyed in the shadows.

Malfoy clamped the book shut, his brow furrowed in half surprise, half accusation. Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, like a fish needing water.

"Can I help you?" He asked with a sneer.

Her cheeks were turning hot. "I- no."

"Well g-"

She didn't bother to stay and hear the rest. She simply turned and fled, like a schoolgirl who'd been caught staring at her crush. Like if she'd been with friends they'd be giggling, tripping over themselves with gangly feet, whispering:'did you see him? Did you?'

But of course, she was alone, and she was not spying on a boy she fancied. She'd been lurking in the dark, feeding a string of obsessive, paranoid thoughts about a boy she hadn't spoken to in nearly a year.

Outside the library she clutched herself, feeling shameful and ridiculous. Maybe she was right and this was something, or maybe it was nothing. Maybe, she was a scattered, tarnished person, who was slowly making herself mad and that madness was now leaking out, becoming visible to other people, slipping in to everyday life.

She was sinking against the wall. She hadn't even realized. She stood back up, gave herself a mental slap.

Who cares, she thought. It was nothing. And really, of all the people, she didn't mind if Draco Malfoy thought she was a little nutty. She was still in control. It wasn't even that bad.

She walked back to her dorm, fighting the urge to laugh at herself. I just need sleep, she thought, I just need sleep.

Night 23

Days had passed and Hermione had not seen one good night of sleep. There were peppered dreams, interrupted by sleepwalking, or by sweaty, awful nightmares. She'd even tried to lock her door again with magic, which she'd given up weeks ago because it was futile- a sleep driven Hermione was a determined one.

A quiz in Herbology almost made her collapse all over again, when she sat down and realized there were several questions she didn't know the answers to. She'd pass it, she'd always pass it, but still. It was Herbology, it shouldn't have been hard.

But she'd done the impossible in getting her mind off Malfoy. Anytime he came up in her head she fought hard to pivot her thoughts, study harder, walk faster. She didn't need him unravelling the precarious double life she was maintaining.

She made it about four days before inevitably, something happened.

In the end it wasn't Malfoy who caught her, asleep and moving about in her jammies, like the fearful imaginations she'd conjured up.

It was Hermione who caught him.

She'd been meandering, fully awake, and decided to visit the one section of castle wall she knew was still blown away. Most had been fixed, at least on the outside. But that first spot, where the old astronomy lessons used to be, where she first woke up when she started sleepwalking, was still broken up. It was fitting, because she came there now hoping to see the stars. Instead, she found Malfoy.

He was standing in a pair of sweatpants, no shirt, his back to her and his face to the outdoors. His feet were precariously close to the ragged edge of castle that Hermione knew dropped swiftly down into castle grounds, and then woods.

She stopped, and stared at him, her heart picking up speed in her chest. This was a far cry from the mischievous image she'd conjured in her head, recreations of that night she found him rifling through old potions supplies that got more and more sinister as she recalled it. It sobered her up.

Malfoy's exposed back and torso were so pale they reflected the moonlight, milky white, back at her. And his shoulders, broad and curved, were racked with quiet but visible sobs.

And that's when she thought: he's going to jump.

Nothing else would have made her leap into action, run up to his side and then stop a foot away, call out: "Malfoy" in a shaky, unsure voice.

But he didn't respond and she could hear now the soft, wet and breathy intake of his crying. And because there was nothing else she could think to do, she did the unimaginable.

She reached out to touch him. She put her hand gingerly on his arm, and turned him towards her. And she saw his eyes were closed, his brow drawn up, his cheeks pink and face wet from crying.

It was a freezing night. The worst yet this October, and his skin was marble cold under her touch.

Quickly, clinically, she reached her other hand up to his other arm, shook him once, twice.

"Malfoy," she said again.

His eyes jostled open. He blinked at her, eyes droopy and not really seeing. Then he turned his head, looked at where they were, and back to her.

And there it was on his face. That look. She knew that look. Not because she had seen it before, but because she'd imagined it on herself, many times. It was that I've been caught look. That oh shit oh shit look because there was nothing else to help the overwhelming, crashing feeling of knowing that you've been witnessed at your most incapacitated, your most vulnerable. The jig was up.

Malfoy took a step back, and Hermione quickly dropped her hands, taking a step back too though it wasn't necessary.

He stared at her, his eyes a bright and striking blue, daring her to scorn him, but frightened too- that much was obvious. Hermione had no plans of doing so. She had no plans at all, no words for finding him like this. His body shivered violently as a gust of wind picked up and swirled its way over them with a lazy, hollow swoosh.

They were both confused, at a loss, she was sure. So she acted out of instinct again, unzipped her slouchy, decades old hoodie, wormed it off and wordlessly held it out to him. Malfoy glanced at it, flicked his eyes back up to her, but Hermione kept hers down. She didn't want to make this worse for him.

She thought, genuinely, that he wouldn't take it. In the instant she'd held it up for him, she prepped herself for a cruel rebuttal. But after a moment of hesitating he snatched it up, and she continued to stare at the ground as he tunneled his arms through the sleeves, in one fast, embarrassed motion. When he was done she looked up again, thought to say something, that she should now, anything- but he was already walking away, his hands clutched and weighing down the pockets of her dad's old sweater.

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Hey so, it's been like years. My bad. Thanks for the handful of readers who checked out the first chapter of this story, and especially to those who commented.